could you do a feysand fic where feyre gets really jealous/possessive of rhys talking to this girl at a bar and rhys thinks it’s hot that she’s mad and they have sex where feyre is kinda slightly dominant? i love your writing btw <3
I had this written in my drafts and forgot to hit post?? For like a year?? I'm so sorry.
Prisoner's Game update tomorrow for those still reading!
~~~~~~~
Rhys leaned his head back and laughed, turning to Feyre and smiling. "I'm glad we came, aren't you?"
She smiled, but it wasn't the smile he was used to. "Mmhm."
His eyebrows furrowed, but before he could read into her reaction, Amren slid another tumblr of whiskey in front of him.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked his friend with a grin.
She nodded seriously, not even bothering to lie. "You're least annoying when you're intoxicated."
He laughed and started to respond when Feyre glanced between them and asked, "How do you two know each other again?"
"We worked together a few years ago," he told her, sipping his drink. "Back when I was with the FBI."
They'd been partners in the covert operations unit for a long time, until he'd decided he wanted to settle down. Apparently, she'd quit the year after and had opened up her own bar.
"We did all sorts of stupid shit together," Amren told Feyre, laughing as she grabbed a beer for another customer.
He nodded his agreement. "Remember in Budapest, when you thought we were made, and we ended up stuck in that nasty hostel for like two weeks?"
Amren grimaced. "How could I forget? That place smelled so bad the stench is stuck in my brain forever."
He laughed, then laughed harder when his friend pointed out, "Wasn't as bad as Moscow."
"Don't even bring that up."
"What happened in Moscow?" Feyre asked, a strange tone to her voice.
"This one here," Amren pointed at Rhys, lips twitching, "thought it'd be wise to sneak into the Prime Minister's house for a gala to track a target. He didn't even bring an ID. When the guards asked who he was, the idiot just pointed to me and said, 'Her husband.'"
Rhys sighed. "We ended up posing as a married couple on their honeymoon, thinking it'd be harmless."
Amren rolled her eyes. "Big mistake. They acted like they'd never seen newlyweds before and made us do all sorts of dances and traditions the entire night. They even made sure we had the best suite in the place and sang a song blessing my fertility."
She grimaced, making Rhys laugh harder. "I thought you were going to kill me for that one."
"I almost did, you bastard."
A smooth hand reached in front of him and stole his glass, and he glanced over to watch Feyre down it in one swallow.
While Amren took the order of another customer, his girlfriend leaned over and said, "I think I forgot my phone in the car. Can I have the keys?"
As if he'd let her go outside alone. "I'll come with you."
Amren gave them a thumb's up, having heard the exchange, so he followed Feyre through the crowded bar and outside.
"It's crazy that we'd bump into her. I had no idea she even lives here, let alone owns my favorite bar," he said as they walked to his SUV.
He unlocked the car and watched as Feyre stuck her head in the passenger side.
"I haven't seen her in at least two years."
"Huh," was the muffled response.
"Last time I saw her was probably-"
"Okay," Feyre suddenly snapped, spinning around and grabbing the front of his shirt in a fist. "That does it."
Confused, he didn't fight her as she opened the back door of the car and practically through him inside. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what she was doing, she surprised him again by climbing inside with him and straddling his hips.
He got a little distracted by the triangle of lace at the apex of her thighs, but eventually forced himself to remember they were in a parking lot.
In public.
"Feyre, what are you-"
Her mouth came down on his, cutting him off.
"Babe-"
"Stop talking," she told him in a steel tone, bringing her mouth to the corner of his jaw and nibbling softly.
His eyes drifted close, especially as she worked her way down his neck, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as she went.
But a part of his mind wouldn't stop wondering what was going on. She hadn't seemed particularly turned on inside. In fact, she'd seemed a little pissed of.
He leaned back, a smile pulling on his lips as he realized it. "You're jealous, aren't you?"
Her blue eyes narrowed, but she didn't bother denying it. Instead, she used the most ridiculous, deepest voice he'd ever heard from her and said, "Oh, Amren, you're so funny. Ha ha ha. I miss you soooo much."
He laughed despite the threat in her eyes. "She's just a friend, Feyre darling."
"So you never dated?"
He shook his head.
"Ever fuck?"
He shook his head again, lips twitching.
"Kiss?"
That one he couldn't deny. "On a job, once. For our cover."
Her blue eyes lit up with anger and narrowed adorably. "I think I have to kill her."
He couldn't help but smile, imagining that fight. He'd never seen anyone beat Amren in hand to hand combat, but he didn't think telling his girlfriend that would help the situation.
Her hands came to his chest, fingers digging in to the muscle slightly as she leaned close enough that she was all he could see. "You're mine."
Rhys's heart started pounding, hard enough she could probably feel it under her palms. He nodded. "I'm yours."
"Now, do you want to go back inside and hang out with Annie," she asked, intentionally using the wrong name, "Or do you want me to take care of this?" She motioned below her thigh to the bulge in his pants.
"I want you," he said without hesitation. "Always."
It was definitely the correct response, because Feyre smiled and reached down to unzip his pants.
She took him in her hand, stroking him softly, then leaned in to whisper, "Say it again, and you can have me."
His head rolled against the seat, chest heaving, but he managed to murmur, "I'm yours."
Rolling her hips slowly, she drug her heat over him in a way that damn near gave him tunnel vision. Then she leaned in, used her teeth to tug the shell of his ear, and whispered, "Take my panties off."
She didn't have to tell him twice.
He pushed her dress up higher, grabbed the lace at her hip, and tore the things off of her.
Taking them from him, Feyre tucked them in the pocket of his jacket, then told him, "Don't move."
Raising up slightly, she used a hand to guide him into her. But the little tease only sunk down an inch, leaving too much space between them.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips thrusting up helplessly to try and close the gap.
She rose up even more and shook her head. "I said don't move."
He cursed again, hands gripping her hips and fingers digging in.
He'd never seen this bossy side of her, had never realized just how much it would turn him on to see her take control and tell him exactly what she wanted.
So despite the ache in his balls and the tremor starting in his hands, he did as he was told and didn't move.
Even as she ran her hands through his hair, pulled his head back, and licked up the column of his throat.
Even as she came in close enough her breasts pillowed against his chest, tight enough he could feel the peaks of her nipples through his shirt.
But when she put her hands on his knees, leaned back to look at him, and laughed, he lost his composure.
"Feyre," he pleaded, hands flexing on her hips and gripping her tight. "Please."
Moving her hips the barest amount, she tilted her head and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back inside?"
"Fuck yes, I'm sure," he practically growled.
Smiling, she dropped down until he was seated fully inside her, and Rhys didn't know if it was from the anticipation, but he had to bite his lip hard enough to bleed so he wouldn't come right then and there.
"Shit, you feel good," he told her, groaning when she hummed in response.
Reaching behind her, she unzipped her dress far enough it would pool around her waist, then unclipped her bra.
His eyes darted between her breasts, the place where they were joined, and her face, brain not able to decide which view he liked more.
Fisting his hair, she held him perfectly still as she rose up an inch, and dropped back down hard enough to make him suck in a harsh breath.
"You..." she murmured, repeating the motion again and punctuating each word with a churning of her hips, "are..." She leaned in and pulled his lower lip with her teeth, growling, "mine."
Rhys groaned, body going tense beneath her.
"Yours," he panted back. "I'm yours."
She nodded, putting a hand on his chest and using it to help her move.
Instinctively, his hands started to move her faster, and she shook her head, slowing down as punishment.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered. "Feyre-"
She kissed him to cut him off, sliding her tongue against his before sucking on it slightly.
"Say it again," she commanded.
"I'm yours," he told her instantly, shaking with the effort it was taking to keep himself still. "I'm so yours, it isn't even funny, but baby please go faster."
"I'll give you what you want," she told him breathlessly, "if you agree to not come until I tell you to."
He'd agree to damn near anything right now, and they both knew it.
As soon as he nodded, she sped up, faster and faster until her labored breathing matched his.
"Gods, that's it," he groaned, throwing his head back against the seat.
She was so goddamn beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, but Rhys must've been a glutton for pain, because he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She braced her hands on the seat behind him and bounced, kissing him roughly, and he felt like he was coming unraveled beneath her.
A moan escaped her, and then he was watching as she, too, came undone.
Head thrown back, thighs trembling, sex clenching him tight enough he lost his breath, Feyre was undeniably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen as she came.
She kept moving through it all, pulling him closer and closer to the edge, but he gritted his teeth and held off, remembering their deal.
Thankfully, she did too, because she leaned in and whispered in his ear in a breathy voice that turned him on even more, "Come inside me, Rhys. Now."
He did as he was told, hands flexing to keep himself seated deep inside her as he came so hard black spots appeared in his vision.
He didn't know how long it took for them to disappear, only that when they did, he opened his eyes to see her smirking down at him.
"Fuck," he panted, still out of breath even though he hadn't even moved the entire time.
She lifted off him, and almost unwillingly, his eyes jumped to the apex of her thighs. The sight of how wet she was with both of their releases pulled another groan out of him and had him already hardening again.
Her smile widened, even as she unceremoniously rezipped his pants, fixed her clothing, then opened the car door to climb out.
Stupidly, he still sat in the car, eyebrows furrowed.
"Let's just go home," he said, trying to be casual even though he felt anything but.
He didn't want to do anything other than take her home and make her lose her mind like he'd just lost his.
She adjusted the skirt of her dress, then kissed him softly.
"I don't think so," she murmured, lips pulling up into what he realized with dread was an evil grin. "I think we're going to go inside and talk to your friend for a while."
He almost wept. "Feyre-"
"The entire time we're in there, I want you to think about me. Do you want to hear what I want you to think about?"
Dumbly, he nodded.
Her lips tickled his ear as she whispered, "I want you to think about how I'm sitting beside you, with no panties on, so full of your cum it's dripping down my thighs."
The visual was easily painted in his head, and his hands bunched into fists on his thighs.
"How I'm already wet for you again," she continued cruelly. "How I'm waiting for the night to be over so you can take me home and fuck me so hard I scream."
He now hated this fucking bar. And it's owner.
"And how I'm yours, too."
Then she kissed his cheek sweetly, turned on a heel, and walked inside.
could you do a feysand fic where feyre gets really jealous/possessive of rhys talking to this girl at a bar and rhys thinks it’s hot that she’s mad and they have sex where feyre is kinda slightly dominant? i love your writing btw <3
I had this written in my drafts and forgot to hit post?? For like a year?? I'm so sorry.
Prisoner's Game update tomorrow for those still reading!
~~~~~~~
Rhys leaned his head back and laughed, turning to Feyre and smiling. "I'm glad we came, aren't you?"
She smiled, but it wasn't the smile he was used to. "Mmhm."
His eyebrows furrowed, but before he could read into her reaction, Amren slid another tumblr of whiskey in front of him.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked his friend with a grin.
She nodded seriously, not even bothering to lie. "You're least annoying when you're intoxicated."
He laughed and started to respond when Feyre glanced between them and asked, "How do you two know each other again?"
"We worked together a few years ago," he told her, sipping his drink. "Back when I was with the FBI."
They'd been partners in the covert operations unit for a long time, until he'd decided he wanted to settle down. Apparently, she'd quit the year after and had opened up her own bar.
"We did all sorts of stupid shit together," Amren told Feyre, laughing as she grabbed a beer for another customer.
He nodded his agreement. "Remember in Budapest, when you thought we were made, and we ended up stuck in that nasty hostel for like two weeks?"
Amren grimaced. "How could I forget? That place smelled so bad the stench is stuck in my brain forever."
He laughed, then laughed harder when his friend pointed out, "Wasn't as bad as Moscow."
"Don't even bring that up."
"What happened in Moscow?" Feyre asked, a strange tone to her voice.
"This one here," Amren pointed at Rhys, lips twitching, "thought it'd be wise to sneak into the Prime Minister's house for a gala to track a target. He didn't even bring an ID. When the guards asked who he was, the idiot just pointed to me and said, 'Her husband.'"
Rhys sighed. "We ended up posing as a married couple on their honeymoon, thinking it'd be harmless."
Amren rolled her eyes. "Big mistake. They acted like they'd never seen newlyweds before and made us do all sorts of dances and traditions the entire night. They even made sure we had the best suite in the place and sang a song blessing my fertility."
She grimaced, making Rhys laugh harder. "I thought you were going to kill me for that one."
"I almost did, you bastard."
A smooth hand reached in front of him and stole his glass, and he glanced over to watch Feyre down it in one swallow.
While Amren took the order of another customer, his girlfriend leaned over and said, "I think I forgot my phone in the car. Can I have the keys?"
As if he'd let her go outside alone. "I'll come with you."
Amren gave them a thumb's up, having heard the exchange, so he followed Feyre through the crowded bar and outside.
"It's crazy that we'd bump into her. I had no idea she even lives here, let alone owns my favorite bar," he said as they walked to his SUV.
He unlocked the car and watched as Feyre stuck her head in the passenger side.
"I haven't seen her in at least two years."
"Huh," was the muffled response.
"Last time I saw her was probably-"
"Okay," Feyre suddenly snapped, spinning around and grabbing the front of his shirt in a fist. "That does it."
Confused, he didn't fight her as she opened the back door of the car and practically through him inside. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what she was doing, she surprised him again by climbing inside with him and straddling his hips.
He got a little distracted by the triangle of lace at the apex of her thighs, but eventually forced himself to remember they were in a parking lot.
In public.
"Feyre, what are you-"
Her mouth came down on his, cutting him off.
"Babe-"
"Stop talking," she told him in a steel tone, bringing her mouth to the corner of his jaw and nibbling softly.
His eyes drifted close, especially as she worked her way down his neck, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as she went.
But a part of his mind wouldn't stop wondering what was going on. She hadn't seemed particularly turned on inside. In fact, she'd seemed a little pissed of.
He leaned back, a smile pulling on his lips as he realized it. "You're jealous, aren't you?"
Her blue eyes narrowed, but she didn't bother denying it. Instead, she used the most ridiculous, deepest voice he'd ever heard from her and said, "Oh, Amren, you're so funny. Ha ha ha. I miss you soooo much."
He laughed despite the threat in her eyes. "She's just a friend, Feyre darling."
"So you never dated?"
He shook his head.
"Ever fuck?"
He shook his head again, lips twitching.
"Kiss?"
That one he couldn't deny. "On a job, once. For our cover."
Her blue eyes lit up with anger and narrowed adorably. "I think I have to kill her."
He couldn't help but smile, imagining that fight. He'd never seen anyone beat Amren in hand to hand combat, but he didn't think telling his girlfriend that would help the situation.
Her hands came to his chest, fingers digging in to the muscle slightly as she leaned close enough that she was all he could see. "You're mine."
Rhys's heart started pounding, hard enough she could probably feel it under her palms. He nodded. "I'm yours."
"Now, do you want to go back inside and hang out with Annie," she asked, intentionally using the wrong name, "Or do you want me to take care of this?" She motioned below her thigh to the bulge in his pants.
"I want you," he said without hesitation. "Always."
It was definitely the correct response, because Feyre smiled and reached down to unzip his pants.
She took him in her hand, stroking him softly, then leaned in to whisper, "Say it again, and you can have me."
His head rolled against the seat, chest heaving, but he managed to murmur, "I'm yours."
Rolling her hips slowly, she drug her heat over him in a way that damn near gave him tunnel vision. Then she leaned in, used her teeth to tug the shell of his ear, and whispered, "Take my panties off."
She didn't have to tell him twice.
He pushed her dress up higher, grabbed the lace at her hip, and tore the things off of her.
Taking them from him, Feyre tucked them in the pocket of his jacket, then told him, "Don't move."
Raising up slightly, she used a hand to guide him into her. But the little tease only sunk down an inch, leaving too much space between them.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips thrusting up helplessly to try and close the gap.
She rose up even more and shook her head. "I said don't move."
He cursed again, hands gripping her hips and fingers digging in.
He'd never seen this bossy side of her, had never realized just how much it would turn him on to see her take control and tell him exactly what she wanted.
So despite the ache in his balls and the tremor starting in his hands, he did as he was told and didn't move.
Even as she ran her hands through his hair, pulled his head back, and licked up the column of his throat.
Even as she came in close enough her breasts pillowed against his chest, tight enough he could feel the peaks of her nipples through his shirt.
But when she put her hands on his knees, leaned back to look at him, and laughed, he lost his composure.
"Feyre," he pleaded, hands flexing on her hips and gripping her tight. "Please."
Moving her hips the barest amount, she tilted her head and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back inside?"
"Fuck yes, I'm sure," he practically growled.
Smiling, she dropped down until he was seated fully inside her, and Rhys didn't know if it was from the anticipation, but he had to bite his lip hard enough to bleed so he wouldn't come right then and there.
"Shit, you feel good," he told her, groaning when she hummed in response.
Reaching behind her, she unzipped her dress far enough it would pool around her waist, then unclipped her bra.
His eyes darted between her breasts, the place where they were joined, and her face, brain not able to decide which view he liked more.
Fisting his hair, she held him perfectly still as she rose up an inch, and dropped back down hard enough to make him suck in a harsh breath.
"You..." she murmured, repeating the motion again and punctuating each word with a churning of her hips, "are..." She leaned in and pulled his lower lip with her teeth, growling, "mine."
Rhys groaned, body going tense beneath her.
"Yours," he panted back. "I'm yours."
