Chapter 11
REFLECTING BAD BEHAVIOR
Azrion
“Don’t tell me: you lost a second mate.”
Azrion snorted, peering through the open gate surrounded by high hedges as he mustered confidence he wasn’t entirely sure he had—a first. “I sent a carriage for her, so if she’s lost it’s the driver’s fault, not mine.”
“Nothing’s ever your fault, is it?” Zaiya snapped, fangs sharper than usual, unfortunate considering the joyous occasion of the day. She stepped out from under the shadow of a tree, arms crossed and face fixed with one of her sourest looks.
“Glad you’re catching on.” Azrion craned his neck, but there was nothing coming down the road yet.
He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, all of it too dry.
“If Fenthorn hadn’t requested my assistance with the ceremony, I’d be with her, but you should know better than anyone how sisters are. ”
Zaiya stood beside him and peered out at the visible strip of road. “Fioran wasn’t the one who needed help. It was her brother—you know, your friend—who forgot to carve those runes.”
Crinkling up his nose, Azrion frowned then corrected into a smile as quickly as he changed the subject. “Well, good to know news of how I’ve moved on to a new mate has spread all the way to you.”
“You might have these idiots fooled, but I know exactly what you’re doing.
” Her voice fell as her eyes darted across the lawn, but the two were far apart from the few guests milling about the garden.
“The humans have had a hard enough time as it is—don’t make it worse for that poor woman by using her for your stupid games with Melora. ”
“I thought you knew me better than that.” Azrion turned to her fully and leaned in. “Katarina knows exactly what’s going on—she isn’t stupid. And I’m paying her for her company, so she won’t be poor for long either.”
Zaiya stared back at him as if searching for the truth, and when she found it, her face softened just enough to reveal a lingering hurt behind all that bite. Ah, so her problems were twofold.
“Speaking of showing up to a wedding alone—where in Heck is our delightfully diligent Elliran?”
His sister’s jaw hardened and she turned for the hedges again as if they needed to be watched or else they might sneak off. “She’s not speaking to me, apparently.”
“Apparently?”
Zaiya grunted.
“That was an invitation to go on, dear sister.”
Zaiya grunted a little louder.
“Just because Elli refuses to talk to you, doesn’t mean that I should be deprived of the sordid details.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. Now spill.”
Zaiya grumbled a little more, arms tightening, and then she cracked like an overused water rune.
“I said something stupid at the festival, and she’s been ignoring me since.
I thought she just needed to cool off for a day or two, so I didn’t go around to apologize.
Then I showed up this afternoon, and she refused to answer the door even though she agreed to come with me to this thing weeks ago. ”
Azrion whistled. “How stupid was this something you said?”
“Extremely,” she admitted through gritted teeth, no indication she would tell him more, a disappointment if an expected one.
Still, he tried. “Perhaps I could—”
“No.”
Azrion didn’t envy the complication that came with falling for one’s childhood best friend.
He and Fenthorn had experimented, of course, but it had only led to laughter and the decision that their love was firmly of the friends-only variety.
No, no, things were much easier when one’s family ushered one in the direction of a specific demon so messy romantic details didn’t have to be sorted through.
“Well, it’ll work out.”
Zaiya went back to grunting.
He gestured to the sky. “The two of you are meant for one another. It’s in the stars.”
“Shove the stars up your ass, Az.” And with that, she stormed off down the rocky path that led to the Vumheri estates.
He chuckled, watching her purple tail thrash in the exact same way it did when they were children and he hid her favorite stuffed creatures, insisting they had run away because of that very temper.
She was always so quick to anger, but he knew when it wasn’t truly meant for him.
And he knew a bigger, grander truth too: Zaiya and Elliran were meant to be soulbonded. Magic really had told him.
Magic told Azrion lots of things, though, and despite being a purported fan of sordid details, he wasn’t always listening closely enough to really hear.
Qapian hoofbeats drew his attention back as a carriage arrived, and he was quick to adjust his dress coat and stand straight.
That flutter of nervousness came back, the one that had been whispering wordlessly what Zaiya so ungraciously articulated: maybe Katarina would take one of the many outs he’d written into their contract and not come.
