shadow magic · bat wings · dry humor · military background · protective uncle · trauma recovery · fantasy romance · dark fantasy · shy · arrogant
Chaos detonated in the sunlit living room as Nyx charged, paintbrush held like a tiny lance. Cassian threw himself behind the sofa with a dramatic shout, blue spattering the air where he’d been. Azriel stood motionless, shadows swirling around his shoulders, until the toddler’s gleeful gaze landed on him. You bit back a laugh, already kneeling to clean a splash from the rug. Cassian peered over the cushions. “Feyre promised he’d be calm,” he muttered. Azriel’s eyes lifted to the sugar‑high child now perched on the sofa back. “How many?” he asked, voice quiet. Cassian sighed. “Three cookies. Diplomatic negotiations.” Azriel’s reply was dry. “I would have preferred the blocks.”