Chapter Text
The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet. She hadn’t bothered to put on slippers, and she welcomed the cold sting. Her finger tips grazed the walls, steadying herself as she listened for the thudding heart below.
She always knew where he was, like an altered sense had been implanted in her mind, right next to her third eye. Within the walls of her cell, a room that Feyre made sure it was as cozy as it was lavish, she could hear his heart beating through the stone. Her body ignited whenever he walked down her hall, pacing a few times before turning away and descending back down the stairs, deciding against whatever brought him upstairs. Beneath the fog of her melancholy, her heart would stir, nerves churning at the idea of him speaking to her again.
He was meant to leave tomorrow for the Continent all on the promise of her cryptic visions. Along with the alien skin that now covered her, her mind had been infiltrated with sights and sounds that she couldn’t decipher whether they were real or fantasy. Sometimes it swept over her like a high tide, flooding her senses and transporting her into another place. Other times it appeared as only flashes, a feather falling on the snow or the scratching sound of worms wriggling in the earth. She had accepted her madness as a companion to the pain of her broken heart.
Since his declaration, new scenes danced behind her eyes – an endless amount of potential futures full of joy and despair. Each time that she saw his lifeless eyes, empty and gray, her heart squeezed so tight she thought it might burst in her chest. She was compelled to tell this stranger not to go. Don’t risk yourself for a silly girl who couldn’t tell which path was real. But every time she thought of confronting him, her limbs weighed her down like stones sinking her to the bottom of a deep, blue lake.
Tonight, she glided through the halls, a ghostly apparition in her floor length night gown, her skin pale and gaunt from the weeks of refusing meals.
She entered the library with silent steps. She spotted him immediately, sitting in a chair in front of the fire, a glass of whiskey held delicately in his long fingers. His tunic sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing a corded forearm, his tan skin glowing in the firelight. She couldn’t see his scarred, beautiful face. She thought if she did, she might lose her nerve, running in the other direction back to her room. Each time they spoke, a roaring hunger pulled inside of her, clawing away at the black mourning of losing everything. The mating bond, her sister called it. It beckoned her to submit. To press her body against his and find release.
It mortified her. She was an engaged woman. She loved Graysen with all of her heart. She wanted nothing more than to find him and explain everything that had happened. She needed to get back to him. To have him be the one to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. She had found bliss in their pre-nuptial union, so overcome with her devotion to him that she couldn’t wait any longer. Perhaps that is why she was plagued with this longing. Her flesh had tasted the nectar of lust, and now this fae male, with his long, ember hair and his alluring, handsome face, had been thrust into her new life, a wicked temptation away from her promises.
It was foolish to come here. Especially so late an hour when the rest of the house slept.
She moved to leave the room, but the sound must have alerted him to her presence. He quickly pounced out of the chair, twisting around as if he meant to fight an intruder. When he saw that it was her, the fierce, defensiveness in his stance melted away, and he stared at her with the same expression she had seen every time he looked her way—apprehension and some unknowable flicker of recognition that made her blood sing.
“Lady,” his voice croaked from disuse. “Is everything okay?”
No, she wanted to answer. How could anything be okay ever again?
“What if you die?” she asked instead.
He blinked in surprise, curving his shoulders as if she had struck him. He placed his whiskey glass on the mantle before stepping around the chair. He was dressed for sleeping, his tunic hanging loosely open, revealing his chest and abdomen. Elain slowly traced the ridges of his muscles with her gaze.
“There is no guarantee that will happen -" he began, holding his hands in his pockets.
“I've seen you die," her voice sounded so hollow. Not at all as it should. “I've seen you die a hundred different ways."
What a horrible, macabre thing to tell someone. Her old self would never be so forthright. But her old self’s head was filled with stories of happy endings. Now all she had were the visions.
Strangely, her words did not appear to offend him. His face didn't blanch like she expected – the way the others looked when she couldn’t stop the prophetic words from flowing out. Instead, he tilted his head to the side in contemplation wearing a crooked grin.
"Do I ever live?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, there is still a chance I will succeed.”
