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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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Cruel Summer

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Summary: It was supposed to be a summer trip around Europe before Elain Archeron settled into life as a post-grad. It was supposed to be nothing more than a 2,000 year old wall built by a long dead Roman Emperor. It was supposed to be fun.

So why is Elain Archeron trapped in a strange world filled to the brim with magic and men in masks who refuse to let her leave? Something isn't right and Elain is determined to get to the bottom of her accidental shift in the world.

Or die trying.

Outlander-ish IDK you know what you're getting from me at this point just come inside.

Chapter 2: Be The Lightning in Me That Strikes Relentless

Read more: Chapter 1 | AO3

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Elain asked, watching Lucien flip through yet another book. He was so busy, his own stack of books taking up an entire table. “What are you even looking for?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” he replied, careful with his words. Elain sighed, closing her own very boring book on the History of Prythian. Five hundred pages of killing humans and occasionally feeling bad was starting to wear on her. There was nothing about world traveling, besides.

“What was the point of honesty if you were going to be so cagey?”

Lucien glanced up from the corner of the stable he was sitting on, clearly annoyed. “Has it ever occurred to you, in all your infinite wisdom, that there are things even I don’t know?”

“Everyday,” Elain replied sweetly. Lucien scowled, dropping his book loudly to the table.

“Want to go for a walk?”

“No.”

“Want to–”

“You know the answer is no,” she interrupted quickly, heading him off because he could rope her into more bread baking or soap making. He loved to dump her off on the servants for six hours, returning just in time to steal a steaming piece of sourdough or all the misshapen candles she’d made. He was a menace of epic proportions and her near constant companion, though not for a lack of trying.

Bron and Hart and Andras were far more interesting company, if only for how much more open they were. Hart and Bron met Elain every morning at the crack of dawn to do yoga before Andras took over, leading her through a four mile run that she suspected he made difficult on purpose. Afterwards Elain bathed and dressed in the clothes Alis had brought for her two weeks earlier and meandered to the breakfast table where someone was always waiting with lavender tea and eggs. No coffee, no lattes—though she had managed to convince everyone to make a lemon loaf, and that had helped a little.

Then she was left to Lucien’s whims and his whims were always obnoxious and petty. Only on occasion, after lunch when Lucien was bored of dragging her around while he opined loudly on any number of topics, did she get a say in what they did. And for Elain, it was always the library. She’d been there for two weeks and as far as she could tell, nothing had changed. Tamlin very rarely came around and when he did, everyone but Lucien scattered.

“What if you went downstairs and made me another lemon loaf?” Lucien suggested with a gleam in his one good eye. It was Elain’s turn to scowl.

“That was for my breakfast,” she reminded him, rising from her chair with a sigh. Lucien knew what she was up to—it was hardly a secret. Elain wanted to leave and hoped if she played along and did as they asked, Tamlin might give her leave to go or create a portal or whatever was needed to get back home unharmed.

“I was thinking—” “Lucien,” Tamlin’s voice cut through the silence. Elain jerked backwards, slamming into Lucien’s unmoving chest. “Elain.”

The High Lord unnerved her. Something about the way he watched her made her think there was a game far more sinister than she suspected, all of his own design. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He looked to Lucien.

“I need you to take Andras to the border.” “Of course.”

Just like that. Lucien stepped around her, careful not to touch her at all. He could be playful when it was just the two of them, poking and pinching as it suited him but the moment Tamlin showed up, Lucien was the picture of civility.

“What about me?” Elain asked as Lucien slipped from the room. He didn’t look back, leaving Tamlin to respond. “I thought I might show you more of the grounds,” he offered. Elain wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t a request though he’d worded it to sound polite, to make it seem as if she could decline. She couldn’t. Elain needed Tamlin’s permission to go. He didn’t trust her.

“That would be nice,” Elain lied. She was tired of the rolling green hills and the tulips. Lucien had promised to take her to a field of wildflowers when she described the bluebells in Texas wistfully one day but that had yet to materialize. Perhaps Tamlin would make good on it.

The problem with Tamlin, outside of his unyielding stare, was how unlikable he was. Bron and Hart joked through dinner. They tried to include him. Tamlin would smile on occasion, speaking to a handsome face beneath the mask, but he never quite managed their easy joviality.

She tried not to hold it against him when he joined her for morning yoga or when he replaced Andras on the run. Unlike the other men, who kept a respectful distance and didn’t push, Tamlin removed his shirt halfway through and Elain wished he hadn’t. He was like every frat brother she’d ever met, hoping to get laid and making it way too obvious.

“I’m gonna take a bath,” she told him, noting the way his nostrils flared. “I’ll meet you at the dining table?” “Alright,” he agreed though in truth, Elain had expected haha without me? He seemed the type. Tamlin was waiting with a shirt when she returned to the dining room. An iced piece of lemon loaf and lavender tea waited for her, safe from Lucien’s greedy hands. “Did you sleep well?” Tamlin asked, leaning forward to watch her eat.

“I did,” Elain lied. She slept like shit most nights, plagued by nightmares of running through the woods. He didn’t need to know that. No one did. She’d work that out in therapy if she ever got out of this place. “Did you?” Tamlin nodded. “Your hair looks clean,” he added, his way of paying her a compliment. Elain stared for a moment.

“Oh. Thank you.” “How are you enjoying Spring?”

Elain knew what she would say if it were Lucien or Andras asking. Tamlin showed no hint of the man she’d heard that first day blowing up his study with whatever strange, volatile magic he commanded. She’d asked Lucien once but he hadn’t answered, choosing silence over honesty. He was a bastard that way.

Elain knew better than to agitate some men. It was just a vibe, something she’d picked up from visiting Gray at the fraternity house. Most of his brothers were good, nice men but a few were angry, pent up and always trying to pick a fight with someone weaker than them. Tamlin evoked that same feeling.

“It’s different,” she said carefully, nothing the edge in his eye.

“Do you like it?”

“I still want to go home, if that’s an option—” “It’s not.” Elain’s mouth dropped, all her thoughts flying from her mind. “But Lucien said—”

“Lucien isn’t High Lord. I am.”

“Please,” Elain tried but Tamlin shook his head.

“You’ll stay.” Elain rose from her chair. It was one thing to hear Lucien say it, to have him allude to being forced to stay but it was another for Tamlin to just outright say it in his cold, dark way.

“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’m taking you for a walk.” “No thank you,” Elain said. It didn’t matter. A force she couldn’t fight or control shoved her back in her chair like phantom hands on her shoulders. Tamlin barely reacted as he continued to eat, though it was surely his doing. Elain swallowed the tears she wanted to let fall, picking at her plate without eating. How odd, to wish it was Lucien that sat across from her swiping at her food and making fun of whatever dress Alis had put her in that day. Tamlin said nothing at all, chewing furiously until his plate was empty.

“You don’t wish to eat more?” “No.” Tamlin frowned but released his hold on her. Like a sack of bricks dragged off her shoulders, Elain gasped softly, unaware of the pressure put on her spine. Tamlin didn’t notice or didn’t care, standing and offering her hand. There was no choice to take it, no choice but to let him walk her outdoors where Bron and Hart watched, eyes gleaming. No Lucien, no Andras, as if either could have stopped this.

“Lady Elain,” both Bron and Hart said in unison when she descended the steps to the grounds, bowing slightly and God, why did they look as if they were attending a wedding? She felt as if were walking a death march. Doomed to eternal spring, to living with men who never aged, until she withered to ash. No mourners other than her strange friends. What would her sisters do? What were they doing? Were they looking for her? Scouring the area she’d last been seen, begging people desperately to help them find her? And Gray— Elain choked back a sob, drawing Tamlin’s attention. He frowned. “Are you crying?” Elain hated him for that. Hated him for deciding her entire life with so little care, for shoving her around with his magic, for treating her less than for whatever shortcomings he perceived. She knew he could catch her if he liked. She could hardly outrun any of them, they’d made that abundantly clear though at least Andras had the good sense not to rub in her face. She took off, grateful when Tamlin didn’t chase after her. Elain moved blindly through her tears, sobbing loud enough for anyone to track until she found a grassy hillside with long, staying willow trees that seemed to beckon her in the wind. She collapsed beneath one, knees drawn to her chest, weeping until her ribs ached and her head pounded.

“I don’t want to die here,” she told the world, as if it could hear her. The drooping green branches lengthened and groaned, shielding her from the outside world until only the barest amount of light pierced through the rustling leaves.

She rested her head against the bark, her yellow dress spread over her legs. The wind sang a song that was vaguely familiar, a melody she could almost place. She didn’t budge, stretching out when the sun hit the highest point in the sky, its golden rays warming the world around her. She napped and cried and napped some more until darkness began to creep like shadows, slipping past the leafy defenses of her protective shelter.

“Lady Elain?” Hart’s voice called carefully, the rest of him utterly silent. “I think you want to be alone but night is coming—” “Go away!” she called, wincing at the hoarse, broken sound of her voice.

“I thought so. I brought you some things. Food and—” “Blankets!” Bron added, his voice rich with sympathy. “It gets cold. Come out and let us help you set up.” “We brought other things,” Hart coaxed gently. “Things our High Lord would not want you to have.” Bron pushed the branch aside, bear mask so silly she almost smiled. He caught it, offering her a freckled hand. “I’ll show you how to build a campfire. We could roast sausages—”

“And marshmallows!” Hart called from behind him.

