49. Chapter Forty-Nine
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
AZAZEL
O ur journey to Sorrow's Manor stretches like the shadows of the skeletal trees that border the path—dark and endless. I’ve had some food in me, and I already feel like I could take a punch. Wilder’s promised one to me as soon as I’m at one hundred percent.
The chilled air clings, as though the place itself knows of its tainted reputation, its sordid history. The manor soars in the distance, a relic of gothic beauty wrapped in the embrace of decay, its walls a deep tourmaline. Its harsh edges carve a silhouette against the reddened sky, the windows emitting a muted warmth, like dying embers struggling to stay alive.
I lead Morte up the crumbling stone steps, my hand entwined with hers, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. She’s too quiet, and I glance at her, taking in every detail from the crimson hair spilling down her back to the shirt she’s wearing—one of mine. The fabric grazes the tops of her thighs, and below it she has on a pair of my way-too-big-for-her sweatpants. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever witnessed—her so utterly herself, unguarded, in something that belongs to me.
Fuck , it does something to me.
Caius strides up behind us, his large frame dwarfing the space, his eyes scanning the entrance as if daring the house to test him. Aggonid waits for us just beyond the door, his eyes never quite meeting mine, his focus shifting to Morte instead. He gives a curt nod, gesturing for us to enter.
He’d flown here so he could have the staff ready our bedroom, complete with a much larger bed than the one I’d previously shared with Morte.
The door groans open, the sound a hell of a lot spookier knowing I’m not at full speed right now. Dust motes cling to the air, swirling in the pale light filtering through the narrow windows. Shadows skitter across the floor, cast by the lone sconce flickering on the veranda, struggling against the weight of darkness.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, the old memories of this place crawling over my skin like spiders. Sorrow's Manor—Morte in my arms, trembling with need as I fed from her. I try to cast the thoughts from my head for propriety’s sake, but the need to mate her is taking every ounce of strength I have to wait.
Aggonid steps through first, his presence enveloping the space, his shadows trailing after him like obedient pets. Caius follows, tossing me a glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched. He knows I have plenty of shadows of my own, but I’m saving my energy. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between a smirk and genuine concern.
Emeric bounds in, eager to check out the place.
And then it’s just me and Morte, standing at the threshold.
I look at her, my stare lingering on the way her eyes shift, taking in every inch of the manor. She glances up at me, her lips parting, her words a mere whisper. "Are you okay?"
I swallow the thickness in my throat, and step forward, pulling her gently after me. The door slams shut behind us, the sound reverberating through the hollow space. Caius chuckles somewhere in the living room, his laughter rolling like thunder—low, dark, and amused. Dishes clatter somewhere beyond, and he groans.
Aggonid sinks into one of the ancient armchairs draped in furs, the fire crackling in the marble hearth to his right. The flames paint shifting patterns across the walls, and my eyes linger on them for a moment before trailing back to Morte.
She’s staring at the fire, the deep pools of ocean reflecting the orange glow, her face already pink from the heat. I can’t help the pang in my chest—that ache that never quite leaves—and I want nothing more than to see her smile, to hear her laugh. Not the hollow sound that’s been slipping from her lips lately, but the real one. The one that’s filled with warmth and light, the one that always makes me feel like there’s still something worth fighting for.
She’ll gain that back tonight.
“You look like you’re thinking about something grim,” Caius teases, his grin lopsided as he leans against the arm of Aggonid’s chair, a hunk of meat on the bone in his fist. “What’s got that look on your face, Shadow Daddy?”
I choke on my spit, coughing. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
Morte snorts, her lips twitching upward, and the sight of it makes something loosen in my chest. I pull her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist, feeling the heat of her against me.
On the way over, they’d filled me in about all the deals with the Gravewoken. Why Morte and her friends are phoenixes. I’d been so angry, so ready to tear Aggonid apart, but then she stilled my hand.
Whispering to me, “I wouldn’t be here, with you, if he hadn’t.”
And I hate that she’s right. That like me, she had to endure so much torture because of poor decisions made by others. Pawns in someone else’s game.
“Just taking it all in,” I mutter, shifting from Caius to Aggonid, whose eyes still haven’t met mine. He’s staring at Morte—watching her with that same measure of pride that’s been there since we returned. And perhaps a bit of fear. He’s afraid of her anger, terrified that what he did is unforgivable. And maybe it is. But I think she’s already made her decision, and the softness in her eyes now isn’t hatred, it’s something else.
“Aggonid.” She breaks the silence, drawing his attention from where he’s trained on the X on her chest. He glances up, and their eyes lock, something passing between them. He opens his mouth, but she shakes her head, stepping forward, slipping from my hold.
“Later,” she says, her fingers brushing over his hand briefly before she turns back to me. Her hooded eyes meet mine, and the intensity there pulls me under, drowning me in the depths of what she’s feeling.
“Come on,” she murmurs, reaching out, her fingers tangling with mine. The air in the room seems to shift, a quiet understanding settling over the space as I follow her towards the stairs. “Don’t you dare interrupt until I call you up.” She leaves a parting warning, mostly for Caius.
Aggonid, Wilder, Emeric, and Caius watch us, their expressions amused, and I think I hear Aggie whisper something to his mate, but I don’t turn back to look. I keep my eyes on my Firefly, her long hair flowing down her back, her steps steady as she leads me up the creaking stairs, each one taking us further from the others, closer to something that feels inevitable.
