Naughty little shadows | 4
Pairing: azriel x fem reader
Word count: 3K
Warings: Hmmm angst, I think that’s it.
Summary: You and Azriel begin to navigate the new complexities of your mating bond, but you quickly realise how dangerous this could become. Is being mated to the Shadowsinger worth your safety?
A/n: Enjoy angels, let me know if you need adding to the taglist! Also would love to hear your thoughts in the comments - L
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
You weren’t sure how long you ran, but the desperate sprint out of River House led you down the streets of Velaris, nearly colliding with passersby.
You winnowed yourself into Adon’s apartment above the art shop, startling Adon as he clutched a mug he had been sipping from moments ago. The blood from his face drained as he saw your tear-stained expression.
“It happened again” you sobbed, looking down at your hands.
“Shh, it’s alright.” He had pulled you into a soft embrace “Tell me what happened”
As if to spare you the embarrassment of explaining, your shadows, apologetic and subdued slumped into his apartment. Your distress had reached them, they seemed to recognise the need to finally obey. Coiling around you, they awaited your command.
You reeled them in, feeling a newfound sense of authority as you sniffled. The shadows delicately swirled around your hand, kissing your skin softly in apology.
They were so much like Azriel’s shadows. Mischievous, but lovely all the same.
A twinge of guilt surfaced to your skin; they were born out of admiration, not malice. Your father had always emphasised that the intention behind your creations determined their nature.
But while these shadows weren’t inherently dangerous, they threatened everything you had worked so hard to conceal.
With a grimace, you clasped the creations in your fist, crushing them to dust, a manifestation of your frustration and the need to regain control.
Adon mused, “At least it was only shadows this time. They seemed quite harmless.”
You nodded, admitting, “I just had no reign over them at all. They almost exposed me at the dinner.” Seated at the small kitchen table, you and Adon continued the conversation. “Gods, I made such a scene.”
Your hands dragged down your face as you recalled your abrupt exit from your evening. You had unwittingly painted yourself as a madwoman, leaving Azriel hurt and bewildered in the process.
Azriel.
God’s he was so lovely, and you had pushed him away. The weight of your words, the regret, and the pained expression on his face lingered in your thoughts.
“A big enough scene to cause questions?” Adon inquired, concern etched on his face. You nodded sadly.
“Come on, let’s go,” Adon clapped his hands, trying to lighten the mood. “I was going to leave earlier anyway, and now I get a companion. You’re coming with me. Pack your essentials.”
Adon’s suggestion of joining him on his annual merchant’s trip seemed like a welcome distraction or, at the very least, a change of scenery. As he swiftly conjured up a bag, it dawned on you that you were leaving Velaris in an instant. The urgency and the timely escape offered a reprieve, and you were grateful for it.
Heading downstairs to the store, where the scent of art supplies and pigments surrounded you, you gathered the workshop clothes, not daring to go back to your apartment in your current state. Adon’s decision to move up the trip provided a practical excuse to leave, but it also felt like a lifeline—a way to escape the web of questions and confusion you knew would be heading your way.
As you packed, the weight of the impending conversation with Azriel lingered. You knew that if you didn’t leave now, it was only a matter of time before he came demanding answers. Answers you couldn’t deny he deserved, but ones you didn’t know if you would ever be ready to explain.
With the bag now ready, you slung it over your shoulder, casting a last glance around the shop. The paintings, brushes, and pigments seemed to whisper their farewells as you locked up.
~~~
Azriel was stunted. Frozen in confusion as he watched you run away–run away from him.
Where did it go wrong? What had he done? His mind was reeling, recalling every breath, every word spoken over the dinner trying to dissect where the problem lied. But he couldn’t detect it. He hadn’t detected anything. It was only when he could feel your impending panic attack pushing its way down the bond, had he noticed something terrible was happening.
He’d failed you. He was your mate, and he hadn’t even noticed how uncomfortable you were.
Azriel wasn’t even focusing on the present, his friends calling out to him with concern and confusion.
"What just happened, Az?” Cassian inquired, his eyes reflecting the shock etched on Azriel’s own face. Mor, Nesta, and Amren exchanged puzzled glances, while Rhysand looked at his shadowsinger with a furrowed brow.
Feyre, always perceptive, didn’t waste a moment. “Go after her!” she urged, shaking Azriel from his thoughts.
Azriel felt a mix of emotions swirling within him – confusion, concern, and a gnawing fear. Without uttering a word, he moved swiftly, letting his shadows envelop him and transport him to your apartment. He knocked on the door, his voice calling out your name, but the only response was the eerie silence of an empty space.
Impatient to wait, he melded into the shadows, exploring every nook and cranny of your home. Yet, it revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Your apartment was exactly how it had been when he had picked you up. A little messy, but still, untouched since then. His gaze lingered over your belongings, as if they held the key to deciphering your recent outburst—anything that could shed light on what had gone wrong.