She nodded, putting a hand on his chest and using it to help her move.
Instinctively, his hands started to move her faster, and she shook her head, slowing down as punishment.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered. "Feyre-"
She kissed him to cut him off, sliding her tongue against his before sucking on it slightly.
"Say it again," she commanded.
"I'm yours," he told her instantly, shaking with the effort it was taking to keep himself still. "I'm so yours, it isn't even funny, but baby please go faster."
"I'll give you what you want," she told him breathlessly, "if you agree to not come until I tell you to."
He'd agree to damn near anything right now, and they both knew it.
As soon as he nodded, she sped up, faster and faster until her labored breathing matched his.
"Gods, that's it," he groaned, throwing his head back against the seat.
She was so goddamn beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, but Rhys must've been a glutton for pain, because he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She braced her hands on the seat behind him and bounced, kissing him roughly, and he felt like he was coming unraveled beneath her.
A moan escaped her, and then he was watching as she, too, came undone.
Head thrown back, thighs trembling, sex clenching him tight enough he lost his breath, Feyre was undeniably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen as she came.
She kept moving through it all, pulling him closer and closer to the edge, but he gritted his teeth and held off, remembering their deal.
Thankfully, she did too, because she leaned in and whispered in his ear in a breathy voice that turned him on even more, "Come inside me, Rhys. Now."
He did as he was told, hands flexing to keep himself seated deep inside her as he came so hard black spots appeared in his vision.
He didn't know how long it took for them to disappear, only that when they did, he opened his eyes to see her smirking down at him.
"Fuck," he panted, still out of breath even though he hadn't even moved the entire time.
She lifted off him, and almost unwillingly, his eyes jumped to the apex of her thighs. The sight of how wet she was with both of their releases pulled another groan out of him and had him already hardening again.
Her smile widened, even as she unceremoniously rezipped his pants, fixed her clothing, then opened the car door to climb out.
Stupidly, he still sat in the car, eyebrows furrowed.
"Let's just go home," he said, trying to be casual even though he felt anything but.
He didn't want to do anything other than take her home and make her lose her mind like he'd just lost his.
She adjusted the skirt of her dress, then kissed him softly.
"I don't think so," she murmured, lips pulling up into what he realized with dread was an evil grin. "I think we're going to go inside and talk to your friend for a while."
He almost wept. "Feyre-"
"The entire time we're in there, I want you to think about me. Do you want to hear what I want you to think about?"
Dumbly, he nodded.
Her lips tickled his ear as she whispered, "I want you to think about how I'm sitting beside you, with no panties on, so full of your cum it's dripping down my thighs."
The visual was easily painted in his head, and his hands bunched into fists on his thighs.
"How I'm already wet for you again," she continued cruelly. "How I'm waiting for the night to be over so you can take me home and fuck me so hard I scream."
He now hated this fucking bar. And it's owner.
"And how I'm yours, too."
Then she kissed his cheek sweetly, turned on a heel, and walked inside.
To leave this island forever and not have to worry about being discovered anymore.
I wasn't always this macabre, but two thousand days of checking over my shoulder and wishing for a man's murder has dulled the wishful excitement I felt when I first got here.
Five years ago, I was grateful to even be alive.
I couldn't believe a stranger give up everything for me and the others--couldn't believe she'd agree to fight this battle because of my decision.
I have to actually remind myself to still be grateful to her, if I'm being honest.
Because sometimes I think about that night all those years ago, when she showed up in the darkest part of the night to kill me. When she'd held the knife with a trembling hand and told me that the price for betraying Arobynn Hamel was my life. When we discovered together that she couldn't bring herself to kill me.
Sometimes I think it would be better if she would've just done it.
At least it would've been over.
At least I wouldn't have to spend years on an island, living the same day over and over again. I think that's what's driving me mad, beyond anything else.
The predictability of my time.
Every day, I follow the same routine. The routine she laid out for me in a hushed whisper.
I wake up and go to the small café a mile down the road to watch the news. And every day, I pray to see Arobynn Hamel's face next to to the words, "Breaking news: billionaire crime boss found dead."
Because that was her only stipulation.
That the ten of us would stay on the island, hidden from sight, until news of his death was announced. In exchange, we got to live.
She'd warned me it would take a long time.
She'd told me to not get complacent.
And then she'd whispered what she planned to do.
Even now, over five years later, the words she'd whispered while shoving a plane ticket and a new passport into my hands were crystal clear.
"The devil isn't going to go down easy."
~Aelin~
The shaft of her recently-fashioned shiv was cold in her hand as she silently grabbed it from under her pillow.
The soft clink of the bars shutting again told her whoever had just snuck in her cell was now locked in with her.
Unfortunate for them.
She wasn't afforded the luxury of a clock, but she knew it was the middle of the night. Normal visiting hours were far over. There was no one here but the bored night guards, four janitorial staff, and rows and rows of sleeping inmates.
And the idiot trying to sneak up behind her bed.
She kept her eyes closed as she listened to the quiet steps walk closer and closer. Right when she was about to turn around and attack, they stopped.
Then the weirdest thing happened. It sounded like whoever it was slid down the wall directly across from her bed.
A killer wouldn't do that.
Curiosity piqued, Aelin turned her head to see who and what was going on.
It was dark in the cell, but she'd recognize that shock of silver hair anywhere.
"Rowan?" she whispered, so quietly she almost didn't even hear herself. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't respond, but the way his muscles tensed told her he'd heard her.
Slowly, she sat up so she could see him better and maybe figure out what was going on.
For the first time in a long time, he looked less than perfect. Far less than it, actually.
His hair was going every possible direction, like he'd been running hands through it and pulling on it. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, rumpled dress slacks, and tennishoes that weren't even tied.
But that wasn't what worried her most. It was the way he was sitting completely still and silent.
He didn't even look like he was breathing.
"Hey," she tried again. "What's going on? Look at me."
Another few heartbeats passed, and then he slowly shook his head.
"Please, Rowan. Just look at me."
He winced, like hearing her say his name physically hurt him.
And then his head came up.
Deep green eyes met hers, and even though it was what she'd wanted, what she'd needed, Aelin instantly wished he'd look away.
Because with one look, she knew he'd figured it out.
He knew, and the pain and turmoil in his eyes... she'd put that there.
She'd seen him angry and sad and happy and everything in between, but she'd never seen him, or anyone else, look so broken.
He looked completely and utterly broken as he sat before her.
"Rowan," she whispered, shaking her head even though she didn't know why.
He bowed his head again, seemingly unable to even look at her.
"Ro," she whispered, dropping to her knees in front of him.
Almost like the old nickname broke something inside him, Rowan's shoulders started to shake.
And then he sobbed.
It was the kind of sob that couldn't possibly be held in. The kind that made her heart clench and tears brew in her own eyes, the kind that told her how much pain he was in.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she put a hand on his arm. He shook off the touch like it burned him and looked up at her again.
"I ruined your life," he croaked, the tears on his face reeking of self-hatred. "I ruined your life."
She shook her head. "No, you didn't."
Anger bled into his tone. "I put you in prison for eight years for murdering people who aren't even fucking dead, Aelin. I didn't listen to you, didn't look hard enough. I've had the clues you left me for eight years. We were in love, and I didn't even try hard enough to... I... please explain to me how I didn't ruin your life."
"You did not ruin my life, Rowan," she told him again, meaning every word.
"Eight years of your life, gone because of me. I don't even understand how you can look at me." He huffed a laugh, but he was far from amused. "No wonder you hate me."
His chest was heaving, his hands were in fists, and his stubble-crested jaw was damp with tears.
And she'd thought he hadn't cared.
Aelin felt like a fool--a horrible, stupid fool--for ever doubting him. For thinking him indignant.
Because this was technically what she'd wanted. What she'd planned to happen.
She'd wanted it to hurt, had wanted him to feel an ounce of what she'd felt when he'd led the case against her.
But it wasn't what she wanted anymore.
Moving slowly, Aelin crawled onto his lap, put her hands on the side of his face, and lifted his gaze to hers while she said, "Arobynn Hamel ruined my life, not you."
He shook his head, breathing heavily. "No-"
She cut him off by wrapping herself around him.
Like she was trying to heal physical wounds, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to her chest. She sank into him until there wasn't an inch of space between them. Her hands wandered over his back as she held him tight to her.
He was stiffer than a board at first, but eventually he sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her in return.
It was like he was drowning in the sea, and she was the only thing preventing him from being swept away. He shook, his entire body trembling, and his arms became a vice around her.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered after a moment.
She shook her head, but it didn't matter. He said it again, and again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and broken.
Aelin ran her hands over his back slowly, and just held him as pain he'd felt for eight years seemed to reach a crest.
Eventually he stopped crying and just laid against her, warm breath fanning across her collarbone.
"I'm so sorry, Aelin," he whispered yet again.
"Please stop saying that. None of this is your fault. You aren't the reason I'm in prison."
"Yes, I am," he insisted, shifting beneath her. "But I'm getting you out right now."
He looked up, eyes bright with new-found purpose, and wiped the tears off his cheeks like they were distracting him.
"What?"
He nodded quickly. "We can bring those people back, and you can get your life back. I know it's not the same, and I know I can't get you these years back, but-"
"No."
He paused. "No?"
She shook her head. "I can't leave yet."
"Leave? What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I still have shit to do here. I'm not leaving before it's done."
His eyes narrowed. "You're acting like this is a hotel, not a high-security prison. And what do you even mean?"
Aelin had the good sense to feel a little guilty as she slowly got to her feet and walked to the wall at the back of the cell. A few well-placed taps later, it swung open.
Rowan's mouth dropped open, then closed, then repeated the whole routine like he couldn't decide what to say first.
He apparently figured it out, because it opened again so he accuse, "I knew you were robbing me! Where the fuck is my bed?"
She sighed and rubbed her temples. "That's what you care about right now? Seriously?"
He grumbled something as he got to his feet and leaned into the makeshift doorway in the wall.
It took him a few moments to examine the ladder leading down to the tunnel, and then he straightened and looked at her again with a mixture of confusion, awe, and understanding on his face.
"You've been sneaking out this whole time."
She nodded.
Most of her escapes had been in the past six months, but she'd occasionally left in the years before to check on something or track down a lead.
"You beat up your roommate so they'd put you back in solitary."
Aelin nodded again.
"But how did you know they'd bring you to this cell?"
A small smile pulled on her lips. "Look again," she told him, gesturing towards the open brick door.
He stuck his head in the hole again and couldn't stifle his surprised intake of breath as he saw the other ladders.
He came back in the cell, and the expression on his face made her bite her lip to hold back a smile. "You... you tunneled into prison?"
"Into every solitary cell," she confirmed.
"When? Why?"
"One of my old jobs for Arobynn was to break a client of his out of solitary. I knew which cell he was in, but... getting locked up is kind of a right of passage for my former career, so I figured I'd plan ahead and give myself a way out, should I ever need it." She smiled. "Hamel never could figure out how I did it, so it's safe for me to use now."
Rowan spent a long moment looking at her. "That's... genius."
"I tend to be," she agreed.
They were both silent for a minute, then he said, "You need to tell me everything. Enough of both of us wasting time assuming what the other is thinking. We need to get everything out in the open, and we need to do it now."
Aelin nodded, knowing it was true.
It was time to either finally trust him or kill him, and just the thought of the latter made something inside of her twist so hard she felt nauseous.
She nodded to the tunnel, not wanting to have the following conversation overheard by any prying ears. He nodded and followed her down, closing the door behind him.
When she knew they were alone, she started to explain.
"Maddison Kliff, my first so-called victim, funded her campaign for senator with money from Arobynn Hamel."
Rowan's eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded for her continue.
"He gave it to her, with the caveat that when she won, she'd vote against renewable energy for Rifthold. He has millions in oil, so when she did the exact opposite and voted for the green plan that switched the city to 70% electric, he took a pretty hard hit." She took a deep breath. "The day after the vote, I got my orders to kill her."
His jaw clenched.
"I went that night, thinking I could do it. Thinking I'd get it over with and never think about it again. I snuck in her townhouse and had everything set up." She let out a laugh. "But then I realized my deal with Arobynn covered ten of Sam's jobs. If I killed Maddison, and did a good enough job of it to get away with it, I knew he'd put nine more names on the list."
"So you didn't do it," Rowan said, like he already knew but needed to hear her say it.
"So I didn't do it."
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, starting to pace. "I ran. And then I went back the next night with a suitcase, a new ID for her, and a plan."
"Why Aruba?" he asked.
"I'd done all that research for our trip," she said, a pang of sadness shooting through her at the memory of planning their first vacation together. "I didn't have time to research another place. And I never told you, but the house I wanted us to rent? You kind of... own it."
"I own a house in Aruba," he repeated slowly, his tone making it clear he didn't understand.
She rolled her eyes at his tone. "Arobynn might be a bastard I'd love to put in a grave, but he paid me well. I was eighteen and didn't know what else to do with the money. So I bought a house."
"In Aruba. In my name."
She nodded. "No one can trace it back to you. It's hidden in an off-shore corporation, owed by another off-shore corporation, but technically, yes, you're the owner. It was going to be your Christmas present."
"You bought me a house," his lips twitched. "For a Christmas present."
"I was in love with you," she muttered. Then pointed out, "My lack of shopping impulse control really isn't the point of the story."
He rolled his eyes, still fighting a grin at her antics. "Please continue."
"Right. So I sent her to the house in Aruba and told her to stay at the house with anyone else he wanted me to kill. I told her to not say a word to anyone besides those people, and that I'd be forced to actually kill her if she did. If Arobynn finds out they're alive, he'll send someone for me."
She explained the list next. "He requires proof of all completed jobs, so I kept the "murder weapons" and made sure the crime scenes had enough blood to indicate the person couldn't still be alive. It was mostly fake, but I took just enough blood from each of the victims and mixed it in to make it realistic enough to fool DNA scanners. Then I put the weapons in storage lockers he owns and wrote the numbers down so I wouldn't forget them."
Rowan nodded, most certainly remembering that part.
He was doing a good job of hiding his emotions, but she still saw how heavily this all weighed on him.
Everything he'd been feeling for eight years was hitting him at once, and while explanation made sense, it probably didn't make him feel any better about the role he'd played in all of this.
He confirmed it by asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"
He asked it almost casually, but she didn't miss the pain he couldn't keep from seeping into his voice.
"I wanted to," she breathed. "Gods, I wanted to. I know now you investigated before giving the list to the cops, but to me, it looked like you found it and just turned me in. You never asked me. And you looked at me... you looked at me like you thought I was guilty. I knew you wouldn't believe me."
Rowan went quiet, regret and shame coming off of him in waves so thick she almost choked on it.
"How is all of this going to play out?" he asked, seemingly trying to force himself to think about something else. "And what do you have to do that you need to be in prison for?"
She hesitated, suddenly not wanting to tell him.
Not out of a lack of trust, but because if she told him... he'd realize she's guilty of the crime she's in prison for. He might go back to hating her, back to thinking her a horrible person.
And she just got him back.
She's pulled from her thoughts when he reaches a hand out, slowly gripping her jaw to tilt her face to his.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, the words final.
Of course he knew what she was thinking just from looking at her face. He always was a little too astute.
A part of Aelin wanted to put on a brave face and act like that wasn't exactly what she'd been worrying about, but a bigger part wanted him. Wanted him to see that even after all this time, she needed him.
So she forced down the witty jokes and sultry smiles she usually used as ways to hide her vulnerability and looked up at him.
"Promise?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I promise, Aelin."
His hand was still on her face, and he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. "I'm never going to leave you again. I'm so... I'm so fucking sorry I did in the first place. I should've come to you, or at least listened when you told me you were innocent."
"I'm sorry I thought you didn't fight for me," she said back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
They'd both done things they regretted, but Aelin knew that now, no matter what, he was telling the truth. He wasn't going to leave her.
The knowledge felt like a weight lifting off her shoulders, and just to lighten the mood, she whispered, "And I'm sorry I stole your bed."
He pulled back to glare at her. "You're going to explain one day how you even pulled that off. But I'd like the answer to my other question first."
Aelin took a step back and ran a hand through her hair.
"Arobynn Hamel dying is the endgame, Rowan. I have to stay in prison so I can kill him and have an alibi no one will question."
He paused, and for a moment, her fears skyrocketed, so she rushed to explain, "As long as he's alive, those people have to be in hiding and I have to look like I killed them. Once he's dead, I can bring them back without worrying Arobynn will kill them. Or me."
He gave her a strange look, but she spoke before he could, explaining, "It's why I've been in prison for so long. I would've killed him and ended it years ago, but I only found him a couple months ago. He's been in hiding ever since I was locked up, because the FBI knew I was one of his and started looking for him."
"Okay, but Aelin-"
She cut him off. "I know it's insane and not at all ideal, but I need you to leave me in here. Just until he's dead, and then it's over."
He stepped forward and grabs her shoulders, shaking her slightly.
And then he did the weirdest thing.
He smiled.
"What the hell do you look happy about?" she demanded. "I'm being serious-"
It was his turn to interrupt her. "Aelin, if that's the stipulation, you're already free."
Unease drifted through her stomach. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he's already dead."
Shock rushed through her so fast and thoroughly, her vision swam and she swayed in his grip. "What... what did you just say?"
"That's why I came today, now. I actually figured out you were innocent two days ago, but I wasn't going to come until I could tell you with certainty I was getting you out, and I knew you couldn't bring everyone back without risking your life. I've spent the past 48 hours planning a jailbreak and a way to sneak you to somewhere the US doesn't have extradition."
