"I know I said I was starving, but I don’t think I can go out," Azalie murmured as she and Azazel entered her room. Their quiet conversation faded with the soft click of the door. She sat down heavily, her aching limbs sinking into the mattress with a quiet exhale.

“It’s Father’s orders we feed Live at the Mother of Pearl,” Azazel said.

Azalie only sighed, her eyes half-lidded as she glanced at the door. The thought of going out into the bustling night, surrounded by others, made her stomach churn. The mere idea of moving again felt unbearable.

She turned to face Azazel, who stood by the unlit fireplace, his eyes fixed on her. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing . . . I just never got the chance to welcome you home properly.”

“It’s not too late,” she teased, her lips curving into a tired smile. He smiled one of his charmingly half-smiles—one that always felt like it belonged solely to her. She had missed that smile. Azalie relaxed, the weight of her exhaustion easing as her brother crossed the room, the flicker of candlelight catching in his golden eyes.

“Welcome home, surată,” he said in a soft Romanian lilt.

She giggled, leaning in for a hug, but before she could, his hands cupped her face, and his lips pressed against hers.

“Zel . . . what was that for?” she asked after he pulled away. 

Azazel tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “Isn’t that how you greet me whenever I return from an assignment?”

She smiled. “Yes, but I kiss your cheek.”

He chuckled. “And there’s a difference?”

"To humans, yes. They kiss lips when they love someone romantically—"  Her words faltered as the lock on the night’s memories broke open, flooding her mind.

Lucius. The kiss she gave him, how his eyes had widened in surprise. Heat rose to her cheeks, embarrassment curling through her as the memory of his startled reaction rushed back. She hadn’t meant anything by it—only to reassure him, to show she meant no harm.

Azazel rested his head on her shoulder. “Humans are perplexing. So many rules and meanings tied to simple gestures. Do we not love each other?”

She quickly pushed the thoughts of Lucius away, refocusing on Azazel. “Of course, but love has different forms. Plato and Aristotle both wrote about it. You should read them—you’d understand better than my explanations.”

Azazel groaned playfully. “Another reading assignment? Wonderful.” She could practically feel his eyes rolling, but he didn’t push the subject further.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes growing heavy as the familiar comfort enveloped her. 

Just as she was about to succumb to the quiet, Azazel shifted, pulling away and rousing her from the edge of sleep. "You still need to eat," he whispered.

She shook her head, leaning into him again. “I’ll wait till tomorrow. I’ll be fine for one more day.”

“Drink from me then.” His voice was soft, but the words struck her like a bell.  The haze of exhaustion cleared in an instant, her eyes snapping open to meet his gaze. He was serious. 

A frown tugged at her lips. Sharing blood between their own kind wasn’t a forbidden act, even among the closely related. It didn’t make them become Rogues, but It wasn’t something one did casually, certainly not without consequence. Biting could become addictive if one got carried away with it. Their fangs released a numbing, endorphin-rich agent that induced an intoxicating euphoria that neither biter nor bitten could easily resist. 

Azalie had given her blood on only two occasions. One of those times had been for Azazel, and it had been a matter of survival. But this… this wasn’t the same. Was it?

Azalie fiddled with the lace of her nightgown, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be fine. I’ve gone a week without blood before. I can handle one more night.” Not that she had enjoyed the memory of that week.

“Zalie, you can’t go to sleep empty after having that poisoned blood.” His fingers gripped her chin gently, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “Tell me—how do you really feel right now?”

“Tired. My head hurts, but I didn’t even drink the whole bottle. I only got half the effects, so I—"

Before she could finish, Azazel reached out and pinched the tender underside of her arm.

“Ow!” She jerked away, rubbing the spot as realization hit. That shouldn’t have hurt.

Azazel watched her reaction closely. "The blood weakens not just our magick but our healing, too." He pointed to the bruise already blossoming across her pale skin, a deep purplish-blue. There was even a small bruise on the back of her hand where she had pinched herself earlier. 

Azazel covered the bruise, rubbing it gently as if he could make it disappear. “I drank the blood too, but I had the whole bottle,” he said

"Zel, what happened when you drank it?"

