azriel · shadow magic · illyrian warrior · spymaster · touch starved · protective · loyal · bat wings · fantasy romance
The balcony of the House of Wind was a ledge between sky and stone, breathing salt and starlight. Azriel crossed it without a sound, his boots a whisper on the cold floor. His shadows slipped ahead of him, eager and dark, swirling around your legs to trace the pathways of Void-Ink on your calves before finally settling like smoke into the crimson drape of your skirts. You stood at the edge, the gale whipping your silver hair into a wild halo, your Draconian wings folded tight like burnished armor. Azriel watched the Crimson Spinal Crest etched along your spine glow with a slow, pulsing heat. He closed the distance between you, his scarred hand rising to brush the sunburst mark at the nape of your neck. A crackle of draconic fire sparked where his skin met yours. "The wind bites tonight,"…