“We do that back home,” she whispered, letting them see her hurt. Bron nodded.

“Tell us about it.”

And she did, while Hart and Bron made their little jokes. She trailed after them, helping to gather wood as she told them about her dilemma about going back to Chicago and how her best friend wanted her to say. Bron and Hart lacked the fire Lucien possessed and instead shared what they all had was brute, animalistic strength and some limited ability to shift their appearance. It was a give and take—almost real friendship, she thought with longing when the fire was built and the fat sausages Bron had brought sizzled over a skillet. She twirled a long stick between her fingers, already wishing for a marshmallow, if only to taste a little of home.

“It sounds like your friend Harper isn’t really your friend,” Bron told her after a moment. This hulking warrior, dissecting her relationship problems, would have been funny if she hadn’t been so desperate for connection. “She doesn’t consider your needs.”

Hart nodded in agreement. “She could visit, right? And you two will stay connected through your…phone letters?”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed, unwilling to argue semantics when at least they were trying.

“I don’t like her,” Bron announced.

“You don’t know her,” Elain replied, watching Hart rise to pull off his sausages and slide them into little bowls. Elain took one, noting how Hart had split the sausages evenly among them, though there was no way she could eat six. Elain stood and offered up two more to each man before plopping between them rather than as far as she’d been sitting.

“She was pretty cruel during your vacation,” Hart reminded Elain, drawing her back to the conversation at hand. “She abandoned you for that man when you had plans to go to the museum—” “And she’s encouraging you to sleep around,” Bron added. “When you said she knew it made you uncomfortable.”

“I think she has this idea of who you should be to her,” Hart continued thoughtfully. “Second in whatever scenario she’s imagined and you’re so nice, Elain, you let her.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Elain mumbled, her throat closing again. Both Bron and Hart bumped her with their shoulders.

“You can be first best among us, if you like,” Bron offered. Elain smiled because they were so genuinely good it was hard to dislike them.

“I wouldn’t dare fight Lucien over that spot,” she teased, earning a few chuckles.

“He might not mind so long as you don’t scare away the females,” Hart replied after a moment, reclining back on his elbows to look up at the violet sky overhead. A feeling of…of what? It tugged at her, though she didn’t know what exactly it was. Not jealousy or anger or fear. Something else, something she didn’t recognize.

“I could be a really good wing woman,” Elain replied, noting their confusion. “You know, help out. Keep the crazy people at bay, make the awesome women want to spend time with you?”

“That would be a sight,” Bron admitted as Hart stood.

“I would love to see any male ask a female for help,” he added. “With sex, I mean. Just…we males we tend to be ah…territorial.”

“They’d scent Lord Tamlin on her anyway,” Hart said, drawing a frigid chill up her spine.

“What?”

“Because you live in his house. No one would dare touch the High Lord’s female,” Hart told her earnestly, unaware of how uncomfortable he’d made her.

“No more talk of Lord Tamlin or wooing females,” Bron announced, drawing a leather pouch of homemade marshmallows. “I demand to see how Lady Elain roasts her marshmallows and then—”“We brought you a knife,” Hart interrupted gleefully. “We’re going to teach you to throw them.” “We have a wooden target board and everything.”

Elain grabbed Hart’s arm, squeezing tight, face buried into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You need friends,” Hart murmured. “We want to be that.”

And in the wake of her aching, empty chest, Elain could not have asked for anything more.

~*~

Lucien returned to a silent, empty estate. Elain, he supposed, was asleep but Bron and Hart were nowhere to be found. Andras glanced at him, shrugging his sweaty shoulders before tramping through the house, leaving Lucien to track down Tamlin. Once again, Tamlin had torn apart his study. Lucien swallowed his irritation. It was difficult constantly replacing those items. It took time for the craftsmen in the nearby villages to create chairs and desks and bookcases.

“You alright? I’m gonna take a—” “Elain is sleeping on the grounds tonight.”

Lucien blinked, his chest filling with unimaginable hate for only a moment before it winked out. “Alone?”

Tamlin shrugged. “She took off this morning when I told her she was not leaving—” Lucien groaned from the doorway. “You couldn’t let her have that hope?”

“You were supposed to warn her—” “I am already following her day and night,” Lucien interrupted. “I am a nuisance to her, barely a friend and the only good will I had was her hope if she behaved, I might one day convince you to let her go. You’ve slammed that door before she ever had a reason to stay.”

Tamlin was clearly pissed his day with Elain had not gone the way he hoped. “Why do you need to play the part of villain?” Lucien pressed. “You could assign that to me, could have told her anything you liked and she would have believed you.”

“I don’t know,” Tamlin finally admitted with a heavy sigh. “She’s so difficult.” Lucien wanted to yell at Tamlin. Elain was a slip of a female, practically nothing at all. She asked for practically nothing at all.

“She would jump through flaming hoops if you told her she could go home in, say….a year.”

Tamlin looked at Lucien. “That’s a lie.” “A lot could happen in a year,” Lucien reminded him. “She might not want to leave if you gave her a reason to stay. Regardless, no one said you had to love her. She only has to love you. Court her, let her break this curse, and send her home.”“Go get her,” Tamlin asked, voice ragged and exhausted. “You tell her I’ve changed my mind.” “It should come from you,” Lucien chided even as his chest refilled with pleasure. He’d been thinking about her since he left, his mind replaying the same soft snap he’d felt ever since their bargain. That’s all it was, he told himself. He’d scoured books looking for any proof humans and fae could be mates and if it existed, no one had thought to write it down. Not mates, just bound by a shimmering agreement that would fade in two weeks. Not mates, that would be a betrayal of his friendship with Tamlin, of everything Tamlin had done for him, of his home of this land.

Not mates.

And yet Lucien strolled into the darkness, following the sound of raucous laughter and the singing of the willows. Elain was certainly not alone. She gotten far, obviously trailed by Bron and Hart who had built a fire and laid out bedrolls so she didn’t have to return. Elain had tied her yellow dress around her legs to create strange, billowing pants and both Bron and Hart had shucked off their tunics for just the shirts underneath, sleeves rolled to the arm.

“Again!” Hart demanded, sweaty from either the nearby fire or exertion. Elain had a knife in hand as Bron adjusted her posture, holding her straight, his hand covering her wrist. Lucien had to swallow a furious snarl at the sight—it was fine. They weren’t hurting her and besides…

Not mates.

He’d built the possibility up in his head to the point of madness. She was no one’s female, least of all his. Tamlin would figure this out, would end this curse, kill Amarantha and Elain would go back home or, perhaps, even marry Tamlin if he fell too. Lucien didn’t see how his friend might given he was brooding inside while Elain threw her knife delightfully well. Bron and Hart whooped in support, earning the brightest smile Lucien had seen from her.

“What are you three up to now?” he asked, well aware they were doing nothing wrong. From the looks of it, Bron and Hart had fed her and convinced her to have a little fun, which was more than anyone else had managed in the last couple days. Elain turned, golden brown hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her smile sliding right off her face at the sight of him.

“It was all in good fun,” Hart began but Elain crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts back up. Lucien ignored how every fucking orgasm he’d had since she arrived had centered on the potential sight of her naked body. He needed to do that again, he decided. Prove she was just a particularly pretty human and nothing more.

“We’re staying,” she said. “We’re camping tonight.”

“Fine,” Lucien replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only came to give you a message from the High Lord.” She went utterly stiff. What had Tamlin said, he wondered?

“He wants you to know he will release you in a year.”

“A year,” she breathed as both Bron and Hart put their hands on her shoulder. “No sooner?”

“Stop pushing him,” Lucien warned. “I said I’d do what I could. You should trust me.”

“A year is better than forever, Lady Elain,” Bron told her, drawing her attention away from Lucien. He was grateful for it. He left them to their fire and their knives, wishing she’d invited him to stay. He could have engorged the flame until it licked the heavens itself, could have shown her how to bury a blade in Hart’s back before he could even blink.

You should trust me.

Not mates.

In town, Lucien found the first willing body he could, dragging her back to the estate knowing full well Elain, Bron, and Hart wouldn’t be back in the morning. She had blonde hair like before though her name eluded him. Had he even asked before he’d hauled her into his lap, kissing her until he was breathless and dizzy? Had she told him when she removed his pants to slide her pretty red lips over his aching cock?

He certainly didn’t care when he put her on her hands and knees, ass in the air. It wasn’t his favorite position but it did make fantasizing easier. Lucien couldn’t pretend he didn’t want Elain, not as he drove into the pretty, nameless female trapped in a mask, same as him. He could vent into her, could project it was Elain’s soft moans, Elain’s willing cunt milking him until he came too loudly. This female’s fate was bound up with his—if he crossed a line, they were all doomed.

Tamlin was waiting at the breakfast table wordlessly when Lucien sent the female out. Lucien dropped beside his friend, waiting for the inevitable.

“Good night?” Tamlin finally asked. Lucien made himself grin, to look cocky and casual.

“Not the worst night I’ve ever had.”

This, he thought desperately. This is what I miss. The time before Amarantha when they could joke and laugh and tease each other without worrying about Tamlin losing his temper. It hadn’t been perfect but it had been easier. Almost fun. Tamlin cracked a smile just in time for Elain, reeking of smoke, to trail into the room. Tamlin immediately stood while Lucien doled food out, ignoring the soft tug in his gut.

Not mates. Not mates. Not mates.