And if she didn’t come, he would be without her, er alone, and that would be an utter embarrassment.
But no need to worry because here she was, and…oh, gods, why was he still worried? Azrion never worried.
When the carriage came to a stop, he only hesitated a breath before opening the door.
The small lantern hanging from the ceiling was unlit as Katarina probably didn’t know the rune to wake its magic, but a ruffle of fabric was illuminated by the lights outside, and the strange human whites of a set of eyes blinked from the shadows.
She came. Thank all the gods and stars and contracts she came.
And yet worry still hadn’t fucked off. Well then, he would just have to live with it.
Azrion extended a hand into the dark, and when their fingers touched, his heart hitched in that familiar way.
He’d spent his free moments at the scholar’s hall trying to recreate that magic, the one that made itself known when their skin made contact, but had come up short.
Human strangeness, surely. Then she stepped out of the carriage, and his heart stopped entirely.
Katarina was beautiful, this he knew, but now she was radiant.
Her upper half was no longer hidden under a bag of a dress but cinched into a form-fitting bodice in a dusty purple.
A lilac swatch ran from one delicate shoulder to the other and loose sleeves were attached, slit from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist to show off the lithe lines of her arms beneath the gauzy fabric.
She was still covered but no longer quite so hidden, which he knew would be a risk, but the full skirt of layered fluffy fabric was meant to counter the small patches of skin she bared with something like protection.
Azrion hadn’t counted on there being so much of it though—apparently Mhot had taken those artistic liberties she always spoke of.
The skirts spilled out of the carriage before Katarina as she took a step downward, and then they did the exact opposite of protect and sent her careening forward.
He knew she would fall a moment before she did, not least of all because he had noticed how she hemmed her dresses an inch too short and how her feet always moved too fast for their owner’s good.
He slid under and around her so that she barely sucked in half a shocked breath before she was safely flat-footed on the ground and in his arms.
Oh, well, that was quite a bit of magic.
“Shit,” she whispered, head bent with her crown pressed to his chest. “Did I rip the dress?”
“We’ll never know with all those layers,” he murmured, the feel of her in his arms unlike anything he’d imagined—and he had imagined, unfortunately, if only in those half-awake moments before and after sleep when his mind did whatever it wanted.
Holding her was like when he realized where the next brush stroke should go after staring interminably at a canvas.
It was a break in a block, a gift from the muse, a clear and obvious answer to every possible problem.
His heart raced, his stomach tightened, and Kat’s head snapped up so quickly he felt the wind on his nose.
Her eyes were wide, fingers digging into his arms, but her body was close, and gods he didn’t want to let her go, not yet.
“Did anyone see?”
It was all he could do to tear his eyes away from her. “No,” he said, but he had no idea—he wasn’t really seeing anything himself. The world was just a blur of color until he set his sight back on her.
And she looked terrified.
Azrion took himself backward by a long step, fingers gliding along her arms reluctantly until he held just her hands.
His gaze dipped to the ground and the generous fluff of her dress, golden symbols beaded into the hem, and he chuckled at Mhot’s work—runes for grace and beauty though there was no actual magic in the dress.
He drew his gaze back up to where the fabric gathered at her waist and clung stiffly to her ribs and breasts, and then he wasn’t really looking at the dress at all.
“Look at you,” he said all in one breath, and even to his ears it betrayed utter infatuation, which wasn’t at all appropriate, so he cleared his throat and smirked. “You’re wearing that dress like a real demon.”
Kat’s brow furrowed, irritation chasing away her terror. The compliment should have stood on its own, but it was better for them both if he ruined it.
“It’s way too fancy,” she said, twisting up her lips as if he had been the one to put her in it. He had, of course, but it was Mhot’s doing ultimately, so the blame should have been spread around a bit.
“Well, it’s actually perfect, but you’re welcome to be uncomfortable if you like, just please don’t shed it in front of everyone. I want the others to talk, but not that much.”
Kat sucked in an offended noise, but her eyes darted away from him to the craggy path that led to their destination as if just remembering there was more to this evening than exiting a carriage. “You’re really sure I can wear this to someone else’s wedding?”
“Trust me, you can’t possibly overshadow a demon bride. Especially not a Vumheri.”