a/n hi! so excited to post this for the acotar summer writing circle (thank you @azrielshadowssing for hosting and organizing this event!) it is my first time ever doing something like this but I’m pumped to take part and see all the different pieces that come out! I will say that a lot of this is backstory to nesta and cassian’s relationship rather than actual interactions between them lol so to whoever is writing part 2 and part 3, I hope I gave enough freedom for you to take the story and dynamic how you’d like!
All Nesta Archeron wanted was to go on a relaxing cruise after her recent and messy breakup with her long-term partner, Cassian. However horrible weather, sea sickness, and overall heart break have put a damper on her mood and things don’t seem to get much better after she meets Cassian on this cruise...after his fettuccine alfredo goes straight into her face.
Word count: 2135
When Nesta Archeron decided to go on vacation for the first time in 3 years, on the new cruise line that had come to Prythian that was said to be, “The best voyage known to sail the seas,” she was expecting a warm summer breeze that grazed your skin, maybe some sandy beaches that were perfect for a nap, calming waves that lull into the shore as you read a book, and gorgeous sun that you could lay in all day.
Instead, she got rocky seas that made her seasick half the time, tornado warnings which stopped the cruise from going to certain destinations, pelting rain that made the skies gray, thunder so loud that it woke her from her sleep, and lighting so bright one would think someone had turned on a flashlight.
“Of course this is my damn luck.” Nesta grumbled to herself as she lay holed up in her suite, with hair that wasn’t combed and laying in her unmade bed.
It was the final day of the cruise and the past week was filled with a multitude of days, each being more dreary than the last and while Nesta was assured by everyone around her that she would be at the pinnacle of peace of mind, she was as from being at peace as she ever has been. Hell, she couldn’t even read her books because she got motion sickness from the ship's uneasy sway.
Nesta was tired, grumpy, and above all, annoyed. She hadn’t even wanted to be on vacation in the first place.
No, she was perfectly content with spending this summer as she had for the past 3- studying and learning as much as she could so that she could graduate law school and pass the bar exam to become a lawyer. However, after her recent and very fresh break up, her sisters and friends had all but begged her to get out of the apartment she had once shared with him and relax, in hopes of getting her mind off of her heartbreak.
If anything, being stuck on this ship with horrible weather only made Nesta miss him more.
“Cassian would have at least made this a fun experience,” Nesta says aloud in her empty room. She ignored the ache in her chest that appeared when she thought of him.
She was well aware that even if the cruise was still as shitty as it was now, having Cassian with her would have immediately made everything better. He had a knack of making the most mundane activity become a new adventure and oftentimes she would be dragged along for the ride. While she used to find that trait of his annoying at first, some of the best times Nesta has ever had were because of those moments of unexpectedness with him.
Those memories seemed lifetimes away now.
They had only split a month ago and after over 2 years of dating and a previous year of trying to ignore the tension between them, it was proving far harder than she ever thought it would to get over him and the past month had been hell for Nesta to get through.
She couldn’t lie and say she hadn't seen the split coming though. While the two of them had lived together for the past year, it felt like they were more like passing bodies that happened to go to sleep under the same roof rather than two people in a relationship.
In the months leading up to the breakup, Cassian was always at his office trying to resolve the numerous problems which never stopped arising at his new state of the art gym which he had recently started with his two brothers. It was a goal that the three had worked to since they were kids and it allowed them to help so many people through different classes like self defense, boxing, or just to foster a better community. It was Cassian’s pride and joy, but the first couple of weeks were rocky to say the least, with damages to the building, delays in equipment, and issues with some workers. Nesta was lucky to even see his face during the day as he was often awake before she was and came back home far after she had gone to sleep.
Though it’s not like Nesta made time in the day for him either. She was starting her last year of law school and after all the work she had done in her undergraduate degree in order to finish top of her class and be admitted into the best law school in the country, every waking moment she had she was spent attending lectures, long nights at the campus library, and studying for her classes. Nesta was determined to not just pass, but to maintain her 4.0 GPA and graduate with honors, before working at the best law firm in the city, and eventually opening her own firm too. Whenever she was at the apartment, it wasn’t much different either. She would stay locked in the at-home office for hours, often skipping meals and never taking breaks, before knocking out the minute her head hit the pillow.
