Chapter 46 The Feelings mutual
Eryx
Light stabbed my eyelids—sharp, golden, too bright for whatever hell I’d crawled out of.
My head throbbed like a war drum, each pulse echoing the hammer blows from the fight the night before. Everything hurt: my shoulder burned where claws had raked deep, ribs cracked and protesting every breath, skull fractured in ways that only a werewolf’s stubborn regeneration could knit back together. Blood crusted thick in my hair, flaking off as I moved, and the metallic tang coated my tongue like I’d been licking iron.
I groaned, rolling onto my side to shield my face from the relentless sun creeping over the jagged cliff edge. The ground was hard rock, dusted with grit that stuck to my sweat-damp skin. For a moment, I let the pain ground me—proof I was still alive.
Then I turned.
And froze.
A male crouched by the low, crackling fire—dark hair tousled from the wind, worn leather jacket hugging broad shoulders, horns curved elegant and deadly sharp like polished obsidian. Those red eyes fixed on me with pure, unfiltered venom, glowing faintly in the morning light.
Azrael.
The incubus.
My instincts snarled awake, fur prickling beneath my skin even in human form. I shot upright—too fast—world tilting violently, nausea surging up my throat like bile. Pain lanced through my ribs in white-hot streaks, but I shoved it down. Adrenaline was an old friend. My hand instinctively went to my side—blades gone. My coat stripped off, shirt sliced open and bandaged with surprising skill, tight enough to staunch the bleeding but loose enough to breathe.
“What… what the hell is happening?” My voice came out gravel-rough, scraped raw from screams I barely remembered. “How did I end up here? With you?”
The incubus rose slowly, fluid as smoke, arms crossed over his chest. His tail flicked behind him like a pissed-off cat’s, tipped with a subtle spade that caught the firelight. “Oh, look at that. Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake. And as ungrateful as ever. Charming.”
I scanned the makeshift camp— a shallow overhang carved into the cliffside, providing scant shade; a dying fire ringed with scorched stones; packs stacked neat against the wall, heavy with supplies that screamed “prepared for war.”
Then I saw her.
Nyxara.
At the far edge of the overhang, leaning against the rough rock wall, arms folded tight across her chest. Her tail curled loosely around one ankle, a subconscious tell of tension. Sunlight slanted in, catching the deep violet of her skin, turning it almost luminous, and highlighting the white-gold streaks woven through her dark hair like threads of starlight. She looked… exhausted. Shadows under her silver eyes, a faint bruise blooming on her jaw. But still beautiful. Untouchable. Like a blade wrapped in silk.
Our eyes met for a single, electric heartbeat.
Then she looked away—deliberately, coldly—like she didn’t know me. Like the night we’d burned each other alive in that forsaken tavern, bodies tangled in fury and need, had never happened.
My chest tightened, a different kind of pain twisting there. Betrayal? Regret? Hunger?
Azrael’s voice cut through the silence like a whip. “We saved your mangy life, wolf. You would’ve been buzzard food—or worse, ripped apart by actual wolves—by sundown yesterday. A simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you. Though it might choke you, given that ego.”
I dragged my gaze back to him, then flicked it to her. “Thank you,” I said, voice low and rough, directed only at Nyxara. It hung in the air between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
She didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. Just pushed off the wall with a fluid grace, brushing red dust from her fitted pants like I was nothing more than background noise. The dismissal stung worse than my wounds.
Azrael’s horns flared with a sudden crimson glow, betraying his irritation. “Didn’t you hear me, mutt? I said we saved you. We. As in both of us. Not just she. Not your little dream succubus fantasy. How dare you thank her and ignore me?”
I met his glare head-on, letting my fangs peek just enough to remind him what I was. “I heard you.”
“Then say it properly. With respect.”
The words tasted like ash, but I forced them out—flat, grudging. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Azrael’s tail lashed harder, carving arcs in the dirt. “Wow. Such heartfelt sincerity. I’m truly touched. Tears are coming any second now.”
Nyxara ignored the brewing pissing contest entirely, as if centuries of dealing with hot-headed males had made her immune. She rummaged in her pack, pulling out three cans—self-heating field rations, military-grade black ops stuff, the kind that cost a fortune on the black market. She tossed one to Azrael; he caught it one-handed, smoothly, with a wink that made my hackles rise.
Then she walked straight to me.
Held the second can out, arm extended just far enough to keep distance.
Our fingers brushed as I took it—barely a graze, skin on skin.
Heat shot up my arm like wildfire, igniting memories: her nails raking down my back, drawing blood; her thighs clamped around my hips as she rode me hard enough to shatter the bedframe; her gasps echoing my growls. I searched her face desperately for any sign she felt it too—the spark, the pull.
