Shadowsinger Azriel Acotar Novels & Stories

She had found her counterpoint, her balance. Next, Regina, silent and poised, approached the pool. She didn’t hesitate, her hand slipping into the swirling light as if it were an extension of her own being. The pool responded differently this time, the light deepening, swirling with emerald and violet hues, and the air growing heavy with the scent of damp earth and ancient magic. From the depths, a form began to rise, shrouded in shadows. He was not Fae, not entirely. His form was lithe, powerful, his skin the color of rich loam, his eyes a piercing emerald green. He had antlers, like those of a magnificent stag, crowned with glowing moss. His hair was a tangle of dark vines and leaves, and

“Or was she just caught between two monsters?” My chest clenched. I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know anymore who the monster was. ---- An hour later, I felt her. The shadows shifted. The air chilled. And from the treeline stepped Lilith’s executioner - Azrael. Not a man. Not a wolf. Something… in between. His eyes were solid black. No whites. No soul. “You stole from our Queen,” he hissed. I stood and rolled my shoulders. “I’m owed more than she ever gave me.”

I gave myself to him, maybe because I am falling for him, or perhaps I had already fallen for him- the Sartorian Mafia Boss named Azrael Sartori. End of POV:- ... Thank you ShineeSunshine ♥️

The floodlights had dimmed to half-power, casting long, jagged shadows that danced over us like they knew exactly what was coming next. Azrael leaned against a rusted crate, shirt still torn open, fake blood crusted dark across his pale skin. The cold didn’t touch him—he looked too alive, too hungry. His black eyes tracked me like always: slow, deliberate, like he was already undressing me in his mind, peeling away layers until I was bare and begging. Old habits. Dangerous ones that made my pulse throb low in my core.

How could I know what was a lie when the foundation, something as simple as his last name, was a lie? The world around me crumbled. The room turned into just shadows of people, with whispers across the air. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my head snapped up to look at them; it was Cleo. I could see her lips moving but there was no sound. I looked over at the stage to see his eyes on me. He was still talking to the crowd, probably explaining everything, but I couldn’t hear anything that was being said. His face softened with apologetic eyes at me, and I wobbled to my feet. He twitched like he wanted to come to me but couldn’t.

“And you know we can’t let you live.” Eolan’s shadow surged, but the assassin was ready—throwing a small black vial that burst mid-air. A choking grey mist billowed out, clinging to Eolan’s shadow like tar. The connection faltered, his magic pulling sluggishly like it was moving through water. The assassin lunged. Arwyn blocked the first strike, steel screeching. “Move!” he barked. Eolan dove sideways, his shadow straining against the mist’s grip. It managed to catch the assassin’s ankle, yanking him off-balance. Arwyn didn’t hesitate—his sword drove straight through the man’s ribs.

“Did the little orphan fall down again?” Sierra didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loudly. She just watched the trio with lowered lashes. They stood above her like hungry crows: Elara – The Leader: Pale blonde, perfect lips, eyes like chipped quartz. Always smiling when it hurt most. Gloria – The Shadow: Lanky, wolf-eyed, knuckle bruises, laugh like shattered glass. Patricia – The Echo: Pretty brunette, fake pout, sharper tongue than blade. “Maybe she’s waiting for someone to help her,” the wolf-eyed girl said, crouching close enough for Sierra to smell her sour breath. “A prince, maybe?”

she nodded gently, her face so intently focused on him now, as he sighed again, struggling to answer her without saying too much. Lukas stepped forward, pulling up one of the chairs from the small dining table, and sitting facing her. "Very few know about us," he said softly, "but the ones that do, they call us 'Shadowsouled'." Jason could feel her apprehension growing, as she likely sensed his nervousness, her eyes drifting between the two of them now.

My legs are very weak and I have to cling to a dark wooden cabinet on which are several bottles of JB, causing them to stagger. -I was always there for you, Lailah. -I don't want to hear anything else, I don't want to know anything else. I want to go home. I want ...- And I'm not going to let that Azael get you in trouble. I'm going to use you to bring him here, and I plan to finish him off with my own hands. I will protect you. It's the last thing I get to hear before everything goes black. AZAEL

“Sorry, luv. I didn’t mean to be such an arse about it.” Creighton clears his throat and moves towards a large table. “All bantering aside, why are you two here?” Azazel puffs out a breath and moves towards the table with a loose stride. “I’m here because my mate is the siphon that Marael is using to end the world.” My stomach tightens at his words. Even though I know that I’m the siphon, it still pains me to hear it. Azazel must notice my discomfort because he extends his hand towards me and gives me a gentle smile.