The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 22

Breakfast and training had been relatively uneventful, aside from Cassian's smug "Well, well, well" when Azriel and Gwyn had joined them in the dining room, hand in hand. The glare from the shadowsinger could have killed a man, but his murderous expression turned red with surprise when it was Gwyn who shot back, "Did you think we'd never spend the night together? We're in a romantic relationship, Cassian."

Nesta had nearly needed to rescue her mate from choking on his eggs.

Now, after the afternoon turned to evening, Azriel found himself lounging in the same settee as the night before. With a lovely, copper-haired priestess leaning against him, her latest novel in one hand whilst her other idly fiddled with his mottled fingers. He couldn't help it when his gaze drifted to the pages she read, the text feeling too tiny for the explicit nature of the words. It was a boldness he hadn't expected from her as he scented the heavy musk of her arousal. He spied the heat coloring her neck and cheeks and wondered if she knew what she was doing to him.

"Gwyn," his gravelly voice rumbled, drawing her gaze. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Songbird, but if you're going to keep reading that you might want to... sit elsewhere." When her lids narrowed quizzically he bit back a groan, uncertain how he could explain without scaring the hell out of her. Clearing his throat, he responded, "I can... smell... what that book makes you feel. And that makes me... feel... things..."

Those ocean-deep teal eyes widened with her realization. "Oh," she breathed, but made no move to reposition herself. The flush in her cheeks darkened, however, and her lashes lowered as she averted her gaze. The silence between them was heavy and thick, his shadows dark with the lust he was holding at bay. His heart thudded against his ribs as he anxiously awaited her next move, the uncertainty gnawing at him. "What if..." Gwyn's voice was barely above a whisper, fading away into nothing. She took a breath, her shoulders caressing his chest, and lifted her eyes to him again. "What if I... don't mind if you... feel things?"

The spymaster's chest tightened to the point of pain, lungs constricting at her words. He sat up straight, pulling her with him, his large hands splayed over her middle. Leaning his chin on her shoulder he whispered, "You don't mind if I do? Or you want me to? There is a considerable, substantially important difference between the two, Gwyneth." The heat crawling up her neck scorched him, the fluttering pulse against his cheek nearly unraveled him. But his songbird remained silent. He did not push her, just curled and unfurled his long fingers against her stomach, hoping to soothe any anxiety away.

He continued his gentle caresses as he felt a swallow work down her throat, then another. As if she were searching for words. So very unlike her, but he'd come to understand that her wealth of knowledge and her lightning wit were things she didn't feel served her in matters of intimacy. So he chose to break the silence. "Why don't we go to my room? We can talk?" When she nodded he nuzzled her neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. Then he plucked the book from her hand, laying it gently on the coffee table before gathering her up as he lifted both of them from the couch.

"I will never understand how you do that so easily," Gwyn snickered against his chest.

"What do you mean? You're not heavy, Gwyn," he chuckled in response, lips drifting over her crown.

"I may not be heavy, but I'm a whole other person! How can you lift up an entire fully-grown person as if it's nothing?" she huffed, fingers fidgeting with the collar of his leathers. "It is unnerving and unfair how graceful you are." Azriel's head tilted back at her complaint, the smile dancing upon his laughing lips as she - once again - surprised him with her line of thought.

"I am a very strong male with impeccable bodily control," he answered, letting the smooth arrogance drip teasingly from a lopsided grin. She was tucked close against him, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. "I've been honing my body for centuries, sweet Gwyneth, solely to ensure that I can effortlessly sweep my love into my arms. It is simply convenient that it has also served me well in my employment and service to the Night Court."