“Lady Elain,” Tamlin began, unaware she only let Bron and Hart call her that. Lucien suspected it was because they said it with brotherly affection and not the stiff formality Tamlin was employing.

“Just Elain was fine,” she said, eyeing him warily. “I need to bathe.”

“Of course, I…I still want to take you around the grounds, if you’ll let me? We got off to the wrong foot yesterday.” Her eyes bounced to Lucien.

“Six months,” she said softly, ignoring every piece of advice Lucien had given her. Tamlin went rigid.

“What?”

“Six months and then you send me home.” Lucien sighed.

“A year,” Tamlin replied. It was all he could give her. That was when time stopped and Amarantha came to drag them beneath the mountain, prisoners in their most sacred spot. Six months was nothing, he told himself and yet Tamlin, if he failed, couldn’t be bound to a promise he was unable to keep.

“Please,” Elain tried, her voice cracking. She’d clearly given this a lot of thought, had constructed an argument that Lucien was sure was reasonable and sound. “I have a life—” “It’ll be waiting in a year,” Tamlin dismissed tensely. He’d hoped for a better start.

“Elain,” Lucien warned but she stepped closer to Tamlin.

“You don’t understand,” she tried to explain. “My life, my boyfriend—” The room exploded. Lucien was quick enough to shield her with his body, shoving her between himself and the wall to keep the table and all the pottery on top of it from killing her. He took the brunt of the abuse, pressed so tight he thought he might have robbed her of air. Elain buried her face against his chest, eyes squeezed shut tight, hands fisted in his tunic. Boyfriend has set him off. They didn’t have that concept, not technically, though it translated well enough. She belonged to another male back home and Tamlin was jealous.

“Lucien,” Tamlin breathed the way he always did. Tell her you’re sorry! “Lucien, I…” “Go upstairs,” Lucien ordered. Elain nodded, gulping down air frantically. She didn’t need to be told twice, not when she stepped around him to see the destruction of the table and plates and bowls, strewn about with wild, careless abandon. Lucien’s body ached from the abuse though he said nothing as he faced off with an anguished Tamlin.

“Boyfriend?” he whispered.

“A courting male and nothing more!” Lucien snapped. “Fuck, Tam…you could have killed her.” “I know, I know, I…” he swallowed hard. “I’m so fucking scared this is falling apart.”

“You’ve got to try harder,” was all Lucien could say. He wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, not in the light of his ruined breakfast and his aching back. Some not insignificant part of him wanted to shred Tamlin to pieces for what he’d done. “Take her to the pool of starlight and apologize or send her the fuck home.”

He didn’t stay to watch Tamlin wave the mess away, to pretend like none of it happened. He was stressed, he was losing his grip on his sanity, staring down the end of the tunnel in which Amarantha forced him into a marriage he didn’t want and made him the ruiner of their land. Lucien didn’t envy Tamlin’s choices and yet some part of him was beginning to think Tamlin had given up long before Elain ever came.

He went to her door, knocking softly. Elain pulled open the door and just like that, Lucien was standing in her bedroom. Lovely, soft, delicate…and so at odds with his own bedroom. She clipped lavender placed in a little white water jug on the windowsill, she had a sun hat hanging from one of her bedposts and a cozy knitted blanket draped over a chair.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, hands touching his back tentatively. “Let me see.”

And damn him if he didn’t yank off his tunic, wincing in pain when he raised his arms over his head. His shirt went next, eliciting a soft hiss of air from her lips. Lucien strode past her for the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at the ugly bruises rapidly healing beneath his skin.

“They’ll be gone by morning,” he lied. They’d take at least a day, if not more, to fully fade. Still, there was no need to worry her, not when she was so pale. The light in her eyes, the bright smile Bron and Hart had coaxed from her had vanished. Elain bit her lip as he pulled his shirt back over his head, well aware it wasn’t appropriate to be in her bedroom, let alone half naked.

“What’s really going on here? Tell me,” she ordered. The magic string pulled at his gut as the other, the one that Amarantha bound him to, wrapped itself around his throat.

“I can’t,” he managed.

“Why not?”

No words came though the magic between them tried to compel him. Elain watched him gape like a fish, arms crossed. “Magic?” “Yes.”

“A deal you made with Tamlin?”

He shook his head no. “I can’t…Elain, if I could explain it I would. I can’t. Don’t ask me, the bond might shred me in two.” Elain’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Bond?”

“We made a deal,” he groaned softly, collapsing on top of her knitted blanket in the chair. “It creates a bond between us. A tether.” She rubbed at her rib cage absently. “Okay. So something is happening but you can’t tell me…and it’s why I have to stay here for the next year. Is it why Tamlin…lost his temper?”

“No,” he admitted miserably. Elain stood over him but wisely didn’t ask him to elaborate. She was smart, she could figure this out. She’d help, he thought. She had that look about her, evoked that feeling of warmth…she reminded him of his mother, in a strange way.

Of Jesminda.

“I’m going to figure it out,” she warned.

“I hope you do,” he replied, rising to his feet.

“I’m going home, Lucien,” she called after his retreating back. Lucien sighed.

“I know you are.”

~*~

“Andras!” Elain called, jogging after her friend. “What happened to our run?”

“Duty calls,” he replied with an easy smile, sweeping a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “Who ran with you today?”

“Lucien,” she grumbled. “He doesn’t pretend to be as slow as me and it's annoying.” “That sounds about right,” Andras agreed. “I’ll try not to leave you alone with him tomorrow. You did yoga though, right?”

It was strange to hear how comfortable they were getting with some of her terms. Strange and comforting. Some of them were trying. Even Tamlin was trying. He wanted to take her to a pool and Elain had finally relented, agreeing to go later that afternoon. She’d dressed in pretty pink, with braided pigtails keeping her hair off her face.

“Why do you wear masks?”

“It’s a curse,” Andras said with a wink. “We’re doomed to wear them for our hubris…or something like that, anyway.”

“By who?”

“Who indeed, Elain? Why all the questions? Did Lucien not wear you out? Because I’ve got time in an hour. We can run again.”

“No, I’m meeting Tamlin,” she replied, catching the flash of relief in Andra’s blue eyes. Tamlin, who destroyed the dining room when he learned she had a boyfriend and Tamlin who was always just around, talking in his stilted, awkward way. No Hart, no Bron, no fucking Lucien at the pool today. Just her and Tamlin.

Cursed.

Was Elain in some sort of Snow White like story? Where the prince required a kiss to free himself? She wouldn’t do it. Elain knew how these stories ended. Happily ever after, here, a human trapped where she didn’t belong.

The thoughts plagued her all through her walk with Tamlin. To his credit, the longer the trekked over the sloping landscape. As if the estate was wearing him down, sucking the life from him. He seemed almost happy in the sunlight, telling her about his parents and the garden he so often caught her in. “My father built it for my mother,” Tamlin told her with a wistful look. “It was a mating present and—” “Mating present? Is that like marriage?”

He chuckled and she begrudgingly could admit it was a good laugh. “No. We have marriage but mating bonds are something different altogether.”.

“Bond?” she questioned.. Tamlin nodded, his masked face tilted towards the sun. “It’s…I don’t know what the concept is like, where you’re from. It’s a soul bond, it’s a perfect pairing between two people. They’re rare and if you’re blessed to find your other half, it supersedes a marriage. We honor mating bonds above all else.”

“Soulmates,” she murmured. “We call that soulmates.” Tamlin smiled. “I like that. It feels right.”

“What does it feel like?” Elain asked, ignoring the soft pull in her stomach, the hook just beneath her ribs.

“I don’t know,” Tamlin admitted. “It’s a living thing, though. A cord, or so they say. Tethering two people together.”

Elain smiled softly. “It sounds terribly romantic.” “It was for my parents,” he admitted wistfully. “I think for some, it’s bliss and for others its hell. My mother loved my father fiercely—too much, even. He loved her, too, in his way. She was, I think, the only thing he loved.”

“What happened to them?”

“A rival lord in another court killed them both,” he said softly, his sadness prompting her to reach for his hand. It startled him—hell, it startled Elain, too. She needed to touch someone and he was there, he was being kind instead of angry and weird and she thought maybe she could condition him to be like this more often as if he were her own version of Pavlov’s dog.

“My mom died of cancer,” she told him, dropping his warm, calloused hand before he could get the wrong idea. “It’s an illness,” she added when he opened his mouth. What kind of world didn’t have cancer? Elain was suddenly struck by the unfairness of it all. “It eats you from the inside really slowly. Some people survived but hers was aggressive and not treatable. She died when I was eleven.” “I’m sorry.”

“My dad fell apart after that. They weren’t madly in love, not like your parents but she was a stay at home mom and he ran a fortune five…a business. We went from this quiet, comfortable life to a two bedroom on the southside. I have two other sisters and sharing a room was hell.”

“You’re not a lord's daughter, then?” Tamlin asked. Elain almost laughed. “Maybe once, in your world. But after my mom died we were living in poverty. I got a job waitressing tables and paid for my cheer stuff so I could get a scholarship to school…I know he was really proud all three of us went to college…university…whatever the equivalent here is.”

“Females don’t tend to study as long as males,” Tamlin admitted. Elain’s hackles went up and he immediately raised his palms in defense.

“I didn’t say I agreed. It’s just how things are done. It’s…it’s nice you were able to.”

