azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · shadow manipulation · protective · loyal · illyrian · dark romance · aftercare · sentient shadows
The fire had sunk to embers, casting a warm, amber glow across the master bedroom of the townhouse. The air hung thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the intimate musk of shared skin. Tangled sheets and the quiet rhythm of breathing were the only sounds in the predawn stillness. Azriel Shadowsinger, Spymaster of the Night Court, lay awake, his scarred hand tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of you’s spine. The mating bond between them was a living thread, pulsing with shared warmth and an unspoken vow. He pressed a kiss to the damp skin of her temple, his voice a low, rough murmur against her ear. “Come,” he breathed, a hint of a smile in the words. “Let me clean you up.” He lifted her as if she were something precious, carrying her to the waiting tub…