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I recalled the previous day with a new outlook. The miserable trip now made me smile to think about. “Agreed. The air is so much smoother than the waves. I’m very pleased the gods gave you wings instead of fins.”
“Aye, I’d look ghastly with scales.”
I turned in his arms and let my hands fall around his neck. “I disagree. And I could think of a few fun things you could do with a tail.”
His brows raised half an inch. “This hypothetical situation better not be feeding your real-life fantasies.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of fantasies for you to indulge, my feathered favored.” I tapped the tip of his nose with my finger.
“As long as one of them includes a bathtub.” He winked before pulling me against his body. His hand reached under my thigh as I curled it around his backside in anticipation for the rush of our ascent. “Ready?” he asked, with a glint in his eye that sparked my own excitement. I nodded, and after the tight jerk of my chin, we leapt into the sky.
The wyrd was a place outside the rules of our realm, following its laws of time and space, its own weather and behavior. As soon as we crossed the imaginary boundary that surrounded the strange sanctuary, we were met with an overwhelming wind at our backs. Azriel floated on the breeze, letting it carry him effortlessly back to our world, back to a reality I didn’t want to face yet.
He climbed higher above the tailwind, trying to camouflage our figures against the backdrop of the sky. My neck twisted in an uncomfortable position as I clung to him, watching with a careful eye for any indication of the queen’s army, but there was nothing. No sign of sails or boats, no one daring to face the wrath of the tide or the unknown fate waiting its depths. Just the two of us, alone, as if we were all that existed in the realm. The Starry Sea stretched as far as the moonlight allowed. The reflection of a thousand stars churned in the black swells below as if winking forebodingly—as if the sea seemed to know something I did not.
We flew for a length of time I didn’t pay attention to, distracted by stray hands wandering between the spaces in my leathers. Azriel told me stories while we soared, teaching me of legends of the watchers and their warfare against the dark spirits of our realm. He was an angelic host, a soldier for the gods, a divine spirit crafted in a mortal’s body with human emotions and desires. It was all the best creation had to offer combined into one immortal being.
“What happens if the gods awaken and the day comes? Where will you go?” I asked above the roar of the wind tearing around us. Azriel shrugged in my arms.
“Whatever the gods demand of me. I am bound to them. They sent me to Valdihr to protect creation, but once humanity is at peace and our mission is over, they will most likely call me back to the heavens,” he replied with factual indifference.
“And you have no choice?”
His face betrayed a small grimace. Choices were a difficult topic between us of late. “We always have a choice, Arya. But some come with more consequences than others, some more permanent and painful. My god is not the one to question or piss off.”
“Which god created you, if you don’t mind me asking?” We learned about the dead gods very briefly under the mountain. The Holy Circle was composed of five main gods, each had created and now controlled a part of the realm and governed its existence. What the trainers had conveniently left out, however, were their gorgeous, flying messengers who deserved an idol of worship of their own.
“I was created by Relios,” he said, dryly.
“The God of War, of course.” I bit the inside of my cheek—definitely not the god to piss off. My chest lifted against his in a monumental sigh. “Well, if we both help bring back the sun and save humanity, perhaps he’ll at least let you visit me every now and then,” I said with a small hope still burning in my chest. My fingers fumbled nervously with the collar of his shirt.
“The gods are surprisingly generous, darling, especially when it comes to their huntress. You never know what they will allow.”
I watched his wings beat powerfully against the star-filled sky, trails of galaxies painted behind him, illustrating the beauty of the god’s handiwork. There was once a time I had feared the night and all its creatures, but then I fell in love with the moonlight and the winking starlight, fell for the man who embodied the very essence of the night itself.
“If they do take you back forever when we bring back the day,” I mumbled next to his ear, “I’ll always be grateful for our short time together. Whenever I see a bird fly in the morning sun or feel a sharp breeze whip against my face, I’ll remember you. And I will send a prayer of thanks to the God of War every time I think of you,” I said, squeezing him a little tighter.
A muscle flexed in Azriel’s jaw, and he gave a tight smile. “I would like that very much, Arya. Thank you.”
It was a warm moment between us, one encouraging our eyes to lock and the world melt away. He bent his head low, closing the distance between our lips to place a gentle kiss upon mine. It was soft, sensual, the kind of kiss only lovers exchanged. His attention always dulled my awareness. It stole my sense with every wicked glance and fluid touch. As runners, we were trained to tune out pleasure and pain, focusing on the only things that truly mattered—the physical parts of the world. But I understood now perception wasn’t created just through taste, smell, sight, and sound. Azriel showed me I was missing my final sense, the most important one of all.
Heart.
What I felt with my heart was just as real as what I felt with my hands. Like a blade cutting through wood to make a spear, he sharpened my heart and made it a weapon, one I could wield when all other tangible senses blunted.
Something tugged inside my mind, pulling my attention away from the stirring in my chest to a familiar sound. The humming was distant, a recognizable whisper I had trouble placing in my memory. But as the whistle grew louder, a painful recollection throbbed against my shoulder blade and grazed down to my thigh.
“Arrows!” I gasped, the fear growing wide in my eyes as I looked up at Azriel. But it was too late. My warning was in vain.
A sharp cry tore from his lips in surprise, and we banked hard to the left as his wings wavered. We only fell for a moment before he regained his composure, gritting his teeth and pushing through the hurt caused by the arrow protruding from his right wing. I peered over his shoulder to see where he was hit. Crimson blood leaked across silver feathers. The persistent flap of his wings made the arrow loosen from his flesh until it finally broke free and fell towards the earth. A heavy spray of warmth dripped along my left side.
“Azriel, you need to land!” I cried. Another arrow hummed through the night in our direction. I pulled him hard by his left shoulder, and he tilted, narrowly escaping the hit. It was good for him to listen to my touch, avoiding arrows had been the sole purpose of my existence up until this point, and I was an expert at anticipating their course. Even above the roar of the wind, I could hear the shrill whirr of its tail from a mile away. Judging by the distant knocking of steel against wood, more were coming our way.
He grunted with every stoke, breathing through the pain as he fought against the torn wing spilling blood and throwing our course off balance. He tried to compensate for the injury, but where one arrow flew, others would follow. We needed to get out of the sky.
Another arrow struck, this time hitting his other wing near the bottom where the flesh was the thinnest. Azriel let out another anguished cry as the shot ripped straight through, leaving nothing but a gaping wound and air rushing through it. We dropped significantly with the second hit. Lower and lower, descending toward the earth in clumsy succession. I automatically positioned my legs around his waist, squeezing the narrow part of his body with the inside of my thighs as their muscles screamed in blatant objection. My hold turned from a lover’s embrace to a death grip.
“Brace yourself,” He panted through gnashed teeth. “It’s going to be a rough landing.”
