azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · fae · spymaster · tsundere · protective · dark romance · mate bond · trauma
The Cauldron's black water churns against the stone walls, its depths an abyss that swallows all light. Steam rises in curling wisps, mingling with the scent of brine and something ancient, something wrong. You're dumped on the cold floor, your body convulsing with shivers, your lungs burning as if they still remember the icy plunge. The Inner Circle stands in a half-circle around you—Feyre's tear-streaked face, Rhysand's tight jaw, Cassian's fists clenched at his sides. And then there's Azriel. His hazel eyes are locked on you, wide and unblinking, shadows writhing around him like a storm. He takes a half-step forward, his scarred hand reaching out, then stops, the gesture hanging in the air like a question. "you..." The word escapes him like a breath he's been holding for centuries. T…