“Bast?”
He looked down at her, and she was glad she was doing this here where she could see his face.
“Yes, Jaanaman?” He snuggled his face into the crook of her neck.
God, how did she even phrase this? How could she tell him what she wanted without destroying everything they already had?
Sensing the tenseness in her body, he sat up on his elbows until he was looking down at her, two little frown lines etched between his eyes. “What is it, Little Flame?”
Azar smiled at his old nickname for her, but it only made this next part harder.
“Oliver kissed me. When we were sober, I mean.”
Silence.
“And Donovan. And Jack wanted to kiss me, has wanted to kiss me for a while now.”
More silence. Her heart began to hammer in her chest as panic at his lack of reaction. She’d started now, so she had to finish. “And I wanted them to kiss me, and it is so fucked up because I love you. You own my soul, but they own a little piece of me too, somewhere deep down and I can’t shake it. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t. It’s shit timing, and a shit thing to do to you, but you have to understand, it has nothing to do with your problem,” she winced. “Our problem,” she corrected, but it was too late.
Bast sat up, and she wanted to drag him back down into her arms. “What are you saying, Azar?” His use of her name hurt her. “Do you want to be with them?”
She shook her head, but even that was not right. “I want to be with you. And with them. I don’t want to choose. You each give me something I need, and I don’t want to fight against it.”
He stood and started pacing, but he didn’t say anything. His silence was becoming unbearable. “Oliver said that the Were have polyamorous groups. That there’s enough love to go around.”
Bast whirled toward her. “Did he?” He raised an eyebrow, but the rest of his face was the neutral Jann mask that drove her so crazy.
Azar gritted her teeth “He respects you, Bast. He’s a friend. But he loves me too.”
Bast’s shoulders hunched as he deflated. “And do you love him?”
“Yes,” she breathed. There was no doubt in her mind. Not like with Jack and Donovan. She knew she loved Oliver unconditionally, as he loved her.
Bast flopped down on the sand beside her, and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. What she was asking of him was selfish. If he’d asked the same of her, she would have been throwing fireballs at his head.
But in the next moment, Bast proved he was a better person than she could ever be. “I knew I should have made him a cat skin rug when I had the chance. It was inevitably going to come down to this. Any person with eyes can see it when you are in a room together.”
She held her breath, just waiting. “Oh?” He stared, appraising her with an intensity that made her quake. “You know that it doesn’t mean I love you any less, right? I love you so much that when you weren’t with me it is a physical ache in my soul. I have enough love for you all. I swear this to you,” she babbled.
She sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. This was important. They could all die tomorrow, but she needed this small window of happiness.
“I know, Jaanaman. For you, I would do almost anything, even share the one person I love beyond all others.”
“Barry Mannilow?”
He smiled at her, and she felt the pressure in her chest ease. “Barry Mannilow, and you. Tell that Cat that if he breaks your heart, I will break his face. That goes for the others too.” He laid down and pulled her into his arms. “Now come here and let me have this final moment where I can have you all to myself.”
Chapter 14
As much as she had wanted to, she hadn’t had time to tell Oliver or Donovan about Bast’s tentative agreement to their little proposal. The place had been a mad house from the moment she’d stepped from her room.
There was an uneasy tension within the dens. The different armies had begun to arrive. The Adel from different regions, the Unbound, and the Weres who wanted to join the cause had begun pouring in, and each one needed to be interviewed, and given a thorough security check. They’d learned their lesson with Becca.
But with so many distrusting people in one area, it was like a powder keg waiting to explode. The full-blooded Djinn had years of prejudice to work against, and snide remarks could sometimes be heard in the halls, towards the Unbound, or a Were or sometimes even one of Lorcan’s Fae.
She and Aaron had broken up so many fights in the last twenty-four hours that if it kept up she wouldn't have any energy left to fight a war. When Killian had arrived a few hours earlier, it had helped to keep the Djinn in line.
With the arrival of the other Adel, Cy’s lady love Vivian had arrived, and Azar hadn’t glimpsed her brother since. She couldn’t blame him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or the balls grow bluer. She knew where they had been for the last day, at least.
With so many soldiers in one place, there was machismo enough to spare. That definitely included the man in charge of leading the Unbound troops. Ethan was much older than he looked, which was about twenty-one, but he was apparently in his late seventies. Definitely a half-blood then. Azar had no idea what race.
The guy had strode in with his troop, about thirty men all in all, and shook hands with Azar first, and then Killian.
“Councilor,” his voice was low and effortlessly sensual, at direct odds with his stern face. “I’m Ethan, the elected Captain of the Unbound troops. At your service.”
He was about her height, maybe a half an inch or so taller than her six feet and his body was clad in black cargo pants and a tight black shirt. If there was an ounce of fat on his body, Azar didn’t know where it was hiding. He had black hair, dark chocolate brown eyes and caramel colored skin. Maybe Latino? He stood at attention when he spoke to her, so definitely military on the outside.
“Thanks for coming.”
He was looking at her respectfully, but every now and then she caught his eyes wandering over her body. He was hot, there was no doubt about it, but she had enough trouble already. Why was she getting a weird sense of déjà vu at the thought?
