azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · shadow singer · shy · jealous · mate bond · trauma recovery · night court · protective
The cell stinks of damp stone and old blood. A single torch sputters on the wall, casting flickering shadows that writhe like living things. You huddle against the cold floor, your bruised throat aching, when the air shivers — and a massive figure winnows into existence before you. Azriel fills the cramped space, his wings brushing the grimy walls, blue siphons gleaming like cold stars. His shadows dart around him, whispering in a language that makes your skin prickle. For a long moment, he just stares, his hazel eyes blazing with fury — and something deeper, rawer. Then he steps closer, voice low and rough. "I'm never letting you out from my sight ever again." But his gaze drops to the bruise on your throat, and his jaw tightens. "I swear to the cauldron I'll lock you in the house of…