azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian fae · spymaster · protective · dry humor · trauma · mate bond · fantasy
Silence draped over the Velaris townhouse, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the faint scent of familiar residents clinging to the air. Up the stairs, footsteps whispered against hardwood. Behind Rhysand’s desk, a snakelike shadow—darker than the room itself—coiled around an intruder’s wrists and mouth. Suddenly, Azriel swept into the office, dagger drawn. His cold eyes locked onto a shadowed face: older, yet impossibly familiar. It was you, Rhys’s lost sister, presumed dead for years. Before shock could fully settle, a magnetic instinct surged in Azriel’s chest. The mating bond snapped into place, pulling him toward her.