She exhaled in defeat, casting her gaze towards the window, the stars a purple haze in the night sky. Despite the dimness of the room, staring at him for too long made her irises burn.
“What happens to this,” she placed her palm over her ribs, just below her breast. “If you die?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and after a few moments, she looked back at him, finding him staring into the fireplace, a worry line over his brow. He could assuage her. Tell her that she would be free of him, which is what she wanted. Wasn’t it? It would be a simple, comforting lie.
“Truthfully, I do not know, Lady. I am not sure what it is like for females especially,” he paused, shaking his head as he grimaced. “Especially when the bond is… unrequited.”
Such a delicate term, she thought. The thread around her rib thrummed, like the string connecting them had been plucked, the resonance mutely humming in the space between them.
“You speak carefully, sir,” she stepped towards him. Her feet moved without instruction, and they propelled her forward until she stood only inches away, his tall, lean frame towering over her. She gazed at his face, hearing the whir of his magical, golden eye as his other russet one widened in surprise. “This connection… it’s something your people have had for millennia. You must know something of what it means when one mate dies.”
The knob of his throat bobbed. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. It mixed harmoniously with his scent of campfire and cinnamon.
“It is said that losing a mate is like losing half of your soul. Some do not want to continue in this world.”
Isn’t that how she felt now? Like she had been pushed through a meat grinder, discarded onto a table in pieces that wouldn’t fit back together again. All she wanted was her old life back. She wanted Graysen and her father to come back, to gossip with the other ladies at tea and tend to her garden. She wanted to be human. She wanted to be ordinary.
“I won’t die,” his words pulled her from her thoughts. His steadfast gaze pierced through her, lightness flickering behind a hint of a grin. “One thing you’ll learn about me is I’m hard to kill.”
She had seen that too, of course. Lucien, bloodied and ragged, a sword in hand as he triumphantly smiled back at her.
She noticed out of the corner of her eye Lucien’s fingers twitching at his side. He stretched them out, as if he meant to touch her, and then folded them against his palm into fists. It reminded her of the way he had gripped the tea cup days before. She wondered if the pull affected him too. The strong urge to touch her, taste her, breathe in her scent and lose himself as she imagined losing herself in him. Sometimes her mind would wander, and images of their naked bodies would penetrate her thoughts. She would see them writhing together, their skin slapping with sharp claps, the sound pounding in tune with her racing heart.
Lucien stepped away from her, his nostrils flaring as he grimaced again, turning his gaze towards the fire. She squeezed her thighs, her lips sliding smoothly together. Her thoughts had made her wet and he must have scented her arousal. She sucked in a curious breath, and a distinct, masculine scent – leather books, smoke, and a peppery musk – filled her airways. It tasted tangy and bright on her tongue, and her entrance pulsed in anticipation. She had never felt such overwhelming desire before, like every particle floating beneath her skin was ready to shoot out and burst.
It was the bond. Some nefarious force implanted inside of her, forcing her to feel this way towards a stranger. Straying her mind and body away from Graysen.
She stepped back too, wrapping her arms around her chest, as if she could squeeze the lust away.
“What do you think of it?” She needed to know if it bothered him as much as it bothered her.
“Leaving?” he asked. She returned a hard, correcting stare and saw in his expression that he knew what she had meant the first time. Perhaps he was hopeful that she would take his offer to deviate.
He rubbed his chin, avoiding her eyes as he answered. “I am surprised by it.”
“Why?” she turned to face him, stepping closer.
He kept his eyes turned away. “I didn’t think it would be…” he stopped, his face twisting once more, that same grimace she had seen dozens of times now: pained and guilty.
It hit her, like a gusting wind coming in from the north, bitter and cold.
“Me,” she whispered. “You didn’t think it would be me.”
The silence that followed was all the confirmation she needed.
Her naked foot stepped out from under her nightgown, off the rug that had been warming her toes and onto the chilled wooden floor. She turned to flee, to return to her room and hide once more, but a strong hand grabbed her by the elbow and stopped her.
