Three nights later, Azriel stood in the foyer of his house. Elain was standing in the living room. A thunderstorm raged outside. Water dripped from his hair and wings to puddle on the floor.
Elain crossed her arms. All the lights were off, she wore only a thin nightgown. She must have been asleep. “I was wondering when you’d show your face.”
Good, he thought. He wanted her mad, wanted her pissed. It would make all of this easier.
“I’m not beholden to you,” he said. “You are I are not lovers.”