Feyre had invited you to dinner, but upon entering the townhouse, it became evident that
it was a couple's dinner and you had been intended as Azriel's date. Feyre had said there was someone she wanted you to meet, but him? You'd heard of the famous Shadowsinger, often distant and closed off, a literal shadow of the High Lord but also capable of more destruction and possessing more dangerous intelligence than you could imagine. The thought of him was frightening.
The moment you see him though, you nearly drown in his beauty.
His dark hair falls across his forehead, shadowing his hazel eyes just the way he prefers. But it doesn't hide the years of pain etched in his brow. His expression is dark, but you note a surprising amount of longing there, hidden behind faked disinterest. He catches you staring but doesn't turn away. You wonder if he knows the reason for your invitation, if he's even interested. You pull away from his stare but continue to feel his eyes one you as you survey the rest of the room.
You watch as Feyre moves around Rhys, tweaking the table settings, and Nesta stands beside Cassian in the doorway with her arms crossed, obviously wishing she had somewhere else to be. Even Amren and Varian had made an appearance, though they cuddle in an oversized chair in the next room beside the fireplace, oblivious to the gathering company.
As everyone makes their way towards the table, Azriel approaches you and silently pulls out your chair, a kind gesture to sit, though his gaze doesn't meet your eyes. He takes the seat beside you and sinks down, his shadows evident: faint, but still present. Conversation begins around you, but you stay quiet as thoughts of the mere inches that separate your knee from his consume your mind. You know he's reading every movement, every breath. That's what he does. He monitors and takes notice of his surroundings, deduces motives and reasoning. In no time, you know he will sense your curiosity… perhaps even the faint trace of your blossoming attraction.
Food starts to be passed and Cassian hands you a basket of rolls. You reach across the table to take it, but the delicate sleeve of your dress falls off your shoulder. You see Cassian's eyes go towards Azriel, and when you turn, you see him focusing on the newly exposed skin of your shoulder. You look just long enough to earn his gaze and almost immediately his cheeks tint pink and he turns towards his plate, his ever-present shadows darken as they begin to swirl around his shoulders.
"You could help a lady out, Az." Cassian taunts.
In one swift move, Cass stretches across the table and reaches for the fallen strap. Softly he pulls it back up atop your shoulder, brushing a stray strand of hair out of the way in the process. A shiver shoots down your spine, a surprise to even you.
The delicate touch of an Illyrian warrior, you muse.
You would have never imagined. You notice a glare radiating from Nesta and you thank the Cauldron she doesn't still have that silver fire coursing through her body. The rumors had been scary enough; you didn't want to experience it in person.
Azriel has seemed to close himself off, perhaps embarrassed or simply too shy to interact, you don't know. But you set down the basket of rolls and pull one out, offering it to him with a soft smile. His eyes dance between the bread and your gaze, and after a moment of hesitation, he reaches out to take it. His scarred hands brush yours, too perfectly to have been by accident.
There's a muffled thud and he jolts in his seat. You startle with the sudden movement, but as he reaches down to rub his shin, he throws a glare towards Cassian and you know what's happened. Cass returns a pointed look before turning back to the conversation at the other end of the table, leaving the two of you alone in your own quiet pocket of the table.
"Thank you."
It was almost too quiet to hear, but you turn to Azriel and he repeats his words, his voice a low, soft, river of sincerity. You meet his eyes and watch as he studies you affectionately; a small smile tugs at the edges of his lips. You feel his barriers begin to fall and the butterflies start to flutter in your stomach. You wonder if he can sense it.
You pull your eyes away and look down the table, feeling a blush threatening to color your cheeks. As a distraction, you look over the others. Nesta stabs her fork at Cassian as he tries to steal a bite of potato from her plate. Varian feeds Amren who sits cross-legged on her chair facing him, almost ignoring the table entirely. You wonder what the others are up to, those noticeably absent.
Just then you feel a gentle brush against your legs. You look down to see dark swirls winding around your lap, the shape of your dress, shadows mimicking the draped lines of the material against your legs. You bring your gaze to the Illyrian beside you and find his focus on his plate, idly toying with his fork. But from under his thick, dark lashes, you see his eyes look to you, to the shadows.
A look of panic flashes across his face as he turns to face you in full. It would seem his shadows have betrayed him and found their way to you on their own, insisting he pay you more attention. They give their approval as they swirl around you, crawling up to your shoulders and leaving a perfectly beautiful trail of sparkling, black, smoky glitter in their wake. You marvel at the sensation before a sly voice pulls your attention.
"Cool it, boy." Amren quips.
