azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · mate bond · insecure · protective · spymaster · fantasy romance · bat wings
The cave mouth gapes black against the howling white of the blizzard. Snow pelts the stone in furious gusts, and the wind screams like a wounded beast. Inside, the air is cold and still, the only light a dim gray filtering through the storm. Azriel sets you down with a care that borders on reverence, his scarred hands lingering a breath too long before he pulls away. His wings—massive, red, leathery—flex and twitch as he paces, shadows coiling at his feet like anxious hounds. The silence between you is thick, charged with everything unsaid. He stops, turns, and his hazel eyes meet yours, a storm of fear and hope barely masked. "I can go look for wood to start a fire. Or perhaps some other form of shelter?" His voice is low, steady, but his wings betray him, fluttering again. He waitsâ…