“The effects happened fast, within about ten minutes. Dante had called me to Father’s study. As soon as I finished the bottle, everything started spinning. The candle light hurt my eyes, and my head felt like it was splitting open and I felt my fire burning at my insides. I couldn’t keep it under control. I vaguely remember rushing to Father’s study, trying to say something was wrong, but I wasn’t coherent. Then I started vomiting black blood.” He paused a moment. “I blacked out after that. Next thing I knew, five days had passed, and I woke up in my bed with Father sitting next to me. He told me I seized after passing out, and my fire went out of control.”

Azalie gasped.

Azazel’s eyes were distant as he continued. “Father confirmed the blood was tainted. He questioned me for hours—where I got it, when, from whom. After that, he canceled all my assignments and put me on bed rest. That’s when he brought in a donor from Mother of Pearl. He had me feed Live for the first time.” His lips twisted into a grim smile. “I felt better almost immediately. After a few days of Live blood, I was up and training again, though he still didn’t give me any assignments.”

Azalie was speechless. It took a moment before she found her voice again. “When did this happen?”

“Two weeks ago. I was one of the first to get sick. The day after, half the estate was sick too. Father threw out all the stock and ordered fresh bottles. No one has gotten sick recently. Except you. You’re the first in nearly a week.”

Her stomach sank. While she was off gallivanting in China, Azazel had been here suffering. Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms as tightness gripped her chest like a vice. “Have they found anything else out?”

“Not much. Just that Live Blood is the only thing helping us recover.”

Azalie rubbed her temples, trying to make sense of it all but her thoughts felt scattered. Before she could say anything more, Azazel pulled her into his arms, cradling her in a moment of comfort she didn’t know she needed.

"Now that you know," he murmured against her hair, "I’m not leaving until you feed—either from a donor at Mother of Pearl, or me.”

She bit her lip. “You were sick not long ago. What if I get sick again after drinking from you?”

Azazel’s chuckle was soft, almost teasing, as he pulled back and smiled. “Zalie, I’m not sick anymore.” He opened his palm, summoning a small blue flame that flickered in the dim candlelight. He closed his hand, snuffing it out effortlessly.

She placed her hand on top of his, feeling the chill of her own fingers against the warmth that lingered on his palm. Her fangs bit deeper into her lip as conflicting emotions churned inside her. She couldn't go out like this—vulnerable, drained, barely herself. But feeding from Azazel? What if she hurt him?

She shook her head and tried to wiggle out of his arms, a protest forming on her lips. Azazel pushed her down against the bed. "Zalie, now isn’t the time for your stubbornness."

He wasn’t wrong—she was stubborn. But this wasn’t about pride. She had gone without blood for long stretches before, but this was different. She hadn’t fed since before China. Nearly a month ago. She couldn’t let him do this.

She tried to sit up, but his hand on her chest gently held her down. With the other, he tugged off his silk tie and began unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

“Zel, please,”  her voice trembled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He threw his tie and waistcoat on the floor, his shirt sliding off his shoulders, exposing his smooth, pale skin. "You won’t hurt me. I’ve had Live Blood all week. Not even a silver bullet could hurt me," he teased.

He bared his neck to her, his skin smooth and pale. Her hands trembled as her fingers grazed his skin. She wanted to push him away, to starve as punishment for what happened in China—for abandoning him when he needed her. For being so selfish.

“Azalie,” he whispered. “It’s all right. Trust in me.”

Trust in me.

Those three little words they always told each other. They were the bearers of each other’s deepest secrets, always and forever. They were supposed to be two halves of a whole. When had she started thinking otherwise?

Her lips brushed his neck, and he stiffened as her fangs grazed his skin. For a moment, she hesitated, but her hunger clawed at her. Her fangs sank deep, piercing his flesh. The taste of his blood, warm and rich, flooded her mouth, and Azazel let out a small grunt. Panic flared within her, and she tried to pull away, but his hand held her in place.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Calm down. I’m fine.”

Azalie forced herself to relax, letting the fiery taste of his blood fill her senses. She let out a quiet moan, sinking her fangs deeper. Azazel groaned as his body relaxed, his breath slow and even.

The taste was divine, but it was too much. She forced herself to pull away after only a few swallows, her lips stained a ruby red.

