Page 48 of Court of Wolves

He gave her everything his weak, aching body could, fucking her hard and fast, and there was a part of him that worried he’d bruise her spine against the column but the rest of him didn’t care. No, that wasn’t true. The rest of himwantedher bruised, wanted that reminder on her body, too.

“Mark me,” he begged, heat and pleasure boiling up in him when she tightened, squeezing his cock, her throbs matching every sharp gasp that fell from her lips. “Scratch me, bite me, I don’t care which, but I need your mark on me, Mai.”

She surrendered to his wishes without complaint, digging her fingernails into the back of his neck and raking them down his spine.

A delicious shudder worked through his body, intensifying his pleasure until he stuttered, “F-fuck.”

She dug her nails deeper, not just carving pink lines into his skin but drawing blood, and his next shudder was so powerful it made his eyes roll.

“Mine,” Maia gasped, yet tighter around his cock until his stomach hollowed. “Mine. You’remine,Azrail.”

“Yours,” he managed to groan between clenched teeth, his breath strangled in his throat, fingers pressing deep into her skin as he buried himself in her, so rough he feared they’d bring the column down.

Maia’s head whipped forward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. A sharp, delicious pain pulsed in his skin and Az flattened her to the column, grinding as deep as he could get. It was heaven and rapture, all the pain and torture of the past week washed away by a cresting wave of pleasure. His legs were going to cave in, his chest was bleeding where the Brightwrath had cuthim, but Maia was crying out, arching against him, and coming so beautifully on his cock that he didn’t care.

He crushed her between the column and his shuddering body until she stopped moaning and throbbing around him, until she drew her teeth from his shoulder and kissed the mark she’d gifted him with.

“Damn, knight,” she said with a breathy laugh. “Don’t let this go to your head, but that was pretty spectacular.”

A smile curved Azrail’s mouth as he drew back enough to lock eyes with his mate, carefully withdrawing from her and tucking himself away even when he wanted to linger. Seconds ticked away too quickly. Maia bent to retrieve her trousers, making a show of dressing, and he was half aware his deep, endless obsession was on display in his expression. “Onlyprettyspectacular? I’ll have to step up my game.”

“Yes, do.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full and so rare these days. Maia’s expression softened, slack with something like awe. He didn’t feel worthy of it.

“Tell me again we’ll get out of here,” she whispered, pale fingers lifting to trace his features, leaving a trail of warmth on his brow, his cheek, his jaw.

“We will,” he promised, and meant it this time. She’d given him hope, shown him there was still sunshine and warmth in the world even if it was so rarely found. “We’ll get home, and we’ll be safe and happy, with no saints to threaten our peace. I can teach you how to better wield a sword—”

“Hey,” Maia complained, not quite able to smother her smile.

“And you can teach me how to fly.”

Her eyes widened, pools of liquid gold holding his stare. “You’ve never flown?”

“Not once,” he confirmed. “It was always too risky with how high-profile my parents were.” It wasn’t uncommon for aVassalian fae to conceal their wings all their lives and never once take to the skies. Wings were a vulnerability, a weakness to exploit.

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to teach you,” she murmured, stroking her fingers through his hair, deftly untangling some of the knots. “You might fall out of the sky more than once.”

“I’d break bones just to spend time with you.”

Her laugh was like music, her eyes curving now as she smiled. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He decided not to tell her why he’d slaughtered everyone in Kraeva with the dead he reanimated. All those deaths, those innocent lives taken, for thirty minutes with her. And he’d do it all over again. He’d kill every last person in the Saintlands if it kept her in his arms.

Maia’s hand trailed over his chest, her smile faltering when her fingers glided through blood.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, hating the horror, pain, and rage that flashed through her eyes, emotions firing rapidly.

“Who did this?” she asked in a deep, guttural voice that made his breath catch. She stared at the place Dulan Bryath had cut him, peeling flesh from his muscle. Az knew he hadn’t finished the work, knew he’d be back for more.

He caught Maia’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles, tasting his own blood. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. It barely hurts.” A lie, but after being inside her, pain was nothing. He feltgoodeven with the pain. The throb of her bite on his shoulder was its own sort of tonic, offering him healing.

“It matters,” she argued in that low, gravelly voice. Her eyes narrowed when he smiled. “Who did this to you?”

“Mai, I’m—”

The air shifted, hairs rising along Azrail’s arms, and he grabbed Maia, putting her behind him as he spun, searching the lake and the trees for what had alerted his senses. Four undead vessels waited on the path. Four, as if Samlyn anticipated he would fight.

---