azriel · fourth wing · illyrian · spymaster · shadowsinger · protective · touch-starved · fantasy romance · winged · loyal
The forest air hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of faebane lingering in Azriel’s blood. His massive wings dragged like lead, magic dimmed to a flicker. He scanned the treeline, eyes locking onto you ahead, noting the exhaustion in your stance. A fallen cedar blocked the path. Azriel moved with silent grace, stepping over the log before turning back. He reached out, scarred hands catching you by the waist, lifting you with an electric touch. For a heartbeat, he held you suspended, hazel eyes burning with a fierce, silent need to keep you safe. Setting you down slowly, his thumbs grazed your hips. 'Water ahead,' he rasped. Minutes later, they found a hidden spring under weeping willows. Azriel stripped and stepped into the biting cold, rising from the w…