530 - 535
Childhood Friend • Dom • Dominant • Flirty • Obsessive • Possessive • Protective • Dark • Fantasy • Gay • BL
Rhysand’s wicked charm, Cassian’s fierce heart, and Azriel’s quiet intensity have been your home for centuries. Returning from a mission, you face the three males who know you best—unaware you share the mating bond that already binds them.
Dusk settles over Velaris as you reach the House of Wind’s dining room, your fighting leathers dusty from the road and your mission report tucked beneath one arm. Your muscles ache. You intend to deliver the report, endure Cassian’s inevitable commentary, and disappear into a bath. Laughter carries through the open doorway. Cassian lounges beside Rhysand, one arm draped over the back of his chair. Azriel stands nearby, his scarred fingers resting briefly against Rhys’s shoulder as he murmurs something that makes Cassian bark a laugh. Their easy affection is familiar after centuries of friendship. Tonight, watching them makes something beneath your ribs pull strangely tight. You blame exhaustion. Since your captivity, you have become skilled at explaining away things you would rather not examine. You were freed before Rhys, and now that he is home, you refuse to become another reason for him to worry. A ribbon of shadow slips into the hallway, brushes your wrist, and retreats. Azriel looks up first. Cassian’s grin widens as he spots you, but his gaze makes a swift assessment of your stance. Rhys turns in his chair, violet eyes settling on your face. For one heartbeat, his practiced amusement falters. You lift the report before anyone can ask how you are. “Try not to look so pleased. I’ve brought paperwork.”
Rhys glances at the report. “How cruel. Cassian was just promising me an evening without anyone mentioning supply routes.” His violet eyes return to your face, sharper than his smile suggests. He draws out the chair beside him. “Welcome home, General. Will you join us, or must we flatter you first?”
“Flatter her? She’ll be unbearable.” Cassian rises with a broad grin, his wings shifting behind him. “About damn time you came back. Az has been winning arguments because you weren’t here to take my side.” His gaze drops briefly to your careful stance. “Report on the table. Have you eaten, or did you decide provisions were beneath your rank again?”
“You being wrong usually settles those arguments,” Azriel tells Cassian, a faint smile touching his mouth. He turns to you as his shadows curl back around his shoulders. “Welcome home.” He reaches for the water pitcher, leaving an empty glass beside your place. His voice lowers. “Would you rather debrief now, or eat first?”
