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Her bare feet padded across the smooth mountain floors. She'd kicked off the strappy golden sandals she wore to the party and not bothered to pick them up, someone else would later. The only thing that mattered right now was getting away from everyone, finding her room for the night, and shutting herself away in it.
Feyre. Oh, Feyre. Would Feyre be mad? Rhysand and Feyre wanted this party to be fun. They wanted to strengthen their relationship with Summer Court, what if Elain had just ruined it? She pressed her hand again to a closed door and nothing. No magic opening. How could anyone tell the difference inbetween rooms here? She tried to speed up. One door, one of these doors would slide open for her when she pressed her hand to it and she would slip in and lay on the floor and die of embarrassment.
The only thing worse than Feyre being mad would be if Feyre thought what happened was funny.
Tarquin had brought almost a dozen members of his court to Rhysand's home above Hewn City. The home above Hewn City was better equipped for overnight parties. The location offered more privacy than hosting another court at the River House, no one had to fly thousands of feet up in the air to attend, and there were more spare bedrooms. Bedrooms with doors Rhysand had magicked to open for each guest when they pressed their hand against their door. But where was her door?
Dinner was delicious, she’d helped plan the menu. Rhysand hired musicians, whether they were from Velaris or Hewn City, Elain didn't know. Guests ate, drank, and laughed. Feyre and Rhysand sat in the middle of the table across from Tarquin. Varian and Amren sat near them.
It was supposed to be a relaxing event. Everyone had been asked only to be friendly and welcoming to Tarquin's court. Rhysand shared no political agenda behind the dinner. Elain squeezed her eyes shut, what had she done? She needed more space between her and the party. She needed to get farther away.
She'd spent all day here, mostly in the large entertaining room, helping decorate, or poking her head in the kitchen to check on dinner. Nuala had walked her to her room earlier and she’d curled her hair in long loose spirals and donned a cream colored velvety gown and golden sandals. The neckline was high in the front, but the back was open to the waist. Even Mor said she liked the gown.
Footsteps. Oh, gods, there were footsteps. Someone was coming. She turned to look, but saw no one yet. Her soft curls glided over the skin on her back. Just an hour ago, the sensation had secretly delighted her. She twisted her head back and forth at dinner to feel the curls slide across her back. These curls, this dress, that’s where it started. Why was he even here? What would he be thinking after what she’d just done?
After getting ready for dinner, Elain had returned to the main room and frowned. An extra chair was bunched in at one end of her perfectly planned table. When she’d gone to move it, a fae with iridescent skin informed her Feyre said there’d be an extra guest and to seat him on that side of the table. Elain nodded and asked the rainbow hued fae to make sure an extra bedroom was prepared as well.
Guests came in groups, and Elain greeted them after Rhysand and Feyre did. She chatted with Mor as Rhysand went with each guest to magic their door, hugged Nesta's Valkyrie friends, and politely avoided getting too close to Amren. Certain she had helped to welcome all attending, she tied on an apron and ducked in the kitchen to check how the kitchen staff was doing with dinner.
When she’d stepped back out to join the party, Lucien was just sitting down at the far end of the table in the added chair. She quickly sat to avoid having to acknowledge him, taking her seat by Cresseida and across from Cassian. It didn't matter if he was here, she’d told herself, there were plenty of other guests for him to talk to and she was perfectly capable of ignoring the way being around him made her long for something more. She and Cresseida were able to chat pleasantly and even Nesta, seated by Cassian, had joined in their conversation.
Head swirling from Cresseida to Nesta as they talked, Elain enjoyed the soft sweeping sensation of her hair on her bare back. Was this why so many of Mor's dresses had so very little material? Elain didn't care, it felt sensational and even daring, when had she ever worn something that showed this much of her skin?
Swish, swish, swish. Little swishes of hair, back and forth and until her headed turned too far and her gaze went all the way down the table, past Feyre and Rhysand across from Tarquin, past Amren and Varian, past Azriel, to the dark skinned fae sitting by Lucien, Miandra.
She was stunning. Her dark skin seemed to shimmer in the fae lights, contrasting against her pale hair, which was braided up in a crown around her slim face. Elain would have said she was beautiful if the female's teal eyes hadn't been sparkling at something Lucien had just said. Elain's chest caved in on itself and she forced her lungs to open up so she could breathe.
She looked at her plate and squirmed in her chair. Didn't matter. Didn't matter. Didn't matter. She didn't need Lucien. She didn't need him to be a part of her life. So, then why did Miandra looking at him like that make her want to scream "Mine"?
Cresseida was telling some story that made Cassian and Nesta laugh. Elain forced a smile at Cresseida, but couldn't avoid noticing the way the female at the far end of the table was leaning over her chair and talking softly to Lucien. She was so close to his ear she could have rested her head on his shoulder.
Not mine, not mine, not mine, she told herself. She tried to focus on keeping her breath steady, on relaxing her clenched hands, on quieting the angry roar in her head. He hadn’t looked at her once, everytime she looked down the table he was turned to his pretty neighbor or listening to the Summer Court male seated across from him. She asked Nesta to share a story about training with Cresseida so that she could keep her gaze in front of her instead of sideways at Cresseida where she couldn’t keep from glancing the rest of the way down the table.