He grinned again. "But then it was announced on the 11 o'clock news tonight that he died last week of pneumonia complications. His family kept it private because they wanted a small funeral, but he's dead, Aelin."
Still feeling the weight of shock, she argued, "He's not dead."
"But he is."
"No," she insisted, pushing away from him and starting to pace again. "He can't be dead."
His face softened at the panic in her voice. "Aelin, I know you wanted it to be you, but-"
"No, Rowan, you don't understand. I mean he cannot physically be dead, because I haven't finished killing him!"
It was his turn to be shocked.
"What do you mean you haven't finished killing him?"
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I've been poisoning him since the day I figured out where he holes up. Turns out he has kidney problems and goes in once a week for dialysis. I show up and add a little... extra to his medication. The last time I went was less than a week ago, and while he might have been sick, he most definitely was still alive."
Besides that, what were the odds that Rowan figured out her "victims" were still alive, and just two days later Arobynn croaks?
It would be one hell of a coincidence, and Aelin learned long ago to not believe in those.
His eyes went wide. "What? You mean he faked his death? Why the hell would he do that?"
"Because," she said slowly, dread forming like a lead ball in her stomach as she realized what this meant for her, for the ten people whose lives she'd traded her freedom for. "I told Maddison and the others to wait for news of his death before coming back. I told them that until he was dead, they weren't safe."
She shook her head, whispering, "I told them to watch the news."
Rowan realized what she was saying and cursed.
"He knows."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Lemme know in the comments if you want to be tagged!
Part 5 will (realistically) be out in the next three weeks. Sorry for the slow updates; school is consuming all my time and energy.
There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.
It was the thrill, she supposed.
She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.
Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.
Or maybe a lot.
The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.
It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.
While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.
Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.
It was also more exhausting.
It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.
It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.
She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.
The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.
It was no different tonight.
Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.
No one stopped her, no one questioned her.
When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.
Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.
The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.
Silent, efficient, traceless.
Just like she'd been taught.
Leaving was even easier than entering.
She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.
One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.
Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.
It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.
Plus, like she said: exciting.
~Rowan~
Doubt is a strange emotion.
It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.
And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.
Rowan didn't believe in doubt.
His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.
He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.
It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.
He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.
He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.
If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.
He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.
He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.
He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.
And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.
There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.
So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.
But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.
The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.
So he'd hardened himself against it.
He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.
Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.
And it had worked.
After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.
Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.
It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.
At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.
His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.
At least that's what he told himself.
But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.
Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?
Why else would she have told him that story?
What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?
The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.
The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.
He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.
What did that mean?
And why couldn't he just let it go?
"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.
Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.
If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.
He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.
Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.
Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.
Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.
She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.
Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.
She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.
And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.
He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.
She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.
But had she?
If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.
It hadn't been her choice.
But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.
The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.
A secret she'd promised would explain everything.
He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.
Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.
You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.
Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.
"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?
Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.
But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.
For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.
He was over her.
Obviously.
Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.
Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?
He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.
The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.
It was a travel brochure for Aruba.
The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.
He remembered this, all right.
He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.
"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.
"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.
"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.
She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.
Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.
In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.
He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.
He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.
He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.
She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.
He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.
The only thing left in the worn box was books.
Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.
She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.
A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.
He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.
When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.
March 1
Rowan,
I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.
Aelin
He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.
Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?
He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.
March 1st.
It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.
Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?
Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.
Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.
Breadcrumb.
He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.
Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.
April 13th was the day another victim died.
Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.
What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.
He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.
"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.
He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.
Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.
He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.
But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.
It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.
The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.
Was that it?
Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.
Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.
Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I need a favor, Gavriel."
He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"
"The latter," Rowan answered.
"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"
"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."
Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"
"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.
Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."
Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.
"Can you help me or not?"
"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."
Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.
Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."
It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.
"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.
A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.
Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.
There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.
But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.
Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.
His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.
His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.
And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.
"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.
He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.
It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.
Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.
He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.
Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.
The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.
She hadn't been lying.
She hadn't killed those ten people.
She couldn't have, because...
"They're still alive."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dun dun duuuuun
part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)
Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.
The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.
This though?
This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.
Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.
He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.
If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.
He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.
Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.
What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?
The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.
Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.
She'd stolen his bed.
The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.
How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.
It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.
Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.
She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.
He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.
If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.
Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.
In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.
Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.
She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.
Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.
Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.
He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.
Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.
Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.
Nothing.
Which meant someone was helping her.
He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.
Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.
Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.
Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.
No, he'd have to try something new.
Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.
He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.
He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.
And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.
Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.
Except the beep never came.
Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.
Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.
He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.
"Where's my car, Rolland?"
"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."
"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."
Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"
Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."
The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.
"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.
"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.
"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."
Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.
The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.
He was going to fucking kill her.
~Aelin~
"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.
Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."
She just shrugged.
He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.
Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"
"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."
Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.
He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"
She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.
"I want to tell you a story."
He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."
He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."
He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."
"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.
His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"
"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."
He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"
"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.
Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.
Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.
"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.
She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."
He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.
Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.
She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.
He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.
She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.
"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."
She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."
"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.
"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."
As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.
Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.
His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.
"But your record says-"
"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."
Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.
It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.
"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."
"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.
"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."
"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.
She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.
"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."
His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.
"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."
"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.
She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."
Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.
"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.
Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."
Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.
"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."
She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."
Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.
He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."
Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"
She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."
There was a long pause.
"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.
She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."
Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.
"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."
"What were the jobs?"
Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."
"The murders."
She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.
He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.
It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.
He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."
Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."
He opened the door but paused. Waited.
"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."
She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."
He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.
He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?
"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"
Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.
That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.
He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.
"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."
"I-"
"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"
She shook her head, because she hadn't.
"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."
He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"
She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.
"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."
Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."
He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."
"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."
"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"
Gods, she wanted to.
He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."
"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.
"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."
She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.
It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.
And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.
Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."
He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."
"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.
"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."
"Rowan-"
"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."
"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.
She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.
He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."
She smiled sadly. "Me too."
Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.
He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.
"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."
"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.
It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.
She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.
She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.
She'd told herself this was just a game.
She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.
Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You's. He didn't believe her, and she's about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life's just a game, after all.
The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn't showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.
And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease--happy even--as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.
It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn's eyes, it worked.
"Hello, Rowan," she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn't taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.
She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.
"Aelin," he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. "Been a long time."
Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.
Not that she was counting or anything.
She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.
"What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?"
Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he'd ever do was work for her.
"You know why I'm here."
She did indeed, but she still said, "I must be exceptionally smart to know why you've come all the way here-"
"Cut the shit," he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, "I want to know how you did it."
She frowned at her split ends. "Did what?"
Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. "You know what."
Sighing so deeply it should've rattled the walls, she said, "I can't believe I've spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I'm some sort of oracle genius."
Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.
When he'd taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.
It was clear she wouldn't admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.
Predictable, proud little man.
Eventually, he took his loss and said, "I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold."
She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn't used in a long time.
She'd been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.
According to what she'd heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan's apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.
"Why do you think it was me?" she asked, still smiling.
He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he'd have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.
Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, "You left a goddamn business card."
Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. "Maybe I'm being framed?"
"Your fingerprints were on it."
She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. "Rowan, in case you haven't noticed, I'm incarcerated."
She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.
The bastard just smiled.
Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it'd started to creep toward the pillow.
"So how would I rob you?" she asked, getting her mind back on track.
"That's what you're going to tell me," he demanded angrily. "I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up."
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.
It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn't been warm in almost nine years.
Because of him.
Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.
Then she said simply, "I didn't."
"Stop lying!" he shouted at her, eyes flashing.
She wasn't, but that was besides the point.
"Fine." She rolled her eyes like he'd won. "I got my cousin to-"
"Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying."
Once again, she wasn't lying.
Aedion sure as hell hadn't been in Wendlyn last night. She'd just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.
Sighing again, she asked, "Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?"
His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. "I'll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you've done with it."
She tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it.
It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.
He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.
"I'm serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot."
One for each and every one of her "victims."
"I'll make it nine," he offered generously.
"Even if I was a cat, that'd still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else."
He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she'd expected.
"That's what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I'm not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it." She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. "But it isn't about what you believe, it's about what you can prove. Isn't that right?"
His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.
~Eight years ago~
~Rowan~
Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.
Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.
And it felt so fucking good.
He'd never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.
It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.
"What are you going?" she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.
"To get some water. Go back to sleep."
He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.
They'd been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn't imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.
He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.
He was whipped, and he didn't even care.
Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.
Then frowned as it sputtered.
He figured he'd at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could "figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube."
So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.
Except he never got that far.
His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.
Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.
Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.
The list of names wasn't long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.
And they were all dead.
He wouldn't know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn't even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.
Why did she have this list?
And what did the numbers next to the names mean?
One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn't ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.
He didn't trust himself with her, so he'd have to go the traditional route.
He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he'd found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.
He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.
There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.
But he had to know for sure. Had to know if he'd been an idiot this past year; an idiot who'd spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he'd been searching for.
So he started investigating his girlfriend.
Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin's prints on them.
Two days after that, the woman he'd thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.
Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.
Even though he couldn't imagine her killing anyone.
"It doesn't matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove."
That was the last thing he'd said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.
The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn't trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.
~Present~
~Aelin~
Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they'd obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.
She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he'd served to her on a silver platter.
The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion--in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt--that she couldn't bring herself to do anything.
He hadn't even bothered to ask her first. That's what had hurt the worst.
He'd seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.
She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she'd thought that if the worst happened, he'd at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.
But he hadn't. She'd gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.
"See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn't kill those people."
He rolled his eyes. "Aelin-"
"And I'm not only going to prove it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine."
She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.
"If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place."
He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.
"That's never going to happen," he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.
Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.
His pride, she'd decided, would be the first thing to go.
She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, "Let the game begin, then."
Can you add me to the damnation tag list please? Thank you!! Also if you’re taking prompts: the song partition by Beyoncé, specifically the line “took 45 minutes to get all dressed up / and we ain’t even gonna make it to this club” for nessian or rowaelin
Rowan pulled at the collar of his shirt, frowning. He was already hot, and they weren’t even at the goddamn club. Hell, they hadn’t even left yet.
He was sitting in the car waiting for his wife, scrolling through his email and trying to resist the urge to back inside and throttle her. "Five minutes" his ass.
Even though he was irritated, he was used to this behavior. So was their driver, Ricky. When he'd told the stout man Aelin said she was almost ready, he'd just given Rowan a knowing smile, pulled out the newspaper, and rolled up the divider to give him some privacy.
Something he was very grateful for when, twenty minutes after she'd said she'd be ready, Aelin opened the back door and slid onto the seat across from him.
The phone fell from his hands, emails suddenly the last thing on his mind, as he took her in all the way from her curly blonde hair to her painted red toenails.
"What... what are you wearing?" he asked, voice embarrassingly raspy.
“A dress,” she replied simply, knocking on the divider between them and the driver to signal they were finally ready.
He scowled, because duh, but he’d never seen anything like what she was wearing.
First of all, it was fucking sheer.
Thin layers of black tulle wrapped around her frame, creating a see-through illusion that was messing with his mind. He guessed she was technically covered, but not enough he couldn’t see the outline of her high-cut black panties and bra. A lot of skin was showing.
Skin everyone in the club she was dragging him to would see.
“Aelin.”
“Mmm?”
“How many people are you trying to make me kill tonight?”
He wasn't a necessarily territorial man--at least he didn't think so. And the logical part of his brain told him that his wife loved him. He had nothing to worry about.
The not-so-logical part told him to not let her out of the car. Or to start cracking skulls.
His eyes finally figured out how to move off her breasts and as he looked at her face, she smiled at him knowingly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Rowan growled, trying to discretely shift himself in his pants.
She noticed, of course, and her grin grew. “Rowan, get it together. If you can’t even make a twenty minute car ride, how are you going to deal with me dancing on you tonight?”
“I’m not,” he gruffed, looking at her innocent little nose. “I’m going to stand at the bar and glare at anyone who tries to get close to you.”
She tilted her head, considering this. “I don’t think so. I want to dance with you."
"Then you should've worn something less... tempting."
"Tempting?" Aelin asked, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth slowly. "What do you mean?"
"Stop acting innocent. You wear a dress like that, and you're going to get my attention."
She leaned back, hips sliding down the seat and thighs falling open.
Skulls. Cracking.
"What are you tempted to do?"
It was a breathy whisper, one that told him she was just as hot and bothered as him.
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and his hands on hers, edging her thighs open a little further. Running his thumbs across her soft skin, he grinned when he felt it pebble and her breathing grow shallow.
"Currently," he began, running his hands down her calves, back over her knees, up her thighs. "I'm tempted to get on my knees before you and worship you. You look like a goddess, Fireheart."
She grinned, opening her mouth to respond, but he brought a hand up and brushed a finger down that bright red lip. "And then I'm tempted to fuck your mouth for messing with me in the first place."
Her lips parted, drawing his thumb inside her mouth, and he almost came at the sinful lap of her tongue. He pushed it deeper, eyes drifting closed when she moaned.
"But, you've been waiting for this opening for a while," he said, acting unaffected despite the tent in his pants and sitting back. "And you've obviously spent a while getting ready. I can wait."
She made an angry, frustrated sound and flung herself on him, somehow ending up on his lap, her knees by his hips. "I lied," she breathed, pushing herself down against him. "There isn't a club opening tonight. It opened last week, and I went with Lysandra. I just wanted-"
He knew what she wanted. And like always, he gave it to her.
A hand on the back of her neck pulled her mouth to his, and Rowan kissed her desperately, deep and searching and thorough. He met her tongue with his, sucked on her lips, kissed her the way he would if he got between her thighs. If the way she was moving on him was any indication, she knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying it.
His hands pushed up the thin material, and then he was gripping her ass, growling at the fact that she'd been about to wear this in public.
"I'm going to kill the neighbors," he told her, realizing they might have seen her walk to the car.
"Okay," she agreed, tilting her head back as Rowan kissed her neck. "I hate them anyway."
He was too hard, too desperate to be amused.
The desperation led to him ripping her panties off, something he knew she'd give him shit for later. But it seemed she was too far gone to care much, especially as he slipped two fingers up her thigh and pushed them into her. She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes drifting closed and head falling back.
He groaned at how tight and wet she was, clenching his jaw. The way she moved her hips gave him just enough friction that he couldn't think, and he fucked her harder with his fingers in retaliation.
His thumb drew small, quick circles on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, clenching his jaw and going faster when she tightened around him.
"Ro, I'm going to-"
She cut herself off and released a curse that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush as the car slowed to a stop, making him chuckle.
Aelin leaned over and slapped the intercom button to connect them to the driver. Right as she opened her mouth to speak, Rowan curled his fingers and pushed his thumb against her clit in a way he knew would drive her wild. She gasped, trying to hide it under a cough. "Um, fuck, just- just drive around, Ricky!"
The amused response came through a second later. "Of course, ma'am."
He likely knew exactly what they were doing back here, but Rowan didn't have half a mind to care.
As the car started moving again, Aelin sat back up and slapped his chest. "You're such an asshole."
He made another circle with his thumb. "Am I?"
She trembled, shaking her head, and he gave her a slow smile.
One hand buried between her thighs, he used the other to tug down the front of her dress and bra. His mouth came to her breast, and he swirled his tongue around her nipple in time with the movements of his thumb.
Aelin groaned loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders and hips churning sloppily.
"That's it," he encouraged, tugging on her nipple with his teeth. "Ride my hand, Fireheart."
He knew she was getting close from the way she tightened around his fingers, so he released her breasts and licked a line up the column of her throat. Her head was thrown back, giving him plenty of access, and he made use of it, sucking and licking and biting at her skin until he knew he'd leave a mark.
She cried out as she came, loud enough he hoped Ricky had a serious hearing problem.
Her legs shook and she trembled, but he kept going until she stilled and collapsed into his chest. Then he pulled them out and licked them clean, eyes rolling back at the taste of her.
After three years of marriage, she was still the hottest thing he'd ever seen.
Not that he was surprised--she constantly did things like this that made him burn hotter and hotter for her as the years went by.
Apparently, the sentiment was requited, because before he knew what she was doing, his wife slid to her knees before him and flicked open his belt.
She met his eyes as she freed him, running a finger slowly down the length of him.
"Aelin," he warned, not in the mood to be teased. Normally, he'd sit there all day and let her fool around, but he wanted her--needed her--now.
She rolled her eyes, but gave him what he needed, leaning down to put her mouth on him.
A muttered "fuck" fell off his lips, his hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.
Her hands were running over his thighs and up his abs, like she relished the feel of him as much he did her.
Pulling back, she hollowed her cheeks and circled her tongue around his tip. Rowan's hands were fists at his sides and his jaw was clenched tight. She's been down there for ten seconds, he reminded himself, trying not to be a chump.
Except it felt too goddamn good.
She knew exactly what he liked, and she gave it to him so fucking well he could do nothing but sit there and try not to act like a wild animal.
His hands found their way into her hair, holding it back to give him an unobstructed view.
Her full lips enveloped him, staining his cock red, and he almost came at the sight.
"Look at me," he rasped, groaning when she opened her eyes to meet his. "Fucking hell."
Those eyes undid him, and he didn't care if it made him a chump or not.
"I'm close," he warned her, pulling out a little.
But she was having none of that and dipped her head to take all of him again.
With another muffled curse, release found him, and if there was ever any doubt as to if she was the perfect woman for him, it was gone the second she moaned as he came down her throat.
