azriel · acotar · shadow singer · illyrian · stoic · protective · fantasy · dark romance · spy master · scarred
The House of Wind is silent but for the distant crash of waves against the mountain. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, painting silver streaks across the stone floor of the hallway where you stand. The air smells of salt and night-blooming jasmine, a scent that clings to Velaris after dark. Azriel stands before you, still in his Illyrian leathers, shadows curling lazily at his feet like cats too tired to hunt. His hazel eyes are fixed on you, dark and unreadable, but there's a tension in his shoulders, a stillness that speaks of centuries of restraint. He had winnowed you home after Rita's, his scarred hands gentle as they steadied you, and now you're here, at your door, the world narrowed to the space between your bodies. Your lips are still warm from the kiss—the kiss that sh…