Elain shrugged. “It’s just different. Women have work. You can’t count on men.” “Not even the boyfriend?” he questioned, clearly probing. Elain wanted to take the bait, if only to talk to anyone besides herself about Gray. Bron and Hart were biased and strangely sex-positive, urging her to at least have sex with one fairy before she left, if only to see how the two compared.

“It’s just better to rely on yourself,” Elain informed a smiling Tamlin. She didn’t recognize the man before her, bounding towards the shimmering, silvery pool of starlight with glee. A weight had been lifted, a curtain raised. Tamlin waded into the pool in his clothes, taunting and teasing until she dipped in her feet, only for him to yank her in after him. Elain was grateful he had, if only to know what liquid starlight felt. Softer than water, lighter than air. She practically floated home, wishing she could call Harper or Nesta or Gray and tell them what had just happened.

There was no one to tell when she returned, leaving Elain feeling hollow and empty. A year, in the scheme of things, was nothing at all and yet it was everything to her when she walked out into the cool night air, blanket wrapped around her cerulean dress. She tramped away from the estate, well aware she was being followed.

Elain spread the blanket out in the grass as Lucien emerged. “Stuck babysitting tonight?” she asked without malice. He nodded, waiting to see if she’d offer him a place on her blanket. Elain sighed, laying on her back before gesturing for him to join her. There were no trees in sight, the manor hidden behind a large, rolling hill. Only the sound of crickets punctuated the peaceful silence.

“How was the starlight pool?” he asked, hands behind his head as he gazed up at a brilliant sky of stars.

“Perfect,” she admitted. “We have nothing like that at home.”

“Just your tall buildings and your…cars?” he prompted. Elain smiled.

“Yes. Tall buildings and cars. And a sky so polluted by light you could never see anything half as beautiful as this.” “Prythian is growing on you,” Lucien teased softly. “Before you know it, you’ll be begging to stay.” “I know my sisters are worried,” she whispered, turning her head to look at him in the dark. Lucien turned, too, their faces a foot apart, if that. She could smell the salty, masculine scent of him, could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed when he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Elain. I wish…” She was grateful he didn’t finish that sentence. “Who would miss you, if you just vanished?”

His eyes snapped back to the sky overhead. “No one,” he replied with a gush of air. Elain reached between them, not daring to look as she took his hand.

“Well…if I’m around, and you go missing, I promise to come looking for you. I’ll bring out the cavalry and everything.” He chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I believe that.”

“Tamlin was nice,” she told him after a moment of comfortable silence. “Happy, even. I didn’t think he knew how to smile.” “Ah, well, Tam is always happy when he’s out of the house,” Lucien replied agreeably. “And you’re good company—” “Complimenting me, are you? And it’s not even my birthday,” Elain joked. “Are you unwell? Have you been hit across the head. Quickly, Lucien, how many fingers am I holding up?” He grabbed her hand, an amused smile dancing tugging at his lips. “Surely you’ve noticed how happy you’ve made Bron and Hart. If your male back home doesn’t work out, you’re all squared away here. They’d make you lady of their respected households.” “And you?” she asked without thinking about it, still teasing. Lucien went still, swallowing so hard she could hear it. He released her hand as if she’d burned him.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly when he started to sit. “It was a joke. Lay back down. I don’t want to go inside yet…or marry Bron or Hart.”

Lucien nodded, reclining back to the grass. The magic between them tugged hard, telling her he had forced himself to say nothing rather than admit the truth. Telling her no would have been an easy response, would hardly have hurt her feelings…his silence betrayed him and Elain didn’t know how to handle that, if pressed, he would have said yes.

“When is your birthday?” Lucien asked after another beat. “The first day of Spring?”

“You’d think. Supposedly, I was born on the longest day of the year which, at the time, coincided with the hottest day of the year. My mom said it was miserable. What about you?”

“On Samhain,” he offered quickly, gazing up at the stars. “All Autumn.” “I’m sure someone there misses you,” Elain murmured, catching the wistful tone of his words. Lucien nodded.

“You’re probably right. Not enough to send out the cavalry, though.”

“I can be very persuasive. I’ll march right into Autumn Court and demand your father help.” Lucien relaxed fully, chuckling again. “I would love to see it.” “Andras said your father is a jerk.” It was more question than anything, a way to poke beneath the many masks Lucien seemed to wear as they suited him. “And you have six brothers?” “Four, now.”

“I’m sorry.” Elain would have been wrecked to lose either of her sisters. It made her wonder, again, what Feyre and Nesta were doing. Would they give up eventually? Elain doubted it. She wouldn’t be surprised if they came crashing in any day now, ready to take down all of the Fae.

“I’m not.”

Elain was pulled from her thoughts, forced to look at him again.

Touch him. The wind seemed to whisper the suggestion, grazing her fingers until they tingled with the urge. Elain’s hand shot out against her better judgment, grazing the skin just beneath his mask. Lucien tensed again, was likely to bolt and yet she didn’t stop as she traced the line of his face, avoiding his lips entirely until she was half hovering over him to brush over the scars. They looked like jagged fingers had dug into his face and yanked out the skin.

“Did they do this to you?” He only shook his head. “It’s a story for another night.”

“Okay,” Elain agreed, pulling her hand away despite her own urges begging her to continue her slow exploration. “How about tomorrow? You, me, the nicest bottle of whiskey Tamlin has, and a blanket of stars?” “You really liked sleeping outside?” Asked as if he doubted it. Elain had always been outdoorsy, had always liked to camp and hike and bound about. It was the manicured nails and perfect hair that tricked people, as if she could only be one thing. Elain was a million things, was a raging river and a peaceful wind all at once.

“Yes. I’ll show you how good I am at building a fire.” Please? She wanted to add. She stopped herself. Elain had begged him enough to last a lifetime. Still, if her outing with Tamlin had been fun, she had to assume that Lucien, too, could let down his immaculate, half braided hair and be a little wild, too.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But we’re going somewhere new.”

That peaked her interest. “Where?”

Lucien only smiled.

“You’ll see.”

~*~

Lucien laid in bed far longer than he usually did. He was sweaty, his body stuck to the sheets half draped over his naked body. He was achingly erect which was nothing new these days. The problem was how he wanted to deal with it. He could shove it into his pants, go into the village, and coax one of the lovely females to help him work out his frustration. He could bend her over and close his eyes and imagine Elain like he always did….or he could use his hand and pretend he never thought of her at all.

Fucking a warm cunt did more than take the edge off—it made him feel normal for a while. The problem was the lingering feeling of a warm body and Lucien wasn’t sure he wanted to spend a night with Elain in a field of wildflowers with the memory of her phantom body fucking him.

Using his hand removed that from the equation and yet was just barely satisfying anymore. Either way, Lucien had fucked himself both literally and metaphorically. Letting himself imagine what it would be like to fuck the savior of Prythian while she all but begged him to spend a night alone with her was practically begging for trouble. Lucien gripped his cock with a sigh, pumping himself anyway. He didn’t want to fuck other females. It was becoming difficult to finish and he knew why.

It was a betrayal of Tamlin to want her, made him a traitor to his people and his homeland to have one impure thought about her.

And it was wrong to be with anyone but his mate. And Lucien was certain she was after last night. He’d sent one soft plea down their shared bond, a test just to prove to himself it was a magical bargain and nothing more.

Touch me.

Her hand had shot out like lightning, brushing his cheeks as if she couldn’t help herself. Lucien shuddered, pleasure coiling in his balls until they were tight against his body. He would have let her touch him anywhere in that moment, would have let her strip him to nothing. Lucien was touch starved and desperate though not for anyone—for her.

He came faster than he meant to, well aware he was coming to the thought of her hands and nothing else. “Fuck,” he whispered, dragging himself out of bed to clean himself up. He could avoid her for the day and hope for the best at night. Elain went through her usual routine—yoga on the terrace, running with Andras, before bounding into the dining room for breakfast. She’d left her golden brown hair down with only a thin, beaded headband keeping loose curls from touching her perfect face. Her dress was ivory, laced at the bodice loosely so they could all see the hint of breast not just at the sloped neckline but through her torso as well. It looked like a nightgown more than anything, with it’s thick strapped sleeves and it’s softly cinched waist. He could have died right then and there, eyes fixated on the curve of her collarbone.

He wasn’t the only one. Tamlin’s scent shifted his interest apparent. They’d had a good day yesterday and perhaps Elain was dressing for Tamlin.

Her eyes found his face and she smiled and Lucien was dead all over again. Tamlin, unaware of what was happening, cleared his throat. “Bron, Hart, and I are going to the border this afternoon.”

“Is everything okay?” Elain asked, turning her attention back to the High Lord. She propped her elbows on the table, pushing her breasts upwards and the sight did not go unnoticed by Tamlin. Lucien swallowed his jealousy.

“Everything is fine,” Tamlin lied, as if a bogge hadn’t been spotted harassing the villages up north. It would take the three of them at least a day, if not more, to track it and kill it. “Will you be fine?”

Elain nodded. “I’ll have Lucien and Andras. I’m sure they can keep me contained.” There was a note of bitterness to her words, reminding them both that she may be complacent for the moment, but she wasn’t happy about it. Tamlin caught it too, drawing back a respectful distance.

“Well. If you need anything…”

Elain went back to her food, her mood dampened by the reminder she was still a prisoner when she’d rather go home and Lucien, unable to stand her moodiness, reached over the table and pulled apart half the lemon loaf before she could stop him.