His head hit the seat behind him as he breathed and breathed and tried to not pass out.
Sitting up on her knees, Aelin licked her lips and looked him over slowly.
Rowan tucked himself back into his trousers, then grabbed her arms and pulled her up onto his lap. He tucked her into him, fixing her clothes as best he could. She'd definitely have to wear his jacket when she got out, considering he'd torn her underwear off, but that was a problem for later.
He kissed her brow, smiling. "Happy anniversary, Fireheart."
Her head tilted back, those eyes meeting his again. "Happy anniversary, Buzzard."
Azriel stared at the person across from him, narrowed his eyes, and swore the chunky little toddler narrowed his back.
“Why won’t you go to sleep?” he asked seriously, not understanding the child’s aversion to the concept.
If he could, he sure as hell would be sleeping right now.
“I fed you,” he pointed out, listing everything off on his fingers. “I let you play with your toys. I even cleaned you, and let me tell you, in five hundred years, I’ve never seen someone as small as you shit so much.”
Nyx just tilts his little head, not comprehending.
“It should be physically impossible, man.”
The little thing just rolls his eyes.
“No wonder your father blackmailed me into keeping you tonight.”
Rhys and Feyre had teamed up on him, adding together all the collective favors Azriel had owed them. He knew as soon as Rhys brought up the time he’d saved him from drukenly falling out of the House of Wind’s windows two-hundred years ago that he was in trouble.
There was no way Rhys would cash in all his favors at once if it wasn’t for something horrible.
The suspicion had proved correct.
Feyre dropped the tot off, and as soon as the door had shut between him and his mama, he’d lost it.
If the shitting was impressive, it had nothing on the screaming.
He thought the kid might be an opera prodigy, with the way he could continually holler for hours on end and not grow tired.
It had only stopped when Azriel had put the child on his shoulders, let him rip his hair out with his tiny hands, and had walked him around for a while. They’d played, and ate, and everything else you were supposed to do when you had a child. Now it was time to sleep.
Azriel wasn’t that lucky, though.
It was the middle of the night, yet Nyx thought it was time for toys. He tugged on Azriel’s hand, giggled at nothing, banged his tiny fists against everything in sight, tried to eat whatever he couldn’t smash.
Basically did everything but sleep.
Azriel was out of his element.
He avoided children like the plague, a deal that had systemically worked for both him and the kids.
He hated dealing with their crying, and they were usually squeamish around his shadows. Not Nyx, though. He was endlessly amused by them, always reaching out and trying to grab them in his hands.
It was exhausting. He was exhausting.
It was honestly a fucking miracle he hadn’t started to fly yet. He’d be unstoppable when he did.
“You know, I think it’s time for at least a quick nap-” The toddler opened his mouth and took a breath, preparing to scream, and Azriel quickly backtracked. “No, no, no, I was just kidding. Let’s play some more.”
The mouth closed, and Azriel let out a relieved breath.
He loved the kid, but if he started screaming again, he wouldn’t be held responsible for what he did.
“I’m going to get you to sleep one way or another,” he warned him, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning over.
He should’ve known better than to even try intimidating the kid, considering his parents were. Rhys probably tried that route on the daily.
So he did what he always did when facing an opponent he’d underestimated. He analyzed him.
He watched the way he bounced his chunky little legs, the way he fluttered his tiny wings like he wanted to take off but didn’t know how. The toy in his hand seemed to be an afterthought.
Inspiration struck.
Before he could second guess it, he grabbed Nyx, wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm, and dove out the window at a run.
Nyx opened his mouth, and he tensed, but instead of screaming, the baby squealed. A huge, toothless smile pushed his plump cheeks up, and Azriel huffed a laugh at the joy on his face.
The toddler’s head turned back and forth as he looked out at the sky, and he swear he heard a small sigh.
“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” he groaned, beating his wings hard to bring them above the cloud line and coasting.
For the first time all night, the child seemed to be at peace. Instead of chaos in his violet-blue eyes, there was pure contentment.
“Flying relaxes me, too, buddy,” he murmured, tucking Nyx deeper in his blanket and angling him to see the night sky better.
Especially since the child was out in five minutes flat.
They flew down the coast of Velaris and over the city, and he had to admit that despite the hell he’d been through tonight, he felt pretty content, too.
He was definitely never doing it again, though, and definitely not with Nyx.
Now, with his own-
No.
Not going down that path.
Especially as a certain set of brown eyes, full lips, and honey-blonde popped into his head.
Shaking his head, Azriel made his way back to the House, taking his time and making sure Nyx was sleeping soundly by the time he landed.
Then he moved so slowly it was laughable, ensuring to not jostle him as he went into the room and lowered him into his crib.
There was a second where he swore he’d wake up, but he just turned his head and let out a non-surprisingly loud snore.
Locating Rhys, he said into the link between them, I am going to kill you the next time I see you.
It only took a second for the amused response to come. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I haven’t slept in three days. You could’ve suggested the flying.
There was no way he hadn’t figured it out, but he hadn’t said a word.
We needed this vacation, Feyre cut in, sounding less amused and more grateful. We know he’s a handful. Thank you.
Rolling his eyes, he said back, You’re welcome, Feyre.
What about me? Rhys asked. I’m grateful, too.
You owe me.
And who knew? Maybe one day, he might actually cash in on that favor.
Last part! I know I said this would be 6/7 parts, but I realized I have no idea what the fuck I had planned to write in those parts, so it's 5 instead hahah. didn't edit the ending whoops
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
__________________________________________
~Elain~
It's three in the morning when I hear it.
We're laying in bed, and even though I should asleep like the man next to me, I can't stop thinking about how little time we have left.
How has the past month gone by so fast?
It feels like yesterday I was standing on my stoop, watching Azriel open up and tell me things he's since admitted he's never told another person.
It feels like yesterday since I decided that I care for him more than I care about what he does.
But it wasn't yesterday; it was a month ago.
A month that's been filled with dinner dates, soft smiles, laughter, and enough tender moments my heart feels full. He's a
The plane ticket hidden in the bottom of my purse is a constant reminder that this is just a summer fling, that it isn't supposed to mean anything. Two weeks from now, I'm supposed to get on that flight and never look back.
Except it feels impossible.
It broke my heart when I walked away from him a month ago, and that was before he told me the details of his life.
Now I know him.
I know about the way he smiles in the morning and how he shakes his head when he laughs, like he can't believe he's doing so. I've learned how ticklish his ribs are, how he likes his coffee, his favorite type of cigarettes.
I know about his family, how his mother died giving birth to him and his father resented him from the day it happened. I know about the first man he killed, how it made him sick. I know what his tattoos really mean.
And what I never could've expected is that everything I've learned, the good and the bad, have tied me to him in a way that feels permanent.
How am I supposed to just walk away from that?
The thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his rough hands cup my face with a gentleness he doesn't show the world... it feels like missing a part of me.
And it worries me enough I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights. Like I'm incapable of wasting a minute, I spend the nights watching him sleep.
Which is why I'm perfectly awake when he pulls me close in his sleep and whispers two words that ruin me.
Ti amo.
Tears well in my eyes as I stay perfectly still, replaying the moment over and over.
He loves me.
It's something I knew--something we both probably knew--ever since that day in the rain, but I think we both never said it because we knew our time is limited.
It's been in every touch, every kiss, every moment where we get caught up just staring at each other.
But I want to tell him, I have to tell him, because however good it makes me feel to hear that from him... I know he needs it more.
He's never been loved--never been anyone's first choice, but he's mine, and I want him to know. And I don't want to be just one more person that leaves him and makes him wondering if he'll ever be enough.
So I start to plan.
~A week later, Azriel~
Well, the worst has happened.
I love the fucking woman.
Now my biggest weakness now walks outside my body, with soft brown eyes and dirty blonde hair and bright smiles that light up the world.
And she's leaving in a week.
It scares the shit out of me.
She scares the shit out of me.
Honestly, I hadn't even realized I was in so deep until she said the words "We're done."
All I remember about that day is feeling I'd been stabbed in the chest and looking down to find the blade but not seeing anything but my own hands.
One moment I was convinced I was dying, the next I was in front of her on her stoop, telling her shit I've never told a living soul.
It wasn't then that I realized I love her, but that was when I realized something maybe even more important. I trust her.
Rule 3's been thrown out the window, and I don't even remember when it happened. Was it when she told me I'm not a monster? Or the first time I noticed the way her lips turn up every time I tell her she's beautiful?
Or maybe it was the first time I laid eyes on her as she stumbled into that opera booth, looking like everything I never knew I wanted.
Either way, I'm about a mile up shit's creek with no fucking paddle.
I trust her, love her, and I've only known her ten weeks. Which reminds me, she's leaving.
Which is irritating, because while the mere thought of watching her leave makes me want to level a building, she's currently acting like nothing's wrong.
She's in the bathroom, putting on red lipstick in a slow, taunting way that makes me want to mess it up. I'm sitting in the chair next to my bed, trying to stay calm.
She's watching me watch her in the mirror, and her eyes meet mine for a split second before she looks away, making me suspicious.
That look... I've seen that look before, more times than I can count.
But never from her.
It's a secret.
She looks like she's hiding something.
"Something you need to tell me?" I ask, putting a hand behind my head to prop it up.
Nodding, she comes to stand at the foot of the bed. "Yep."
I raise a brow. "What is it?"
"I'll tell you tonight if you meet me for dinner."
Suspicion and curiosity make me ask, "Where?"
"La Rosa," she responds casually, making me narrow my eyes. It's outside of the city a bit, a small place on the coast I've never had an interest in owning or visiting.
"I've never been there."
"New experiences are good for the soul," she quips, sliding on her sandals. "Just say you'll meet me."
There's a hint of nerves in her voice, so I say, "Of course, dolce mia."
She smiles, victorious. Then she's bounding over, taking my face between her palms, and pressing her mouth to mine.
Before I can ask what she's up to, she's out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Seven o'clock! I'll meet you there."
I get up and slide my jacket on, slipping my hand in the pocket and toying with the piece of metal I've been carrying around for a month.
Sighing, I take it out and throw it on the counter, knowing that if this life has taught me one thing, it's that it won't make a difference.
~
When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm seated at a table, frowning at my surroundings.
I've definitely never been here.
No man has, I'm willing to bet. At least not on his own volition.
There are flowers everywhere. Spilling out of vases, growing on the vines surrounding the open windows, lining the doors that are open to the patio out back.
Besides that, I guess the place isn't too bad, actually. The lights are soft, the weather's nice, and by the smells coming from tables around me, the food will be good.
Elain's running a few minutes late, but she called and told me to go ahead and order.
Apparently, she's come here before, because she told me what to order her. Odd.
A few minutes after I relay the information to the waitress, I spot her coming in the front door and wave her over.
She's a little flushed, her eyes are bright, and the smile on her face gives no doubt she's excited.
I stand up when she reaches me, kiss her, then ask, "What's going on?"
"Nothing," she says too quickly. "Did you order?"
"Yeah. Have you been here before or something?"
She nods, diverting her eyes down and to the right in the classic tell of a lie.
I sigh, frustration getting the better of me. "Elain, what are you hiding from me?"
Before she can answer, the food comes. Two plates of pasta are set in front of us, and I know instantly I was right about the food being good.
But no matter how good it looks, there's only one thing on my mind.
"Elain."
She waves a hand. "Just eat, Azriel. I promise I'll tell you in like five minutes."
"Why not just tell me now?"
"It's more dramatic this way," she explains, making me sigh again.
Women.
She's going to give me a fucking heart attack with her drama.
A little aggressively, I stab the fork in the pasta, taking a huge bite.
I feel her eyes on me, watching me eat, but I act like I don't notice, mentally counting down the seconds until five minutes is up.
I'm at 263 when she asks, "Do you like it?"
"What?"
Rolling her eyes, she gestures to the plate in front of me. "Do you like it?"
"It's good," I reply honestly, a little surprised. I've lived here long enough to know the best places to eat, and I've never heard more than a decent review about this place.
"I'm glad," she says, full lips tilting up. "Since I made it."
I don't get it. Did she bring it with her? Is that why she was late?
Also, why did we come to a restaurant if she was going to cook?
"What? Why?"
She tilts her head, smile growing.
Right as my still-counting subconscious gets to five minutes, she explains, "Because I work here."
~Elain~
He stares at me, bite of pasta halfway between his mouth and the plate.
I've been almost bursting at the seems the past four days trying to keep the secret.
I mean, given what the man does for a living, I didn't think I'd make it more than an hour. And while he's definitely been suspicious, I made it.
"What?" he finally asks, dark brows furrowing as he leans in.
"I have a lot to say," I tell him. "So don't interrupt me."
His eyes narrow like they always do when I tell him what to do, but I ignore it and start listing off the different secrets I've been keeping.
I start with the most important.
"First, I love you."
The fork clangs against the plate as he drops it.
I smile, biting my lip and trying not to cry at the look on his face.
"I think I have since that first night when we danced in the bar. Or maybe when you took me to the beach. I don't know." Taking a deep breath, I say, "I tried to stop, when I found out... everything. But it was useless, because I was as in love with you then as I am now."
He shakes his head, almost like he's panicked, but I keep going.
"I love you, Azriel. I want to be with you more than I've ever wanted anything. And I can't bear the thought of leaving you. I don't want to."
Gesturing around us, I say, "I got a job here, and my landlord said she can draw up a lease. And before you say anything, I'm not giving anything up. The past months have felt like paradise, and I love it here. I liked my job in New York, but it wasn't anything I'll miss."
His eyes are so wide, it'd be a little funny if I wasn't so serious.
I take a sip of wine and try to puta brave face on. A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to say, "But we never talked about anything long term, so if this isn't what you want... I'll go. I promise. I just wanted you to know that you're... it for me. You're everything to me. I choose you."
He shudders, closing his eyes, and I take in how tight his jaw is, how close he seems to coming unraveled.
Is he freaking out? I definitely am.
After a few moments, I realize he's still waiting on me, so I laugh and say, "You can talk now."
He doesn't.
He just opens his eyes and stares at me, the shock in his gaze clear to read.
Nerves blossom. I was so sure he'd be happy, but maybe he isn't ready. Voice turning shaky, I ask, "Is this what you want?"
Slowly, he shakes his head, but before I can panic, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, holding it out between us. "I want you to live with me, not at the townhouse."
All the nerves fly out the door, and I laugh, not quite able to believe it.
How long has he been carrying this around?
The tears finally spilling over as I take the key from him. "Okay."
He brushes my cheeks off with his thumb, looking at me like he's never seen anything more beautiful.
Azriel's quiet for a moment, and I give him time, knowing that whatever he wants to say is hard for him.
"Ti amo. Mi spaventa così tanto."
I love you. So much is scares me.
"You? Scared? I don't believe it."
I'm trying to joke and lighten the mood, but he's completely serious as he shakes his head, cupping my jaw with his hand. "You scare the shit out of me, Elain."
My heart clenches, and I fight a fresh wave of tears as I lean into his touch. "You scare me, too."
"But you're not leaving."
It's said like a hopeful promise, like something he needs to hear again and again to accept it's true.
I shake my head. "I'm not leaving," I whisper.
He finally smiles, that big smile I'm positive he only gives me, and leans over the table to kiss me softly. "Say it again."
"I love you."
He kisses me again, and I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him back, feeling like everything before now has led up to this. He's the grand finale, the one I didn't know I was waiting for.
I pull back a little, just far enough to see his reaction as I whisper, "Meet me in the bathroom."
His eyes flare and his mouth drops open, and I laugh as I get up from my seat and try to walk nonchalantly towards the back.
This hadn't been part of the plan, but I've told him I love him, and now... I want to prove it.
Plus, I don't know what it is about him, but he feeds the adventurous side of me like nothing else.
I can feel him watching me from the table as I make my way across the restaurant.
Thankfully, the place is busy tonight, so I don't think anyone notices when, as soon as I shut the bathroom door, he rises to follow me.
A moment later, he slips in with me, taking in the dim lights, closed stall, low music. He flips the lock, and it's like it snaps the thread between us, descending us into chaos.
He's on me in a second, arms wrapping around me and lifting me. My legs bracket his hips as he pushes me up against the wall and traps my hands above my head.
"Say it again," he demands breathlessly, eyes bright and full of heat.
I nip his lower lip, then kiss it softly. "I love you, Azriel."
His mouth crashes into mine, unrestrained and demanding and deep enough I lose myself in him.
My hands are in his hair, his are pushing up the hem of my dress.
There's a brief moment of adjusting, and then he's easing into me. His eyes are on me, his lips are parted, and as I tighten around him, he makes a deep rumbling sound. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"You're mine," I tell him, tilting my hips to take him deeper. "And I'm yours."
He shudders, eyes going black. "You're mine."
His hips claim mine, then, pulling out and thrusting back in, moving me up the wall. I tighten my fingers in his hair as he hits a spot deep inside me, and he groans.
Moving his hands to my hips, he brings me down as he thrusts up, and I moan, then slap a hand over my mouth.
I work here, for God's sake.
"This is not very professional," I mutter, smiling when his lips twitch.
"No," he agrees, thrusting into me harder. "And it's definitely inappropriate."
I clamp my lips together, pressing my hand to my mouth again to stifle the involuntary whimper I let out.
Azriel grins, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth and whispering, "You might need to go to confessional again."