Eventually, whenever the two of them did see each other, it was to pick at what the other was doing wrong. The tiny spats became bigger and the attempt to hold in their anger from one another turned to blow ups and screaming matches. A comment would be made about dishes that weren’t washed, before leading into bringing up other tasks the other didn’t do in the house, then comments about how all their partner did was nag them, and finally ending in the two of them sleeping separately.
Then a month ago, everything came to a head one horrible night.
Nesta can barely recall the events of the argument as everything blurred together in one heaping ball of anger, irritation, stress, and exhaustion. One minute her and Cassian were being snippy at one another for the mess their apartment had turned into and the next they were screaming so loud that the neighbors a floor above could hear. And sure, the two of them had gotten into far more yelling matches than they cared to admit in the past couple weeks, but this time it was different. The words they threw at one another were downright vile, with both of them too prideful to admit that they were at fault, instead choosing to pick at the others' insecurities and past mistakes in order to not be in the wrong.
When all was said and done, Cassian packed a bag that same night and had gone to his brother's place while Nesta stayed locked in their room. For the next week they were in a hazy limbo. It was unclear whether they were still together or not, however Nesta was quite embarrassed and quite frankly, angry to even try to talk to Cassian and hash out the issues. Some part of her was afraid of what might transpire once again if they did.
A couple days later her answer came through her coming home to a half empty apartment.
Nesta wouldn’t say it out loud, but she felt some vital tether that was holding her together absolutely break as she walked through the door and saw Cassian’s shoes missing and his key sitting on the counter. Frantically she dropped her bags and started searching the apartment for anything that could give her a sign that he hadn’t left her and was still going to come back to home. Any pictures, clothes, his favorite mug, his shampoo, Nesta searched for it, all while hoping and praying that her worst nightmare hadn’t come to life. However the more she looked the more she knew he was gone.
All the pictures Cassian had up were taken down, the closet was half vacant, the drawers empty, his favorite mug was missing from the cabinet, his shampoo missing from the bathroom, and all traces of him were absent, leaving behind an incomplete home. The only thing that remained was a small box with the gifts Nesta had given him over the years.
Jerseys, rings, necklaces, trinkets, posters, shirts, all that was left of their relationship now lay in a bland, brown box. Nesta had shoved it into the back of the closet and hadn’t touched it since.
After she had moped around and not left her apartment for a week, Nesta was greeted by the apprehensive, yet determined faces of Emerie and Gwyn, quite possibly the only two people on Earth who she hadn’t managed to drive away from her. The duo had insisted on taking her out for the day and after a much needed trip to the bookstore, a couple stores, and dinner, they brought up the idea of going on this week-long cruise. Even with promises of paradise and peace, Nesta was still apprehensive about going. For the past 6 years, all of her summers had consisted of her getting a headstart on next semester's material but Gwyn and Emerie had insisted that it would be fine. Even her two sisters agreed that it was a great idea with Elain even offering to write her a list on what to bring and Feyre calling the cruise company to make the reservation.
Flash forward 3 months and Nesta is now stuck on this dreary cruise with crap weather and an even shittier attitude.
“Fuck this.” Nesta said aloud in her empty room, before getting up, grabbing a random outfit from her suitcase, and throwing it on. She swung open her suite door and marched her way to the elevator. “If I’m going to be miserable here, at the very least I’m going to eat some goddamn food.”
After going up to the top floor, Nesta noted that it seemed like everyone else on the ship had the same idea as her, as the entire hall was packed to the brim with guests of all ages. People were scrambling to try and find seats, with many bumping into one another and almost dropping their food. The hard rocking of the ship didn’t help at all, with several individuals losing their footing and furniture such as tables and chairs sliding as well.
One look outside it was clear why.
Huge waves could be seen crashing into the sea and rain pelted the windows so hard that you could hear every single one. The thunder itself was enough to scare the children and the lighting itself could be seen forking across the sky.