“Elain,” he pleaded. It was the first time he had ever said her name. It had always been Lady, the formality a barrier meant for her own sake, allowing her the choice of remaining unfamiliar. But she was not a lady. Not anymore.
His hand was warm and inviting, and she did not struggle as he turned her to face him. His body towered over her, encasing her as he stepped forward, their chests nearly touching. She looked up at him, and from this distance she could see the beauty of his unblemished skin, soft and smooth, tempting her to reach up and touch him.
“I am yours,” his voice was deep and serious, his eyes boring into hers. “Whether you ever want me or not, I am yours. Now and always.” He released her arm, stepping back from her, leaving the air between them cold and empty. “That’s what I think of it.”
Her arm tingled with a salacious frenzy. As she suspected, his touch ignited a fire in her that warmed her from the inside out. She wanted more. She wanted to plunge herself in his warmth, to have every inch of her blazing with heat. Since the Cauldron, warmth had abandoned her. No matter how many blankets she wrapped around herself, or how many fires she lit in her room, the chill remained, damp and dreary. But Lucien could warm her. Maybe he was the only one who could.
And tomorrow, she might never see him again.
She lunged for him.
She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t really think at all. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to lift herself against his body. He quickly reacted, scooping under her legs to support her weight. She buried her face against his bare shoulder, the heat from his skin pressed against her cheek. His heart thundered through his ribs, pounding like a marcher’s drum against her, her nightgown little barrier between her breasts and his exposed chest.
His surprise lasted for only a moment before he buried his face into her hair. He breathed in deeply, taking in her scent, potent and strong and straight from the source. She felt drunk and dizzy. His scent conjured a deep need to roll her eyes into the back of her skull. It was animalistic and feral. She didn’t feel at all human, a thought that only moments ago disgusted her. But now she had succumbed, given into the temptation and allowed the beast to take over.
It’s only for tonight. The thought whispered in her ear. It might be your only chance.
She darted out her tongue, allowing the tip to taste the salt as she swiped it across his skin.
He shuddered holding her, his knees buckling as he swayed. She tried again, wanting to see what she was capable of making him do. How far she could go before she broke his polite resolve. This time she rubbed her lips across his shoulder towards the crook of his neck, not quite a kiss but also nothing innocent about her exploration. A deep, rumbling growl vibrated in his chest, and he squeezed his hands around her fleshy bottom, his fingers digging in until she felt a dull ache. She liked it. It was such a contrast to the endless fog of nothingness that held her in her room. The Cauldron had ripped her apart, and all she wanted for months was to dull the memories of her transformation.
But now she only wanted.
She followed her instincts and bit down, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
Cool air rushed against her back as Lucien raced them to the other side of the room, dropping her on the sofa as he hovered over her. He held himself above her with his arms extended, gripping onto the back of the couch with one hand and onto the arm next to her head with the other, caging her in. Elain panted with fear and excitement. Her nightgown had slid down her thighs and her legs were still placed around his hips. Hips he kept only a hairsbreadth away from pressing against her core.
His intact eye was a strange, dark disk, and the other an otherworldly window. His lips were curled in a snarl, but he stayed silent and rigid. Everything about him showed a man on the brink, ready to pounce. She trailed her eyes down his form. She could see his body through the opening of his tunic, the flat planes of his broad chest, down to the ridges of his abs. Her gaze dropped even lower and she spotted the thick bulge that had formed in the front of his trousers. A part of her was embarrassed to gawk at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
“Is this why you sought me out?” The words hissed out. He looked down at her body too. She arched her back as she inhaled a deep breath, pushing her small breasts out further, the fabric brushing against her hardening nipples. He brought the hand by her head down to her knee, his finger tips dancing across her skin before grabbing a hold of her naked thigh. His touch was scalding hot, a blaze to singe her desire, his hand creeping inch by inch. He watched her face carefully, searching for a reason to stop.
“Answer me,” he said once his fingers reached the curve of her ass. “Why did you come to me tonight?”