Rolling my eyes, I move my hands to his shoulders, then lean in to lick up the column of his neck. "Between the two of us, I'd say you're more likely to end up on your knees tonight."
He laughs, tugging my head back to kiss me again. His tongue meets mine in a wet, deep slide that makes me shiver. His hips brush mine. His hands hold me just right, keeping me against him.
Pulling back, he brushes his lips over mine and whispers, "I love you."
The easy, conversational pace is abandoned, and we're moving harder against each other, the only sounds our labored breathing and muffled moans.
He brings a hand to cover my mouth, and I cover his with mine, and we're in tandem, both of us lost in the other.
He comes when I do, driving deeply into me and stilling, his head buried in my neck.
We spend a while like that, and when I eventually slide down the wall, we take our time adjusting our clothes. He keeps stopping me to kiss my shoulder or brow, and I waste too much time just looking at him.
When we're both ready, he extends a hand and grins. "Let's go home."
I smile, unable to help it. "Let's go home."
_____________________________________________
Thank you for reading! This is the last part, although I might do an epilogue one day (don't hold your breath lol).
That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? That’s what they say in movies, I think. Does it count if it isn’t in Italian?
I rub a hand across my forehead, shaking my head at myself. I’m not even religious. I haven’t been to church since I grew out of the pastel pink Easter dress my mother used to love forcing me into.
Yet here I am, sitting in a dark, hot box, attempting to confess my sins.
I think I’m losing it.
Five days with no Azriel, and I’m turning to religion.
The dark shadow on the other side of the confessional doesn’t help me in the slightest or even tell me if I’m doing this right. He just sits in silence and waits for me to pour my heart and soul out.
So I say, in an embarrassingly shaky tone, “Well, I... I’ve been sleeping with someone.”
That gets me a low hm.
“Someone I shouldn’t have.” Before he can get the wrong idea, I blurt, “He’s not married or anything. At least, I don’t think so. God, what if he’s married? Oh, I probably shouldn’t say God’s name in vain in church. Sorry.”
Father gives a deep sigh, and I take that to mean I should hurry up. “Anyway, he’s just... not a good guy. I won’t confess his sins for him, but believe me, he’s committed his fair share.”
Still nothing.
I think he’s waiting for the actual confession part of this thing.
So I say the words I’ve been trying to fight for the last five days. “I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but I don’t think... I don’t think that’s really true.”
Another hm, this time more thoughtful.
“I keep thinking about him, all the time. Even though I know it’s wrong. He’s like a tumor.”
There’s a huff, like he’s amused.
“I’m worried I’m not a good enough person to say away from him,” I murmur quietly, which is the understatement of the century.
I know I’m not, which is why I’m here.
I’m pre-confessing, because if the way Azriel’s been on my mind the past couple of days is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before I get desperate enough to call him and tell him his... occupation doesn’t change things.
There’s a bit of a pause, like he doesn’t know how to reply, and then for the first time, I get an actual response. In a very thick, very German accent, the... priest? replies, “His sins are not yours.”
He’s taking the stance opposite of what I thought he would, but that’s a good point. Good enough I don’t bother asking myself why a German priest is in an Italian church.
“True, but if I stay with him, aren’t I condoning them? Don’t they become mine?”
“His sins are not yours,” he repeats.
Helpful.
I’m about to ask for a little bit of actual advice when he asks, “Do you regret it?”
“No,” I answer almost immediately, knowing that no matter how much I hate what Azriel does, I could never regret the time I spent with him.
He’s silent, probably thinking of my punishment for being such a scheming harlot.
I’ll likely have to do a million hail Mary’s once this conversation is over.
But instead of telling me I’m going to hell, he surprises me by asking, “So you plan to sleep with him again?”
There was something familiar about the tone of his voice, but I don’t know anyone German, so I don’t ponder it for long. His question doesn’t require pondering, either.
“No,” I answered with fake certainty, even though the thought of never having Azriel’s calloused hands all over me makes me unspeakably sad.
“Are you sure? Forgiveness from the Lord requires... repentance.”
I sigh at that, hesitating even though I shouldn’t. “I’m sure. No matter how much I want to or think about it, I can’t.”
“I think you should.”
My mouth drops open, not only because the words he just said or the sudden disappearance of his accent, but because the screen separating me from the man on the other side of the confessional drops, revealing the bane of all my problems.
Azriel sticks a cigarette between his full lips, lights it casually, and smiles the devil’s smile.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demand, barely resisting the urge to fling myself over to his side and strangle him.
“Listening to a very insincere confession.” Even though I narrow my eyes in the most threatening gesture I can make, he continues, “You know, if you feel like you need punishing, I can always take you over my knee.”
A strange tingle shoots through me and makes my spin straighten, but I ignore it and glare at him harder.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I look him over, ignoring how good it is to see him and asking, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to catch on fire?”
He grins, blowing smoke around him. “If I’m the devil, does that make you my angel?”
“I’m not your anything.”
He just watches me and smokes his cigarette, something I’m sure is frowned upon in church. Probably right beneath sneaking into a private confessional.
“Are you even religious?”
My lips twitch as I lie and say, “Recently converted.”
Azriel braces his arms in the small hole of the wall between us, looking unconvinced. “Yeah? What are the Ten Commandments?”
My head tilts as my eyes narrow. “I don’t know them all, but I have to believe one is about not killing people.”
“Number six,” he tells me, surprising me with the fact that he knows that. “You know, there’s also one about not stealing. And I happen to know for a fact you stole my sunglasses that day we were on the beach.”
Comparing those two sins is so ridiculous, a laugh bubbles out of me. He killed someone, yet by his logic I’m just as bad a sinner.
I knew this religion thing wasn’t for me.
“Why are you here, Azriel?” I ask, trying to get back to normal footing.
He takes so long to respond, I’m almost convinced he isn’t even going to bother. He runs a hand across his jaw, through his hair. Looks around at the plain little booth. Smokes some more.
When I’m about to give up and just leave, he says quietly, “I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”
My heart starts to pick up pace. “Yeah?”
I know I shouldn’t encourage this conversation, but hearing that he thinks about me the way I think about him... it means something to me.
“Yeah,” he agrees after a few moments, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear.
It falls silent, and something grows in the silence, building between us until all I’m aware of are the small sweeps of his thumb against my cheekbone.
I don’t know if he pulls me forward or if I take the step myself, but suddenly I’m right in front of him, our faces lined up through the small hole in the wall.
There’s a Bible in a little cubby that’s pressing into my stomach, and I’m sure there’s no better sign to resist sin than literal scripture digging into you, but I can’t bring myself to care.
It’s been less than a week without him, but it’s like my body is touched starved. The single inch where we’re connected is a live wire, and I close my eyes, trying to figure out what we were even talking about.
Releasing a tense breath that sounds a whole lot like relief, he slides his hand to the nape of my neck and leans his head to rest against mine.
“Fuck,” he says, like it’s an all-encompassing statement and not a single word. “Come back to me, carro.”
He smells like rain and smoke and something dangerous I never understood until now, and it’s so intoxicating I almost lose myself. Brushing my nose against his, I breathe him in over and over, never getting used to it. “You want me?”
A nod, so small it’s almost imperceptible. But it’s there, and we both know it.
Making sure my lips brush his, I lean in and whisper, “Then beg for me.”
He goes still, tension coming to rest in the hands still gripping my nape.
See, I realized something in the five days since I last saw him.
He wants me to say that him being in the mafia doesn’t change anything, confess to lying about it in the first place, and beg him to fuck me, yet hasn’t even apologized for lying to me in the first place.
Sure, I lied, but he got us in this mess, not me.
So he gets to beg.
Azriel pulls back, and there’s such dark depths in his eyes that I shiver. “What did you just say?”
I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. We both know he heard me.
He releases me with a huff, stepping back and practically growling, “No.”
Raising an eyebrow, I challenge, “Why is it different? You want me to confess to lying about saying that what you do changes things? Fine. I confess, Azriel. I have feelings for you that, whether or not I like it, outweigh the moral part of me that tells me to run in the opposite direction.”
Despite how casually I say it, that realization almost breaks me to admit.
I realized it when he popped up in this booth, looking every bit the villain and completely making my day. Wrong or not, he makes me happy.
“You have my confession, but you know what? I want yours.”
He shakes his head, seeming to not understand, so I elaborate. “I want you to actually apologize for lying to me. I want you to admit that you put me in an impossible situation, then acted like it wasn’t a big deal. And I want you to beg for my forgiveness.”
The muscles in his jaw are clenched so hard I don’t think he can even open his mouth, but he manages to say, “That will never happen.”
Something inside my chest collapses, so suddenly and painfully I can’t hardly breathe. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until now, how much it actually meant to me.
The fact that he won’t make that compromise for me threatens to send my emotions scattering, so I stiffen my spine and force the words out.
“Then we’re done.”
He smacks a hand against the wall of the booth but doesn’t say anything, not even as I fling open the door and flee.
I rush through the thankfully empty pews and outside, right into a downpour.
The urge to laugh rises as I become instantly soaked, my dress sticking to me and my hair flattening to my head. It isn’t funny, and would be considered normal any other time or place, but we’ve had a month of paradise without a single rainy day.
Until right now. It’s almost like the sky’s mood matches mine.
Practically running, I make my way towards the townhouse. At least it’s close, I think as I hurry. If it was far away I’d probably collapse in a side alley and just let the rain wash me away.
When I reach the door, unlocking it in a hurry, I feel someone walk up behind me. Stepping inside, I turn to see Azriel staring down at me.
Rain washes over the planes of his face, and while I probably look like a wet rat, he looks like something out of a movie.
"Why do you need this?” he asks, the anger thick in his voice.
“Why do you?”
He doesn’t make a move to come in, practically ignoring the rain as he asks in a dry tone, “You mean why do I need to hear that what I do and have done--that this fucking life I was forced into--doesn’t make me a monster?”
“Azriel-”
“Because you’re the one person in this entire goddamn world who knows me.”
I give him a look that conveys how little I believe that.
I don’t know anything about him. That’s the problem.
He shakes his head. “You know who I could’ve been, Elain.”
It’s my turn to shake my head, because I don’t understand.
He seems to make the decision of whether or not to tell me at once, saying, “Who I could’ve been if I hadn’t been born into a sadistic fucking family who beat the shit out of me for existing.”
Raw anguish lines his voice, and I stop breathing, stop thinking.
“You know who I wanted to be, who I dreamed of being, when I was in the hospital with a fractured skull or in lockup for stealing a car to run away.” He throws a hand out, yelling, “I didn’t ask for this shit! I wanted to be who I am with you. But when someone came and said they could get me out of the life I knew would kill me, I fucking said yes. And I don’t regret it.”
Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with the rain bouncing off the door. I never knew. “Azriel...”
“The day my older brother took a hammer to my hands because I scratched his CD was the last time I apologized. And I haven’t begged for anything since I was old enough to know better.”
There’s a set to his jaw, a hardness in his body I’ve never seen. “But none of this shit even matters, and it isn’t an excuse, because you’re right.”
The rain comes somehow harder, almost drowning us, but I’m rooted to this spot.
Especially as Azriel slowly lowers himself to his knees, right there on the threshold of the door.
“I’m sorry, Elain. I’m sorry I lied to you and put you in this position and acted like an ass about it. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I shake my head again, whispering, “Stop.”
I can’t bear for him to be like this after hearing what he said, can’t bear to be the reason for the strain in his voice.
He doesn’t listen. Just looks up at me with such open, deep eyes I almost choke. “Please.”
A sob escapes me as I make the decision instantly, falling to my knees and throwing myself at him.
He grunts as we collide, but I capture the sound with my mouth, seeming to take him off guard as I kiss him without abandon.
His hair is like wet silk between my fingers, and I realize the door’s still open and that rain is still getting everywhere, but I don’t care about anything but him.
His hands grip my waist, holding me steady, as I kiss him until I’m breathless, until I know he’ll believe me.
“You’re not a monster,” I tell him, pulling back to palm either side of his face. “I know you, and I know you’re not a monster.”
He leans in again, but I keep going, knowing that he needs to hear this as much as I need to say it.
“I decided before I saw you today that what you do doesn’t change things for me. I just want you.”
The knowledge of how deep we’re in this settles between us, growing into something undeniable as we stare at each other.
This time, when he kisses me again, I don’t stop him.
We fall over, him landing on top of me, and roll until we’re far enough inside that he can kick the door closed.
It’s silent besides the sound of our breathing, the rain pounding against the windows, and the deep, wet slide of our mouths coming together.
I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls back long enough to rip it off. His skin’s hot compared to the cool water all over us, and I’m dizzy on the feel of him. I feel like I can’t get enough, can’t have him fast enough.
His hands are rough against me, tilting my head where he wants it, gripping my hips, putting my arms above my head.
Reaching between us, he fists the thin fabric of my dress, and then there’s a ripping sound I don’t even care to protest because now his skin’s against mine, and I don’t think anything has felt better.
A thumb on my jaw pushes my head to the side, and then his mouth is on my neck and he’s kissing me over the spot where my pulse flutters as proof of my pounding heart.
I tug his belt open, and he toes his boots off, pulling back to finish getting rid of his jeans then settling back over me.
I tilt my hips up, not able to take the wait anymore, but he has more self control, taking the time to kiss my throat, my jaw, the tip of my nose.
“Please,” I beg. “I need you. Please, Azriel.”
He’s inside me with the next breath, filling me so deeply I can’t think.
“Merda,” he curses, forehead dropping to mine. “Questa figa e stata fatta per me.”
The dirty words just make me burn hotter.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I have one of the most dangerous men in the world between my thighs, waxing poetic about sex with me.
His teeth tug on my earlobe, and I arch up into him, making him sink deeper in me.
“Dimmi- shit,” Azriel chuckles, almost like he didn’t realize he wasn’t speaking English. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Knowing that won’t happen, I nod and open my mouth to ask him to hurry up with it.
But I never get the chance, because the next second, he’s pulling out and slamming into me so hard I slide across the floor. I don’t get far, because one arm goes under my head to grip my shoulder and the other lifts my leg to keep it in place.
And then he starts to move.
His hips hit mine hard enough to bruise, his mouth is demanding against mine, and his grip on my shoulder is unshakeable. It’s rough and restrictive and something I never knew I needed.
He’s turned me into this wanton, thoughtless thing, and all I can do is burn and burn and pray I survive.
A moan escapes me with every thrust, almost like he’s pushing them out of me, and I know I’m loud enough the sweet old lady next door will hear, but I can’t stop.
“You have to be quiet, or this’ll be over before I’m ready,” he warns in a breathy voice that makes it even harder to keep quiet.
It gets worse as he starts to repeatedly hit the spot only he’s been able to find, like he’s in perfect sync with my body.
“Fuck, Azriel,” I moan, losing my mind at how good he feels against me.
I try to fight it off, try to prolong this longer, but one of his hands slips to my throat. And as he lightly squeezes the sides, the blood rushes through me in a heady current, I come so hard I almost pass out.
Shaking beneath him, I release a loud moan he covers my mouth to stifle. When he pulls it away, I see slight indentations and realize I must’ve bit him.
I make a note to apologize later. Even if the way his eyes go almost black tells me he isn’t mad about it.
I’m almost comatose, but he isn’t even finished. He just grits his teeth, pauses to throw my leg over his shoulder, and keeps going.
My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and trying to keep him exactly where he is, doing exactly what he’s doing.
Thunder breaks outside, but it isn’t loud enough to mask the sound of us coming together or the moans he’s no longer masking.
Despite my body being sensitized and exhaused, when he cups my cheek, kisses me softly, and says, “Come with me,” I do.
He groans, hips churning messily against mine, as release finds us both. My legs shake, squeeze his waist like a vice, then go limp.
All of me does, actually. I’m boneless and pliant and couldn’t move if I was paid to.
Azriel isn’t much better off, collapsing on top of me and suffocating me with his warm weight.
“Holy shit,” I whisper after a moment, smiling at the amused huff he lets out.
Air starts to become hard to find, so he rolls off me, then sits to lean his back against the door.
“We’re on the floor,” he says, almost like he didn’t even notice before now.
I shrug, not caring in the slightest. “I can’t move, so we’re going to have to stay here.”
He chuckles, something entirely male in his eyes as he looks at me. My cheeks grow warm as he looks at the complete mess at apex of my thighs and murmurs, “Fuck, that’s pretty.”
“You are so inappropriate,” I mumble, covering my face with my hands.
Nodding his agreement, he grips my hips and practically drags me on top of him. “You like it, though,” he teases, putting a sweet kiss to my lips.
“I do,” I admit, kissing him again.
Something brushes against my thigh, and I look down between us, then raise a brow. I knew he had stamina, but this is...
“Consider it making up for lost time.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, and he smiles, one of those full, beautiful smiles I’m helpless to resist.
I know everything’s complicated now and I know he does horrible things, but when he smiles at me like that, it’s hard to care about anything except how happy he makes me. Right or wrong, good or bad, there’s something between us I’m powerless against.
“It’s been five days,” I remind him, running my hands up his chest and into his hair. “Better get started.”
~
The floor. The wall. The stairs. The shower.
He gives me a tour of my own house, fucking me on every inch of available space.
I’m just as much to blame, I guess. Any time he tries to do anything besides me, I tug him back, unable to stop myself.
He’s the drug I’m happily overdosing on, and fuck, does it feel good.