“What a mess.” Nesta whispered to herself. With a sigh, she grabbed the nearest plate and started wandering through the dining hall, looking for anything that would cheer her up on this depressing day.
Just as she was about to walk towards a different food station, she suddenly stopped as she looked at a couple sitting together.
They were laughing and chatting even in all of this chaos, with one of them brushing the stray hair away from their partner's face, and the other cracking jokes just to see their lover smile. The amount of love they held in their faces made Nesta’s eyes tear up as she remembered what it was like when she and Cassian first got together and how much happier she would be if he was here with her.
Lost in her own daydream Nesta was jolted out of it as the ship suddenly tilted to the left.
She could hear small yelps and screams from some of the other guests at the sudden movement, however before Nesta could even get her footing, a plate of food flew out of nowhere and hit her in the face, getting into her eyes, nose, and even her ear, before knocking her to the ground.
“What the fuck?” Nesta gasped, still in shock and sitting in a pile of what appeared to be fettuccine alfredo.
“Oh fuck, I am so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean for that to happen. Are you okay?”
Every muscle in Nesta’s body tensed as she registered the eerily familiar voice.
There’s no way. Surely the universe doesn’t hate me this much.
“Please, is there anything I can get for you? Maybe a napkin, a change of clothes? I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I think I have some cash on me right now. Once again, I’m so sor-.” The voice abruptly cut off before changing to a tone of disbelief. She could feel the sudden switch in the atmosphere as well as the eyes that were now boring into her.
“Nes?”
Sucking up her pride, Nesta turned with pasta sauce on her face, in her wrinkly clothes, and her messy hair, to meet the eyes of the one person she tried so hard to forget.
Men pay a lot of money to get their name into Gwyn's exclusive black book - enough that, with careful planning, she's putting herself through law school debt-free. Once she's graduated, she can retire the high heels and little black dresses and get to work in the pursuit of justice that she and her sister never received.
Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?
Welcome to the ACOTAR Writing Circle!!!
This is part 1! Part 2 will be posted in 2 weeks, and Part 3 in two weeks after that! I can't wait to see where this story goes!
Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing this event yet again! And thanks to @headcanonheadcase and @mystical-blaise for your feedback!
Now, without further ado, here is part one of a new Gwynriel AU:
I Choose Who. I Choose You.
Read on AO3 or read the chapter below!
Gwyn squinted at her computer screen before rubbing her eyes to see if that would help the blurry words come into focus. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep - not since her shitty roommate had weaseled away the cash they’d set aside for rent. She’d had to work later and longer than she was used to over the previous week to make sure she still had a roof over her head. And now that she was occupying the small apartment solo, she would have to adjust her scheduling.
The copper-haired law student mentally ticked through the list again: twice as much for rent, internet, electric, water. She’d already nixed the cable, mourning the loss of SVU and Grey’s, but she would just have to cope. For the past year or so, she’d been able to get away with reserving Friday and Saturday nights for her work. Now she was going to have to expand that to Thursday or Sunday – maybe both. She’d just have to see how business was.
Only three more semesters. She could hang up her thigh-high boots and tiny dresses and insane push-up bras after that.
In spite of the judgment from society at large, Gwyn wasn’t ashamed of being an escort. When she’d been attacked, sex had been used as a weapon against her. It had consumed her; filling her with pain and guilt and shame. After she took control of her body again, there was only power. When she performed sex acts by her own free will, it was liberating. And nothing was more empowering than using it all to put herself through college and law school, after which she could exact the justice that she and her sister never received.
She chose who. She chose when. She chose how much.
If she didn’t want to fuck, she didn’t. If she didn’t get a good feeling from a guy, she wouldn’t even go meet him. She ruthlessly investigated the men looking to make it into her little black book, and only a few made the cut each week.
Gwyn worried her bottom lip as she read the same line of text about patent law for what had to be the seventh time. More work meant more internet sleuthing and social media stalking, which would take up time during the days that she would like to keep reserved with her schoolwork.
It was going to be a grind, but it would be better than a thieving roommate and her skeevy hookups. And the rent was still cheaper than anything else she’d find in the city.