So right, it took an undoing to realize just how desperately we still need each other.
The room we enter is dark, the sparse light filtering through the cracked curtains spilling silvery beams across the dusty floor. Morte closes the door behind us, her stare never leaving mine as she props herself against it, her eyes searching, waiting.
I step towards her, and my hands find her waist, fingers brushing the soft fabric of my shirt that hangs loosely on her frame. I dip my head, my forehead pressing against hers, and I breathe her in—that spun sugar and briny sea scent that’s haunted me for weeks, the scent I thought I’d never have again.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, my lips ghosting over hers, the question hanging between us. I need her to be sure—need to know that after everything, this is still what she wants.
Her hands slide up my ribs, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as she pulls me closer, her breath mingling with mine. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against mine, her eyes closing.
A shudder runs through me, my hands tightening on her waist, pulling her against me, the warmth of her body seeping into mine. I kiss her, the need that’s been clawing at me for weeks finally finding an outlet, the desperation and love and everything I’ve kept locked away pouring into it. She responds in kind, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine, and I lose myself in her—in the feel of her, the taste of her, the way she fits perfectly against me.
I guide her backward, and the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sinks down onto it, pulling me with her, her lips never leaving mine. I brace myself above her, my hands on either side of her head, my body hovering over hers, and I pull back just enough to look at her, to take in the sight of her beneath me—her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes half-lidded, filled with nothing but love and desperate need .
“Firefly,” I whisper, the gravel in my voice thick with emotion, my heart thundering, and she smiles, her hands sliding down my chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
“Take it back,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine. “Take all of me, Az. I’m yours.”
My breath catches in my throat at her words, the intensity of her stare setting my blood aflame. I lean down, capturing her lips once more, pouring every ounce of longing and desire I've harbored into the kiss. My hands tremble as they trace the curves of her body, rediscovering every inch I thought I'd lost forever.
Morte arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, and I help her, shrugging it off and tossing it aside. The cool air hits my skin, but I barely notice, too focused on the way her eyes darken as she takes in the sight of me. The feel of her pale skin against mine is electric, igniting sparks wherever we touch.
"You're beautiful," she whispers, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest, punctuated by the awful mark, and I shiver under her touch.
I lean down, my lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Not as beautiful as you," I murmur, trailing kisses down her neck. She tilts her head, giving me better access, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Slowly, reverently, I undress her, savoring each new inch of skin revealed. I worship her body with my hands, my lips, my tongue, committing every reaction to memory. Her sighs and gasps fill the air, fueling my desire.
"I love you," I breathe against her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. "I've always loved you, Firefly. Even when I thought I'd lost you forever. But not even death could keep me from you."
When we're both finally bare, I pause, hovering above her once more. She pulls me closer, her legs wrapping around my waist. "You never lost me, Az. I was always yours, even when we were apart." She reaches up, cupping my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.
And then there are no more words, only the language of touch and taste, of gasps and moans, of two bodies moving as one as I slide inside her.
“This pussy alone could make any fae defy the final death,” I groan. “Could make any male crawl out of that river and right back to you.”
Her nails dig into my back as she arches beneath me, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. I start to move, slowly at first, savoring every exquisite sensation.
My name is a prayer on her lips as I increase my pace, and her hips rise to meet mine with each thrust. The headboard slams against the wall as I trail kisses along her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin, breathing in her intoxicating scent. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as our bodies move together.
She trembles beneath me, her inner walls fluttering as she nears her peak. I slide a hand between us, my thumb finding her sensitive bundle of nerves. I circle it gently, matching the rhythm of my thrusts, and she cries out, her back arching off the bed.
“That’s it, Firefly,” I murmur against her ear. “Let go for me.”
Her release has her body shuddering as she cries out my name, and the pulsing of her inner walls is almost more than I can bear.
She opens her neck to me, and I don’t hesitate. My fangs extend, and I sink them into her soft flesh, drawing her sweet blood into my mouth.
I’m home .
The taste of her on my tongue, the feel of her body wrapped around mine, it’s all too much and everything all at once.
A blinding glow erupts between us, a burst of pure light from our chests. It pulses outward, bathing the room in a warm, golden radiance. A sudden pull, deep inside, makes my breath catch. The sensation builds—a tether, an electric pulse, growing stronger with each heartbeat.
I release her neck, glancing between us as the glow burns through the black etched on our chests, as though it were gunpowder igniting and erasing the mark.
As the light fades, I stare in awe at the smooth, unmarked skin where my shame used to live. My fingers trace the spot, and Morte’s eyes widen, her hand flying to my chest where only my tattoos reside.
Her eyes fasten onto mine, her lips parting as our magic stirs, gathering, until it swells, uncontrollable, bursting through us. I feel her essence reach for mine, threading together, stitching the torn pieces back into something whole, something sacred.
The bond snaps into place, a rush of warmth and rightness filling every part of me, and I know she feels it too—her gasp, her tears mingling with mine, our hearts racing in synchrony.
A sob catches in her throat, and I press my forehead to hers, our bodies moving together, magic binding us—no longer separate, no longer alone. Just us, finally whole again.