Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 28

Warning: Talk about the force Illyrian girls have been under, from the males.

Euodia:

"Tell me exactly where we are going?" I inquire, my gaze fixed on Azriel as he hastily pulls on his boots, extending a pair to me.

"The Illyrian Camps outside of Velaris. Troubles have flared up, and Cassian has called for help," he rushes out, securing the last of his weapons to the numerous belts adorning his form. The holder for his sword finds its place strapped behind his back, a practised motion that speaks of the countless battles he has faced.

Turning toward me, he grunts in displeasure as he takes in my less-than-ready state for the impending conflict. Without uttering a word, he retrieves one of his own leather jackets, expertly dressing me in it. The garment, too large for my frame, swallows me whole, its sleeves extending beyond my fingertips. Azriel, swift and efficient, folds the cuffs up, a subtle adjustment to make it functional for the urgent task at hand.

"Got Truth-Teller?" he questions, his eyes scanning for the dagger. I nod in response, bowing my head slightly to reveal the hilt nestled within my braid. The jacket, laden with concealed daggers, carries the weight of anticipation and readiness.

His scent, a heady mixture of leather, steel, and a hint of something indescribably alluring envelops me. It's a sensory onslaught that threatens to render me momentarily senseless, but the urgency of the situation snaps me back to the reality of the impending mission.

"Stay close to me," Azriel instructs, his voice a gentle yet authoritative command. He pulls me into his embrace, but this time, there's a subtle shift in the way he holds me. His arms fold down to the lower parts of my back, drawing me even closer to his body than the weeks prior. The proximity sends a shiver down my spine, and my breath hitches in response to the sudden closeness.

At this moment, the calm morning of breakfast and small talk feels like a distant memory, even though it's only been an hour. The tranquillity of those moments seems like a world away as Azriel's presence becomes all-encompassing. I can't tear my gaze away from the steady rise and fall of his chest, and I wonder if he senses the subtle changes in my body—the accelerated heartbeat, the shift in my breathing—as he pulls me closer into the circle of his arms.

The air between us crackles with an unspoken tension, a palpable energy that hangs in the balance. In this intimate embrace, I tread carefully, not daring to disrupt the fragile bubble of closeness that has enveloped us. The atmosphere, once filled with the simplicity of morning rituals, now pulses with an undeniable connection that transcends mere proximity.

Before I can fully grasp the implications of this shared moment, Azriel's shadows envelop us, wrapping around both of us like a protective cocoon. The familiar surroundings of the Townhouse fade away, replaced by the comforting darkness and safety of the shadows. As we navigate the unseen realms together, the contrast between the ordinary morning and this extraordinary journey becomes stark, marking a transition from the mundane to the mystical.

Blinking my eyes open to the stark winter sky, I am immediately assailed by the cacophony of chaos. The air is thick with the symphony of shouts, clashes of metal, and the hustle and bustle of hurried activity. Positioned near one of the craggy mountains that encircle the valley where Velaris rests, I observe the sprawling camp laid out before me.

It resembles a city of tents, a makeshift metropolis born out of necessity. The tents vary in size and shape, hastily erected with an air of urgency. Many appear precariously balanced, a testament to the hurried nature of their assembly. Fires dot the landscape, their flickering flames providing warmth and a semblance of civilization in the midst of the makeshift war camp. Cauldrons perch atop the flames, hinting at meagre attempts at sustenance.