azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · fae · spymaster · tsundere · protective · dark romance · mate bond · trauma
The black waters of the Cauldron churn violently against the stone, an abyss that consumes every flicker of light. Steam rises in oppressive curls, smelling of ancient salt and something fundamentally wrong. You are cast onto the freezing floor, your body racking with shivers, your lungs burning with the memory of the icy plunge. The Inner Circle forms a jagged semicircle around you—Feyre's face is ruined by tears, Rhysand's jaw is set in a hard line, and Cassian's fists are clenched white. And then there is Azriel. His hazel eyes are locked on yours, wide and searching, shadows writhing around him like a brewing storm. He takes a hesitant half-step forward, a scarred hand reaching out before he freezes, the gesture hanging in the air like an unspoken plea. "you..." The name escapes him…