The Whispers of Shadows - Azriel

5

It took three days before Aurora was left alone in the House of Wind. Mor and Feyre both too busy to watch over her, and the other females wouldn't dare try to speak to her. It had taken her more candles, a locked door, and humming to herself before she fell asleep.

It was far too quick. The nightmare flew into her like a bolt. Males in armor, climbing over her body, touching her, hurting her, grunting. Fucking grunting. She'd scream and kick, voice tearing as she begged for help. This was the first few decades of her imprisonment, this was when it was terrifying and she had strength to try to hurt them. The darkness swallowed her whole. She had been tied, held down.

Aurora bucked, kicked, clawed. Nothing worked against them.  Her nails became embedded with hair and skin, blood and dirt.

"Stop!" She screamed, writhing, kicking. There were hundreds of them; drunken, laughing soldiers above her.

Her body stilled, falling completely against the bed. Something caressed her cheek, whispered to her. Something was telling her to calm down, to wake up. Her throat raw, sweat beading on her skin, Aurora opened her eyes. Candlelight. Candlelight lit the room against the dark night, and shadows surrounded her. Her breath caught in her throat, her body lurching for the head of the bed.

"Stop," she whispered, and the tendrils fell back. Azriel somehow appeared from within them, standing at the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry," he spoke quietly, and for a moment she didn't realize why, but then the way the shadows had frightened her filled her mind. They were his shadows, Azriel was waking her from the nightmare and trying to calm her.

"I- Thank you," she gasped out, chest still heaving from adrenaline. She hasn't had a nightmare yet, everyday had been one up until four days ago. Azriel stood, wiping his sweating palms onto his sleeping pants. It was then she realized he must had been sleeping, awoken just to help her. His chest and torso were bare, her eyes studying the swirls of tattoos that seemed to imitate the shadows. He had the body of a warrior, fit and lean. Muscles built in places she didn't even know had muscles.

"I thought I was to be alone tonight?" Aurora asked breathlessly, tugging the blanket to her neck.

"Mor asked me to sleep here, my room is above yours. She knew you'd be uncomfortable, so I was not supposed to make my presence known, but I heard you screaming, I needed to help," he responded, just as quietly.

"What does the ink on your skin mean?" Azriel glanced down, tracing a scarred finger along the top of his left pectoral before looking back at her.

"They are Illyrian warrior tattoos. When they complete training, they're inked onto their skin for luck and glory on the battlefield," he explained. Her brows twitched, eyes flickering to the wings that were tucked in tightly.

"You are Illyrian, are you not?" She asked, leaning forward. A muscle in his jaw twitched, an emotion she couldn't catch flashing in his eyes.

"I am, like Cass and Rhysand," he responded in a grim voice. Aurora lowered herself in the bed, still keeping her eyes on him. She wasn't as afraid of him, but she hated that darkness surrounded him at all times. "You should rest. Your body does not heal without sleep," he muttered, making his way to the door. Her eyes fell to his hands, the scars within them.

"Where did you get those?" She asked, and Azriel stilled. He followed her eyes to his hands, which he shoved into his pocket and left quickly, letting his shadows shut and lock the door.

Early the next morning, Aurora had bathed and dressed in Night Court attire. The pants were incredibly comfortable, though she still was getting used to the tops. In solitude, she ate a breakfast that had appeared on the table, stared out the windows, peeked into rooms. She wasn't sure what to do with herself when she was alone, not in a large space like this. Her eyes caught on a door, one that seemed to lead outside.