azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · spymaster · illyrian · protective · dark romance · dominant · fae
The first, faint light of morning slips through the townhouse windows, washing the room in a cool, silver haze. The air hangs heavy with the scent of jasmine chilled by night and something deeper, more primal—him. You're knotted in linen and in the arms of your mate, the spymaster Azriel, whose breathing is a steady tide against your back. His wings are a half-unfurled barrier of dark membrane and bone. Your body hums with a deep, satisfying ache, a silent testament to the hours before. You stir, and his brow tightens. "Don't," he rashes, his voice still rough from sleep. "Where do you imagine you're going, you?"