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Lucien snarled, the noise reverberating through the floors. “You don’t touch her—you don’t touch her.” Doors along the hall began opening.

Elain sobbed, softly and miserably, so at odds with the unmitigated pleasure she’d been lost to moments ago. Az hadn’t been able to stop himself from seeking her out, even with her mate under the same roof. His salvation—that was what Elain was, what he’d been willing to fight for.

Well, now it seemed he would.

Footsteps thudded in the hall. “What the fuck?” Cassian choked as he stepped into the room, taking in Az’s and Elain’s states of undress, scenting the desire still thick in the room. His brother’s eyes went as wide as Az had ever seen them. “What the fuck, Az?”

Then Nesta was there, shoving past Cassian, past Lucien, who had the audacity to try to stop her. That earned a warning glare from both Nesta and her mate.

Nesta scanned Az’s face as she neared, her own sharp with dismay and disappointment.

Az broke Nesta’s stare first, focusing on the two males by the door.

“Let’s take this into the hall,” Cassian instructed Lucien, calm despite the Siphon atop his hand roiling with ruby fire.

“I agree,” a dark voice rumbled.

Az steadied himself. Rhys had arrived, Feyre in tow. Mor was a step behind them, a flash of gold and color. Az couldn’t bear to look at her.

Lucien turned on his heel, sparks trailing in his wake, and obeyed the High Lord. Leaving Az with his family in the suddenly too-small room. Even if his shadows had been willing to come to his hand, there would have been no hiding from this. From them.

“Put on your fucking clothes,” Rhys bit out at Azriel from where he darkened the doorway.

“Watch your tone,” Nesta snapped at Rhys, and Azriel blinked at her in surprise.

But Nesta had already sat beside Elain on the bed and placed a hand on her sister’s back as Elain covered her face with her hands and trembled.

Some part of Az remained functional enough that he decided to spare Elain from any further ugliness, and he shoved his legs into his pants. He left his shirt and jacket on the floor.

On leaden feet, head feeling distant, he crossed the lush bedroom that smelled of brewing sex and emerged into the vast, dark hall that smelled of fury and death. His shadows at last rushed to him, twining about his ankles, his wrists.

He ignored them. Spineless, soulless traitors, all of them.

Feyre stood to his right, arms crossed, lips a thin line. She lifted her blue-gray eyes to him, full of nothing but pity.

Az bristled. He didn’t need her pity, didn’t need shit from any of them other than to—

“Did you know this was happening?” Lucien asked Rhys. The lordling seethed by the wall across from the door, nose crinkled with rage.

There was nothing Az could do as Rhys held the male’s stare and said plainly, “Yes.”

Cassian blew out a long breath that sounded an awful lot like Fuck. Az didn’t look at either brother. Only at Lucien, burning with white-hot power.

But Lucien pointed at Azriel without so much as a glance in his direction. It took everything in Az not to grab that finger and snap it in two. “You let that male touch my mate under your roof, and yet you still asked me to do your dirty work?”

That male. That monster. That demon. Az might have bared his teeth had he not known it to be true.

A muscle ticked in Rhys’s jaw. “Yes.”

Lucien spat at Rhys’s feet. Mor hissed from nearby. “You’re despicable,” Lucien raged. Pure loathing twisted his pretty features. “All of you.” His gaze landed on Feyre, and his chest heaved once before he accused, “You knew, too.”

Az hated the pain and worry tightening his High Lady’s face. “I guessed.” A grimace back toward Nesta. “We both did.” And had apparently kept it between sisters. “But I . . . Lucien.”

Lucien spat at her feet, too.

Rhys’s growl drowned out the sound that ruptured from Azriel. Yet his brother’s voice was terrifyingly calm as he informed Lucien, “Roar at me all you like, lordling, but do that again to my mate and you’ll find yourself lacking a tongue to spit with.”

“Lucien,” Feyre tried again, ignoring her mate’s threat. “Let’s go downstairs. I know it’s late, but we should talk about this—”