The notion crept into his mind that perhaps his family’s overwhelming presence had been too much for you. He second-guessed his decision to introduce you to everyone all at once. Ruminating on the alternate scenarios he could have chosen, contemplating whether a double date with Feyre and Rhys, or individual introductions might have been a wiser approach. You were nervous, had said to him you wanted to take things slow and yet he had still asked this of you.
His sorrowful eyes swept across the disarrayed furniture and dried paint stains on the wooden floor. Had someone been here before he came to get you? The memory of your flustered state recalled in his mind. Could you have been in trouble?
A rising feeling brimmed to the top as Azriel sent a concerned ripple down the bond. His eyes darkened, he needed to know you were safe, the bond lurching him in an instinctive primal protectiveness.
Silence.
His ripple met an impenetrable wall. He knew you were physically present, yet the emotional connection felt severed. After your panicked outburst at dinner, how your feelings had involuntarily spilled down the bond, he had sensed the swift reconstruction of your mental shields when you ran away.
His heart sank as the realisation dawned— you weren’t here, and, for reasons unbeknownst to him, you had no immediate plans of returning to your apartment.
Determined to find you, Azriel headed to the art shop in the artists’ quarter. The normally vibrant night scene felt muted as he stepped to look outside the art shop, whose lights were now extinguished.
He leaned his hands on the glass window, peering into the shop, eyes skittishly glancing over the canvases and supplies that adorned the walls. There was no movement. He went to the front door to knock, to see if Adon was somewhere upstairs, or maybe you were hiding in your workshop.
His eyes scanned a sign affixed to the glass door, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar scribbles—your handwriting. The chaotic strokes conveyed a message of temporary closure for external wholesale, the message seemed rushed and he hoped you hadn’t rushed to get away from him.
Although the reality of the situation explained that was most likely the reason why.
Azriel tried to push those fears of rejection away again, but they kept creeping up in the corners of his mind like claws scratching at the confidence he had found in your newfound relationship.
Returning to the River house, Azriel’s friends awaited his report. Cassian’s concerned eyes met Azriel’s, and the inevitable question hung in the air.
“Did you find her?” Cassian asked.
Azriel’s response carried an undercurrent of worry, “No sign of her anywhere. Her apartment was empty, no sign of her being there. Adon’s shop was locked up, a note on the door saying they would be shut temporarily for a trip.”
There was a silent pause from the inner circle. Azriel could feel his friends trying to come to some palpable reason for this turn of events, a reason to soothe him, to bring him comfort but they couldn’t.
Rhysand interjected. "Adon is one of the trusted patrons granted passage to allied courts as a merchant. We’ll make sure we’re aware of when he’s back.”
Azriel nodded. If you had left with Adon on his trip, you would be long gone out of Velaris now, and the uncertainty of not knowing how long it would be till you were back unsettled him.
Cassian exchanged a worried glance with Feyre, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Is she usually like this?” he inquired.
Azriel hesitated, his thoughts a whirlwind of concern and confusion. “No, it’s not like her at all. She was fine until we got to dinner. Then something just…” he trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Nesta, always direct and to the point, posed a question that was lingering on everyone’s mind “How much do you really know about her Az?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Azriel snarled. Azriel’s defensive response was swift, shadows swirling around him like protective sentinels. He couldn’t tolerate her insinuation.
Feyre, sensing the tension and the need for reassurance, placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “She didn’t mean it like that Az” Feyre spoke softly, coming to her sister’s defence. But what Nesta had enquired was a genuine response.
Azreil, caught in the whirlwind of bond snapping, had failed in something he usually excelled in. Being a Spymaster. You both had covered so much he thought, spent so many lovely evenings with one another that he felt as though he was truly getting to know you– all of you. Clearly there was still so much he didn’t know.
Who was at your apartment before he came? He was sure now there had been someone.
Why had you left in such a hurry? If you were overwhelmed by the presence of his family, by how fast the relationship was moving, he didn’t think you packing up and leaving was a response that made sense.
There had to be more to it.
~~~
Once a year, merchants from all corners of Prythian converge to be part of the enchanting travelling market that lasts around a month. Adon, being an avid member, usually takes part for about a week, and you would stay back in Velaris to man the shop. When you were younger, you tended to travel with him but when relationships between courts became strained you opted to stay in Velaris for comfort.
Your abilities were untrustworthy at the best of times, so avoiding any kind of conflict was always in your best interest.
Adon was positioned in the seat at the front of the magical cart, a contraption he had created. Pulling you through the different courts by magic, rather than horse. It was undoubtedly one of your favourite inventions of his, it would pulse with energy, gracefully bending and shaping itself into a charming counter under a draped canopy. Floating shelves would be adorned with various products, of course including your magical paints.
You had set up shop in Autumn court, the market was bustling with activity, filled with vibrant hues, warm auburn colours that contrasted starkly with Velaris. The atmosphere was vastly different from home. The sights, scents, and sounds of Autumn Court were wildly different to that of the night court, but despite the absence of anything reminiscent in the surroundings. You found your thoughts drifting, drifting to him.
