Chapter 66 – Azaria
AZARIA
Forest. Deep, rain-soaked forest. A breeze brushed cool against my skin; the air smelled fresh and alive. Except I wasn’t in the woods. Not since?—
I blinked, dragging my eyes open. Darkness. A faint glow from behind my head. My office. The sofa.
“Hey, Sweetheart.”
That voice—Quin.
I turned. He was sitting on the floor beside me, leaning back against the sofa like he’d been camped there for hours.
“Hey,” I murmured.
“How are you feeling?”
I had to stop and think about it because the answer didn’t feel real. My body felt light. Clear. Like the fever haze had burned off and left nothing but clean air in my lungs. Better than I’d felt in weeks, maybe months. Too good, maybe. I didn’t trust it to last.
“Good,” I said, almost laughing at how true it was. “What time is it?”
“Just past midnight,” Quin replied. “Dain found me, said you collapsed in your office. Myrin patched you up.” His thumb stroked over my knuckles. “I promised him I’d stay until you woke.”
Myrin? Maybe. But there was something else lingering in my senses, an aftertaste I couldn’t place: damp earth and rain. Kalias.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I was working through the letters. One moment I was writing, the next everything went dark.” I reached for his hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”
His laugh was quiet and strained. “You do make a habit of that.”
He was holding himself calm, but I could feel it anyway—a low hum of his blood magic brushing faintly against me, restless, circling like it couldn’t decide whether to sink in or keep its distance.
“Your magic…” I said, tilting my head.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it, either. Lately it slipped from him more and more, brushing against me in moments he probably didn’t even notice. It felt like a second pulse layered over my own.
“Is it all right?” I asked softly. “Your magic?”
He shifted, gaze flicking away. “Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing. I just can sense it sometimes, that’s all.”
“I may let it slip once or twice,” he admitted, voice low. “Not on purpose. It reacts to my emotions, that’s all.”
He sounded honest. Tired but honest. And I felt too damn good to push, so I let it go. For now.
I shifted upright on the sofa, brushing hair from my face. “I can’t stay here all night.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Walk me home?”
Quin’s mouth tugged into that slow, knowing grin. “Of course. Question is: can I stay after I walk you home?”
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Maybe…” I let the word drawl, leaning closer as my fingers brushed his. “If you feed me.”
The look on his face was worth every ounce of boldness. His brows shot up, and then his grin deepened into something wicked.
I hadn’t felt this alert in years. My whole body hummed, hungry and restless, like someone had taken the rust off my bones.
I felt ravenous, and not just for food. Whatever Kalias had done, whatever earth-and-rain magic he’d left behind in me—it was like being reborn.
Every sensation dialed up; I felt the brush of the sofa fabric against my arms, the warmth of Quin’s hand around mine, and the low thrum of his magic against my skin, more distinct than I’d ever felt it.
Quin tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity of his. “You look different.”
“Different how?” I teased.
“Alive,” he said simply.
He wasn’t wrong.
The palace corridors were hushed, lantern light painting the walls in soft gold. Quin’s hand was wrapped in mine, his thumb stroking slow circles across my knuckles.
“You really scared me tonight,” he said at last, voice low but rough with honesty.
“I said I was sorry.” I squeezed his hand, glancing at him with a crooked smile. “You don’t need to hover.”
“That wasn’t hovering,” he said, mouth twitching. “That was outright panic. You’re lucky Dain found me when he did.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “I’m always lucky with you two around.”
His gaze softened, and for a heartbeat I saw it plainly: the fear he’d carried, the relief washing it away now. Then his grin edged back in. “Still, I think I deserve compensation.”
“Oh?” I arched a brow.
“Walking you home, worrying myself half to death...” He gave a mock sigh. “The least you could do is let me stay.”
I smirked, leaning into him as we walked.
Quin lifted our joined hands, brushing his lips over my knuckles. “You seem better. Like yourself again,” he said simply.
It felt true.
By the time we reached my house, the air between us was thick with warmth and laughter. His hand stayed locked with mine the entire walk, his thumb brushing lazy circles that kept my pulse running hot.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, kicking off my boots with a sigh. It felt good to be home. Good to feel good in my own skin for once.
Quin leaned against the doorframe, watching me with that slow grin. “So, Captain, what’s my reward for heroic escort duty?”