“Do you mind?” Elain demanded with exasperation as he shoved the bread into his mouth.

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll see you later. Tam,” he added pointedly, drawing Tamlin from the table. Tamlin left her to her food and her pert, pretty breasts begrudgingly.

“Just a bogge?” he questioned once they were alone, swiping a full decanter of whiskey while Tamlin ran a hand through his golden hair.

“And more fucking naga. She’s messing with us like she always does but I don’t think she knows about our human.”

Lucien nodded. “I figured. Elain is too…” Too what? “I know. That’s a problem, though. Rhysand is going to come sniffing around one of these days, the fucking dog. We need to think about how we can hide her.”

“The estate is large,” Lucien murmured. “And Rhys is unlikely to snoop. Worst case scenario, lock her in her bedroom with Andras and demand utter silence.”

“He’ll smell her.” Tamlin began but Lucien held up a hand, silencing Tamlin when the wood in the hall creaked softly.

“We’ll worry about this later,” Lucien murmured to his friend. “When you get back we can figure it out.”

Tamlin nodded, clapping Lucien on the shoulder. Elain was in the hall, eyes wide and sweet. Tamlin brushed past her, hands touching. “Stay out of trouble,” he murmured. She didn’t pull back or react with revulsion. Elain merely nodded, earning a rather cheeky smile from the High Lord. Her eyes slid back to Lucien, vibrating with jealousy when he knew he shouldn’t. They’d be alone no matter what, he told himself…though Andras could serve as a buffer.

“Perhaps we should wait for Tamlin to return. He might like to join us—” “No,” Elain said breathlessly, taking a giant step towards him. She was in his personal space, her scent slamming into his chest. Honeyed jasmine, he thought in a daze. He wanted to taste it on her skin, wanted to lick the length of her body until he was drowning in it. “Don’t cancel. It’ll be fun.” Fun wasn’t the word Lucien would have chosen, not when he was semi-erect just standing in front of her imagining how he might shred the dress she wore and take her up against the cream colored wall. “Of course,” he breathed. Elain’s lips pulled into a frown.

“Are you okay?” No. “I have things I need to do before we go. Make yourself scarce,” he added when she continued to stare at him. Humans had dull senses—she couldn’t scent his arousal, his change in scent but any other male would and the last thing Lucien needed was for Andras or Bron to walk down the hall and catch him panting at Elain’s feet.

Lucien felt like a monster, trapped in his bedroom. He was a caged animal, ignoring his responsibilities in favor of pacing while Elain taught Andras a game on the lawn that involved kicking a ball across a field into opposing goals. He could hear her shrieks of laughter and Andras’s whooping noises of encouragement and far from feeling pleasure that Elain was starting to make herself at home, he merely felt jealous and angry. She was so easy with the others.

She could be easy with you.

If he relaxed even a fraction of an inch and had a little fun. Wasn’t that what Tamlin had done? Dropped his guard, lowered his mask, so to speak? It prompted him to begin packing supplies, given the sky was moody and cloudy and the scent of rain was in the air. Lucien would turn her around if it began pouring before they arrived but if it happened after, well…that was what the tent was for.

As to if spending the night in a small, enclosed space with his mate was a good idea, Lucien chose not to thing about that. Not when Elain wandered into the stables later that afternoon, pink cheeked and smiling with little flowers in her hair.

“Only one horse?” she asked with a frown. Lucien booped her on the nose.

“You know why. Get in the saddle.” “How far are we going?” Elain asked when he swung up beside her and oh, Lucien had miscalculated. Her hair was tucked beneath his chin, blowing against his face as they stepped into the world. Her body nestled between his thighs, her back against his chest…Lucien shifted in his saddle. He was polite, he reminded himself. He was proving she could trust him, that he could be a good mate to her.

That she could stay, not that he was ready to tease that thought out to its logical conclusion. He was tied up in knots and Elain, blithely unaware, launched into a million questions he was forced to answer based on their magical bargain. He wished she’d go back to asking him about the curse.

What’s your favorite color?

What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you?

How did you learn to fight like that?

What do emissaries even do, anyway?

Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?

How did you meet Tamlin?

Have you ever been in love? Why didn’t you get married—

Lucien opted for complete honesty. He was required to, regardless, though he was good at skirting those rules to avoid answering a question when he wanted to. Here, beneath a moody afternoon sky, Lucien told his mate everything. His favorite color was orange and the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened was getting caught with his pants down with the Winter Court priestess in front of both the High Lord, her father, and soon-to-be-betrothed. He was the son of a High Lord so of course he was better trained as a warrior and his elder brother just happened to be general of Autumn Court’s forces, besides. Yes, he knew he was annoying. Enjoyed it, even.

As for the other questions, well…Lucien swallowed and told her about Jesminda. Meeting Tamlin, becoming emissary, falling in love and never getting married were all tied up in her story. Elain was quiet, her jokes falling to sympathy, head resting gently on his chest.

“It was a long time ago,” Lucien finished with a sigh. He’d been so sure she was his mate, had told Beron as much. And his father, who’d always enjoyed his cruel games, had taken joy in ending that. No son of mine is mates with lesser fairies.

And Lucien, irate, had only thought to say Then I am not your son!

Perhaps if he’d stayed silent, if he hadn’t provoked Beron had renounced not just his title and crown but his very parentage, Jes would still be alive. Alive and he would have married her, would have settled somewhere, blithely unaware the bond would never snap because his mate was a human woman trapped in another world.

“Tamlin explained mates to me yesterday,” Elain told him as they approached the sea of wildflowers scattered in all directions as far as the eye could see. Elain straightened when her eyes snagged on the colorful blooms swaying in the cool wind.

“Did he now?” Lucien asked, sliding out of the saddle and offering her his hand so she could hop back to the ground. Elain nodded, her attention slipping.

“We don’t have anything like he described…it must have been so painful—” “We weren’t mates,” he said, clarifying that point. “Only deeply in love. I know now she wasn’t but at the time I believed she was.” “Still,” Elain murmured. “I’m sorry all the same.”

“No more talk of sadness,” Lucien instructed, following her over the soft, sloping hill to the edge of the field. “Today is supposed to be fun.”

“For us both? Is bossy Lucien Vanserra going to let his hair down?” she joked. And he did, pulling from the braid at the crown of his head and raking his fingers through the locks. Elain smiled. “I wish I had my camera.” “Would you paint me?” he asked, still baffled by the concept of a picture.

“I would put you on the internet and watch the world collectively lose their mind,” she replied with a grin, wading into the flowers. “I’ll bet you're handsome beneath that mask.” “I absolutely am,” Lucien replied with a grin. “Ask any of the females in town.”

“Oh? Are they all pining for you?”

Lucien skimmed the tops of the flowers with his palm. “Who could blame them?” “You’re so modest,” she teased.

“Add it to my list of qualities you appreciate.”

Elain raised her hand, facing him beneath a cloudy gray sky, hair blowing in the wind. “Annoying, self-centered, bossy—” “Handsome, charming, funny,” he added, ticking the qualities on his own fingers. “Your words, not mine.” “I never called you charming or funny,” Elain reminded him. Lucien dared to come just a little closer, drinking her in. She was perfect, he thought, so alive and wonderful and sweet. She did not belong to him and yet in that moment, he could almost pretend she did.

“You were thinking it.”

Elain only smiled and poked him in the stomach. “Shouldn’t you set up camp while I frolic without a care in the world.” “What of your famed campfire?” “When my handsome bodyguard can make flames shoot from his hands? How is that fair?”

Lucien could have listened to her call him handsome every day for the rest of his life. “Fine. Go, be free, Elain. I will do all the work like a common servant—” “Sounds good!” she agreed cheerfully, taking off before he could catch her. Lucien could have chased after her but Elain looked so happy and he was content to leave her be.

Lucien took a breath.

He’d pleased his mate.

~*~

Elain peered into the small tent for only a moment. A rumble of thunder chased several cold, angry raindrops from the dark sky overhead, splattering against her face and neck. Lucien followed just behind, kicking off his boots before sealing up the entrance quickly. The space was tiny, big enough for the two of them and nothing else. He’d done his best to spread out their bedrolls but he knew he’d hoped they would sleep in the grass with space between them. Elain reached for a folded blanket and spread it over both of the squashy blue rolls before plopping down on her side. Lucien was wary as he joined her, sitting cross-legged.

“At least we got the day,” she said with forced cheer. He nodded, all of his humor gone. He laid against his pillow, body spanning the entire length of their little tent and God he was so large—stop it, she instructed herself. He was no different than Bron or Hart or Andras or even Tamlin. She wasn’t attracted to them and she wasn’t attracted to Lucien, either. Only, she was. She couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something utterly appealing about the naked vulnerability of their horse ride or the way he’d spent the day teasing her. His wit was sharp and Elain had always appreciated that in a man.

Of them all, Lucien seemed the most likely to panic if she ever made a glimmer of that interest known. It was one thing to tease but when she’d touched him the night before, Lucien had been all but ready to leave her to the night. Elain swallowed. They’d ride out the thunderstorm and return in the morning.

She laid beside him, her hand mere inches from his own. “Thank you for bringing me today,” she murmured. Lucien turned his head to look at her. So much of his face was hidden behind that mask.

Touch him, the wind all but howled, tugging hard in her gut. Elain couldn’t stop her reaction, propelled by want and her own desire for contact. Instead of touching him, she touched his mask, sliding her fingers beneath the soft, curved edges. Lucien didn’t move as she tugged, eyes closing when it didn’t budge.

