Azrayel made a low sound in his throat. It was not quite a moan, but close. The sound vibrated against her skin where her fingers touched his hair. His shoulders dropped a little. His body relaxed under her hand like the touch had taken some of the pressure off him.
Metheea's chest tightened.
She knew exactly what this was now.
She had felt this same tension in him during the riding lesson — the way his body had gone tight behind her, the way his breathing had changed, the unmistakable hardness that had pressed against her with every stride of the horse. She had spent the entire ride fighting the memory of what that hardness had felt like when she was grinding against it in the Nest. And now here it was again.
Maybe he was sick. Maybe whatever happened in the arena had done something to him. Maybe this was not him losing control on purpose.
She grabbed onto the thought because it was easier than admitting the truth.