I shot him a look over my shoulder. “Make me food,” I said, stretching my arms overhead until my spine cracked. “I’m going to have a bath.”
His brows arched, grin widening. “Food first, then bath?”
“Bath first,” I said, voice dropping low as I headed for the stairs. “You’ll figure out where you fit in.”
The bath didn’t last long, just enough to scrub the sweat and fever from my skin, sink into the heat, and feel clean again.
Everything felt sharper since I’d woken: the water against my skin, the steam in my lungs, the cool tile under my feet when I stepped out.
My body was awake in a way I’d almost forgotten was possible.
By the time I slipped into a loose shirt and padded barefoot down the stairs, the smell of tea drifted through the room.
Quin was waiting at the table, a plate already set out: cheese sliced neat, wedges of hard fruit, cured meat. Nothing fancy, just thoughtful and simple. Exactly what I hadn’t realized I was craving. He looked up as I came in, that small, quiet smile tugging at his mouth.
I leaned down, pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to taste the warmth of him. “Thank you,” I murmured.
His hand brushed my waist as I pulled back, and for once, there was no worry shadowing his eyes.
I slid into the chair and tore into the food without hesitation. Everything tasted vivid—the salt of the cheese, the sweetness of the fruit bursting on my tongue, the dark richness of the meat. I couldn’t remember the last time food had tasted this good.
Quin watched, amusement softening his face, as though seeing me eat with appetite was gift enough.
“You’re staring,” I said, quirking a brow.
He smirked, unbothered. “You’re eating. I’ve missed that.”
I rolled my eyes, but my mouth twitched. “You make it sound like I’ve been starving myself.”
“You have,” he countered. “Not on purpose. But I’d bet my sword this is the first proper meal you’ve had in days.”
I tore off a strip of meat, pointing it at him before popping it into my mouth. “And now I have you to thank for it. Hero and chef. What a combination.”
“Don’t forget escort,” he said with mock solemnity.
I snorted, nearly choking on the fruit. “Escort. Right.”
He leaned back in his chair, and for a while it was just easy, quiet banter between us. I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until now.
But then the air shifted. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered too long when I licked juice from my thumb, or the way my pulse quickened under the heat of his gaze, or the way his magic stirred: a warm ripple brushing against my skin.
I set the half-eaten slice of fruit down, suddenly very aware of the looseness of the shirt hanging off my shoulder.
“Quin,” I said softly.
His eyes met mine, and whatever playful curve had been on his mouth deepened into something hungrier.
I wanted that hunger.
I didn’t get the chance to stand. Quin’s chair scraped back as he tugged me forward, pulling me straight into his lap.
His hands slid under my shirt instantly, his palms hot against my bare skin as he moved in slow, deliberate strokes deep enough to make me shiver. His touch wasn’t frantic, but grounding, claiming, like he needed to map every inch of me to believe I was real and here.
And beneath his hands, I felt that hum again. His blood magic, pulsing with each press of his fingers, felt warm and electric against my nerve endings. I didn’t understand it—couldn’t name it—but every place he touched seemed to light up twice: once from his skin, and once from something deeper.
A low sound slipped out of me as I curled an arm around his neck, pressing closer. My other hand tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.
He melted under that. His grip on my waist tightened, his breath hitching against my mouth. I smirked through the kiss, dragging my fingers slowly through his hair again, and felt the way his whole body responded, like he’d been undone by that small, intimate thing.
“Az...” he murmured against my lips.
I answered by pressing closer, chest to chest, heat sparking where his thumbs brushed along the curve of my ribs.
His hands roamed higher, broader strokes now, every pass leaving fire in its wake.
My skin tingled everywhere he’d been, oversensitive.
The post-healing sharpness made every sensation run deeper: his callused palms, the heat of his breath, the low vibration of his magic humming against mine.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed this. His weight beneath me, solid and steady. His hands on my waist like he’d die if he let go.
I wanted more.
Quin’s mouth trailed down my neck, but his hands faltered where they gripped my waist. His breath came ragged against my skin. He pulled back, just enough to meet my eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, careful. “You collapsed not that long ago?—“
“I’m sure.” I caught his face between my hands, forcing him to see me. “I feel good, Quin. Better than I’ve felt in months.”
His jaw tightened, eyes searching mine. “What if it’s just—what if whatever Myrin did wears off? I don’t want to?—“