Naughty Shadows*
Azriel x Female!Reader
Summary: after three months of waking up satisfied in a way you should only feel when you actually take a male to bed, you talk to Azriel to help you figure out who is doing this to you.
Warnings: PLESE READ WITH CATION BECAUSE READER WILL TALK ABOUT BEING TOUCHED WHILE SLEEPING AND WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE (even though she does tell Azriel she likes it and enjoys it), smut, p in v, shadow sex, bounded/blindfolded (shadow play), oral (both)
Authors note: this has been in my drafts for a while but I never really wanted to post it because of the warning that I hope everyone reads before starting it, I don’t anyone trigger so please if there are more warnings needed please lmk. Take care of yourselves and as always hope yall enjoy 🫶🏻
I also want to apologize for not posting the best part to the arrangement when I have promised time and time again. I’m gonna be very open when I say I’m exhausted and I’m leaving for college in two weeks so work is very draining. That being said… I will be trying to edit posts when I can but I can’t promise much with my busy year coming up. But, I love you all and will keep posting but maybe only once in a couple of weeks unless I have posts scheduled. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
Main Masterlist:
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The morning light crawled across the floorboards of your bedroom at the House of Wind, but for once, it didn't bring the usual clarity of a new day. Instead, it brought a heavy, lethargic haze that clung to your limbs like silk.
You blinked against the brightness, your breath hitching as you shifted under the duvet. The sensation was immediate and unmistakable: that specific, deep-seated ache of satisfaction, a residual warmth radiating from your core that you hadn't felt in years. It was the kind of lingering contentment that only followed a night of absolute, explosive intimacy—the kind of pleasure that had been a stranger to your life for far too long.
But you were alone. You were always alone.
For three months, this had been your reality. It started as a vague, confusing sense of well-being that you tried to dismiss as a trick of the mind or a particularly vivid dream. But as the weeks bled into months, the physical evidence became impossible to ignore. You were waking up feeling used in the most exhilarating way, your body humming with a phantom touch that left you breathless even as you sat up in the silence of your room.
A cold shiver raced down your spine, replacing the lingering heat. Fear, sharp and jagged, began to prick at your skin.
You were living in a nightmare that felt like a dream. Someone—or something—was slipping into your room, bypassing the wards, ignoring the Illyrian guards patrolling the halls, and finding you in the dark.
You scanned the room, your eyes darting to the locked door, then to the heavy curtains fluttering in the mountain breeze. You knew the caliber of the people who lived in this house. The Inner Circle was untouchable; their wards were absolute, and their loyalty was beyond reproach. None of them would ever violate your space like this. It was an impossibility, a violation that went against everything you knew of your companions.
So who the hell is getting into my room?
You pulled your knees to your chest, your knuckles white as you gripped the sheets. The satisfaction you felt—the very thing that should have been a gift—now felt like a brand of ownership. Every morning, you were left with the terrifying, maddening question of who was watching you, who was touching you, and why, for the love of the Mother, they were making you enjoy it so much.
The air in your bedroom felt suddenly suffocating, the remnants of that strange, phantom heat now replaced by a frantic need for answers. You didn't bother with a robe, not caring that you were still in your sleepwear. You bolted from your bed, the floor cool against your racing feet, and didn't stop until you were pounding on the heavy oak door down the hall.
You didn't wait for a response. You pushed into Azriel's quarters, your breath hitching in your throat.
He was standing on his balcony, the morning mist clinging to the stone, his back to you. He was shirtless, the morning light catching the jagged scars across his wings and the sharp, powerful lines of his spine. He was murmuring something low—a serrated, melodic tongue—to the dark, swirling smoke of his shadows that danced around his shoulders.
But the moment you stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted.
The shadows didn't just notice you; they abandoned their master. They surged toward you, dark and cool as mountain water. Before you could even process the movement, they were swarming around your face, pressing soft, ticklish "kisses" against your cheeks and the crown of your head. A startled, breathless giggle escaped you, the sound feeling jarringly light in the tense room.
Azriel turned slowly. His expression, initially sharp with the remnant of whatever private conversation he'd been having, softened the instant he saw you. He rolled his eyes, a flicker of something fond and weary passing over his face as he gestured dismissively at the shadows, which retreated into his skin with a reluctant huff.