When we finally end up in bed hours later, I expect to immediately pass out. He definitely looks tired, and I’m sure I’m not much better, considering the amount of... activity my body’s been through tonight.
But despite the lingering exhaustion, we lay there, just looking at each other.
There’s still so much left unsaid, so many unanswered questions and untold stories, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by talking, much less asking questions, so I stay quiet.
His lips twitch, almost like he can see what I’m thinking.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he murmurs a second later, proving that thought correct. “I won’t lie to you again.”
I nod, thinking of what I want to ask first.
I also think about the pain in his eyes earlier, when he gave me that piece of himself. I don’t ever want to be the cause of that pain, so I ask something I assume is unrelated.
“Who was the man I hit with the wine bottle?”
The corner of his lips tip up. “That was Luca. I guess you could say he’s my friend, but more officially he’s my Underboss. We worked our way up through the ranks together.”
“You’ve known him a long time then?”
He nods, propping his head up with an arm. “We were in prison together.”
Questions bloom, but I don’t want to pry, so-
“I was sentenced to three years for grand theft auto and another for assaulting the cop who booked me. Luca was in for intent to sell.”
At my blank look, he says, “Drugs, Elain.”
“Oh.” I feel stupid as hell, so I deflect by asking, “You were cellmates?”
“No,” he laughs, running a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “But after he saved my ass from getting jumped one day, we stuck together.”
It’s quiet until I ask, “How’d you get out?”
“Well, this was in Chicago-”
My eyes grow wide as I cut him off. “You’re from Chicago? You’re American?”
He laughs at the disbelief in my voice, nodding while my brain explodes. He’d never told me, but I’d just assumed he was born in Sicily.
“Anyway, this was in Chicago. I was seventeen, but got tried as an adult because of my record with juvie. I spent two years inside, then the Capo there just showed up one day and told me he could get me out.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he says, rolling on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I remember it like it happened yesterday. He’s only three years older than me, but he was wearing a two-thousand dollar suit and had everything I didn’t. He said he needed someone to work for him, to do the shit no one wanted to.”
Sliding closer, I prop my head up with a hand. “And that was you?”
“He said he looked at my records and that I had potential.” He laughs, almost unbelieving. “I was nothing more than an angry fuckup from the south side, and he said I had potential. He said he knew who my father and brothers were and could help me get revenge. I knew it was crazy, but I said yes. On the condition Luca got out, too.”
My eyebrows go up as he says, “We were out the next day.”
“Powerful friends,” I mutter.
He toys with the ends of my hair, slight smile on his face.
“I worked in Chicago for about a year, then was sent here. He said he needed someone over here he could trust. My family’s Italian, so I knew the language, and with my baggage, I wanted out of the city anyway.” He takes a deep breath, running his hand down my arm. “So I moved here and worked my way up.”
He picks my hand up, measuring the difference between our palms.
“And now you’re Capo.”
“Mmhm.”
Tugging my hand, he pulls me closer, burying his head in my neck and inhaling.
“I have the Capo of the Sicilian Mafia in my bed,” I remark almost unbelievingly, making him laugh.
He shifts to lay down, holding me in his arms, and I marvel at how small and delicate I feel with him. My head’s against his chest, and he’s curled around me, making me sigh.
“The Capo is a snuggler,” I murmur, running my hands across the smooth expanse of his back and smiling when he makes a low sound of contentment.
“I haven’t slept the past five days,” he tells me. “I couldn’t sleep without you in my bed. You have no idea how much it pissed me off at the time.”
Laughing, I snuggle closer. He’s so big and warm, and I’m so tired.
Eyes struggling to stay open, I realize I never told him something.
“You’re forgiven,” I whisper.
I feel his lips on my brow, kissing me so gently my heart clenches. And I swear I hear him say something, but I’m soo tired to stay awake to hear it.
I fall asleep in his arms, and even though he’s dangerous and everything I should hate, it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.
I’ve said the past month with him has felt like a fairy tale, and that’s true.
Maybe just not with the knight in shining armor, but with the villain instead.
God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write
________________________________________________
~Elain~
For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.
Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.
The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.
And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.
It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.
Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.
What the hell did I walk into?
I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.
I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.
I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.
It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.
I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.
I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.
For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.
I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.
The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.
~Azriel~
“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.
I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.
Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.
I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.
I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”
Smart.
Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.
If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.
Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.
I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.
“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”
“Working on it,” he grunts back.
“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.
The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”
I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”
“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.
Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.
Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.
Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.
Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.
But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.
I’m going after her.
There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.
I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.
She knows.
She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster.
And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.
But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.
And it makes me panic.
So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.
Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone.
After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.
I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.
“Elain!”
I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.
That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.
Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.
Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.
I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.
Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.
I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.
“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.
As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.
She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.
She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.
She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.
She has to let me explain. She has to.
I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.
The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.
“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.
I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.
I’ll never hurt you.
I’m sorry.
~Elain~
Am I dead?
Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?
Where am I?
These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.
And the weird part is... I don’t have any.
I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.
I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.
There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here.
I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.
Come downstairs.
He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.
The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.
What the hell happened to me?
I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.
Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.
Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.
Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.
I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.
The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it.
And that’s when it comes back to me.
Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.
I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.
The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.
I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.
I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.
Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.
I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.
And then nothing.
Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?
I’m sorry.
I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.
He drugged me.
Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.
And he’s downstairs.
I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?
What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?
I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.
I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.
There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.
I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.
So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.
I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.
The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.
He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?
I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.
And wait.
Because I sure as hell am not talking first.
He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.
For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.
Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”
I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.
Because he said that almost like an accusation.
Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone.
“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.
He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”
Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”
“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”
I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.
Instead I ask, “Why?”
I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.
He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”
My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”
His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”
The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”
“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”
It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”
He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”
I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”
“Myself.”
Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.
If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.
Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.
“Any other questions?”
“Why did you drug me?”
If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.
“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”
There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.
Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”
I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.
But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”
My mouth falls open.
He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”
“I’m not known for my humor.”
I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”
“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”
He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”
“He wasn’t innocent.”
I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”
He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.
God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?
“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”
I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.
“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”
A shiver goes down my spine at his words.
He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”
I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.
“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”
I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.
“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.
I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.
“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”
That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.
Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.
Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?
He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.
Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”
I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.
He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”
“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”
Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.
But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.
And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.
It doesn’t work.
“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”
One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”
I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.
But it doesn’t, because they are true.
Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.
It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.
A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.
His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.
There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.
My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.
But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.
The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.
It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”
I’m falling for you, too.
I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.
Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.
The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.
He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.
My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.
Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”
Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.
He doesn’t.
Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.
“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”
It already has.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“No?”
“No.”
He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.
The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.
He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.
It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.
It should be. But it isn’t.
It’s the opposite of disgusting.
There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit.
I’m too far gone, too addicted already.
He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.
He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.
His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.
My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?
“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.
I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.
Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.
And then he says something that changes everything.
“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.
I’m lost.
I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.
My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.
His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.
It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.
Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me.
My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.
The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.
My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.
Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.
“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.
I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.
“Say it,” he demands again.
Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.
Because I can’t.
Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.
He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”
The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.
His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.
“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”
Except it feels like I am.
A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”
Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”
He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.
“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”
“Azriel-”
Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”
I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.
He tsks, feigning disappointment.
I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.
“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”
I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.
“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”
I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.
He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.
“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”
Lorcan remembered the exact moment he first saw Elide Lochan.
He’d been on his way to his last class of the day, senior year exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders, and had looked up from his phone to see her standing at the other end of the hall, talking animatedly to a professor.
She’d been wearing dark slacks and a pale, soft looking sweater that contrasted against the silky black hair hanging down her back. He could tell that even with the heels, she wouldn’t even reach his shoulders, and not a small part of him enjoyed how small she was in comparison to him, even though it also made him feel like a hulking brute.
The same part of him took one look at her and said Yes.
He’d made his way over, planning to totally interrupt her conversation and ask her out, and she’d looked up as she saw him coming, wide brown eyes meeting his.
A rush of heat went through him as she’d tilted her head and took him in from his too-long hair all the way down to the dusty boots he’d never cared to clean.
And then she’d done something that’d been a prominent player in his dreams ever since: she bit her lip.
That goddamn beautiful, blush pink lip that doubled as the most tantalizing thing he’d ever seen.
His imagination had immediately run wild.
He’d wanted to draw that lip into his mouth, nibble on it and soothe the ache with his tongue. Wanted to taste them both as he pushed into her. Wanted to see them wrapped around his cock as she looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes.
And that was just her lips.
The rest of her was almost too much for him, even in his fantasies.
Full hips; slim thighs that would feel too good parting for him; heavy breasts he wanted to taste.
She was a fucking wet dream. He’d never been so attracted to a woman, much less one he’d never met.
As he’d drawn closer and closer, she’d bid farewell to the professor and turned to him with a wide smile that made him almost trip over his own fucking feet.
And then she’d asked: “English 135?”
His sex-foggy train of thought had come screeching to a halt, and he’d raised a brow. “What?”
She’d nodded toward the classroom they were standing outside of. “English 135. Creative writing. Are you in this class?”
It’d taken him an embarrassing amount of time to realize she was a TA.
And an even more embarrassing amount of time to realize the fact that she was his TA.
Because he was, in fact, enrolled in creative writing.
He’d chosen the class at random since it fulfilled his last general education requirement, and he’d been dreading it all week, but now... now it didn’t seem so bad.
Especially as she looked up at him, the heat in his eyes reflected in her own, and said softly, “Welcome to class.”
E~
Elide felt like one of those tight rope walkers--doing something dangerous that might have disastrous consequences but unable to stop because she loved the thrill.
She knew entertaining thoughts of one of her students was stupid, but from the moment she’d met him, she hadn’t been able to help it.
Like her thoughts had summoned him, he strolled into the room, and she let her eyes graze over him, finding him just as distracting as they had yesterday and the day before and every other day so far this semester.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with hair like a midnight sky and eyes just as dark. He was like nothing she’d ever seen.
For the past two months, she’d been unable to stop herself from imagining how it’d feel to have him on top of her, pressing her down with his heavy weight. How he might say her name in the morning and how he looked when he came.
Thoughts that were nothing but a bad idea, since she was his student.
“Good morning, Mr. Salvaterre,” she said politely, trying to keep her voice from going husky.
He looked at her like he knew what she was doing, which he probably did. He wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to watching her day in and day out.
His dark eyes followed her when she paced in front of the class, tracked down her body whenever he came in the room, and burned with desire whenever they met her own.
He also always came in a few minutes early to talk to her before other people arrived, like he had right now.
A corner of his lips pulled up as he replied, “Morning, Elide.”
She almost sighed. Unlike the other students, he never called her Ms. Lochan. And he never smiled.
His lips would tilt up in a smirk, and occasionally he’d go so far as to look mildly amused, but he never gave her actually smiled. Which was probably a good thing, because she didn’t know if she was strong enough to resist Lorcan in general, let alone a smiling Lorcan.
“Do you have your paper?”
They had a story due today. The prompt was to write a chapter of a romance novel--not her idea. The plot, setting, and everything else was up to them.
Elide was looking forward to reading his more than she’d ever admit, but she remained calm as he handed over a thick stack of papers.
Calm or not, she was unable to stop herself from flipping it open and scanning a few lines.
Every thought inside her head came to a halt.
“This is...” She looked up to find him raising a brow and waiting for her to finish. “This is a sex scene.”
"Mmhm,” he confirmed, the amusement and hunger in his eyes clear to see.
A blush fought to work it’s way up her face as she saw the main character’s name was Elise. One letter away from Elide. Coincidence?
Then she saw that male lead’s name was Lorance.
Definitely not a coincidence.
They’d been subtly flirting for as long as the class had been going on, but nothing so bold as to write a sex scene about them.
She read a little more and almost passed out. It was a sex scene in a classroom.
“Feel free to make corrections or suggestions,” he murmured, for all intents and purposes sounding like he was actually talking about the assignment.
Elide cleared her throat, trying to unscramble her brain.
“Mr. Salvaterre, the prompt was to write about romance.”
Lorcan smirked and flipped the paper open to a certain page. “What’s more romantic than that?”
On their own accord, her eyes dropped to scan the page, finding an explicitly detailed scene of “Lorance” bending “Elise” over the desk and pulling her panties down with his teeth.
Elide looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and fighting the urge to press her thighs together.
“This is inappropriate.”
“How so?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m your professor.”
He braced a hip against her desk and pointed out, “You’re my TA. And only for another month.”
“Yes, but... I could get in trouble. Nothing in here,” she shook the papers, “is allowed between PhD candidates and college students.”
“I get it, Elide.” He shrugged. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I can wait another four weeks.”
When he said it like that, it sounded like forever. But she nodded, appreciating his patients.
“Thank y-”
“But you know, I think I’ll continue with this story. Just something to, you know... pass the time with.”
“What?” she choked out.
He explained slowly, “I’m going to keep writing.”
And then, faster than should be possible for such a big person, he was right in front of her, mouth dipped to her ear as he whispered, “And in four weeks, you get to pick one.”
He pulled away right as students started walking through the door, leaving her flustered and shaking and completely screwed.
~
Every class for the next month, Lorcan brought her a new chapter.
They were the filthiest, most erotic things she’d ever read.
She was addicted to them.
His imagination seemed to know no bounds when it came to her, and it made her shiver just to think about what else he might come up with.
He never said a word, just came in and put the papers on her desk, then went and sat and proceeded to eye-fuck her until the class was up.
On the last day of class, he gave her both a new chapter and his final paper for the course. She was woman enough to admit she only cared about one.
“Wait to read this one till after class,” he said quietly before sliding in his seat at the back of the room.
She pursed her lips, wondering why, but acquiesced and didn’t read it during the twenty minute reading time at the beginning of the class. It was burning a hole through her desk, but she ignored it the entire sixty minutes.
After she released everyone and bid them a happy summer, she watched as Lorcan got up, winked, and walked out of the class without a care in the world.
Um... what?
He wasn’t going to talk to her? Seriously? After two months of-
The chapter.
She flipped it open, immediately finding the reason for his casualty.
While the others were all written in the past tense, this one was present. And it used her real name.
And the first line was: Elide left the classroom, anticipation making her skin tingle, and walked to the parking lot.
Huge smile on her face and skin indeed tingling with anticipation, she made her way to the parking lot, then turned the page and read, She drove to Lorcan’s apartment.
His apartment? She’d never even been on a date with him. Not that that really mattered to her at the moment.
Was she seriously doing this?
Her eyes drifted to the next line to see his address, and she decided yes, yes she was.
Traffic seemed to go on forever as she drove the ten minutes to his apartment, and by the time she knocked on the door, she was too excited to stand still.
She knocked on the door, then knocked again when there was no answer.
Brow furrowed, she looked back to the chapter, flipped the page, and saw: She used the key under the mat to let herself in, then went to his bedroom in the back.
Hands shaking, she bent to grab the key, then let herself into her Lorcan’s apartment like she did it all the time.
An empty, clean, almost-barren apartment greeted her, and after taking an intrusive look around, she walked down the hallway to his room.
Thin drapes were closed over the window, filling the space with soft, hazy light, and she instinctively walked to the bed to run her fingers over the silky sheets. It smelled like him in here, like smoke and rain and something just Lorcan.
Inhaling deeply, she looked back at the paper in her hands.
Knowing he’d be there soon, Elide took off her clothes, got on his bed, and waited.
Her mouth dropped open as she read that line again and again. It was the last page, so she had nothing else to tell her what was going to happen.
Was he serious?
Was she seriously going to do it?
Her body made the decision before her mind did.
She kicked her shoes off and let her hair down from her ponytail before she could think better of it.
“Crazy man,” she murmured, even as she pulled her dress over her head and threw it on the floor. Her bra and panties followed, and then she was standing there in a man’s room while he wasn’t even home.
God, what if this was some elaborate prank? What if this wasn’t even his apartment?
The realistic part of her brain told her how crazy that sounded, which relaxed her a little.
She eyed the bed, not sure if she should get on it or just stand here. It felt strange to be naked in the first place, even stranger to be in his bed without him.
But it also felt exciting.
She’d wanted him for such a long time, and now that she was minutes away from actually having him, she felt like she was going to combust.
This was another way, she realized, of heightening the anticipation between them. Elide had made him wait for three months, so he was giving her a taste of her own medicine.
She crawled on the bed without another thought, relaxing on his pillows and trying to calm down.
Then the question became... how long was he going to make her wait?
Twenty minutes later, she had her answer.
She heard the lock on the door click open, and God above, just the sound of his boots coming down the hall made her breath come quicker. He got closer and closer, and then there he was.
Lorcan leaned against the door frame, looked her over from head to toe, and for the first time since they’d met, gave her a full smile.
She found herself smiling back, unable to help it. She was right; smiling Lorcan was undeniably her favorite.
He didn’t say a word as he prowled closer and braced his hands on the bed near her feet. He didn’t have to; his eyes told her exactly what he was thinking.
They roamed over every inch of exposed skin, lingering on the sweep of her hips, the apex of her thighs, the quick rise and fall of her chest.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this moment,” he rasped, leaning to press a featherlight kiss to the inside of her ankle. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He pulled back and continued to look at her like he was content to do exactly that for the rest of his life. She needed him to touch her, needed him to put that still-smiling mouth on hers.
“Lorcan,” she breathed, squirming under his dark gaze. She pulled her lip between her teeth to keep from throwing pride to the wind and just begging him for what she wanted.
