Page 31 of Court of Twisted Angels

"I've been wanting to do that," he murmurs, his lips brushing mine, "since I first tasted you." His voice is low, rough, and it starts an ache up between my legs again.

I can taste the magic on his tongue, feel the power humming beneath his skin. My body aches with pleasure, every nerve ending alive and electric. I reach up, tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there.

"And what do you want now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers trail down his chest, tracing the lines of his sculpted body.

He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to the conduit band around my palm. The metal hums with latent magic, resonating with the power that still pulses around us.

"Now," he says, his voice a low rumble, "I want to watch you come undone again." His fingers trace patterns across my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

His hand slides down, fingers dipping between my thighs. I gasp, arching into his touch. The sensitivity is almost too much, but he doesn't relent. He circles my clit, slow and deliberate, drawing out a moan from deep within me.

"Azrael," I whisper, my voice catching. The pleasure builds again, slower this time, but no less intense. His fingers move expertly, tracing patterns that drive me wild.

He leans down, capturing my mouth in another kiss. His tongue explores, teasing, tasting. I can feel the magic pulsing between us, the connection growing stronger with each touch, each kiss.

"Come for me, little bird," he murmurs against my lips. The command sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm helpless to resist. Pleasure crashes through me, waves of ecstasy that leave me breathless and shaking.

He holds me through it, his body a steady anchor in the storm. And for once, I don't think about my past or what I should be doing, I don't let logic or reason leak in. I just savor this moment with him.

Since I know I won't have it for long.

18

KYRIE

Sunlight streams through the open courtyard that I have grown used to training in. My muscles burn from hours of repetitive movements, practicing the forms needed to channel magic through my conduit. The band around my palm pulses weakly, nearly drained from constant use. Something I'll need Azrael to remedy. Or I can bring it among other things with magic to imbue it again.

Around me, other trial participants move through their own exercises. A woman with braided silver hair conjures ice crystals that shatter against practice dummies. Two brothers duel with enchanted wooden swords, their movements so fast I can hardly follow.

It seems after the third trial yesterday, they are wanting to give more humans an advantage. Like me. They want a real fight at the end.

If they get a victor at all.

But my attention keeps drifting to the empty space where Azrael usually stands, critiquing my form with those piercing blue eyes. The memory of last night burns hot in my mind - his touch, his wings curling around me, the way his magic feltcoursing through me. And I swear I have never come so hard in my life, but holy fuck - he knows what he's doing.

I slam my palm against the training dummy harder than necessary, channeling a burst of borrowed magic that leaves scorch marks on the enchanted wood. The effort drains my conduit completely, the metal band growing cold against my skin.

"Damn him." The words come out as a snarl. A nearby trainee glances over, then quickly looks away when he catches my expression.

I grab my water skin and storm farther away from the others, tipping my head back to look up at the sky. The great spires of New Solas pierce the clouds above, their white stone gleaming in the sunlight.

Somewhere up there, in those pristine towers, Azrael is probably going about his day like nothing happened. Like I haven't become part of his routine.

My fingers trace the scar on my neck as I watch a group of xaphan nobles glide between the towers, their wings catching the light. Of course he wouldn't show up. What was I thinking?

He finally got what he wanted from me, right? I was good entertainment, a good fuck, and now I've been abandoned for the final trial. He probably doesn't think I'll survive it.

The conduit band feels heavy on my palm, a constant reminder of everything that separates us. Even with this magical aid, I'm still just a human playing at channeling power that comes naturally to his kind.

Heat builds behind my eyes but I refuse to let the tears fall. I've survived worse than a xaphan's rejection. I have to focus on what matters - completing these trials, earning my wings, saving my mother. I can't let one night of weakness derail everything I've worked for.

I need to get out of here, I realize. I need to do…something. So I take off for the tunnels beneath the arena, which should be empty with everyone at training.

My muscles protest with each step as I slip through the darkened corridors of the arena complex. The third trial left me with bruises layered upon bruises, and my lungs still burn from breathing the poisoned air near the peak. But the movement and pain helps redirect my mind.

Magical orbs cast pools of silvery light at regular intervals along the stone walls, their glow dimming and brightening in a slow pulse that mimics breathing. My feet make no sound on the worn stones - a skill learned from years in the slums.

I pause at an intersection, running my fingers along the wall's intricate carvings. Ancient xaphan script flows like water across the stone, telling stories of past glory that I can't read. The conduit band tingles against my palm, responding to the latent magic woven into the building itself.

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