He closed the distance between you in a few long, silent strides. He stopped only inches away, his presence massive and grounding. His dark eyes swept over your flushed face, taking in your disheveled appearance and the lingering haze of sleep in your eyes.
"What's wrong?" he whispered, his voice like the grinding of stones beneath a river.
You looked up at him, your mouth parting to let the truth spill out—to ask him if he knew, if he had heard, if he could help you track the phantom who haunted your sheets. But the words died in your throat. How could you explain it? How could you tell him that every morning you woke up feeling like a woman who had been loved, when the man before you was the very picture of restraint?
You shook your head, biting your lip and looking down at the floor, suddenly feeling foolish.
Azriel didn't accept the silence. He reached out, his hand—calloused, cool, and steady—coming to rest under your chin. With a gentle, firm pressure, he tilted your head back until you were forced to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed against the column of your throat, a grounding touch that made your pulse jump.
"Tell me," he commanded, his voice dropping into that low, insistent register that brooked no argument. "What is wrong?"
You froze under his touch, the intensity of his gaze making the air in the room feel heavy and thin. The words felt like lead in your stomach, but the need to unburden yourself was becoming unbearable.
"I believe... someone is getting into my room," you whispered, the confession barely audible.
Azriel went deathly still. The shadows that had been restlessly swirling around him vanished in an instant, sucked back into his skin, leaving him looking sharp and dangerous. He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping into a register so dark and possessive that it made a shiver rack your entire body.
"What?"
He saw the reaction—the violent ripple of goosebumps across your skin—and his hand moved instantly. He dragged his palm down your shoulder, his skin radiating a natural, grounding heat that he pressed against you, as if to shield you from the very chill he had just induced.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering. "I've been feeling... things in the morning," you managed, your voice trembling.
Azriel's brow furrowed, his expression shifting from predatory alertness to deep, focused confusion. "What things?"
You sighed, the heat rising into your cheeks until they burned. Looking anywhere but at him, you forced the words out. "I've been... satisfied in the morning. And I don't understand it. I haven't slept with a male in months, and I don't... I don't touch myself."
Azriel's eyes widened, the dark irises dilating until they were almost entirely black. A flicker of something—recognition? Shock?—passed through them before he nodded slowly, his expression smoothing into a mask of carefully controlled calm.
"Oh," he whispered, a single, soft syllable.
You kept your head bowed, the humiliation of the situation stinging worse than the fear. You didn't see the way he looked at you then, the way his jaw tightened, or the dangerous, protective light that ignited in his eyes.
"Do you want me to stay in your room?" he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to vibrate against your skin. "To see if I can find the person that is possibly doing this?"
You nodded, a small, jerky movement. "I'm sorry," you breathed, the apology slipping out before you could stop it.
His eyebrows knit together instantly. "Why are you sorry, love?"
You shrugged, feeling small and fragile in the wake of his intensity. Before you could even formulate an answer, he reached out, his hands moving with a tenderness that contradicted the lethal tension in his frame. He cupped your cheeks, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.
"Never be sorry," he murmured, his gaze searching yours with an unsettling, singular focus. "Never be sorry when you are feeling violated."
You offered him a small, mute nod, but it felt like a lie. As his hands fell away from your face, the phantom sensation of those "nocturnal visits" stirred deep in your stomach—not with the cold dread of an intrusion, but with a treacherous, simmering heat.
You didn't feel violated. That was the secret that made your chest ache. If you were being honest, the reason you were so desperate to find the person responsible wasn't to drive them away or to summon the guards to have them arrested. You wanted to find them so you could finally give a name to the hunger, so you could tell them exactly how you wanted to be touched, and how much you craved to be fully awake, fully present, for every agonizingly delicious second of it.
The thought of lying there, passive and dreaming while someone—anyone—worshipped you like that, was becoming an obsession. And the thought of that someone being Azriel, standing right in front of you with his shadows coiled in expectation, made your blood roar in your ears.
You couldn't say it. Not yet. The shame of that desire, set against the backdrop of your supposed terror, was too much to bridge.
Without another word, you turned away from him. The silence in the room felt heavy, charged with the static of things left unsaid. You walked toward the door, your steps steady despite the turmoil racing through your mind, and slipped out of his room, leaving the Shadowsinger standing alone in the morning light.