“If I could cut it off, I would,” he told her. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” “What kind of curse binds a mask to your face?” she asked.

“I suppose it amused her,” Lucien replied. Her. Not it, not some nameless prophecy. Her. Lucien didn’t realize his mistake and Elain didn’t call him on it. Someone had done this, had cursed them to live this way and had baked some sort of loophole within it that might free them. Elain wondered if perhaps it had been written down somewhere. Even some cryptic nonsense was better than no information at all.

Elain drew away, laying back on her bedroll to contemplate. Lucien didn’t move other than to breathe, hands resting on his chest. Overhead, rain pattered heavily against their tent, broken by the occasional far away rumble of thunder. Elain wanted to stay awake, to ponder this mystery a little while longer. Maybe all Tamlin needed was a kiss? She could do that, she reasoned. One kiss, regardless of how long it needed to be, was preferable to a year of confinement. Deciding she’d ask when he returned, Elain drifted to sleep.

She had a vague awareness, sometime in the night, that she was warmer than she ought to be. Half asleep, she felt in the dark as lightning cracked through the sky. Arms tightened around her body with a soft grunt of air. Lucien, she remembered. They were outdoors. She buried her face into his chest, still clad in a shit, and drifted back to sleep. Or maybe she didn’t. Elain didn’t know if she dreamt of his hand sliding over her lower back or hers reaching beneath his shirt. She couldn’t be sure if the groan he made was snoring or something else, or if her leg rubbing against the hardness between his legs was just her overactive imagination spinning compelling, arousing dreams.

“Elain,” his ragged voice half pulled her back to reality. “Elain, I can smell you. Please wake up.”“Smell what?” she asked sleepily, arching her body against his own. Lucien groaned again and this time she knew it was real. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the blackness around. It was raining harder than before, the world drowning in thunder and lightning.

“You,” Lucien pulled her back to the moment. Their legs were tangled together, his thigh pressed against her core just as hers was. He was erect—she could feel him straining against her. Her hand was beneath his shirt, curled against his taut flesh, their faces mere inches from each other. She should have pulled away, should have apologized for her sleep addled state, turned her back, and gone to bed.

A flare of lust speared through her, her heart speeding in her chest. “You smell me?” “Your arousal,” he choked, clarifying what he could smell. “It’s driving me…I can’t…” “You can’t what?” she dared to ask, not afraid but excited.

“I can’t stop myself,” he told her, grinding his leg against her body, stimulating her. Elain exhaled a breath.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she whispered. What could it hurt, she reasoned? They were here, together, both desperately seeking contact. Harper had been telling her to sleep with some, just to see…just to know when it came to Graysen. Why not Lucien? He was cupping her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, leg moving slowly, simulating the feel of his hips. Elain used her own to rub his erection through his pants, surprised by how strongly he reacted. She hadn’t realized he wanted her at all. The others in the estate joked constantly that he got around, that he was always off philandering. Why would she be any different.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, pushing her to his back as he settled over her, leg still pressed against her leg.

“Why?” she asked. Lucien didn’t answer, at least not in words. He kissed her, softly, tentatively. It was sweet, despite the length of him bruising against her hip bone. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d assaulted her with her mouth, for the flame he ignited in her chest. Elain grasped for him, trying to match his pace as some new beast writhed in her chest, screaming in a language that didn’t need words. Demanding, urging, driving—it was instinct like she’d never felt, a mad need to claim this man she barely knew.

Lucien groaned, tongue sweeping against her lips. She opened breathlessly, tugging at his hair, hands everywhere. He tasted salty, masculine, like the raging world outside given new life. She didn’t even know what she wanted, only that if she didn’t get it right that moment, she might come out of her skin in the most literal sense.

It wasn’t magic. It was something else, something that had always been there, a kernel of heat and fire she’d tried to tap into with other men. Elain recognized the wildfire blazing through her now as the thing that she’d been trying so hard to ignite when Graysen got down on one knee. She’d always recognized the potential, even if she didn’t understand it.

Lucien felt it too, if his reaction was any indication. He was so clearly trying to hold himself back, to leash himself when she wished he wouldn’t.

“Let go,” she moaned against his lips, frustrated by the constant scrape of his mask against her face. She wanted it off, wanted to look at him, touch him, to taste him. “I can’t,” he said, driving his pelvis against her. Elain arched, hooking her legs around his waist. It was like being in high school again but worse because Elain could imagine how it might feel to strip him of his clothes, knew how good feeling him buried inside her would be. Every time she went for his shirt, Lucien would half snarl, more animal than man, and pin her arms over her head. And eventually he’d miss the feel of her hands on his body and release her only to start the whole cycle over again.

She could have died like that, kissing him with hungry passion, tongue stroking his own until she was soaked through her underthings and being driven to slow, unrelenting madness. He didn’t stop her when she all but shoved her hand into his pants, gripping the base of his rigid, thick cock before he could stop her.

“Elain,” he begged. She didn’t know what he was asking her for, though his hot, hungry mouth made her think he might lose his mind if she stopped. She felt the same, was overly pleased when he rolled off her, still kissing, to lay on his side. Elain scooted closer, head resting in the crook of his arm, one knee raised so her dress pooled at her thighs. Lucien couldn’t help himself, not when whatever he smelled filled the air…not when she began softly stroking his skin, her fingers just barely fitting around his shaft.

What had Bron said? That she should sleep with one fairy, if only to see how they compared to men? No man could compare to Lucien. Certainly not Gray, who she’d liked sleeping with. His skin was burning and she wondered if that didn’t have something to do with the fire he commanded.

She forgot entirely when his hand swept up her thigh, thumb rubbing softly, lazy circles against her sensitive skin. Fingers skimmed the wet fabric of her underwear, eliciting a loud moan that competed with the raging thunder just outside. It was her turn to beg. “Lucien,” she gasped, unable to ask him to touch her when he captured her mouth in another bruising kiss. He knew what she wanted besides, pushing aside the wet scrap of fabric to slick his fingers through her. Elain’s hips flew off the bedding beneath her, desperate for more contact.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien managed, pressing his forehead to hers for only a moment. She’d stopped her stroking, too focused on his own hands to remember her own. Elain could see those hands, the same that had gripped a sword two weeks before now sliding into her body. She arched her neck, breathing through parted, kiss swollen lips. She didn’t want hands and yet she’d take what she could get in the moment. Elain felt wild, frenzied even. All she knew was she couldn’t stop her rough pumping of his cock, reveling in how his hips bucked as if they knew her hand was all wrong. A bead of precome slicked over his ultra soft head and Elain longed to taste. She wanted all of him, every single inch.

Climax seemed to rise through her without trying at all. More, more, more, it was as if she’d been born for this moment, for his specific touch. His fingers slid in and out, thumb circling her clit until Elain was all but riding his hand. They weren’t kissing so much as touching faces, mouths occasionally clashing in a furious marriage of tongues and teeth.

“What is happening?” she moaned as she sparked. Lucien’s cock pulsated in his hand, heart pounding in her palm.

“Mate,” he told her with a pained groan.. “You’re my mate.”

Elain came just as he said it, her body reacting to those words with a resounding yes, that’s what this is, mates—She couldn’t respond, lost in the fracturing, spiraling heat that spread over her. He came, too, his own release coating her hand. That wild thing in her body writhed with pleasure, urging her to taste him, to bathe herself in his scent, to flip him on his back and take him.

Reality warred with that urge, shoving back. Mates are bad, mates are permanent. Stop touch him, take a breath, you will never leave—

Elain gasped, her whole body still convulsing as she shoved herself out of his arms, dropping his still twitching cock to press herself against the wall of the tent. Lucien watched, illuminated by a bolt of lightning. She saw his misery for a brief flash, echoing her own fear. “What do you mean, mate?”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #i want gonna upload today but you know #sometimes we cope in very specific ways #and this is mine #hadrians wall is safe from me today #but tomorrow?#that remains to be seen #you know who isn't safe?#lucien he is suffering

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

Exile

We always walked a very thin line

Chapter 8: Blame Everyone But Me For This Mess

Beta @alibi272

Rhysand left Feyre in his townhouse, safely tucked away and dreaming peacefully. She was unaware he could hear her every thought, screamed at him due to the lack of mental shields she possessed. He wanted to fix that. Hybern was preparing an army, intending to wipe Jurian from the map. Cassian and Azriel were in Windhaven readying the Illyian warriors and both Day and Summer were set to send their High Lord and General to meet with both Jurian and Rhysand in the coming month. Their only advantage was the King of Hybern’s lack of awareness of the uniting Courts. There were rumors Beron was considering joining the rebellion, leaving just Winter, Dawn, and Spring to ally with Hybern. Spring had brutal warbands and Winter’s soldiers could fight under any conditions but if Rhysand had to pick a side, he would have picked his own.

That wasn’t what troubled him. Rhys knocked on Amren’s apartment door. Mor pulled it open, her brown eyes surveying her cousin. “It’s a little late for house calls,” Amren replied from just inside, sitting casually on a black leather sofa. Mor tossed a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder and closed the door behind Rhys.

“Well?” She asked.

That was a loaded question. Rhys decided to start with what was bothering him. “Tanwen and Lucien Vanserra went to one of the human villages yesterday.”

Both Mor and Amren rolled their eyes. “And?” Mor asked, plopping down besides Amren.