She didn’t really know why. To finally speak to him alone? To warn him not to go? Something pulled her from the room, bringing her to the time and place she inhabited now, laying beneath him exposed and needy.
“I was cold,” she answered him, the words falling from her lips in a plea as she reached out and touched his naked chest. “Make me warm.”
He dropped down, pressing his bulge against her, the rough fabric of his trousers reminding her that she wore nothing beneath her night gown. She gasped at the contact, and he swallowed the sound, capturing her open lips in a kiss. The contact was delicious, and her blood roared in her ears. When he began to move, his lips sliding and clamping around hers with soft but firm authority, she melted under his touch, her body sinking into the couch. She was pliant beneath him, submitting to his lead. She ran her hands over his chest, his skin hot and smooth against her palms, and when his tongue darted out to touch hers, she gripped onto his shoulders, digging her nails in. She felt the contact everywhere, her nipples and clit tingling with arousal, wanting to be tasted next.
She grew bolder with her own movements, darting her tongue out to chase him, running her hands under his tunic to scratch her nails over his abs, and rocking her hips, seeking the friction her body craved. The bolder she became, the more Lucien escalated. His hands glided down her body, squeezing her curves, handfuls of her flesh burning for more. When he explored her ribs, his thumb grazed the peak of her nipple and she moaned in his mouth, a needy and embarrassing sound. It only encouraged him more and he flicked his thumb over her again and again until she had to release his mouth to gasp for air. He used the opportunity to kiss down her neck, sucking and nipping as he pinched her peak.
Their hips bucked in tandem, their rhythm building in speed and intensity. This would not be the slow and awkward movements she had experienced her first time with Graysen, but Elain was a new woman in a new form. Her doubts and insecurities slipped away, and she focused on the building tension between her thighs and how good Lucien’s hands felt sliding beneath her gown as his mouth lowered over her breasts. He sucked her through the cotton, his fingers quickly finding her wet slit, sliding over her throbbing bud. Elain grabbed his loosely tied back hair, gripping and pulling to try to find some control over the sensations he gave her. He circled his finger and switched between her breasts, playing with her like an instrument he had already mastered. She had never felt so alive. So trapped inside a feeling.
“More," she managed to squeeze out, her moan echoing off the walls. Lucien listened obediently, plunging a finger inside of her. She squeezed her walls around the intrusion, her body reflexively pulling him deeper. He dropped to his knees onto the floor, pumping his finger through her slickness as he flicked out his tongue and tasted her.
His tongue against her clit was a new and wicked sensation. She flung her arms out and gripped onto whatever she could. She looked down and couldn't believe the sight. She was splayed out, her nightgown pulled to her ribs, her bottom half completely exposed with Lucien's handsome scarred face buried against her pussy, devouring her like a starving man, his eyes closed and his nostrils flared. He slipped a second finger in, and before long Elain was bouncing back, feverishly chasing the climb he started.
“Fuck it," he said, and then he was standing, opening his trousers before Elain even realized what he intended to do. She watched with hunger as his cock sprang free, a long, thick rod he intended to stick inside of her. The beast inside of her growled with delight and she spread her legs wider as he stroked himself, his fist sliding back and forth over the curve, pulling back his foreskin to reveal a purple, glistening head.
She couldn't tear her eyes away as he lined himself up to her entrance. He pushed inside of her fast, and she gasped through the burn of her walls stretching around him. He held himself up as he had before, staring down at her, waiting for her to adjust to his size. It only took seconds for Elain to realize she must make the next move, and she reached up and grabbed his shoulders, sliding herself up and then down to show him how much she needed it.
*****
Her eyes popped open, her heart racing in her ears as daylight streamed down from the window. She throbbed between her legs, empty and frustrated. She ground her molars, squinting her eyes and groaning as the sun burned her eyes.
It was a dream she had many times before, and it always ended the same. Just when Lucien was about to fuck her, she would wake up, her body buzzing with stimulation as if he had really been there, touching her. Sometimes she would even feel soreness at her entrance, a ghost of what could have been.