“We have something worth fighting for. More will join our forces throughout the day,” Ethan said, his tone returning to strict formality. With that, he gave her a respectful nod and started shouting orders at the troops he’d brought. They were all military from what she could see, and Azar again wondered about what they did in mainstream human society.
An Adel soldier made a snide comment that Ethan and his troops ignored. Killian growled something at the offending Adel, and the man had the good grace to look guilty.
Azar walked with Killian toward the meeting rooms, which had been set up as a War Room. “I thought that a common enemy would bring them all together, but all they seem to be doing is fighting amongst each other like school children,” she sighed.
Killian shrugged. "They will come together after the first battle. Blood has a way of solidifying an alliance."
“If they don’t kill each other first,” she grumbled. They might just do the Fae’s job for them at this rate.
Halfway down the tunnel, she began to feel a little claustrophobic. “I’m just going to head outdoors. Being in the tunnels all the time is making me feel a bit off.”
Killian nodded knowingly, continuing down the hall with a small finger wave. She backtracked through the tunnels and out one of the side entrances.
When she stepped into the sun, she sucked down a large gulp of air. The walls no longer pressing in on her, and she felt like skipping across the meadow.
They'd set up a practice ring in the center of the field, and a group of Were trained against Lorcan’s Fae. Most in wolf form, they were outclassed one on one. But if there were two wolves against one Fae, their odds were better. Eventually the Fae still overcame them, but it was a closer fight.
There was a large crowd around the training soldiers, some watching intently, others laughing and joki
ng with their comrades. She saw Nevyn and Freya sitting side by side on a log, watching the fighting, and Freya had half a dozen small knives in her hand. Throwing daggers.
Freya bit her lip between her teeth as she lined up what appeared to be a pillowcase stuffed with gods-knows-what. There was a bullseye painted on the middle of it, and she pulled back her arm with fierce concentration before letting the small dagger fly. It landed dead in the center of the bullseye.
She wandered over, clapping.
“Well done! That was a great shot”
Freya flushed, the pale skin over her cheekbones turning pink. “Thanks, Az. Enya gave them to me, and Nevyn taught me to throw them.”
Nevyn grinned. “I am not as good at throwing the daggers as Freya. I am better with the sword.”
“Who’s Enya?”
Nevyn gave her a disapproving look. “My tutors told me that a good leader strives to know the name of every person in their court. Enya is one of the Black Prince’s guard.”
It was Azar’s turn to flush red. “Sorry, but in my defense, I have met hundreds of people today alone. Names were never my thing. Is she the one with the curly red hair?”
There weren’t so many female Fae in Lorcan’s guard, and they all dressed the same; men, women and Princes.
Nevyn gave her a knowing look and Azar sighed. “I’ll make more of an effort, okay?”
He smiled, throwing a dagger toward the target. It swung too far to the left and landed on the very edge of the pillowcase. He sighed with disappointment, and Freya threw another one, so it landed snug against his. The pillow burst open and a shower of leaves, feathers and dried grass flew out.
They smiled at each other, then they began to laugh hysterically until they fell off the log and onto the ground. Azar gently pried the daggers out of Freya’s hand as she curled in a ball of giggles. She laid the daggers far enough away that they weren’t likely to stab themselves accidentally.
She left them rolling around in the dirt, gasping for breath, just being children, and she couldn’t help but smile at their childish giggles. She walked over to Lorcan, who was standing on the edge of the ring, watching his soldiers train.
“Care to spar?”
“I’m not sure that would be appropriate, Goddess. I would not wish to injure you accidentally.”
“Pfft, maybe I’ll injure you accidentally. Besides, I need to practice fighting with my super special sword.”
“Basatine,” he corrected.
“Sure, Basatine. Because I can promise you, my sword experience is next to zero. Give me a gun and I could probably shoot you seventy percent of the time. But with a sword, I’m just as likely to chop off my own leg as stab my opponent.”
Lorcan considered her statement. “Basatine is not like a normal sword. It has been blooded. It remembers how it has been wielded in the past. Just hold on and it will do the work. But you are right, it would be pertinent to teach you the basics of the sword.”
Fighting stopped as they strode into the ring, and everyone moved off to the sides. Azar didn’t know if she wanted everyone to watch as she got her ass handed to her. She drew Basatine out of the back holster.
“You should be in your other form. It will be the form you’ll most likely be fighting in, and you should try and find your balance there.”
She looked down at her workout gear. It was the only one set she had with her. If she left them on, they would turn to ash in seconds. She was among a group of people where public nudity was a natural part of life, especially the Weres and the other Djinn.
She sucked in a breath and removed her clothes. She held Lorcan’s eyes, daring him to look down. He held her gaze chivalrously. There were mere seconds between standing in her underwear in the field, and being completely encased in flames, but it felt like the longest three-seconds of her life.
In Ifrit form, she was a sight to behold. Unlike a full-blooded Ifrit, whose whole body morphed into the very visage of a demon, she maintained her human shape. Well, except for the large batwings that unfurled from her back. Her hair stood on end, each strand an individual flame, floating upwards like a candle. Flame rippled over her skin like a fiery cloak.