"If you could reign it in at the dinner table, Az, that'd be appreciated." a deep voice adds with a chuckle.
You look further down the table and see a smirk growing on Rhysand's face. Feyre beams with a smile directed at you. This was obviously her hope for the evening. You blush knowing everyone sees Azriel's growing fondness and wonder if everyone was in on your invitation. You consider that maybe Azriel had requested Feyre invite you himself. Could it be possible that you had caught his attention without realizing?
The shadows recoil slowly to their master, and a hazy shadow of a woman, beautiful, steps up next to you, breaking the moment and holding a bottle of wine. You take the cue and grab your glass and hold it up for her to fill. But just as you lift it, Azriel lifts his hands and wraps his fingers around yours, holding your glass with you. In one fluid motion, he stands, taking the bottle from the ghostly beauty and dismisses her with a warm smile. You see it then, a kindness and appreciation, as he thanks her with a nod and sets her free from her duties.
His large hand engulfs yours and the calloused scars catch on your skin, but overwhelming warmth sinks through your arm and floods through your entire body. His eyes don't leave yours, but he continues pouring and somehow doesn't spill. Setting the bottle on the table, he extends his free hand. You reach for his palm and he pulls you up to meet him. His eyes wash over you once, almost too quickly to notice, but you do. And it's not even a question now if he wants you. And you think you just might want him too. The rest of the room seems to disappear, the table behind you a blur.
"Come with me? We can enjoy this somewhere else."
His eyes go out of focus for a moment and his head tilts. Then his gaze shifts to Rhys.
"I will." Az says, eyes narrowed, but you don't understand in regard to what.
Then he untangles your joined hands, allowing you to hold your own wine, and reaches for the bottle and an extra glass, pulling you towards the hall and the steps beyond. You can't help but watch how his leathers move against his body, how his wings fall in sync with each movement.
"Shall I send up leftovers in a bit?" a familiar voice teased, Rhys. "Don't leave her famished."
"I won't." Az returns over his shoulder, but he turns to you and adds, "I wouldn't dream of it."
Something in his voice had shifted and your stomach flips.
You leave the dining room, hand in hand, and start up the steps, knowing full well where this is going. With him a step ahead of you, his wings are on full display. You've never been this close to an Illyrian set of wings before and can't help but admire their beauty. Their shape and length are mesmerizing, and you reach out and attempt a touch. You run a gentle finger down their edge and Azriel stumbles, a shudder trailing down his body that he can't help. His breath catches as his eyes roll back, closing momentarily before he turns to you, not even noticing the bottle he dropped that's now a waterfall of red on the steps. His darkened stare burns, his glittering shadows start to grow and dance around you, wrapping both of you in a lovely darkness.
He hesitates, his eyes clearing again in wonder, his brows pulling together as he contemplates his next move. You lift your hand to attempt another stroke, now knowing what it does to him, but he catches your wrist mid-air.
"Not yet." he smirks.
His eyes narrow playfully as he assesses you, and for the first time you see him coming to life. He closes in, a low growl resonating in his throat, forcing you to retreat until you're up against the railing, your feet finding unsteady ground on the stairs beneath you. He steps into you, straddling your legs, pushing into the layers of your gown and doesn't stop until your bodies are flush against each other, one powerful leg between your own and the other to your side.
He towers over you and his stare falls from yours eyes to your chest and you realize from his vantage point, he can see down the front of your rather low-cut neckline. You watch as his breathing intensifies, and your lips part in flagrant want.
He moves slowly forward but dips his head to allow his lips to meet your neck instead. He snakes a hand up your back and into your hair, grabbing a handful, and pulling just enough to keep you still while he traces a soft line from your collarbone to your ear with his lips, tongue, and teeth. You close your eyes and let out a small moan, and your head tilts in response, allowing more room for him to explore as you run your free hand up his strong chest, toned and shaped from a lifetime of discipline and training.
Unable to think of anything other than the fire consuming you, you drop your glass, still full of wine, and jump as it breaks. Your eyes fly open to look to the steps, but you realize instead that you're in the middle of a blur of shadows: black and glittering, moving aimlessly, swirling in and around you both like an embrace. And it's beautiful.
"Get it, Az!" a comedic voice hoots proudly from the dining room.
A yelp of pain followed as someone undoubtedly put Cassian in his place.
"And don't worry, we'll clean your mess." another male voice adds sarcastically, followed by a similar yelp.
In an instant, the mess of glass and wine is gone and you marvel at the magic of it all. Azriel pulls away, rolling his eyes, but a small smirk consumes his lips… his full beautiful lips that had just been on you. He glances up the stairs and tilted his head.
"Shall we?"