“You can’t be full already,” Azazel said, sitting up, his golden eyes glowing faintly. He rubbed the bite mark as his skin slowly knitted back together.

She glanced away. "I took what I needed." But even as she said it, the hunger still lingered, unsatisfied.

Azazel’s lips curled into that half-smile she knew so well. “Zalie, take what you need to be full. I’m not some human donor you have to ration and be gentle with.” His voice softened, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Remember, we don’t have to be Azalie and Azazel when we’re alone. We are free to be ourselves, Zalie and Zel.

His words lingered in the air. Was he telling her to indulge herself? To take what she really wanted? A part of her recoiled at the thought. Letting herself be selfish is what got her into this tangled mess of emotions. And since when did he stop caring about Father’s rules?

Does that even matter right now? She felt it should. 

Azazel’s arms tightened around her. The scent of his ocean musk cologne enveloped her senses with memories of the Mediterranean. It was her favorite scent for him to wear. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting as the soft murmur of his words faded into the background. Azazel was right. Alone with him, she wasn’t Lady Azalie, bound by decorum. Here, she was just Zalie, and Zalie would listen to Zel. At the moment, nothing mattered but what he requested of her.

Feed and be full.

She turned in his embrace, her fingers gently covering his mouth to silence him. Without warning, she bit down on the other side of his neck. His muffled groan vibrated against her cold palm as his hands tightened on her waist, before his body relaxed under her touch.

His blood coursed through her like a wave, wiping away the weariness that weighed her down. She felt light, almost weightless, as she drank, the euphoria blurring the edges of reality until it felt as though her body was floating between worlds.

The temptation to continue nearly consumed her, but she forced herself to withdraw, lips brushing over the crimson trail that dripped down his neck, ensuring not a drop was wasted.

Azazel’s breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. He collapsed against the bed with a satisfied sigh, his face buried among the many silk, satin, and Egyptian cotton pillows.

The room blurred in a whirl of beauty, colors swirling vividly like a painting come to life. She collapsed beside him, her body humming with newfound energy. "Zel… are you alright?" Her voice floated, carried on the lingering high. 

She nudged him playfully. "Zel?" No response.

Her brow furrowed. "Zel?" Her tone faltered as unease crept in. He was still. Too still. Panic cut through the euphoric haze, sharp and swift. Her breath hitched as she rolled him onto his back, her heart pounding wildly. 

 “Zel?! Oh, Goddess, say something!” Her voice broke as she shook him harder.

Suddenly, his face broke into a wide grin, and a laugh burst from his chest, shaking the tension from the moment. Azalie froze, disbelief coloring her features.

Relief crashed over her. Oh, thank the maker!

“That’s not funny!” she cried, her voice cracking as she grabbed a pillow with trembling hands and hit him with it. He laughed, shielding himself. “Why would you do that?!”

Azazel could barely speak through his laughter, shielding himself from her pillow strikes. “I—I’m sorry,” he gasped, still chuckling between her blows. “I had to see how you’d react!”

She glared at him, raising the pillow again. "I’m going to beat you bloody with this pillow, that’s what I’ll do!"

“Wait, wait!” he cried, holding up his hands. “Let me rephrase that! It wasn’t to jive you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t lose yourself in the ecstasy!”

She brought the pillow down on him once more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azazel let out a long breath, the humor fading as his golden eyes grew serious. “It means you haven’t changed. You’re still the same Azalie I know. The confident, stubborn girl who keeps me in check and won’t hesitate to hit me with pillows when I push her too far. The girl who, even in a haze of ecstasy, still stopped to make sure I was alright.”

Her breath hitched. She swallowed, her throat tightening as he gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you talking about?”

Azazel’s expression softened, his thumb grazing her cheek as his voice lowered. "I could tell when I found you that something was wrong. I thought it was the poisoned blood, but after you passed out, you kept asking someone to forgive you." His golden eyes studied her, piercing through her defenses. “I won’t ask about what happened, not until you’re ready. But Zalie,” he said, his gaze unwavering and sincere. “You don’t need to hide your feelings from me. Trust in me.”

The words of their childhood promise hung in the air, heavy and familiar. A reminder of the bond they shared. A bond that went beyond words, beyond blood, beyond the secrets they had kept even from the world itself.