Now the sword in her hand was ignited too, blue flame traveling over the hilt and up to the very tip.
She stood with her legs braced wide, the sword resting in her hands like it was an extension of her arm. Lorcan drew his own sword, a huge claymore looking thing that was decorated up the sides with etchings of crows.
“Pretty sword,” Azar commented, and Lorcan bowed low.
“Thank you. It was my father’s. Are you ready? We will just spar for a little while so I can judge your level of skill. Some of my men said you acquitted yourself well against Finlay, though he is no great swordsman.”
“Sounds fine. Do I say ready, set, go?”
Lorcan just laughed, stepping forward and taking a halfhearted jab at her stomach. She danced backwards, away from the sharp tip. “Are you sure you should use your fancy sword. I wouldn’t want it to melt.”
“This is the twin to yours. Brandr created one for each of the Kings of the Fae. It will survive.”
He swung again, and the sword came up to block it naturally. He dropped his shoulder, bringing the sword under Azar’s guard and up toward her left thigh, and she dropped her sword again to block it, the clanging of metal reverberating around the open space.
She danced backwards out of his reach, tempted to just use her wings and fly up into the air. But she was here to learn, so she stepped forward, ensuring her weight was balanced on her back foot, and swung.
The sword took off by itself, slicing at Lorcan’s torso, before swinging up and around at his head, making him dance backwards on the defensive. Glancing off Lorcan’s blocking blade, she swung back down toward his left-hand side, aiming for his ribs. The sword moved, position after position, until their speed was so quick that the crashing of metal swords, hers alight with blue flame, was as quick as Azar's racing heartbeat. She didn’t overthink her steps, just let the sword and her instincts direct her.
But still, their speed increased until they were a blur of movement, and her muscles were aching.
“Stop!” Azar panted.
Lorcan’s sword halted mid blow, and as soon as his sword lowered to his side, Azar’s flame went out and she collapsed down on the ground in a heap, panting for breath.
Her blood thundered in her ears, and when Lorcan offered her a hand up, she thought about refusing. She seriously contemplated just lying in the middle of the field, naked and having a heart attack.
The thundering in her ears decreased, and she finally heard the sound of applause. That was what made her get to her feet. She was lying naked, face down in the dirt, in front of at least a hundred people. Lorcan pulled off his tunic and offered it to her, and she was satisfied to see that his own perfect body was glistening with sweat.
She jumped to her feet, pulling the tunic on mid motion. It hung down to mid-thigh, but it was conservative enough. She pulled on her yoga pants as well.
She shook Lorcan’s hand. “Thanks.”
He shook his head. “My pleasure. I have not had a sparring partner of such skill in a long time. With Basatine in your hands, you need no further training. Listen to your weapon and your instincts, and you’ll be victorious in all your battles.”
She picked up Basatine's sheath, and slid the weapon away. She’d oil it later.
“Let’s just hope that it stays in my hands. In the hands of the enemy, Basatine could be quite the adversary. Now, I am going to go have a shower and collapse somewhere. Thanks for the tunic. I’ll have it laundered and returned.”
He waved away her thanks. “Whatever I can give is yours for as long as you need it, Goddess.”
“Just Azar, remember?” She didn’t want paranormal ears picking up her little secret.
Lorcan bowed his head. “Of course, Azar.”
She limped her way back towards the mouth of the den, through cheer
s and exclamations. She needed a bath, or a massage, or an entirely new body.
Oliver met her a few feet from the door into the cave system that housed the dens.
“I gotta say, that was quite the exhibition, Az.”
She only had to take one look at his stupid big grin to realize he wasn’t talking about her sword skills.
“I hope you took a mental picture, because you’re never gonna see that again.”
He laughed. “We’ll see. But seriously, I didn’t realize you had such swordsmanship.”
“Me neither.”
Hobbling downhill on aching thigh muscles was like torture.
Oliver wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Want me to give you a piggyback ride back to your room?”
Azar almost collapsed with relief. “Please.” She strapped on her sword sheath, fitting it snugly across her back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he hoisted her onto his back, holding her thighs.
“Mush, mush!” She pointed down the hallway.
“I am not a husky!”
She laid her head against his. “I love you, you know that right?” The words came naturally with Oliver. They fit like they were always meant to be together, without the angst and the what-ifs. They just felt right.
She was desperate to tell him that Bast had said okay. She wanted to push him against the wall and kiss him so that the whole world would know. But there was a time and a place for that discussion and in the halls dressed in another man’s tunic was neither the time nor the place.
He squeezed her thigh. “I love you, too. But you better hold on.”
With that little warning, he ran full speed down the hallways, dodging people and shouts, bumping off walls and archways, until Azar was laughing so hard she could barely hold on.
They got back to her room, and he dumped her on her bed, flopping down next to her. She couldn’t feel Bast in the room, so she assumed he was with Killian in the War Room. He was taking over reconnaissance and scout duty with the Werebirds.
The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0) Page 59