Turns out, she didn’t need to beg. As soon as she bit her lip, he was on her, heavy weight pressing her down in the way she’d imagined he would for months, mouth covering hers, hands cupping her face like she was something precious.
He stole her lip from her, sucking it into his mouth and groaning.
Like a thread with too much tension, they snapped, hands and mouths starting frenzied as they both tried to kiss the other harder, deeper.
His hand slipped between her thighs, and he pulled back far enough to press his forehead to hers and mutter, “Shit.”
Then he was kissing her neck, sucking down at the same time he pushed two fingers inside of her. His name fell off her lips, sounding desperate to her own ears.
He ignored her plea, kissing a path down to her breasts. He swirled his tongue around the peak of one and used his free hand to pinch the other, making her cry out.
“These breasts,” he growled, sounding a little angry.
She didn’t know if she should apologize or shove them further in his face.
He switched to the other, choosing option number two for her. His teeth scraped against her nipple at the same time he pushed his fingers into her a little harder, and it felt so good her legs shook.
Then he was moving, going further down until his face was pressed between her thighs.
He pushed her thighs back, and she blushed at being so exposed while he hadn’t shred a stitch of clothing. But then he pulled his fingers out, licked them clean, and said, “You taste like strawberries,” giving her a whole other reason to blush.
Lorcan calmly slid down to his stomach and got comfortable, then proceeded to eat like he’d been locked in a room with no food for two weeks.
His tongue was everywhere, licking her from top to bottom, circling her clit, pushing inside her. He hummed, and she arched off the bed, pushing her hips further toward him.
She wanted this to last forever, but her body was reacting to him like it never had to anyone, and she felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge.
He added his fingers back at the same time he sucked her clit sharply, and she fell to pieces, twitching and pulsing around him and breathing like she’d done something besides lay there.
She yanked him up the bed, needing to feel him against her. She slid her hands in his hair and licked his lower lip, smiling when he made a gruff sound.
Elide slipped her hands under his shirt and pulled it off, then started working on his belt, only to have her hands knocked out of the way by his. He unceremoniously ripped his clothes off, then rolled on his back to reach for a dresser drawer.
While he dealt with that, she perused him head to toe like he’d done her.
His body was lean and cut, tan and beautiful.
Crawling next to him, she ran her lips over his chest, down his abs. When she attempted to go lower, he stopped her with a hand in her hair.
“But I want to-”
“Later,” was all he said before throwing her on her back, rolling the condom on in an oddly primitive manner, and thrusting inside of her.
She gasped, feeling so full she might split apart, and clung to him as he let her adjust.
When she felt like she could breathe again, she wrapped her legs around her waist and tilted her ups up, taking him even deeper. He made a deep sound of approval, eyes dropping to half mast.
Lorcan braced himself on his elbows, gave her a very male look, and said, “Hold on tight.”
Then he started to move, pulling out all the way before thrusting back in so hard she shook.
It was like the past months of lust and heated glances were coming back all at once, reminding her how long she’d gone without him.
She’d imagined what he’d be like more times than she could count, but the reality was somehow better.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as he pounded into her, probably hurting him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Their mouths met in a messy, wet glide, and he bit her bottom lip, anchoring himself by it as he fucked her even harder.
“Elide,” he groaned, deep voice desperate and scratchy. “Come on, baby.”
The knowledge that this was undoing him as much as it was her was what pushed her over the edge again. She moaned his name as she came, eyes going shut and body arching up into him.
He followed immediately, stilling on top of her and fisting the sheet hard enough she worried it would tear.
When she came back down to earth and released his shoulders, she saw she’d left little half-moon marks on him, and she leaned up to ease the hurt with her lips.
After a moment, he rolled off of her and collapsed on the other side of the bed with a huff.
They both stared at the ceiling, unable to find words for a long moment.
Until Lorcan stated, “Wow.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, body still tingling. “Was it worth the wait?”
He shrugged, and her heart constricted painfully in her chest until he said, “Might need another go before I say for sure.”
Elide shoved his shoulder, turning on her side to look at him.
“What now?” he asked, rolling to face her. “I do actually plan to take you on a date, you know. Dinner?”
A part of her was relieved to hear this wasn’t just sex to him, but there was something else she wanted at the moment.
“Chapter 3?” she suggested instead.
Lorcan gave her a wolf’s smile. “I like the way you think.”
can you write a canon rowaelin oneshot where aelin’s pregnant and it’s nighttime so while she’s sleeping, rowan talks to the baby through her stomach and sings a lullaby? and maybe add a scene where aelin’s water breaks and rowan freaks out or something?
It was about two minutes before Aelin’s favorite part of the day.
She could hardly wait, but she had to remember to stay calm and still and everything else someone who was asleep would be.
Luckily, she knew she didn’t snore, so all she had to do was stay quiet and keep her eyes shut.
A small task that became so much harder when--two minutes later, at exactly 10:30 like always--she felt her husband slip into bed next to her.
It’d been getting harder and harder to actually stay awake this late as her pregnancy developed, but she still found herself fighting the fall of her eyelids every night, despite knowing she should sleep.
Cool air kissed her skin briefly as he settled next to her and kissed her cheek. Like she’d done even before getting pregnant, she turned on her side so he could snuggle her from behind and wrap his arms around her.
This was home to her, here in his arms.
Rowan’s head tucked into her neck, and she sighed sleepily, something she didn’t even have to fake.
After a few moments, her husband’s hands began to rub over her stomach lightly.
She was wearing one of his t-shirts, one that barely fit over her anymore, and hadn’t bothered to wash her hair that day, but she’d never felt more beautiful than when he smiled against her neck and started to talk to the child they’d created together.
He silently slipped further down the bed, resting his head on the curve of her hip, but kept himself wrapped around her so she could continue stealing his warmth.
Aelin’s ears strained to hear as he started whispering, but she resisted the temptation to move closer, knowing it would give her away.
“Mommy’s sleeping right now, so we have to be quiet,” he murmured, big hands cradling her even bigger belly. “But soon, we’ll be able to do this in person. You’ll be here by the end of the week, from what they tell us.”
Tears burned in her eyes at the excitement in his voice as he said, “I can’t wait to meet you, Firefly.”
They’d found out they were having a girl two weeks ago, and he’d been ridiculous ever since, buying pink onesies, hanging matching twinkly lights in the nursery, reading a how-to book about raising girls.
But the one thing they hadn’t prepared for was what they were going to name her. They’d argued about it, and then one day he just started referring to their unborn child as Firefly.
It was a nickname that stemmed from him calling her Fireheart, and it made her almost cry every time he said it.
“Your mother’s the most important woman in my life, but you... you’re my baby girl.” She could hear his smile. “You’re going to be just like her. You’ll be strong, and beautiful, and will drive me absolutely crazy.”
Silent tears escaped, even as she remained perfectly still.
“But I can’t wait to see what traits of mine you have, too.” He pressed his lips to her stomach in a feather-light kiss, then whispered, “I love you so much, little Firefly. Now go to sleep.”
Rowan resumed his big-spoon position and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to cradle both her and their child.
“That goes for you, too, Fireheart.”
Aelin grinned and snuggled further into him, murmuring, “I love you, Ro.”
He kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”
~
“Are you serious?”
She nodded.
“You want lemon gelato for lunch?”
Rowan’s brow furrowed, prompting her to ask, “Why not?”
He looked at her like she had two heads. “You hate lemon, babe.”
Aelin groaned, rubbing a hand over her stomach. She’d forgotten about that. “Take it up with her. She’s the one demanding it. Little brat.”
He scowled. “She isn’t a brat. And she can have as much lemon gelato as she wants just as soon as she’s born.”
Her stomach reminded her once again how empty it was.
“Rowan, I swear I’m going to stab you if you don’t go get me something to eat.”
Her husband just smiled. “It’s moments like these when I’m reminded why I agreed to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“A very short life, if you don’t-”
A container of gelato landed on the counter in front of her, along with a spoon.
With narrowed eyes, she checked the label, then demanded, “How did you know?”
He laughed. “You talk in your sleep.”
“Eavesdropper,” she mumbled, ripping into the container and taking a huge mouthful.
See, this is why pregnancy was strange to Aelin. Nine months ago she’d hated lemon, and now this stupid container of gelato was the best thing she’d ever eaten.
“I love you,” she said around a mouthful, grinning when he came to press a kiss to her cheek.
“And now she’s sweet,” he teased, brushing her hair off her forehead.
Then he went tense, and every bone in his body seemed to still as he said seriously, “Aelin. Look down.”
“I can’t see past my belly, dummy. Just pick up whatever I dropped.”
His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before he spit out, “You... your water broke.”
She leaned over slightly to look at the floor, seeing that there was in fact a wet spot beneath her. “Huh.”
She took another bite of gelato.
“Huh?” he asked incredulously, leaving the kitchen and starting to run around the house. He threw things in the bag he’d affectionately deemed The Baby Bag, yelling at her to get ready.
She rolled her eyes and continued eating, only pausing when Rowan burst into the room and demanded breathlessly, “What are you doing?”
“Eating. Can you hand me the pizza from last night?”
Because who was she to question her daughter’s cravings?
“Aelin, we have to go! You’re in labor.”
Reaching the bottom of the container, she sighed. Why did they make pints so small these days? “I’m aware.”
“So then get in the car!”
Her always calm and collected husband looked about ten seconds away from ripping his own hair out, which made her smile. “Labor lasts hours, Rowan. I assure you, I have time to eat a slice of pizza.”
“I’ll order you a whole, brand new, hot pizza at the hospital.”
She considered this, tapping her chin. “Fine.”
Then she turned and waddled down the hallway to their room.
“Wait!” he called out, coming after her. “What are you doing? The door is the other way.”
“I’m not going to the hospital in a wet dress, Rowan. It’s called standards.” Ignoring his angry little growl, she changed into a clean dress. “Zip me up, please.”
He zipped the dress in a flash, almost ripping it, then grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door.
“Wait, I need shoes!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, green eyes bright with panic. “Babies don’t care if you wear shoes when you birth them.”
“If you think I’m walking across a hospital floor with no shoes on... grab those, will you?” She pointed to a pair of sandals, not feeling like bending down to get them herself.
Rowan roughly put her feet in them, making her frown. “I’m not really appreciating this attitude, you know. You don’t need to manhandle me.”
His jaw was tight from where he was grinding it, but he still sounded perfectly civil as he said back, “I just want to get to the hospital.”
Aelin sighed, patting his shoulder. “It’s been five minutes. We have time.”
He looked a little relieved... until she said casually, “Plus, worst comes to worst, you deliver her in the tub. All doctors really do is stand there and catch the kid.”
His mouth fell open, and the attitude came swooping back in. “I am not birthing this child in our bathtub, woman. Now, you can walk to the car yourself, or I will carry you, but either way we are leaving right the fuck now.”
Rolling her eyes, she turned and slowly made her way to the door, pausing when she came back into the kitchen. “You know, cold pizza actually sounds better-”
Rowan swooped her up, the ten pound bowling ball in her stomach seeming to be no issue, and walked toward the front door.
“Rowan! Put me down, you buzzard!”
He set her in the passenger seat, gripped her chin, and set a serious kiss to her lips. “You’re so sweet.”
Her hands fisted in the hem of her dress. “I don’t want to go yet.”
“You’re going.”
“No!” she exploded, pushing him away and trying to get out of the car. “No, no, no. I can’t go yet, I need more time, I-”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he slipped a hand over her mouth to shut her up. “You can do this, Fireheart.”
She was crying, although she wasn’t sure when that had even started.
She shook her head.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You can do this. You’re going to be a great mom. I may be freaking out about actually getting to the hospital, but I’m not scared about what follows.”
Aelin gave him disbelieving eyes.
"If I wasn’t sure, one hundred percent positive, that you could do this, then yeah, I’d be scared. But you’re going to do great. I know that, and so do you.”
He took his hand off her mouth, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re great at everything. This won’t be any different.”
That made her smile, even as she rolled her eyes.
“I am pretty amazing,” she agreed softly.
“Yes, you are. But I’d really like to do this in a hospital room instead of our driveway, and you’re probably half-way dilated by now, so-”
It was Aelin’s turn to cover his mouth with her hand. “Let’s go meet Firefly.”
She didn’t even know the name of her child or how the hell they were going to pull this off, but under the steady weight of his gaze, Aelin knew that no matter what, they’d figure it out together.
can you please write more rowaelin? maybe some fluff or this prompt: “i went over to your room because you were blasting music to find you lying in a pile of pillows sobbing and listening to some love song and now i don’t know what to do” but make rowan be secretly in love with her 🤭
Rowan didn’t know why exactly why he couldn’t sleep.
Well, yes he did.
He couldn’t sleep because the obnoxiously loud music coming from the dorm next to his was keeping him awake.
But despite the noise, he should’ve still been able to fall asleep.
He’d run himself ragged at practice today, doing extra laps around the rink, then staying to lift afterward. He’d skipped his morning coffee, even drank a fucking cup of tea an hour ago to “calm” himself, or whatever.
All things that should be able to allow him to ignore the music--and the woman playing it--and fall asleep.
But nope. No such luck.
With anyone else, he’d go over, pound on the door, and demand they shut it off. But with his neighbor... that wasn’t exactly an option.
Because his neighbor was Aelin Galathynius, aka the only woman Rowan had never been able to ignore.
A cheerleader with an obnoxiously addictive personality, she’d burst into his dorm two months ago, asking to borrow his stapler. Didn’t even knock.
He didn’t know if it was her smile, sense of humor, or complete lack of boundaries that drew him to her, but as soon as she stormed in, he was under her spell.
Which was unfortunate, considering she had a boyfriend.
Ever since then, every run in with her was like rubbing sandpaper over a burn.
He was on edge, completely fucking whipped, and unable to do anything about it.
Which is why he couldn’t go over and ask her to turn the music off, which in turn was why he hadn’t slept in two days.
He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut.
Twenty minutes later, when he was almost out of sanity and completely out of patience, he threw himself off the bed, stormed next door, and knocked hard enough his knuckles would probably bruise.
The music cut off, and he tried to brace himself for her little smirk, bright blue eyes, and body he’d had one too many dreams about, but no amount of preparation would’ve prepared him for what he saw when the door swung open.
Cloudy blue eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, rumpled clothes.
He’d never seen her look anything but put together, and his chest clenched in response to seeing her upset.
“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately forgetting the reason he’d come over at the sight of her tears.
She nodded, putting on a decent show of acting unaffected. “I’m fine. Need to borrow my stapler or something?”
He didn’t laugh at the poor attempt at a joke, too concerned. “Aelin, you can talk to me. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, messy blonde hair falling in her face. “It’s stupid.”
Rowan leaned a shoulder on the doorframe and said honestly, “Nothing you could say would ever sound stupid to me. I promise.”
If she was this upset, he damn sure wasn’t going to tease her about the cause.
“I dumped Chaol,” she murmured.
His brows shot up, and despite trying to stomp it out, hope bloomed in his chest.
She’s crying, you jackass.
And even though he shouldn’t, even though it would just make him more in love with her, he knew he couldn’t leave her like this.
“Come with me.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her outside and closed her door behind her, leading her into his dorm.
They lived in the athletic dorms, meaning they both had their own rooms, but he didn’t want her to be alone, and he didn’t want to invite himself in her place.
He gestured for her to sit on the couch, then sat as far away as possible.
“Pizza?” he offered, opening the box he’d ordered earlier for dinner.
Aelin shrugged, taking a slice. She took in the hockey posters, game set, and bare-minimum décor, snickering. “You are such a guy.”
“I’m aware,” he laughed, frequently catching shit from his friends about how stereotypical he was. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, even as she pulled her legs underneath her and got comfortable.
“Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?”
She grinned. “No, but thank you for the offer. He didn’t do anything. I just... don’t love him anymore.”
Rowan asked, “Then why are you upset?”
“I don’t know,” she groaned, taking a bite of pizza. “We were just together for so long, you know?”
He didn’t, but he nodded in agreement anyway.
“He was such a big part of my life, and now I feel like he won’t ever speak to me again. It’s why I waited to break things off. I knew he’d push me away.” She played with the hem of her sleep shirt. “I’m sad about losing a friend, not a boyfriend.”
That, he understood.
“When I was in high school, I moved all the time because my dad was in the military. I felt like I lost friends all the time. But my mom always said friendships are cyclical. People leave your life, others come in. You’re never alone.”
A tear fell down her cheek, and she brushed it away with a sniffle. “Yeah, but he was my best friend.”
Rowan’s heart hurt at how small her voice sounded. “I don’t know anything about the guy, but I can tell you one thing.”
She looked up from her lap and raised a brow.
“If he never talks to you again, he’s a fucking idiot, and he didn’t deserve you in the first place.”
The corner of her lips turn up. “What do you know? You avoid me like the plague.”
Fuck. He didn’t think she’d noticed.
He felt the tip of his ears go hot, so he ducked his head and mumbled, “I don’t avoid you. I’m just busy.”
“Mmhm,” she mumbled unbelievingly, finishing off her slice of pizza.
There was still a bit of lingering silence in her shoulders, so he offered up another piece of his heart. “Even though I don’t see you a lot, Aelin, I can tell you you’d be hard to forget.”
She looked at him, eyes going a bit misty again. “Thanks, Ro.”
His chest warmed at the nickname, even as he shrugged in answer. He needed to do something to clear the air, so he grabbed an X-box controller and tossed it to her. “Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto?”