“Since when are we keeping up with the Vanserra’s?” Amren added.

“Typically? Never. However they tortured an overseer and hung his body in the middle of the town square as a warning.”

“Get to the point, Rhysand,” Amren urged, bored.

“Tomas something or other. A nobody that ought to have garnered zero attention from Autumn. Tomas is a name I’ve heard in Feyre’s mind, a male that both sisters believe is the reason the catchers dragged them into Prythian.”

“Cauldron, Rhys, who cares?” Amren asked.

“I care. I’ve been trying to negotiate with Eris Vanserra to release the last Archeron to me and he’s been cagey about her whereabouts. I assumed that meant she must be dead but now I’ve got rogue Vanserras going to her village and slaughtering the male responsible for dragging her to Prythian.”

Mor sighed. “Which one, then?”

Rhys shrugged his shoulders helplessly as she tossed the book onto Amren’s glass coffee tables. “Tanwen or Lucien, if I had to guess. Who knows if they’re even aware of it? I didn’t believe we could have human mates but…apparently we can.”

He knew they could. The thread between him and Feyre was real. He’d felt the snap but even before the kiss and the pulse, he’d felt drawn to her the moment she’d been dragged out onto that stage. His brother, Cassian, too, had asked him to get Nesta and Rhys would not have been surprised if Cassian didn’t come flying down terrified and sick trying to untangle what was happening in his own body. As far as Rhys could tell, Feyre did not feel it.

Now Rhys had an entirely new problem. If any one of the Vanserras were mates with the last Archeron, he’d never see her again. Feyre was plotting to leave to get Elain back, determined to walk across Prythian to do it. Rhys was reasonably confident he could stop her…so long as she told him when she planned to go. Feyre’s plans were vague and undefined but he knew she’d eventually tire of him trying to go about things diplomatically and if she vanished into Autumn, he’d lose her, maybe forever.

Amren picked up the book. “Fool,” she hissed, flipping the dark, leather bound book to the page he had marked. “Stupid fool.”

“It could be done,” he replied, his mind racing. “We used to, when we realized we had a human mate.”

“We used to be more elemental, too,” Amren hissed, her dark eyes looking over the spell Rhys had tracked down. “Who knows what kind of horror you might unleash. Magic requires balance.”

“I’ll give her some of mine,” Rhys replied quickly. “My magic for her immortal existence.”

“Why not just bind your life to hers?” Amren replied, flipping quickly through the book. Rhys scowled.

“Because I would lose my own magic in the process. Feyre as High Fae…”

“And her sisters?” Mor asked, arching a brow. “Do you plan to make Nesta and Elain High Fae, too?”

Amren turned to look at him. “Cassian can, if he wants. And whatever Vanserra Elain is trapped with. I will only turn Feyre.”

Amren shook her head but it was Mor who spoke. “Have you talked to Feyre about it?”

Rhys grimaced. “No. Not yet…it’s barely been a month. I want her to continue her training first…to become used to being in this place.”

Amren rubbed her eyes. “Focus on getting the sister back before you do anything rash. A human hasn’t been made Fae in centuries or more. You are just as likely to kill her as you are to turn her.”

“I can’t…am I supposed to let her die?” Rhys asked Amren desperately. He’d hoped for more optimism, for more encouragement. Amren looked at him, a Goddess made flesh.

“You’ll do well to make this her decision. She needs to be strong.”

“She needs friends,” Mor added gently, standing. “I’ll come back with you. Take her to the city, let her meet people.”

“And if she says no, that’s the end of it,” Amren added. “Forcing her would be dark magic indeed.”

Rhysand nodded, even as his gut churned. He needed to bring Elain to Velaris, to reunite the sisters. He was convinced if Feyre knew Elain was safe, she’d feel more comfortable…she’d relax and maybe start to consider his city her home. Rhys left Amren though he took back his book. Knowing he could remake her into a Fae gave him a little peace. He knew Amren would want him to tell her the truth about the mating bond before he turned her, but Rhys didn’t want to influence her or somehow manipulate her into saying yes. He wanted it to be her decision irrespective of what they meant to each other. As it stood, he knew humans had no idea what a mating bond was or what it meant to the High Fae.

He wondered if the Vanserras had guessed and how Beron was taking the information that one of his sons had a human mate. Which Vanserra would he prefer in his city? Tanwen, he decided. Lucien was too cunning, Eris too cruel. Tanwen was right in the middle, but tended to be less elegant than his elder and younger brothers. Ideally, though, Elain would reject all the Vanserras on principal alone. He didn’t know the female, but surely she wasn’t enjoying herself in Berons’ court.

An idea began to form in Rhysand’s mind. He’d been going through Eris but perhaps it was time to talk with the High Lord himself. If he could convince Beron to let him come to his Court, to discuss the merits of freeing the humans, perhaps he could steal Elain on his way out. Unless Tanwen was stupid as shit and had told Elain, he doubted there was much holding here there. And even then…what human wanted a Faerie as a mate?

That should have made him feel better.

As Rhysand walked back to Feyre, he wondered what about him could possibly be appealing to her. Feyre was the stars but Rhys…

Rhys was night eternal.

He found Feyre curled up by a window, book in hand. Her reading was improving and Rhys wanted her to start reading policy and philosophy instead of the simple adventures she seemed so fond of. She was fighting him on his reading choices and for good reason—they were boring and they both knew it. He couldn’t tell Feyre she was his mate and, as consequence, he wanted her help ruling. He was too aware her education was lacking. Rhys frowned, suddenly frustrated.

“Good book?” He asked with none of his usual teasing. He was all mocking. Feyre dragged her icy blue eyes upwards, body tensing.

“It’s alright,” she replied.

“And the book of history I gave you?” He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t care about Faerie history,” Feyre replied smoothly. “Why can’t I have a book on human history?”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “Do I look like I have books on the non-existent history of humans?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t feel like fighting tonight, Rhys.”

“What do you feel like?” He asked, some of his irritation sliding into curiosity. He had to be careful around her. Feyre was cunning and crafty. He knew she was looking for an escape, believing she could simply stroll into Autumn and collect her sister, utterly unaware of the dangers that lurked between his territory and Berons.

Feyre’s eyes turned towards the window, toward the music and twinkling lights of Velaris just below. He didn’t have to be in her mind to know what she wanted. He almost told her no, almost turned his back to her and left her at the window but what could it possibly hurt, he reasoned? She couldn’t escape while he stood directly next to her and he wanted her to love Velaris.

He wanted her to love him. He held out his hand.

“Come on,” he murmured, his heart racing when she smiled. She placed her hand in his automatically, tossing her long braid over one shoulder. She’d filled out since she arrived, no longer flesh pulled tight over bone. There was color to her freckled cheeks, a roundness to her slim body he found wholly appealing.

Fingers laced, Rhys led Feyre out into the city for the first time since she’d arrived. The weather was pleasant, bordering on chilly though the small human didn’t seem to mind. Face tilted towards hanging string lights, Feyre looked otherworldly, her beauty causing Rhys’s body to tighten painfully. He wanted her so badly it made his teeth ache.

She never dropped his hand, letting him lead her from street to street. He caught how she smiled when both males and females approached, interested in offering themselves up for his pleasure though she kept her pretty little mouth shut. In fact, Feyre said nothing at all until she saw easels set up along the bridge overlooking the Sidra. She pulled her hand from his, inching closer with an unreadable expression.

He couldn’t help himself. Rhys pushed into her mind, curious at her reaction. He’d never seen her show emotion outside of her sisters and to some extent, had never considered she had any interests outside of surviving.

Feyre’s memory was awash in paint. The missing middle sister, Elain, had gifted her some years earlier and in Feyre’s memory, Rhys watched her paint that tiny, dilapidated cabin until the paint dried up and none was left.

“Come with me,” he murmured, taking her by the elbow to the nearby store. Feyre froze in the doorway, eyes huge and glassy.

“Rhys,” she whispered. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to give her everything, the world and all its inhabitants. This was easier, almost embarrassingly so.

“Feyre is an artist,” Rhys told the shop owner. “Give her what she likes.”

Feyre turned to him, stunned. “What? No, you don’t—”

“Wrong,” he interrupted. “But if you want to pay me back…maybe read the book of history for me.”

Feyre exhaled sweetly, reaching for his hand. Heart pounding in his throat, he watched her bring the palm of his hand to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his skin.

“Thank you.”

“Lucien,” Ayla smiled, offering him her hand. Ayla had curled her lovely, butter yellow hair and tied it off her face with a pretty pink ribbon. Her green eyes were bright as he swept her into a dance. What did he look like to her, he wondered? He’d been dragged to this ball by the point of his ear. His mother was determined to make this match and in truth, Lucien didn’t entirely hate it. Ayla was intelligent, she was beautiful and she was interested in him. He couldn’t deny they were attractive together and he imagined any children they had would be, too.

He caught Conall glowering from across the room, two glasses of wine in his hands. He smirked, always enjoying getting something one of his brothers wanted.

“I never see you around anymore,” she told him, her eyes drifting around the softly lit room. At the far end of the marble columned room, Beron sat atop a golden dais, his mother perched on the arm. His father held her by the waist loosely, brown eyes watching his sons and courtiers dance, talk, and otherwise revel. His parents had led the first waltz beautifully, just as they always did though Lucien couldn’t help but notice how his mother kept a healthy amount of space between his father’s body and her own. Lucien did no such thing with Ayla. She was practically rubbing against him.