With a muttered curse she snapped her laptop closed, choosing to abandon schoolwork when it was obvious that she would not be retaining any knowledge. Instead, she plopped down on the well-loved sofa with her cell phone and her tablet, determined to be at least somewhat productive. As soon as she tapped the button that would lead to what she called her ‘dashboard’, a familiar ding notified her of a text. She set the tablet down and grabbed the phone, eyeing the message bubble.
Nesta:
Come out tonight?
Gwyn groaned, relieved that her best friend wasn’t there to hear and, therefore, admonish her for the reaction. She knew Nesta meant well, and that she wanted Gwyn to go out and enjoy all the things the buzzing city life had to offer a mid-to-upper twenty-something woman like herself. And the law student would admit that she always had a good time when she obliged Nesta and Emerie.
But, in spite of what she did for a living, being out in the unpredictable night made her nervous. She was always vigilant, to the point where it had to grate on the people around her, not to mention any of the service staff who had the unfortunate luck of dealing with her idiosyncrasies.
At least she was a generous tipper.
And now, with the rise in her expenses, Gwyn found herself yet another excuse to keep herself cloistered and safe behind the locked door of her apartment.
Gwyn:
Can’t tonight. School stuff.
Okay, so a little white lie here and there wasn’t the worst thing she could do.
Nesta:
BOO
Gwyn laughed as she thumbed her response.
Gwyn:
Text me when you get home.
Gwyn:
Or a photo of the sorry sap you’re going home with and an address.
Gwyn:
And then text me when you get THERE.
Gwyn:
And then text me in the morning.
Nesta:
YES, MOM
She played into the bit, sending her a kissy emoji along with a message to “make good choices”, before turning her attention back to her tablet. If school wasn’t happening, then she’d use this valuable time for recon on her newest submissions.
And the photos that greeted her were, on the whole, quite impressive.
Tamlin Green. Tarquin Summers. Jaxon Vanserra.
She didn’t even open the Vanserra file. Instead her nose crinkled as she grimaced and immediately declined. Even if he wasn’t directly related, Nesta’s sister Feyre was close to a Lucien Vanserra who had the same fiery hair. Lucien was on-again/off-again with Nesta’s other sister, Elain. That potential connection was just too close, the prospect of meeting awkwardly at a holiday a little more likely than Gwyn cared to accept.
Tarquin Summers looked delectably exotic, with a brilliant smile that promised trouble. It was exactly that kind of vow that sent the law student digging into the profile he’d created, and she was not disappointed.
Summers was pretty young to own a company, the result of the passing of his father, whose private jet had crashed a few years prior. His leadership must still be solid, in spite of his age, because the hydro-power startup was thriving, and winning the hearts of environmentalists everywhere. Gwyn found his focus on the climate quite attractive.
What was also quite attractive was the way the man wore a three-piece suit. With his white-blonde braids pulled back from his face and his chocolate skin an incredible contrast against his crisp white collar and tan vest, with matching pants that were tailored to perfection and definitely highlighted that he had… a lot to work with downstairs.
That picture of a shirtless Tarquin Summers at the gym was quite a selling point, as well.
Gwyn returned to her home screen and opened another app, quickly transferring his information into it and submitting the background check. If everything came back on the up and up, she might just get to trace those washboard abs with her tongue.
With a satisfied hum, she returned to her dashboard and opened the file for Tamlin Green, even though the long, golden hair and too-perfect face screamed frat-boy with daddy’s money and nary a consequence in the world. Green was a looker, and he obviously knew it. He was older than Summers, his emerald eyes colder and more calculating, and Gwyn knew it wasn’t just because Tamlin simply had more experience with the real world and the hell that it could be.
Tamlin Green was the heir of an oil tycoon. Old money. Ruthless money. Where Tarquin was an industry upstart with a passion for conservation and paying fair and livable wages, Tamlin had been groomed by a long legacy of greed and profit at any cost.
