Chapter 45 Fate's sick Joke
Nyxara
After the blow-up, I thought he’d stay gone. I wanted him gone. Needed the space to breathe, to pretend his confession hadn’t cracked something open inside me I’d spent centuries sealing shut. Love. From him. It was laughable. Terrifying. A weapon I didn’t want aimed at me.
But the next morning, while I was nursing coffee strong enough to strip paint and staring at the new intel on my burner—Voss’s final deal locked in, North Coast cliffside warehouse, kids already staged—my window slid open again.
Azrael dropped in like a shadow, leather jacket dusted with fresh snow from the rooftops. He closed the window softly behind him, eyes wary but determined.
I didn’t even turn from the counter. “I told you we were done.”
“And I heard you,” he said, voice quieter than the night before—no drama, no smirk, just raw steadiness that made my skin prickle. “North Coast?”
I froze, fingers tightening around the mug. “You spying on me now?”
“Same channels you use. Word travels fast when kids are involved.” He dropped a packed bag on the floor—clearly prepared. Blades glinting at his hip, the same dark leathers he wore when we used to hunt together. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.” I set the mug down harder than necessary. “Absolutely not.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, not crowding me, just close enough that his scent—smoke and night air—wrapped around me like an old habit. “You’re walking into a nest of elders, traffickers, and whatever muscle Voss bought. Alone is suicide. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”
I laughed—short, bitter. “Since when do you get to ‘let’ me do anything? You don’t own me, Azrael. You made that very clear for centuries.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “This isn’t about owning you. It’s about not burying you. You think I can just sit back after…” He trailed off, eyes flicking away for the first time. “After last night? No.”
I wanted to fight him. Wanted to throw him out the window, lock the wards, and handle it my way—alone, like always.
But the truth was heavier than my pride.
I was tired.
Tired of doing everything solo. Tired of the guilt over Jenkins, over Lira’s scared eyes, over the kids I couldn’t save fast enough. And Azrael—flawed, possessive, infuriating Azrael—knew how to fight dirty. Knew me.
“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing my own pack. “But you follow my lead. No grandstanding. No jealousy bullshit. No kissing me in the middle of a firefight because you’re feeling sentimental. We get in, get the kids out, burn the evidence if we have to. That’s it.”
He nodded—serious. “Your lead.”
We left before noon. Black SUV, windows tinted, silence thick between us for the first hour. I drove. He stared out at the endless white, fingers drumming on his thigh like he was holding back a thousand things he wanted to say.
I didn’t give him the opening.
We hit the drop-off station by late afternoon—old pack outpost, vehicles parked and locked. Beyond it: no roads. Just cliffs, hidden paths, and the roar of the sea below.
We shouldered packs—heavy with weapons, ropes, smoke pellets, med kits—and started the descent.
The trail was brutal. Steep switchbacks slick with ice. Wind howled off the water, carrying salt that stung the eyes and crusted lips. My tail stayed tucked tight against my leg to keep balance. Azrael walked a step behind, silent, watchful.
No network the second we left the station. Phones dead weight.
We pushed for hours. Sun dipped fast behind the jagged cliffs, painting everything blood-orange then purple. Cold sank deep, numbing fingers and toes.
Azrael finally spoke as the light faded. “Getting dark. Trails turn deadly at night—loose rock, hidden drops. We should camp. Push at first light when we can see the traps.”
I scanned ahead—nothing but shadow and wind. “There’s a sheltered ledge half a mile down. Marked on the old smuggler maps. Overhang blocks the worst wind.”
He nodded. “Lead on.”
We found it just as true dark swallowed the sky. Natural cave-like overhang, flat enough for a fire. We worked in practiced silence—him gathering dead brush shielded from the wind, me setting chemical logs that burned hot and clean, blue flame, no smoke to give us away.
We sat opposite each other across the small fire, backs to rock, eating cold ration bars and drinking from canteens. The tension hummed—unspoken words crackling louder than the flames.
His eyes kept flicking to me, then away. Mine did the same.
Finally, I stood, brushing crumbs off my pants. “I’m scouting the perimeter. Make sure we’re alone. Stretch my legs.”
He poked the fire with a stick, sparks rising. “Don’t go far. Cliffs drop sharp here. Yell if you need me.”
I nodded and slipped into the dark.
The wind was fiercer away from the overhang. Salt spray misted my face. I moved careful—tail low for balance, horns glowing faint red to light the path without giving me away.
Then I heard it.
A low groan. Pain. Male.
Human? No—deeper. Wolf.
I followed the sound, heart picking up. Crept to the edge of a camouflaged pit—smugglers’ trap, branches and netting over a deep drop.
Peered down.
And my stomach bottomed out.
Eryx.
Sprawled at the bottom like discarded trash. One arm bent at a sickening angle—dislocated. Blood matted his dark hair, pooling under his head from a nasty gash. Coat torn, face pale even in the dim light.
Unconscious.
Or close to it.
Fuck.
Why him? Why here? Why now?
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
I could leave him.
Should leave him.