Aelin smiled, and it looked genuine enough he finally relaxed. “Call of Duty. I’m going to kick your ass, Whitehorn.”
“No,” I emphasize, shaking my head to further get the point across. “I’m not getting on that thing!”
Azriel tilts his head, still leaning against the motorcycle with casual arrogance and twinkling hazel eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. And we both know you love to ride.”
My face heats at that little joke, but I hold firm in my convictions. “Can’t we just walk?”
We’re going to a beach on his recommendation, but apparently, the one right behind us isn’t good enough. “No.”
“Okay, then why don’t we take the bus?”
He looks at me like I just suggested we crawl all the way their on our hands and knees. “No.”
He offers no other option, just looks at me and waits patiently.
“Don’t you trust me, dolcezza mia?” he purrs, sliding his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans and smiling.
The walls of my refusal start to crumble, because I’m such a sucker for that smile. I’m starting to think he knows it, too.
“I’m in a dress,” I point out weakly.
“With a swimsuit underneath.”
I try again. “My hair will get tangled.”
Azriel sighs like he’s over my shit, lips twitching. “You and I both know you’re dying to put a scarf over it like one of those cliché movies you love so much.”
Thelma and Louise is my favorite movie...
And he does look criminally handsome leaning against the motorcycle, dressed in black like always, sunglasses low on his nose.
An image pops into my mind of me, riding behind him with the sea a landscape behind us, scarf and red lipstick on, the sun high in the sky.
I purse my lips, and because he can tell he’s winning me over, his eyes turn amused and victorious.
What cements the deal is him saying, “I’d never let anything happen to you, Elain.”
His voice is so serious and deep, it sounds like he’s making a solemn vow to me. So I give in.
“Promise you’ll drive slow.”
Azriel dips his chin in agreement, and a huge smile breaks over my face as I run back inside.
Five minutes later, I step back out, still smiling like an idiot. Azriel now sits on the motorcycle, looking like something out of GQ, and he snorts as he looks at the additional scarf, lipstick, and sunglasses. “Donne.” Women.
Ignoring that display of sexism, I walk over to him and take his offered hand, sliding onto the bike behind him. My hands link in front of him, and he chuckles at how tightly I hold on to him as the machine under us rumbles to life.
Oh, God.
Slowly, like promised, he pulls away from the curb and onto the almost-empty street. Most people are at breakfast in one of the busy cafes or sitting on their porches, but one woman smiles as we pass because we obviously look freaking adorable.
I start to relax as we go, because like everything else he does, Azriel drives with complete control and confidence. He acts like nothing could go wrong with him in control, and it puts my nerves at ease. Honestly, I don’t know why I was worried in the first place.
He said he’d never let anything happen to me, and despite knowing him less than a month, I believe him.
He navigates us through the city and to a slightly larger road that runs along the coastline, and I take a minute to appreciate the movie moment.
He shifts to drive with one hand as we go, the other residing on my knee next to his hip. His thumb brushes over my skin softly, and I press my face to his neck, overwhelmed by the moment.
I never knew I wanted something like this, but considering I feel like I’ve been split open and stuffed with sunshine, I did.. He does that, I’ve noticed; somehow, he knows what I want before I do.
I’ve never asked him for anything, yet every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m receiving a present.
Just a summer fling, I remind myself, even as I press a kiss to the side of his neck.
We ride down the coastline for about twenty minutes, eventually coming to a stop and walking onto a completely abandoned beach.
It’s secluded, shielded by dunes on either side, and quiet. The sand’s almost white, and the water’s so blue, it looks like the background that comes with a new computer.
Paradise.
“How’d you find this place?”
Hands in his pockets, he jerks a chin towards a beautiful, sprawling property about a hundred yards from us. “Because I live right there.”
Despite sleeping with him for almost four weeks, I haven’t seen his house before now. I’ve seen him naked, yet for some reason, knowing where he sleeps at night feels more personal.
Maybe it’s because I get the feeling he’s letting me into his life a little by taking me here.
And maybe it’s because I feel like he never does that.
A smile pulls on my lips as I look between him and the house. He’s obviously trying to play it cool, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that isn’t usually there. I realize why, and my smile grows. “You like me.”
He scowls, making me grin. “Of course I like you, Elain.”
He says it like it’s obvious, and I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. “Yes, but you like me, too.”
He looks toward the sky and thoroughly tries to ignore me as I put my hands on his chest and smile up at him. I kiss the underside of his jaw softly, then murmur, “Don’t worry. I like you too.”
His lips turn up at that, and he presses a quick kiss to my lips, then takes my hand and tugs me towards the water.
Pulling off my sundress, I look over his apparel and raise a brow. “You’re swimming in that?”
Amusement dances in his hazel eyes as he responds, “Of course not.”
He pulls his shirt off, revealing his tan, tattooed chest, broad shoulders, and toned stomach. I sigh, fucking sigh, because looking like that should be illegal, and he laughs.
Then pulls his pants down.
If possible, my brows go up even higher at the sight of him in nothing but his black briefs. “Um, what are you doing?”
“Swimming,” he retorts simply, and before I understand what’s going on, he’s naked as the day he was born.
“Azriel!”
He turns and walks toward the sea, leaving me slack-jawed and with an uninterrupted view of his backside. And what a nice backside it is.
By the time he’s wading in the water, I’m still standing on the beach, eyes wide, watching him.
His black hair’s wet, hanging around his face like spilled ink, and the water’s so bright and blue against his tan skin and the dark lines of his tattoos.
He looks like a goddamn model, and I’m momentarily paralyzed at the sight of it.
“Venire qui.” Come here.
I walk far enough that the water brushes my toes with every wave, cool and calming and serene.
“You’re naked,” I point out like he might not be aware, still shocked.
“It’s a private beach, tesoro.”
I take a look around, even though I know it’s empty, and he laughs and walks backward, going deeper into the water. He’s relaxed as he wades in, like he does this every day.
For all I know, he does.
I’ve never been naked in public, but I’m assuming to be as comfortable with it as he is, it happens a lot.
Az shakes his head, water flying from his hair like rain, and my mouth drops open as things start to move in slow-mo. His tattooed shoulders are above the water, and he just watches me in that dedicated, heated way he always does.
I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from groaning. He notices, and even from the distance between us, I see his eyes darken. “Are you going to join me?”
His voice makes it sound like he’s asking if I’m going to join him in going nude, not just join him in the water.
“I think you have ulterior motives,” I say back.
He smiles that damn smile, running a hand over his jaw. “Always.”
I make the decision in less than a second and throw the bikini off in almost as little time, then sprint into the water to lessen the chance of anyone seeing me.
He laughs, a full-bodied laugh with his head thrown back, and mutters, “Ridicola.”
“You’re the ridiculous one,” I accuse as I swim over to him, scowling. “Getting naked at 11:30 in the morning.”
The water’s deep enough that I can’t stand, but given he’s half a foot taller than me, he can, so I brace my arms on his shoulders to stay afloat.
“There are no time constraints to when a person can be naked.” His hands span my rib cage, pulling me in close. “And with you, I happen to think you should stay this way all the time.”
My lips twitch. “My teachers might not appreciate that.”
He hums his agreement but seems distracted by the sight of me wrapping my legs around his waist and leaning back to float in the water.
“Bellissima,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s even saying it. “Troppo bella per le parole.”
Too beautiful for words.
He spins us around in the water, causing me to laugh and relish the feel of the water swirling around me.
Between the sun warming my face, the cool water relaxing me, and the man making me smile, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
My life feels like a fairytale, and I don’t delude myself about why.
Pulling myself up, I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him softly. “You make me happy, Azriel.”
He tilts his head, surprise flaring in his beautiful eyes. He looks like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment, despite always giving them to me. The man calls me treasure, yet doesn’t understand that he makes me happy?
Shaking my head in frustration, I kiss him. He deepens it instantly, meeting my tongue with his, and I’m lost. His hair is wet between my fingers, soft and silky and the perfect tool to pull his head back so I can devour him properly.
I suck on his lower lip, and he makes a low sound, almost like a warning.
“I knew you had ulterior motives,” I breathe as he kisses a path down the column of my throat.
His hands cup my breasts, bringing them up and burying his face between them, making a low sound of satisfaction. “It isn’t why I brought you here, but... I can’t think with you around.” He nips my breast, making me yelp. “It’s very irritating.”
I scoff, about to say that sounds like his problem, not mine, but then his mouth closes around my breast, and the retort dies in my throat.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I really can’t.
But when in Rome. Or Sicily. Close enough.
“Lean back again,” he urges, hands running down my back.
I comply, tightening my thighs around his hips and floating back.
His voice goes low, and he whispers, “Close your eyes, caro.”
They slide shut, almost against my own will, and then he’s pushing inside me with one thrust, making my back arch up almost completely out of the water. My eyes open to find his watching me, looking down at the place where we’re joined.
“Eyes closed,” he gruffs, staying perfectly still until I do just that.
He starts to move, doing all the work as he lifts me and brings me back down, going in time with the waves around us.
His hands grip my hips with demanding pressure, but his pace stays plateaued.
One on my back urges me above the waterline, and I blush at being laid out in front of him so exposed, but remembering the heat in his eyes, any embarrassment dies down.
The waves threaten to move us, but Azriel’s a rock in the storm, never losing his footing, never faltering.
I hear his quiet, steady breath, the crash of the waves around me, and I feel like everything’s heightened. My body’s buzzing, and I glide my arms through the water, the feeling of the cool water on my over-sensitized skin making me tremble.
“Fuck, Elain,” he says under his breath, hips thrusting a little harder. His name falls off my lips on a moan, and the sound of him groaning in answer does it for me.
I tighten around him as I come, and he follows immediately, pulling me by my hips until he’s seated deep inside me. We’re still, letting the waves bring us even closer.
He pulls out of me but continues to hold me in his arms, pulling my chest to his and burying his face in my neck. “I can’t get enough of you. I should let you go, but I can’t.”
I open my eyes in confusion, wondering why the hell he’d think that, but pause when I see the look in his eyes.
It’s a reflection of my own, showing all the things I want to say but am too scared to. “Az...”
“Sei mio,” he says roughly, without a trace of doubt or hesitation.
The words ring in my head over and over as he carries me back to the beach, then leads me up the dunes and into his house.
You’re mine.
~
The day after our beach trip--which, honestly, was only about thirty minutes of beaching--I come to the conclusion Azriel’s holding back on me.
He’s shown me his home, fucked me on every square inch, and has given me everything I want whether or not I ask for it, but... he’s holding out on me.
I’ve been around enough people who are hiding something to know that despite seemingly being open and honest, there’s something he’s holding back.
Even when he’s rough with me, it’s like he has a leash on himself so tight he won’t really let go.
It’s like he’s afraid I’ll run in the other direction if he does. Like he’s afraid of scaring me off.
Which is ridiculous, so I’ve also come to the conclusion it ends today.
I need him to be as happy and free as he makes me, and I think this is the way to do it.
So I’m going to surprise him.
I’m on my way to his house, being driven by a cabbie who asked twice if I was sure this was where I wanted to go, with one plan in my head: make him lose control.
He’s always so composed, so relaxed, and I’m tired of it. I want him to know that no matter what happens, I’m not running. Not from him.
It’s time I find out who he really is.
~Azriel~
I have three rules in life.
Three rules that have kept me alive and in this game when the odds were stacked against me.
1: Never leave the house without my .45.
2: Never give into temptation.
3: Trust no one.
Rule 1 is easy to follow. I have more enemies than friends, and I’m not stupid enough to allow someone an opportunity to off me while I’m defenseless.
Rule 2 is usually just as easy to follow, because I’ve lived long enough to have learned how to block myself from ever really wanting anything.
I have to say usually, though, because lately, it’s a complete fucking bitch to follow.
Ever since Elain stumbled into my life like a walking, talking version of every dream I’ve ever had, I’ve been fucking helpless against her.
And I refuse to feel helpless.
But I also refuse to let her go.
Which is so unbelievably selfish and fucked up, I can’t hardly stand myself.
Every time I’m with her, I swear it’s the last time. But then she has to go and be unforgettable, beautiful, kind, and the best lay I’ve ever had, and I’m back to being helpless.
Oh, and now I’ve gone and fucked rule 3, too.
Because never, in my entire life, have I shown a civilian where I live. I’ve taken a few women to one of the few apartments I keep, but never my actual home.
I don’t really know why I did it, considering I knew--while doing it--it was stupid. It was like I wanted, needed, her to see at least a part of me that’s real.
Rolling my neck, I try to push all thoughts of her and her infuriatingly addictive smile out of my head and focus.
Luca glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow like he can sense I’m not paying attention, and I nod for him to keep going.
He squeezes the pliers, and screams fill the air as another finger falls to the floor.
Blood splatters on the toes of my boots, and I narrow my eyes at it. I just fucking washed these.
Luca pauses his work when the guy strapped to the table passes out, walking over to me and lighting a cigarette. “Maybe he’s not going to talk, boss.”
I almost laugh. “They always talk.”
In fact, it’s a little annoying how predictable this shit is getting. Sure, some men, like the one in front of me, are a little stronger and hold out longer, but they all eventually crack.
It just depends on applying the right pressure.
Something Luca knows, meaning there’s a reason he’s getting antsy.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You got something better to do?”
He blows the smoke out, doing a piss-poor job of fighting a smile. “Matter of fact, I do.”
I take a cigarette from the pack he holds out and light it. “What’s her name?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, and I know it’s going to be someone I know.
“Gianna,” he finally tells me, and I take a deep inhale of smoke to keep from laughing.
Yeah. I definitely know her.
He shoves my shoulder when I let a chuckle out, and I at least make the effort to stop being a dick.
But I can’t help but tease him a bit. “She still into-”
“Yes. Now shut up.”
Another laugh escapes me, but I drop it, considering I’m not exactly doing a great job of controlling my own sex life at the moment.
The only reason Luca gets away with talking to me like he does is because he’s my Underboss and happens to be one of the only non-useless people around me.
I take in the man on the table with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out how to get him to just fucking confess. I know he’s guilty, and he knows he’s guilty, but we both also know he’ll die as soon as he damning words leave his mouth.
He’s only got four fingers left, has multiple broken bones, and is missing an eye from where Luca lost his cool earlier.
Clearly, cutting him isn’t doing shit, either, if the gaping wounds on his torso are any indication.
Stubborn bastard.
“Electrocution,” I decide, pushing off the wall and going to grab the jumper cables. The traitor groans, but doesn’t say the magic words.
Luca frowns. “It always smells like burnt hair when we do that.”
Ignoring the prima donna in the room, I hook one cable to the car battery we keep down here and the other two his chest.
“Have you, or have you not, been selling secrets to the Irish?” I ask, my voice betraying the boredom I’m fighting.
He shakes his head, and I have to hold back a sigh.
The sooner this stupid bastard confesses, the sooner I can go to Elain’s.
Walking back over to my place by the stairs, I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find her name.
I want to see her so bad I’m almost chafing with the effort not to press down, and it only gets worse as the memory of yesterday comes to mind. Of her floating in the sea, breasts bouncing with every thrust, full lip between her teeth.
Fuck.
I run a hand over my face, trying to shove the image out, but it refuges to budge.
Damn woman.
“Falco?”
I snap out of it, looking up to find Luca watching me with a strange expression on his face. Considering he almost never calls me that, I take it that he’s been trying to get my attention for a few moments.
“What?”
“70 or 130?”
I narrow my eyes at the stupid question, and he rolls his eyes before setting the charge to 130 and connecting the dipoles.
The man screams as electricity flows through his body, his wounds bleeding worse as his heart goes into overdrive.
Luca unclips the cables when he passes out, smoking his cigarette and frowning when he doesn’t come to.
A shot of adrenaline to the arm wakes him right up, though, and when he sees us standing over him watching patiently, he curses.
“Ready to confess?” Luca asks, equally ready to get out of here.
The idiot just glares at him. “Accendilo, cagna.”
Light it up, bitch.
If I weren’t so irritated at how long this is taking, I’d laugh.
Although, I have to admit it’s kind of satisfying that he isn’t breaking. He’s one of our own, trained and raised by us, so it’d be insulting if he broke down and confessed after one day.
The longest run we’ve ever had is four days, but the man in front of us might just give the record a run for it’s money.
But then Luca turns the battery on maximum volume, shocks the ever-living shit out of him, and punches him to keep him awake the whole time. He’s probably a little pissed about the “bitch” comment.
And that’s the game.
“Basta, basta! Per favore!”
Luca gives me a victorious grin as he unclips the wires, making me shake my head. Violent bastard. “Parla, cagna,” he demands. Talk, bitch.
Definitely a little pissed about the bitch comment.
The man shakes from the shocks, managing to say, “I told them about the shipment coming in tomorrow night.”
“Told who?” Luca prods, running a knife under the man’s quivering lip.
There’s a pause, then he spits, “O’Connor.”
Aka a pain in our asses, but more so for the Chicago operation than here. I’ll give the Capo there, a long-time friend of mine, a call. Luckily, that means it shouldn’t be a problem for me any longer.
Plus, we still have time to reroute the shipment.
Plus, now I can kill this idiot.
The traitor’s eyes go to me, and he nods, accepting his fate. Not that he has a fucking option.
The sound of my gun’s the last thing he hears, the bang echoing off the walls loudly.
Not loud enough that I don’t hear a gasp from behind me.
I turn around instantly, gun drawn and pointed toward the intruder, finger ready on the trigger.