Nothing.
Cold silver eyes. Blank expression, carved from ice.
She turned away before I could utter a word, retreating to her spot by the fire.
Azrael noticed—of course the bastard did. His jaw clenched so hard I heard the grind of teeth. He moved fast, sliding in close to her side as she popped the tab on her own can. Hip to hip. Possessive as hell. His tail curled loosely around her calf, proprietary, like it had every right to be there.
“Careful, love,” he murmured, voice pitched loud enough for me to overhear every silky syllable. “Don’t strain yourself feeding the stray. You need your energy.”
She rolled her eyes—actually rolled them—but didn’t pull away. Didn’t shrug off his touch.
My grip tightened on the can until the metal groaned.
I popped the tab—beef stew, rich and steaming, the aroma hitting me like a gut punch of hunger. Scooped a bite with the attached spoon, forcing it down while watching them over the rim.
Azrael leaned in closer, voice dropping to that intimate purr incubi were infamous for. “You need to eat more, Nyx. Keep your strength up for tonight.” He reached over, thumb brushing a nonexistent crumb from her lower lip, lingering a fraction too long.
She let him. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop him.
Something feral roared inside me. My grip dented the flimsy metal spoon.
I took another deliberate bite—calm on the surface—then “accidentally” crushed the can in my fist. Metal buckled with a sharp, echoing crunch, hot stew splattering across the rock in a messy arc.
Azrael whipped around, eyes blazing. “What the fu—”
I looked up, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “Hand slipped. Old injury acting up.”
Nyxara sighed, long-suffering, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Really? We’re doing this now?”
Azrael’s eyes narrowed to glowing slits. “Mr. Eryx… are you allergic to romance? Or just basic manners? Because you’re sitting there brooding like a kicked puppy, glaring daggers every time I touch her. Newsflash, wolf—she’s not yours. Never was.”
I leaned back against the cool rock, crossing my arms slow and casual, letting my muscles flex just enough to remind him I wasn’t some broken thing. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, incubus.”
He stepped forward, tail whipping furiously now. “Oh, you understand perfectly. Back off.”
I smiled—slow, sharp, fangs fully bared this time. “Funny coming from you. I don’t remember her wearing your mark either. No claim. No bond.”
Azrael’s horns flared brighter, casting red shadows on the wall. “I don’t need a mark to claim what’s mine. We’ve got history. Centuries of it—wars fought side by side, nights that would make your one pathetic romp look like a fumbling virgin’s dream. You had one night and a curse that forced you together.”
“One night was enough,” I growled, voice dropping low and dangerous. “She screamed my name loud enough to wake the dead. Begged for more. You hear that in your centuries?”
Nyxara finally snapped, slamming her can down hard enough to dent the rock. “Gods above and below, both of you—stop it. We have a warehouse to hit at dusk. Demon slavers holding those kids—remember them? The ones we’re supposed to rescue before they’re shipped off to the pits? Save the dick-measuring contest for after. If we survive.”
Azrael shot me a triumphant smirk, though his eyes still burned. “Hear that, wolf? Priorities. She said we.”
But his tail tightened around her leg, almost painfully possessive now.
I stood—slow, testing my balance on legs that still felt like jelly from blood loss. Dizziness swirled, but I locked my knees. Steady enough. I walked over, deliberate steps crunching on gravel, stopping close enough that my shadow fell across them both.
Leaned down like I was reaching for a water canteen tucked behind her pack.
My chest brushed her shoulder—deliberate this time, the heat of her body seeping through the thin fabric.
She stiffened, breath catching for a split second—but didn’t move away. Didn’t shove me.
I lingered half a second longer than necessary, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine and smoke that was uniquely her.
Straightened up with the canteen in hand.
Azrael’s eyes were pure murder, horns pulsing like hearts.
I smiled again, fangs glinting. “Sorry. Clumsy me. Still recovering.”
Nyxara exhaled hard through her teeth, frustration etched in every line. “That’s it. I’m going to scout ahead. Alone. You two stay here and… try not to kill each other. We need all hands for tonight.”
She grabbed her twin blades from the pack—curved, wicked things etched with runes that hummed faintly—and strode off into the blinding morning light, tail flicking in annoyance.
Azrael and I watched her go, the sway of her hips disappearing around the bend.
Then we turned to each other.
The air crackled with tension.
He cracked his knuckles, red energy flickering at his fingertips. “One wrong move, wolf, and I’ll drain you dry before you can shift.”
I bared my teeth in what passed for a grin. “Feeling’s mutual, incubus. Touch me, and I’ll rip those pretty horns off and use them as toothpicks.”