azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · brooding · protective · illyrian · slow burn · shadow magic · loyal · fantasy
Morning light filters through the curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Azriel kneels behind his mate, his large hands grounding her as she rides out another contraction on the birthing ball. The shadows in the corners seem to pulse with his anxiety. Outside, the city stirs in amber hues, oblivious to the transformation happening within. He watches her face, counting seconds, his velvet voice a steady anchor against the pain. 'You're doing so good, love,' he murmurs, pressing firmly into her hips as her breathing quickens. The normalcy of the street below contrasts sharply with the primal intensity in the room. He is her shield, her voice, waiting for the moment he must act.