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The dining room at the House of Wind was a symphony of clinking silverware and low, easy banter, but tonight, the atmosphere felt charged with a strange, static electricity. You sat in your usual chair, your pulse drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs, because right beside you, Azriel had taken the seat he usually avoided.
Normally, he was a silent sentinel across the table, his eyes always tracking you from a distance. Tonight, the proximity of his shoulder—warm, solid, and radiating a low-level heat—made it impossible to focus on your meal.
Cassian's eyebrows pinched together immediately. He opened his mouth, likely to comment on the shift in the seating chart, but a sharp, warning glance from Rhysand silenced him.
Amren, however, had no such reservations. She set her glass of wine down with a deliberate clink, a cruel, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She stared at Azriel, who didn't look up, his attention entirely consumed by the food on his plate.
"Who would've thought," Amren drawled, leaning forward until her long, manicured nails clicked rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. "The spymaster found a new place to haunt at our table."
Azriel rolled his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking, but he remained silent.
"Leave him alone, Amren," Rhysand said, though his tone held a hint of amusement.
That was all the permission Cassian needed. "Finally had enough of just watching her, huh, Az? Finally worked up the nerve to make it to second base and actually sit next to her?"
You froze, your fork clattering against your plate. The words hung in the air, blunt and agonizingly close to a truth you weren't ready to face. You risked a glance at Azriel, expecting him to be annoyed or perhaps defensive. Instead, he simply shook his head, looking bored, and continued eating with rhythmic, controlled movements.
You watched him, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly shifting in your mind.
He is a spy. The thought echoed in your head. He was a master of infiltration, a creature of shadows who was never supposed to be caught. And as you replayed his reaction from that morning—the way he had listened to your confession of those "night visits" with such terrifying, composed focus—you realized he hadn't looked shocked at all. He had looked... resigned. Or perhaps, simply waiting.
The suspicion that had been a dull ache in your mind suddenly flared into a blinding, terrifying clarity.
You pushed your chair back, the screech of wood against stone cutting through the conversation like a blade. Everyone turned to look at you, their chatter dying instantly.
"I'm not hungry," you whispered.
Rhysand's gaze sharpened, his violet eyes scanning your face, searching for a crack in your composure. You didn't give him the chance. You clamped your mental shields down tight, forming an impenetrable iron wall around your thoughts so he couldn't see the panic—or the budding, dangerous realization—that was consuming you.
Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out of the dining room, the weight of Azriel's gaze burning into your back with every step you took toward the sanctuary of your room.
Azriel didn't even wait a minute after you pushed your chair back. He silently excused himself as he followed behind you.
You were walking fast towards your bedroom when you heard his loud steps, steps that you knew he was making loud on purpose to let you know he was coming after you. You paused for one second, before picking up your speed and running down the hall.
The sound of your heart thundering in your ears nearly drowned out the heavy, deliberate thud of boots against stone behind you. You didn't look back—you couldn't. The moment his presence shifted from the dining room to the hallway, the instinct to flee took over, and you broke into a sprint.
"Stop," Azriel's voice echoed, distorted by the shadows he was already calling upon. It wasn't a request; it was a growl, low and vibrating with a possessive authority that made your skin prickle.
You gasped, your momentum faltering as you risked a glance over your shoulder. The hallway was empty. The sconces flickered, casting long, dancing silhouettes against the walls, but there was no sign of him. He had vanished into his element, moving through the darkness like smoke.
You skidded to a halt, spinning around to face the empty corridor, your lungs burning and your eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "Azriel?" you breathed, your voice trembling.
He wasn't there. There was only the oppressive silence of the House of Wind and the feeling of eyes watching you from every corner.
You turned to bolt for your bedroom door, but you didn't even make it a step.
A hand, large and calloused, clamped firmly over your mouth, silencing your sharp intake of breath. Another arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against a solid, chest-plated wall of muscle. You let out a muffled shout, your hands flying up to claw at the arm holding you, but the strength behind the hold was absolute.
"I told you," a voice rasped against the shell of your ear, so close that the heat of his breath sent a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. “To stop.”
The shadows swirled around you both, thick and suffocating, locking the rest of the hallway out of existence. You were alone with him. And now, you were far from dreaming.
His hand stayed firmly against your mouth, his presence an immovable wall behind you. "If I let go," he whispered against your ear, his voice a jagged, low vibration, "will you scream?"
