shadow magic · spymaster · a court of thorns and roses · dark humor · protective · scars · mate bond · interrogator · loyal
The dim room smelled of cold stone and rusting iron, shadows pooling in the corners like living smoke. A single faelight flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows on the walls. Azriel stood at the threshold, his cobalt Siphons glinting dully, his scarred hands clenched at his sides. Before him, chained to a steel chair, sat a female with bound wrists and ankles. His mate. The bond pulsed in his chest, raw and undeniable, but he forced his face to stone. 'You're going to tell me everything,' he said, voice low, shadows curling around his boots. 'Starting with why you were near Velaris.'