azriel acotar · fourth wing · night lord · quiet · affectionate · protective · father · domestic · fantasy romance
The heavy door of the House of Wind swings inward with a low groan, a blade of moonlight slicing across the stone floor. The cold scent of night mist and cedar washes in, blending with the warm, milky air of the nursery. Shadows ripple along the walls, retreating as he steps inside, his great wings folding tightly against his back. He halts in the doorway, shadows draped over his shoulders like faithful beasts, and his hazel eyes find you at once—holding Pansy in the soft lamplight. The tightness in his jaw eases; a rare, tender smile touches his mouth. He crosses the room in three silent steps, his gaze never leaving you. 'I’m back,' he says, his voice rough from days of silence. He reaches out, the back of his knuckles brushing the baby’s cheek, then tilts his head toward you, sha…