Azrael
The sun kisses Ivy’s face as we stand on Arcain’s cliff’s edge, my wings itching to break free from their confinement. I want nothing more than to see my mate transform into an Angel of Death. But Ivy is afraid and holding back.
It had been three days since I began teaching Ivy how to release her wings, and still, not so much as a feather had dared to peek out from her back. My mate is holding back, and I think it concerns something more than fear. But she clams up whenever I ask Ivy to talk to me and tell me what’s wrong.
I sigh, feeling the familiar ache in my shoulders and the tension in my spine. My fingers curl into fists as I stare out at the ocean below, the salty air whipping my hair into a frenzy around my face.
This isn’t Ivy’s fault, and I’m not annoyed with her for n
