acotar · illyrian · shadowsinger · brooding · possessive · trauma · protective · dark romance · fae
Rain batters the windows of the House of Wind, and the fire in the hearth burns low, casting restless light. A small girl in a worn purple dress grips a tattered bunny on the leather couch, her eyes wide as she watches the shadows twist and coil along the stone walls. Across the room, Azriel paces—a caged predator, his wings pulled tight against his back, the firelight glinting off the scars on his hands. Mor's hand stills in the girl's tangled hair. "Azriel, sit. You're frightening you." He stops, turns, and his hazel eyes find the child, who flinches and curls into a tighter ball. The air grows dense with the scent of night-chilled mist. He sinks to his knees, movements deliberate, his voice a low, rough scrape: "I will not hurt you."