You couldn't find your voice to answer. You just shook your head, the movement slight against his palm. He sighed—a sound of profound, weary frustration—and then the world lurched. The sensation of winnowing was a sharp snap of pressure, and in a heartbeat, the hallway vanished, replaced by the dimly lit, familiar sanctuary of Azriel's bedroom.
The moment he released his grip, you scrambled away, your feet hitting the floor as you bolted toward the exit.
"Please," he called out, his voice raw, stopping you dead in your tracks. "Just listen."
You stood at the door, your back to him, chest heaving. You turned slowly, your eyes finding him. He looked undone—his hair mussed, his composure shattered in a way you had never seen.
"It's not me," he whispered, the words heavy and stark. "Who is doing this to you. It isn't me."
You shook your head, your mind reeling. "Then who?"
Azriel let out a long, ragged exhale, his eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity. "It's my shadows."
You stared at him, the silence stretching until it felt brittle. "What?"
He ran a hand down his face, his skin flushing a dark, painful crimson. "My shadows haven't been sleeping. And when I am... I feel everything they feel. Every stray thought. Every impulse." He took a hesitant step toward you, his eyes pleading. "Touch my wings."
You hesitated, your breath hitching, before you reached out. Your fingertips brushed the sensitive, dark leather of his wings. The moment you made contact, a violent shiver racked Azriel's body. Almost instantly, the shadows spilled from his skin, turning cold and eager, trailing like velvet kisses down the column of your neck.
Azriel hissed, his hands coming up to forcefully sweep them away, his chest heaving.
"So why have they..." you whispered, your voice barely audible as the phantom warmth of them still lingered on your skin.
He leaned his forehead against his hand, eyes closed. "I've been having dreams... about you. Dreams I couldn't wake up from."
The realization hit you, soft and devastating. "Oh."
Azriel nodded, the blush deepening on his cheekbones as he finally met your gaze, his eyes burning with an honesty that terrified and thrilled you. "My shadows have been finding you. They've been doing that to you because... they are nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. And they haven't been able to control it."
The air in the room grew heavy, the remaining tension vibrating with the confession that hung between you. You didn't pull away, instead, you stepped deeper into his space, your presence emboldened by the knowledge of what had been happening under the cover of night. You rose onto your tiptoes, your breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of his neck, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the pulse point jumping there.
Azriel shuddered violently, his hands coming up to grip your waist as if he were trying to anchor himself to the earth.
"What happens in those dreams, Az?" you whispered against his skin, your voice a challenge wrapped in desire.
His eyes snapped shut, his head tilting back as he surrendered to your touch. His voice was a wreckage of restraint when he finally answered, low and jagged. "I... I fuck you."
A hum vibrated in your throat, a sound of dark satisfaction. You dragged your tongue along the curve of his throat, feeling the heat radiating off him. "And how do we do that, huh?" you murmured, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension locked in his muscles. "What happens to make your shadows come into my room and fuck me in my sleep?"
Azriel let out a shuddering, broken breath, a sound that quickly devolved into a raw, hungry moan as his own shadows, that are being deliberate and cruel, brushed against the sensitive membranes of his wings. He was losing his battle, and he knew it.
You didn't give him the chance to pull away. You reached down, your hand firm and sure, and gripped him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The reaction was instantaneous; Azriel lurched forward, a deep, guttural moan ripping from his throat as he arched his spine into your touch.
"What do you do to me, Az?" you whispered, your smirk feeling dangerous, intoxicating. "Tell me exactly what happens in that room."
His eyes snapped open, his pupils blown wide until the irises were nothing more than thin rings of silver. He looked haunted, his breathing ragged.
"I tie you," he rasped, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive pitch that made your knees weak. "I bind your wrists so you can't reach for me, so you can't push me away. And my shadows... they touch you first. They wander everywhere I'm too afraid to put my hands."
He stepped into you, his hardness pressing against your stomach. "They tease you, they edge you until you're sobbing, until you're begging for release—but they never give it to you. They aren't allowed. Only I get to make you come."
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice a lethal, dark promise. "I blindfold you with them, weave them tight across your eyes until you're entirely mine in the dark. You won't know if it's my fingers or the cold, hard press of my shadows inside you, and I'll make you guess, over and over, until you're screaming my name."