After dinner, the table was cleared and everyone began moving around the room. Feyre was showing a painting on the wall to two of Tarquin's court, Rhys was passing out drinks, Varian and Amren leaned against each other near the large open side of the room that faced snowy mountain peaks. Elain saw more than one Summer Court member stare at mountains and smile. They probably didn’t see snow often. She stayed back, close to the wall by the table, and made small, pleasant conversation with anyone who walked by. She usually hung back when Lucien was around, but this was different. She usually wanted to shrink away when he visited. Tonight, she felt like she could explode.
Lucien and Miandra stood talking near a sofa. Elain watched, gods, why couldn’t she stop watching, as Rhys gave her a drink. The smile she'd given to Rhys had been friendly, small and polite. It was nothing like the dazzling one that lit up her face as she smiled at Lucien.
In the hallway, Elain tried another door. How far had she walked with Nuala earlier? She shook her head, trying to shake what she’d just done out of her mind. She wondered how long she could stay in her room, if she ever found it, in the morning. Could she stay in there until everyone left?
The footsteps were so close now. She couldn't even lie to herself about who they belonged to this close. She begged the gods, the cauldron even, for the next door to be hers. But nothing happened when she pressed her hand to it. Behind her, he stopped. She pressed her lips together so hard it hurt. And then she forced herself to breathe and stand up straight. The last thing she noticed before he spoke was that her own heart was beating so loud, she couldn't hear his for once.
“What,” Lucien paused, “was that?”
Elain didn't answer him, didn't turn around to face him. She just fought against that voice still yelling, “Mine,” in her head. When she wouldn't answer, he spoke again.
“Would you like me to tell you what that looked like?” his voice had an edge, a deepness, that she hadn't heard before. It skittered over her and she shivered, only it didn't leave her feeling cold. Heat consumed her.
She shook her head, determined to not look back at him. She moved to take a step and found herself blocked. So damned fast, he’d cut her off.
Fast. That’s what fae were. So fast. And she was fae now. She pressed her eyes shut tight again and couldn't stop the flash of what she’d just done from replaying.
Miandra finished her drink and looked up at Lucien through her lashes while she sat her empty drink down on a polished end table. She was saying something, something Elain should have been able to hear with her fae sense of sound. But it was all a roar inside her head, a pounding roar that kept screaming, “Mine,” and when Miandra touched Lucien, when her fingers grazed the bare skin on his forearm and she slid her hand closer towards his, Elain’s tightly wound control shattered.
She was standing near the dining table, and then she wasn't. She was watching from the side, and then she wasn't. Without even thinking, she crossed the room and slipped into the space between their two bodies. It was so fast, like a winnow without the disorienting loss of space around her. But she was in between them, and it was the feel of Lucien’s shirt brushing over her back now instead of her own soft hair.
She was leaning back into him, she could feel his hard body beneath his shirt, and she wrapped her own hand over his forearm. She slid her hand down his arm until she met Miandra's, and then she flicked the female's hand off of him sharply. She was staring at Miandra, staring her down, and over the violent roar in her head, she could make out a low snarl. That didn't matter.
Miandra had touched something that wasn't hers. Her eyes were wide and she pulled the hand Elain had thrown off Lucien close to her chest and tucked it up as if she’d been burned. But, she stood too close still. Elain threaded her fingers through Lucien's.
"He is mine," the words in Elain’s head tumbled out of her mouth as she stepped at Miandra, forcing her to back away. And then again.
Miandra stepped back as Elain kept staring her down. Satisfied with Miandra's retreat, Elain leaned back into Lucien's chest. Suddenly, Feyre was spinning Miandra away.
“Miandra, I heard you love music. Could you help me pick a song to request?” Feyre said out loud. She linked elbows with Miandra and led her away.
“Elain,” Rhy's daematie voice felt like a crack inside her head. Like he’d had to push through something strong to get in there. She couldn't tell if he was worried for her or about her, and she realized her teeth were bared, and her chest was heaving, and that she was the source of the snarling sound.
Dropping Lucien's hand, she went silent as she covered her mouth. Her heart pounded louder, harder. For one brief second she told herself none of it really happened, but then she met Nesta's gaze. Nesta's mouth was open and she was staring at Elain as if she'd never seen her before. Elain slowly became aware of eyes on her from throughout the room.
“Excuse me, please,” she made her voice loud and clear and dipped in a quick curtsy. Behind her, she could sense Lucien start to move, so she turned on her heel and left the room. She walked steady until the door clipped shut behind her and then she ran, stumbling and tripping, until she kicked off the sandals and kept going.
She clearly wasn't fast enough. He’d caught up to her without running. She stared at her sandals dangling from his fingers, refusing to look up at him, refusing to answer. She'd just claimed him in front of everyone and she couldn't talk about that.
"She was touching you," Elain faltered.
"Is that a problem?" Lucien replied.