That male with raven black hair, and a hazel gaze that made your chest tight.
You hadn’t heard from Azriel in days. He had sent a pleading call down the bond a couple of times, and you almost caved in but the thread went silent after a few days. it bothered you more than you cared to admit. Despite being the one who had initiated the distance, you found yourself wondering if you had irreversibly messed things up.
How were you to explain everything to him? Could you even trust him?
As if noticing your distracted presence, Adon dismissed you for the day. You were grateful, playing polite shop assistant was becoming grating and you were desperate for some peace and quiet.
The change of scenery this trip brought was a welcome distraction, exploring different places, meeting new people. Immersing yourself in other courts’ cultures was an escape you had needed, but as moments began to tick down to your imminent return home. You found your fingers itching with restfulness.
In the privacy of the room you had booked in the inn, you decided you wanted to practise your ability.
This was something you had never done before, but you had realised the importance of gaining some semblance of control after the incident with your disobedient shadows.
Pages of your notebook sprawled open on the bed, you painted a delicate butterfly with focused determination. Subconsciously bringing your shadows to life, had been easy. So easy you hadn’t even realised you had done it. It was the control you struggled with. So you hoped that with a conscious effort and intention, this time, wouldn’t be as challenging.
You focused on the page, channelling your energy. The butterfly took form in vibrant hues, pulling itself from your page, its delicate wings poised for flight. To your surprise you were able to control it. The butterfly danced through the air, the thread connecting you to your creation was discovered deep within your mind, and with a few silent demands, you willed the butterfly to follow your intentions. A sense of pride washed over you, knowing that you had at least stepped one bit closer to full autonomy, and you had created something – something beautiful.
This moment brought memories of your father to the surface, of when he would tell you stories and willed the characters into existence for you to dance around your room.
You wondered if he would be proud of you. Your butterfly seemed so small, compared to the things he was capable of. To the things your ancestors had accomplished. He had once told you that a great great aunt who was so tired of this world, that she simply created her own and left this realm. You weren’t quite sure how true that story was, your family’s heritage was vague– something that came with keeping yourself concealed. But you couldn’t help wondering how far you could push if you actually tried.
In the midst of your practice, Adon entered your room, prompting you to disperse the butterfly with a wave of your hand, turning it into a sprinkling of magical dust before he could even witness its presence.
“Time to go home,” he said, a knowing look in his eyes. Your response was expected, as you frowned. He still had ample stock to sell, why had he changed his mind so quickly?
“Some male bought everything, all of your paint too” He grinned. “Said he wanted to get into painting, he loved your shades, Flower. He might even commission us for more”
You were pleased for Adon, the trip was a success and to have all products sold and with potentially more custom to come was amazing.
How lucky. You thought, what were the chances of someone with enough coin coming by to purchase everything, resulting in your trip coming to an earlier end. Maybe it was some higher power dragging you to your inevitable responsibilities that were awaiting you in Velaris.
The story or excuse for your unusual behaviour at the dinner still eluded you. You really didn’t know what you were to tell Azriel. Perhaps anxiety could serve as a partial explanation, but you weren’t sure if that would be enough.
Or the explanation he really deserved.
~~~
Azriel sat on the edge of his balcony, overlooking the city that continued its rhythm even as his world felt suspended. Sleep had eluded him for days, and his nights were consumed by worry, checking on your apartment and the shop, and sending word to his network of spies across the courts to keep an eye out for any sign of you.
His shadows, usually a comforting presence, swirled beside him on the balcony. They were restless, just like him however there was an unsettling shift in their behaviour the Shadowsinger couldn’t ignore.
He watched as they seemed to engage in an internal struggle beside him, flickering and swirling as if in conflict.
Perplexed, Azriel leaned closer, studying the intricate dance of his shadows. Then, he noticed it– a rejection. A small puff of a shadow, outcast and separated from the rest. He commanded them to explain, and the rebellious tendrils slithered up to his ear, whispering, “Fake, fake, fake.”
Fake?
Alarmed, Azriel jumped down from the balcony wall, his shadows following suit. The rogue swirl cowered slightly on its own, and Azriel’s frown deepened. How had he not noticed this intrusion? What had infiltrated his shadows that they would consider it one of their own?
“Fake, fake, fake” they continued to repeat, and then, as if a revelation struck, another shadow spoke your name.
The realisation dawned on Azriel, and the shadows began chanting your name in unison, as if acknowledging that the disruption had a connection to you. His shadows, once defiant, now fondly swirled around the lone shadow - your shadow. Azriel’s expression hardened as he tried to decipher what this was.
He reached down slowly towards your shadow, fingers lacing around it as it caressed at his touch. He could feel it then, despite his eyes betraying him he could feel it–feel you, scent you on this lone shadow. And it begged the question–
Who, in the Cauldron, were you?