His hands moved to your waist, his grip bruisingly firm as he pulled you flush against him. "And when you can't take it anymore... when you're begging for mercy and my name is the only thing you can think to say... I take you."
He growled, a sound of absolute, primal hunger. "I make you realize that the dreams were nothing compared to the reality of having me inside you, fully awake, fully yours. I'll make you shatter, and I'll hold you while you do it, and I will never, ever let you go."
He didn't wait for your answer. He slammed his mouth onto yours, the kiss tasting of desperation and months of pent-up, shadow-darkened obsession, as he backed you toward the bed.
The world tilted as Azriel pushed you back onto the mattress, the plush fabric sinking beneath your weight. Before you could even blink, his shadows surged upward like living ink, coiling around your wrists and hauling them high above your head, pinning you against the headboard.
Azriel loomed over you, his eyes burning with a dark, predatory intent. He stripped his shirt off in a single, fluid motion, the muscles of his chest and abdomen rippling with every movement. When he kicked away his pants and underwear, the sight of him—hard, thick, and undeniably ready for you—stole the breath from your lungs. A helpless, needy whine escaped your lips, your hips bucking instinctively toward him.
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face, his gaze tracing your flushed skin. "The exact reaction I dreamed about," he rasped, his voice rougher than any growl you'd ever heard him give.
He didn't make you wait. He leaned down, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he stripped your pants and underwear away, exposing you completely to the cool air of his room—and to his insatiable, dark stare. He braced himself between your knees, his skin radiating a feverish heat that made your body ache to bridge the final gap between you.
"You're going to be so good for me and my shadows," he whispered, his voice a low vibration against your stomach as he slid his head between your thighs, tasting the slick heat he had been craving for months.
You gasped, your hips arching off the mattress as Azriel's tongue teased you with agonizing precision. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your own body. "You taste so much better than I imagined," he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger that had been festering for months.
When he finally pulled away to capture your mouth in a searing, bruising kiss, you whimpered, reaching for the friction you were suddenly denied. But the contact didn't stop. Instead, you felt the cool, velvety prickle of his shadows swirling between your thighs, mimicking the movement of his tongue with a terrifying, intimate accuracy.
Azriel chuckled against your lips, a low, dark sound. "They know every part of you, baby," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and pure, unadulterated possessiveness. "That's what they've been doing for three months. Tracing every inch, memorizing every reaction, so when this moment finally came... I would know exactly how to break you."
Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the friction of the shadows building a pressure in your core that felt like it would snap you in two. You were on the razor's edge, your breath hitching in jagged, desperate gulps. But just as you peaked—just as the world began to white out—the shadows vanished, withdrawing instantly.
The sudden absence left you reeling, your head falling back against the pillows with a frustrated, needy cry.
Azriel moved up to cover you, his warmth pressing you back into the mattress. He caught your gaze, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He kissed your neck, his lips lingering on your pulse, and as he traced a slow, deliberate line with his finger down the center of your body, he slid it inside you. The sudden, invasive heat of him sent a fresh shockwave through your senses, leaving you wide open and shivering beneath him, waiting for the rest.
Azriel watched your reaction, his eyes darkening with a possessive pride as your legs continued to tremble against the sheets. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the mattress, and slipped a second finger inside you, stretching you, claiming you.
At the same time, two of his shadows curled upward, deftly lifting your shirt and discarded fabric away until you were completely exposed. They darted toward your breasts, swirling around your hardened nipples with a cold, electrifying touch that had you gasping.
You threw your head back, your body bowing against the bed as a frantic, ragged plea tore from your throat. "Let me come, Az... please."
Azriel's smile didn't reach his eyes—they were entirely consumed by the sight of your surrender. He leaned down, his voice a firm, lethal whisper against your ear. "Not yet, baby."
You whined, a high, desperate sound, but just as the climax began to ripple through your nerves, he cruelly pulled his fingers away, leaving you hollow and aching. Before you could even process the loss, he withdrew from between your thighs, shifting his weight.
You blinked, dazed and confused, your breath coming in sharp hitches. You reached for him, your instinct to pull him back, as you tilted your head back and parted your lips, ready for the heat of him.
But as you opened your mouth to take him, the sensation struck like a bolt of lightning.
A shadow, thick and firm and cold as ice, pushed into your core with a sudden, driving force. You gasped, your eyes widening as you felt the impossible, phantom shape filling you completely. At the same moment, Azriel lunged forward, thrusting his cock into your mouth.