"Yes," Elain growled, looking up at him.
Lucien let go of her shoes and leaned in closer to her, his arms on each side of her, and her bare back met the cold stone wall.
"Why is that?" he dipped his head closer to hers, and she didn't stop him. No, she didn't stop him, she breathed him in. Everything in her was still screaming for her to claim him, outraged at Miandra's touch. She didn't think she could stop him right now for anything. He boldly traced his mouth up the side of her neck.
She wrapped her arms around his, set her palms flat against the muscles in his arms and savored the feel of him. "I should be the only one touching-"
She didn't get to finish. His lips left her neck and met her mouth. She kissed him back, unable to fight it anymore, as he pulled his hands from the wall. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling their bodies closer, supporting her, dragging his thumb across her lower back as he did it. The other hand he buried in the hair at the nape of her neck, cradling her head as he slammed them up against the wall, twisting her to better meet his mouth.
He groaned, sliding his tongue over her lips. She wrapped her mouth around his tongue, licking and caressing his tongue with hers. This time, he rocked his hips against hers. She reached up and pulled lightly on his hair, bringing him closer to her. The arm around her waist loosened and he scooped her up.
Elain let go of his hair to pull the length of her dress up higher, freeing her legs to wrap around his waist before she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pressed his hips into her and she ground back against his hardness. Again and again, she pushed back on him, rolling her hips up and down on him.
He pulled back from their kiss to look at her, her lust heavy eyes, her swollen lips, her tousled hair. He held still even as she slid her hips down the length of him, gasping for more air as she did. When he didn't grind back into her, she slowly focused, pulled her stare away from his mouth and met his eyes.
“Why did you stop?” she breathed.
“Say it," he rasped. Responding to the command in his voice, her core clenched and she could imagine herself saying exactly what he wanted.
But instead she held his stare and met him halfway, "No one touches you but me." He groaned and his hips bucked at her words.
"And you? Who touches you?" he murmured hotly, nipping at her lip.
"You, I want you to touch me," she breathed and he slipped a hand away from her, putting it to the door. It slid open, his door, his room. Some part of her wanted to laugh at the irony of running away from Lucien only to stop right in front of his door, but it was quieted by the voice still begging to claim, "Mine." He kicked her sandals through the open door and then carried her in.
The door slid shut and he moved them across the room and on to the bed. The bed was plush and comfortable beneath her, Lucien's hard body pressing her further into the soft comforter. She kissed him back, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.
He ran his hand down her side and squeezed her hip. His fingers danced there, circling up the bottom half of her dress. She felt it sliding over her legs, bunching up by her waist, and then his hand was on her bare thigh, his fingers tracing the edge of her panties. He hooked a finger under the edge by her hip.
He kissed her mouth, her chin, her neck and pulled back. Pushed up away from her. She tried to reach for him, but he slid backwards off the bed and tugged her underwear down her legs. He held her gaze the whole time, not breaking it to look at her nakedness. She arched her back and undid the tiny fasten at the small of her back. She sat up and scooped the dress over her head. She let it fall back behind her.
She sat completely naked on the bed, and still, he looked only at her face. She reached out for the front of his pants, slid her fingers over the top of them and tugged him closer back to bed. Lucien shuddered as she did and it broke the spell he’d been under. He shook his head and swept his gaze over all of her.
“Cauldron,” he swore softly. Then he lifted her hand from the top of his pants and pressed her fingertips to his mouth. "My turn first."
"What?" she gave a half laugh.
He gave her a wicked grin, "My turn to touch you first. I've been waiting for this a lot longer than you have."
She narrowed her eyes at him as he dropped to his knees beside the bed, but kissed him back when he leaned in. His hands found her hips, thumbs pressing into her hip bones as his fingers squeezed at her backside. He pulled her to the edge of the bed and slid his hands to her knees.
He started there, kissing up her thighs, pressing her legs open until he reached where her legs met. And slid his warm tongue right over her. She cried out and her hips rocked. Immediately, one hand slid around her leg and pressed her back down to bed. She let herself fall the rest of the way back. His tongue continued to move and she couldn't stop from trying to rock against it, against his face, as the warm hand on her stomach anchored her in place. She grabbed for him and caught his hair in her hand.
He kissed and licked until Elain couldn't think about anything other than his mouth between her legs. She was writhing on the bed and placed her hand over the one he had on her stomach, needing to touch him. She snaked her fingers around his and as he squeezed her hand, he brushed his other hand along her thigh and slid his fingers inside her.
Elain erupted and cried out again. She squeezed herself around him, rode out her pleasure on his hand and his tongue. She melted into his bed and didn't open her eyes until he withdrew his hand from her. She gripped the hand on her stomach and lifted it up, pulling Lucien back above her. He crawled up the bed and lay beside her. Reaching across, he rested his hand on her hip. She shook a little and wiggled his hand away.
Rolling over onto her elbows and smiling down at him, she tucked a curl behind her ear. He traced a finger along her jaw and she leaned her cheek into his warm hand for a moment before she asked, "Is it my turn to touch you now?"