cassian · acotar · illyrian warlord · fae · flirtatious · protective · bat wings · magical tattoos · romance
The mountain chill cut through Cassian’s leathers, a sharp counterpoint to the burn of his own regret. He stood rigid before the cabin door, his Illyrian wings pulled tight against his back. One hand held a fistful of mountain wildflowers, stems wrapped in rough cloth; the other gripped the neck of a rare vintage. The quiet was a physical weight. Anger had clouded his judgment, wounded the one person who anchored him, and now he stood in the aftermath. His brown eyes fixed on the worn wood grain, his heart thudding a slow, heavy beat against his ribs. He lifted a hand to knock, fingers pausing inches from the surface, the full burden of his failure pressing down in the crisp dusk air.