You let out a loud, broken moan that was stifled by the fullness of him. You were being taken from both ends—Azriel's rhythm in your mouth, and the relentless, chilling friction of his shadows deep inside you. You were trapped, overwhelmed, and entirely, blissfully, his.
You moaned around him, the friction in your throat and the persistent, phantom fullness of the shadows driving you to the brink of insanity. Azriel didn't hold back, his voice dropping into a guttural, wicked rasp as he leaned over you.
"That's it, take it all," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours, blazing with a dark, consuming hunger. "You're ours, aren't you? Even when you're awake, you're just a vessel for my needs. You love how it feels to have my shadows inside you, to be filled by the very thing that's been haunting your dreams. Say it. Tell me you belong to us."
You sobbed a broken agreement against his cock, your senses completely overwhelmed. But just as the world began to fracture, just as the pleasure threatened to swallow you whole, he acted. He jerked his shadows away, leaving you hollow, and pulled his cock from your mouth, leaving you gasping in the sudden, agonizing emptiness.
He waved his hand, and the room went still as the shadows dissipated, retreating into his skin. He stood over you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, before he moved between your thighs.
You didn't wait. You reached out, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, desperate to pull him down, to end the torture. He smiled—a soft, wrecked expression—and lowered himself, slowly guiding his length into your core.
As he pushed inside, the fit was absolute. You groaned, your hips rising to meet him, and kissed him deeply, the taste of him clinging to your lips.
He didn't thrust with the raw, frantic aggression of before. Instead, he moved with a slow, deliberate grace, his dominance shifting into something profound and grounding. "My love," he whispered, his voice shedding its jagged edge, becoming smooth and worshipful. "You are so beautiful. I have wanted this—wanted you—for so long. Everything I am, everything I have, it's yours. It's always been yours, my mate."
The word hung in the air, echoing like a tolling bell. Your eyes flew wide, your heart stuttering as a sudden, golden warmth flooded your chest. The mental walls between you dissolved, replaced by a radiant, undeniable tether. You could feel him—his love, his obsession, the depth of his soul reaching out to claim yours.
You froze, the realization slamming into you as you felt the bond snap into place, vibrating through your very soul. Azriel's eyes widened, his face softening with a look of pure, terrified wonder. He leaned down, brushing his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over yours as you whispered, "My mate."
He just nodded, a single, sharp motion of acceptance, and the dam finally broke. He surged forward, his pace picking up, and you met him with every ounce of your strength. You moved together, a singular entity, the intensity building until the world exploded in white light. You shattered, calling his name, and as he followed you over the edge, he held you as if you were the only solid thing in a universe that had just begun.
The silence in the room was no longer heavy with secrets, but draped in the comfortable, heavy aftermath of your union. As you lay tangled in the sheets, Azriel let out a soft, low chuckle that vibrated against your chest. You joined him, the sound breathless and light, a stark contrast to the desperation that had filled the room only moments ago.
You reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw as you pulled him back down for a lingering, tender kiss. When you finally pulled away, you whispered, "Who knew it would be your shadows who finally got us together?"
Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he looked down at you. "Especially doing it the way they did," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. A sudden, dark growl rumbled in his chest, his brow knitting with a flash of uncharacteristic frustration. "I still can't believe they did that to you, that they took such liberties..."
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, a blush deepening as you recalled the phantom touches and the nights of waking up humming with his influence. "It's fine," you whispered, averting your eyes.
Azriel didn't let you look away. He gently caught your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He saw the flicker of lingering heat, the unmistakable trace of lust that hadn't quite faded from your eyes. He smirked, a wicked, knowing light entering his expression.
"You liked it, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a smooth, dangerous velvet.
You couldn't lie, not with the bond between you humming so brightly. You gave a slow, shy nod.
Azriel leaned in, pressing his nose against yours, his breath warm and tickling. "My little mate," he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with a possessive, teasing edge, "is such a whore."
You gasped, half-shocked, and playfully slapped his shoulder. He laughed—a deep, resonant sound—and before you could protest or reach for another pillow to throw at him, he gathered you into his arms. With a graceful, effortless movement, he lifted you both from the bed and carried you toward the bathroom to get you cleaned up, never once letting his gaze stray from yours.