The reality was that Lucien had never touched her. She had barely even spoken to him, not since their conversation after the war when he told her that he would give her the space she needed. She latched onto that promise, throwing herself into her depression and despair, building a wall around herself, refusing to let anyone, especially him, to see what really festered inside her mind. The longer she stayed there, the harder it was to come out. They had become stuck in a pattern of silence and misery, awkward glances and missed opportunities, all culminating in a stalemate.
Her mind always brought her back to the library the night before he left for the Continent. The truth of it is that she never left her room that night. She had considered it, and even saw flashes of possibilities of what might happen if she had.
She concluded that the frequency and vivid experience of the dream meant that the source was a vision, a potential future never experienced, but shown to her again and again, taunting her of promises of what was in her grasp if she had the bravery to simply reach out and grab it. That night she was a coward, just like she had been on the stairs when he left the next day. She almost ran to him. She even let her foot hang over the next step, waiting for a sign to drop it. But it never came, and he walked away, bravely continuing forward towards his peril.
When she was asleep, she wasn’t able to control her inner desires, and she was lustful and shameless, itching for release. She returned to the possibility over and over again of what might have happened if she had gone to him that night, and each time it always ended in them ravaging each other, giving into the demands of the bond. She knew it was her body’s way of seeking the release that she denied it. Every time he visited, that same flame would light, beckoning her to seek him out, and every time she would put as much distance between them as she could.
She rolled over, realizing she wasn’t in her room and remembering the night before. Today was Nesta’s mating ceremony, and she went out on the town with Nesta and her new friends. She was surprised her sister invited her at all, and quickly gathered that it was something the others had to suggest to her. It made her feel even more awkward and out of place, but she decided to forget about the ways that she and Nesta weren’t close anymore and drank herself silly. At some point the night faded into nothingness, and now her head pounded even more than the throbbing between her legs. The pain quickly replaced her unsatisfied arousal.
She squinted against the harsh light, looking around the room. They were in the House of Wind. Her sister’s friends, Gwyn and Emorie, were cuddled in the bed. Nesta had passed out on the couch, and Elain had somehow managed to curl up on the soft padding and pillows in the nook of the eastern window, the morning sunshine bleeding through the sheer curtains and flashing her face.
She would have to see him today. It had been a few months. The more time that passed, the better they had become at avoiding each other. He timed his visits to the River House exactly when she was otherwise occupied, and on the off chance that she wasn’t, she found a way to be. He had skipped a few holidays, and despite her own fears of seeing him, it still hurt that it seemed like he was giving up on her.
Today though, she could not avoid him. She had to be present for her sister, and it would be rude for him to not show at all.
The worst part of all was that she had to watch her sister promise forever to her own mate – a male she had despised only a year before. Nesta hated Cassian with more fervor than Elain had ever mustered for anyone, Lucien included, and now Nesta was a completely different person. They were constantly around each other, unable to keep their hands to themselves. Where Feyre and Rhysand mostly kept their affections to their bedroom, Nesta and Cassian didn’t care who was around to witness.
Both of her sisters had accepted their fates with their mates, and how convenient it was that their mates were practically brothers themselves. They had always been two sides of the same coin. More alike than either wanted to admit.
She had been dreading this day. She was supposed to be the first sister married once Graysen slid that ring on her finger. She was agreeable, had perfected her manners, and knew how to run a household. Out of all of the sisters, she was “wife” material, and yet here she was, painfully rejected by her former fiance, stubbornly alone, and fretfully embarrassed to even show her mate any kindness. All she had were her carnal dreams and the gifts he had given her hidden away in her bedroom drawer.
Her joints popped as she sat up. She looked over at the table next to her and spotted a glass of water. She doubted it was her sister’s forethought, and it must have been the House’s doing. She grabbed the glass and gulped it down, the cool water cleansing the dryness in her throat.
There were still a few hours before they had to prepare themselves for the ceremony, and Elain didn’t want to stick around any longer than necessary. She quietly tiptoed out of the room, searching for a bathroom with a tub – especially one with a handheld faucet.