“You must not be looking,” he purred, tightening his hold on her waist. She certainly was beautiful, absurdly so. Of course she’d end up with one of the High Lord’s sons. The problem, of course, was that Lucien had no desire to be married. Eris ought to claim her, or any of his elder brothers. Why did he have to go first? He wasn’t done dallying and otherwise enjoying himself and he didn’t want to be his father with a cadre of mistresses on the side and a wife at home.

Ayla was young, to boot. Barely thirty compared to Lucien’s three hundred years of life. Was she done having fun? Lucien doubted it mattered. Her parents would have the final say in her life, passing her on to a husband who would control her comings and goings. It was why Eris didn’t want her, either.

“Trust me, my Lord. I am always looking.”

Lucien smiled, about to offer her a response when Tanwen caught his eye. It was impossible not to notice his elder brother given the male always wore those absurd, heavy axes. Tanwen rebuked all attempts at marriage and any pretense of civility. Ever since his little incident with the married female, Sierra, Tanwen had become even more ridiculous. Beron was going to intervene if Tanwen didn’t mind himself.

It wasn’t so much Tanwen, in his brown tunic and black pants, but the female beside him. Elain Archeron, dressed in her usual simple velvet, was gazing up at his brother with trusting eyes, one hand holding the crook of his elbow. Those two had been spending a lot of time together and when Lucien asked, Elain refused to say why. Tanwen glanced down at Elain, murmured something and the female smiled. A growl nearly erupted from Lucien’s throat as he watched, forgetting that he was currently spinning a different female around a ballroom.

Tanwen glanced over at him, his serious face curling into a smile. He dropped the arm Elain held in favor of placing his hand on the small of her back, brushed a piece of hair from her shoulder, and whispered something in her ear. Elain giggled just as the song ended.

Ayla halted and Lucien let her go, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “My Lady. Perhaps you’ll do me the favor of letting me dance with you again.”

She smiled, her cheeks staining pink. Lucien might have been pleased but he was practically seeing red, furious with Tanwen. “Of course, Lord Lucien.”

Lucien spun and caught Elain’s eye for the first time. Her expression was unreadable and he felt small beneath the weight of her gaze. Tanwen smiled again, showing Lucien his teeth, before leading the human from the room. Bastard, he thought furiously. Lucien couldn’t just leave. He’d made his mother a promise and he was loath to disappoint his mother.

The night was Lucien’s personal hell. His mind was a mess, obsessively focused on Tanwen and Elain. What the fuck were they up to?

Why do you care what the human is doing? He couldn’t stop asking himself why he was so hyper fixated on Elain. Was it the fact that he’d yet to bed her that bothered him, or was it something else? It had to be his desire to fuck her, to be the first. There was no other reason to care about her comings and goings outside of that. He’d had enough humans to know what it was like to be inside one and yet had he ever thought of them outside of his bedroom?

No.

Lucien could hardly recall his conversations, the females he danced with. When it grew late enough he could make his excuses without disappointing anyone, Lucien left Ayla to Conall and vanished back to his bedroom. He was too relieved to find Elain in his bed, the night table lamp turned on and a book pressed against her chest. She’d fallen asleep reading. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in her sweet face, peaceful in sleep. Her long, dark blonde hair tumbled around her face and shoulders.

Was he a bastard if he woke her simply to fuck her? No, he decided, quietly closing the door. He could prove to himself she meant nothing, that his obsession extended no further than just being the first. Tanwen could have her next, if he wanted.

Lucien shed himself of his clothes, his cock half-hard as he looked at her sprawled on his bed. Careful not to immediately wake her, Lucien picked up the book and set it on the nightstand before peeling the blankets off her legs, spreading them, and settling between her thighs.

He’d never tire of her sweet, soft smell he thought with delight before licking up the center of her. Her legs twitched at the sensation. He licked again, his thumb brushing against her entrance as he pushed the fabric of her underwear to the side. Lucien licked again, slower, letting the broad side of his tongue drag. She gasped over head, her hand flying to his hair.

“Lucien,” she whispered, his name choking into a moan. Good girl, he thought, sliding in his thumb. Tight, his mind screamed. She was tight against him. He concentrated his tongue on her clit as his mind began to work out how to best stretch her for his cock. He wanted her to enjoy herself and hurting her in service of his own pleasure was counter effective towards that goal.

Lucien replaced his thumb with his forefinger, sliding slowly as his eyes rolled back into his head. His cock burned, desperate to be his hand. Soon, he swore, sliding in a second. She was panting above him, her hips forcing him to fuck her at a speed that was driving him half-insane. One more, he promised, managing to work in a third as she squeezed tightly around him. He’d have to go slow, at first. He could do that.

“Lucien, don’t stop,” she begged, the smell of her arousal thick as more slick opened her up. Her back began to arch, her thighs quivering and Lucien dragged her over that precipice, delighting when she shrieked as she came.

He removed himself quickly, positioning the crown of his cock against her pussy and sliding in an inch before she came back down. Elain gasped again, the sound shooting straight to his belly.

“Relax,” he murmured, sliding another inch. Wet, his brain screamed. So wet. The walls of her cunt were still roiling from her release, sucking him further in. His muscles shook from restraint. He needed more, needed to be fully inside. Her eyes watched him, dark and a little afraid as he continued to push forward, inch by inch with a slowness that threatened to destroy him.

She inhaled sharply with that last push as he met resistance, proof she hadn’t lied when she told him she’d never been touched. Lucien didn’t think he’d ever been someone’s first. She cried out a little and Lucien pressed his mouth to her forehead, shushing her softly, one hand smoothing the hair from her face. He wanted to kiss her so badly it made his body ache in a wholly separate way from the want he already felt buried inside her.

Something was unfurling in his chest, something old and instinctual that seemed to recognize her the way he recognized the sun and the earth around him. Elain’s fingernails dug into the back of his arm. She swallowed hard.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. The monster in his chest roared with approval and Lucien began to move, slowly at first even as his eyes rolled backwards at the sensation. He didn’t think whatever now lived in his body would allow him to hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to care for her, to make her beg and scream and claw.

He brought his lips to hers, leaving a mere inch of space between them. “Let me kiss you,” he whispered, sliding himself halfway before coming back. She panted, shaking her head no.

“Elain,” he begged. “Elain, please.”

Her eyes were open, locked on his. “No.”

He snarled, hips snapping forward. Mine, you are mine, his thoughts echoed. He could have kissed her anyway, could have taken that last vestige of her control like he’d taken everything else but Lucien wanted her to give it to him freely. He didn’t understand why.

He wondered if she could come from his cock alone. Most females couldn’t and he would have been surprised if she could. He adjusted his body to slide his hand between the two of them and began rubbing at her still swollen clit.

Her pussy tightened almost painfully around him. He exhaled roughly, biting her bottom lip so hard he drew blood. “You like that?” He asked, more for himself than for her. She nodded, a moan slipping from her pretty, plump lips.

Elain’s pussy was practically a religious experience. Lucien couldn’t decide what made her feel the way she did, silky smooth and warm and somehow like she’d been made specifically for him. It had been a few months since his last sexual encounter…maybe he was just too grateful for access again.

“Come for me,” he demanded, rubbing demanding circles. “Be a good girl, Elain…come for me.”

She nodded, moaning louder this time. Lucien felt the walls of her cunt flutter a moment before her legs tightened around him. Elain screamed again though Lucien didn’t stop rubbing. He was close, too, release building in his gut. Again, again, again, his mind chanted as she reached for his hand to make him stop.

“Again,” he said, echoing his thoughts.

“Lucien please,” she half-sobbed before her hips bucked again and she came, building hotter and faster that time.

He couldn’t hold on. He’d take her again, and again, and again, until she was unable to do anything in the morning. He snapped his hips harder, lifting her legs to angle her so he could have her deeper. Lucien’s vision became black at the edges and a moment later his whole body went taut as lightning arced through his body and release stole through him.

Something hard snapped painfully in his chest and Lucien’s cry choked in his throat.

Mine, you are mine and I am yours, that beast in his chest snarled. Elain’s head tossed back and forth, her expression one of pure ecstasy but Lucien’s pleasure had turned to abject fear.

Mate. Mate. You are mine and I am yours.

You’re my mate, his thoughts screamed though he was unable to get the words out. He held himself inside her, his heart pounding. She opened her eyes, a beatific smile on her beautiful face.

“The women in the village said sex was awful,” she murmured as he let her pull him to her chest. The beast in his chest purred with contentment, pleased to have pleasured it’s mate. Lucien, though, suddenly felt terror.

“Were they right?” He asked, his voice hoarse.

“No.”

Cauldron boil and fry me, he swore softly, pulling out of her. He made his way to the bathroom and wetted a rag with warm water, wiping himself off first before walking to her. He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped between her legs, still thinking about the snap in his chest. She hadn’t felt it. Perhaps humans couldn’t. That terrified Lucien. She was his family’s slave, she was a human with an expiration date…

“What’s wrong?” She asked, fear suddenly clouding her eyes.

Tell her! His body screamed. Lucien swallowed hard.

“Nothing,” he lied, unable to make himself say the words.

Mate. You’re my mate.

The human was his mate.

#feysand #elucien #feyre x rhysand #elain x lucien #IM BACK #acotar fic #smut #watching these idiots fall in love #while the archeron sisters have no idea what is going on #is truly an experience

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