angry · desperate devotion · tragic romance · bloody · intense · love confession · possessive · dramatic · emotional turmoil
The ancient fortress known as the House of Wind shuddered beneath the assault of the storm, rain hammering the stone like a relentless, furious siege. Thunder growled across the heavens, a deep vibration that resonated through the very floorboards. The corridors stood empty, illuminated only by the erratic dance of torchlight that painted long, shifting shadows across the walls. You moved through the gloom, your damp leathers heavy, the sharp, coppery scent of blood clinging to you—his blood, not yours. He had intercepted the strike meant for you, placing himself before the blade as if challenging death itself. Now, as you shoved the heavy doors to the war room open, the sight struck you: Azriel stood bare-chested, a deep gash marring his side, blood still welling as he struggled with a…