He’d insulted me. Dismissed me. Fucked me senseless then tried to act like it meant something. He’d heal—wolves always did. Someone would find him eventually.
But he looked… broken.
Seven feet of raw, unyielding power reduced to this. Bloodied. Alone. Pitiful.
I cursed—long, creative, multilingual.
Then started looking for a way down.
Found a narrow ledge along the side. Tied my grappling hook to a sturdy rock outcrop, lowered myself slow—muscles straining, tail wrapping the rope for extra grip.
Hit the bottom hard. Knees jarred. The pit stank of blood and damp earth.
Eryx was heavier than sin.
Dead weight—limp, massive, easily twice my size.
I checked his pulse first—strong, steady. Breathing shallow but even. Head wound serious but not fatal yet. Shoulder dislocated bad.
I slapped his cheek—light, then harder. “Eryx. Wake up, you big idiot.”
Nothing.
Groan.
Still out.
Perfect.
I looped rope under his arms, knotted it secure around his chest. Climbed back up first—burning arms, tail aching from the effort—then braced and hauled.
Inch by agonizing inch.
He was heavy—muscle and bone and sheer bulk. My shoulders screamed. Sweat froze on my skin. Once, the rope slipped and he dropped a foot—I nearly went over with him.
But I got him up.
Over the edge.
Then the real fun: dragging him back to camp.
By the legs.
Head bouncing over rocks—sorry, not sorry.
By the time I stumbled into the firelight, hauling him behind me like a slain bear, I was drenched in sweat, shaking, horns glowing bright with exertion.
Azrael shot to his feet, eyes wide.
Then narrowed to slits.
“Huh. Who the hell is that?”
I dropped Eryx’s legs—thud—panting hard. Tried to step in front, block the view. “Found him in a pit. Don’t—”
Azrael circled me fast.
Peeked.
And lost it.
“What the fuck!! Hey!!” He kicked Eryx hard in the ribs—solid, meaty thud that echoed off the rocks. Eryx didn’t even twitch. “Where did you pick him up from…?”
“He fell into a pit…” I growled, shoving Azrael back with both hands.
“You should have left him!!” Azrael shouted, tail lashing so hard it whipped the air. His horns flared crimson, eyes blazing.
“Really?? Fuck off, Az.”
“Of everyone in the gods-damned dominion to rescue—him?! The wolf who knotted you and sent you running back to me smelling like regret? Are you sure he’s not stalking you? Following us here like some obsessed—”
“Shut up and help,” I snapped, dropping to my knees beside Eryx. My hands were already moving—stripping his soaked coat, checking wounds.
Azrael paced like a caged beast, ranting. “Why you? Why does the universe keep throwing this bastard at you? First the dream, then the curse, now this? It’s like fate’s mocking me!”
I ignored him, slicing Eryx’s shirt open with a claw. Blood everywhere—head wound still oozing, bruises blooming across his ribs from Azrael’s kick and the fall. Shoulder swollen purple.
I gripped the dislocated arm, braced his body with my knee.
Popped it back in—sharp twist, wet crunch.
Eryx groaned deep in his throat but stayed out.
Azrael kept going. “He’s probably faking half of it. Waiting to wake up, pin you down, and—”
“Azrael,” I warned, voice lethal as I pulled out my first-aid kit. “One more word and I throw you off the cliff next.”
He crossed his arms, glaring murder at the unconscious wolf. “Fine. But I’m watching him. One wrong twitch and I’m feeding him to the sea.”
I cleaned the head gash—deep, jagged. Stitched it rough but tight with the field kit sutures. Bandaged it thick. Wrapped his ribs for support.
All while Azrael hovered, muttering under his breath about fate and wolves and bad luck.
I sat back finally, wiping blood on my pants.
Eryx stirred.
Eyes cracked open—glazed, unfocused gold.
Found me.
A slow, pained smile tugged at his bloodied lips.
“Even in my dreams… you’re here…”
His head lolled forward—too heavy—and he slumped against me.
Full weight.
Massive frame pinning me to the cold ground, face buried in my neck, one arm flopping over my waist like he was claiming me even unconscious.
I caught him—barely—grunting under the sudden dead weight.
Azrael threw his hands up dramatically. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Really? Even passed out he’s groping you?”
I couldn’t help it.
A laugh burst out of me—short, exhausted, completely ridiculous.
Because of course.
Of course the universe would dump this on me.
Two demons who’d confessed love in twenty-four hours.
One kicking the other while he’s down.
The other bleeding out on my chest, mumbling about dreams.
And tomorrow—a trafficking ring to dismantle.
With both of them.
I looked up at Azrael—still fuming, tail whipping—and smirked through the absurdity.
“Help me move him closer to the fire, or are you just going to stand there whining?”
He glared.
Then—grumbling—grabbed Eryx’s legs.
Together, we dragged the wolf prince into the warmth.
And I wondered, not for the first time, what the hell I’d done to deserve this chaos.
But deep down—buried under the sarcasm and exhaustion—a tiny, traitorous part of me…
Didn’t hate it.