Flames of Cobalt and Crimson

Explanations

Cassian

Azriel winnowed us into the cool, dusk air outside the wards that surrounded the House of Wind, and I released his hand as quickly as I could, feeling almost as though it was burning me. We easily glided to a landing on one of the prominent patios that jutted out from the side of the mountain. This one connected to a comfortable, but intimate, sitting room and provided a more neutral territory than either of our bedrooms would have, for obvious reasons. There was nobody else currently staying here, though, and I was extremely aware of just how quiet it was - how alone we were.

Heading inside, Az tossed my pack on a chair and went straight for the sideboard near the corner of the room to grab a fresh bottle of liquid courage and two glasses, and I wondered whether my immortal blood was enough to keep my organs functioning if I drank any more. It was probably a miracle that I hadn't died of dehydration or liver failure. Sensing our presence, the faelights throughout the space brightened, illuminating the room, and I took a seat at one end of the couch. I arranged my wings behind me, accepted the glass he proffered, and promptly placed it on the low table in front of me. I wasn't planning to drink it, but better to have it in easy reach.

He surprised me by sitting at the other end of the couch, turning his whole body toward me and folding one knee up onto the cushions. I felt the space between us go taut, though it might have been my imagination, and I slowly turned to face him similarly. I had expected him to opt for one of the chairs. This seating arrangement felt strangely... intimate. I couldn't decide exactly how I felt about that.

The bruise I'd made on his left cheekbone had deepened to a sickly greenish-blue color, and his split lower lip had swollen slightly, though not as much as it could have. I tried not to let my eyes linger too long on the damage. We had beaten each other up plenty of times, but this time it felt different. I hated myself a little bit more each time my eyes were drawn to the injuries.

As if in response, Azriel sent calm reassurance through the bond, and I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease. Despite that, his own breathing was quicker than usual and, though he wore that same composed expression he always had, I could sense that he was gathering his thoughts and deciding how to start. I gave him time, though by the time he finally spoke I had almost wanted to scream from impatience.

He evidently had decided to start from the very beginning. "I first felt the inklings of the bond when I was seventeen."

I gaped at him. Holy Gods... I tried to imagine what it would have been like to have that fist in my chest taunting me for what amounted to my entire fucking life . I had been feeling it for less than a year and some days it had felt like it would drive me mad. Like something you keep glimpsing from the corner of your eye, but when you turned to look there was nothing there.

He gave me a humorless half-smile and I felt a bolt of old pain as he continued, "I felt it for the first time when I awoke one morning in Windhaven. I didn't know until a few days later that it had been the morning after you and Morrigan..." He trailed off, and I felt my face heat with shame.

That night, with her, was the single biggest regret of my entire life. I had been jealous of her little flirtations with Az, youthful and tentative, and the way he no longer wanted to spend all of his time with me and Rhys. He had changed, in a hundred little ways, after the day he had met her. And I was young and horny and fucking stupid, and I had leapt at the chance to bed the most beautiful female either of us had ever seen. The three of us were always competing, and it had seemed like a sort of victory. I hadn't loved her - at the time we hadn't even known each other for very long - and all these centuries later the love I now felt for her was halfway between family and friend. I had been such a prick, so self-absorbed, that I had actually been jealous of...