Against her better judgment, Gwyn typed the first and last name into her search engine. She knew the background check for Tamlin would likely come back as pristine as his Crest-commercial smile. For serial troublemakers like him – with rich, influential fathers – Gwyn would stoop to scrolling through social media and internet news and gossip sites. Unfortunately, more often than not, those salacious stories were closest to the truth.
It took longer than she expected to find the questionable stuff – props to his family’s public relations staff – but when her finger fell on the article link, she didn’t need to read beyond the headline.
GREEN OIL, FORMER EMPLOYEES REACH SETTLEMENT
Twelve women who accused Green golden boy of sexual harassment and stalking receive $125 million
The copper-haired student gave a disapproving tsk as she closed her browser and declined Tamlin Green’s application. While she was smug that the women who brought the lawsuit had come away with a significant sum for their trouble, to men like Tamlin $125 million was merely pocket change; a minor inconvenience for them to keep behaving badly.
A contented sigh escaped between Gwyn’s lips. Tarquin seemed promising, and tomorrow she would reach out to schedule a meeting to discuss wants and needs and expectations and compensation. But until then, perhaps she could–
Another face appeared before she could close the app, and she was met with the intense hazel stare of what could quite possibly be the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. Even though it was just an uploaded photo, Gwyn felt like he was peering straight into her soul.
“Azriel Singer,” she tested the name in her mouth and found that she quite liked the way it fell from her lips. With hair that was somehow both perfect and disheveled and heavy dark ink peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of the navy henley he wore, this man screamed sex appeal. His grin was lopsided, and didn’t reach his eyes, but that didn’t make him any less tempting.
Brooding and mysterious? Sinfully sexy with a tormented past? Laughing to herself, she opened his profile and application. Gwyn was making him the main character in her own romance book before she knew anything about him at all.
Azriel Singer was a tech genius, specializing in cybersecurity, and was responsible for protecting the assets of Velaris, Inc. He also contracted his security services to other big name companies, and his programming prowess and talent for layered protection strategies made him worth every penny he invoiced. Unlike Summers and Green, Azriel Singer didn’t appear to be one for the public eye, and when he did venture out into the city, it was in the company of his two fraternity brothers.
When he did venture out into the city, he looked sexy as fuck.
Azriel was tall and muscular, but a little leaner than Tarquin. The attached gym photos weren’t shirtless, but they didn’t have to be with the way that the tank was practically painted onto his skin. The tattoos ran over his chest and shoulders, tapering off like tendrils of smoke as they snaked down his arms and up his neck, and for a moment Gwyn wondered if they signified anything.
She also wanted to touch them.
With her fingertips and her lips and her tongue and…
The redhead shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She was never like this – drooling after a man she’d never met. She was supposed to be the stoic one, the hard-to-get one. She had the power. These men were panting after her, not the other way around.
But there was something about the way that his eyes seemed dark and never glinted with mirth that made her want to know more. It made her want to understand whatever he might have suffered and help him shoulder the burden. Perhaps it was that younger, broken version of herself that felt so pulled to someone else who was cracked and imperfect underneath the veneer of beauty and wealth.
And even though she had Tarquin, with his mischievous grin and laughing eyes and perfect physique, in her queue, it was Azriel Singer who received her invitation.
Good evening, Azriel
Thank you for reaching out. I would like to meet with you to further discuss what you’re looking for. Could we meet at Sevenda’s on Main on Saturday afternoon? I’m available between 2pm and 5pm.
Looking forward to meeting you.
Gwyneth
She had only just opened her reading app when she received a reply.
2pm at Sevenda’s works for me. See you there.
A. Singer
~~~
Azriel Singer was… quiet.
And, if she were honest, a bit of an ass.
He sat across from her, arms folded across his broad chest, wearing a frown. And for the life of her, Gwyn couldn’t figure it out. She knew she was attractive, and he had been the one to submit an application and agree to meet. So what was his problem?
“Listen, I don’t know if you were put up to this or have had a change of heart. But you clearly don’t want to be here, so maybe we should just part ways and call it a good try.” She shrugged as she hit him with some truth. It never bothered her if compatibility turned out to be an issue – that’s why they had these meetings. Might as well be as upfront as possible and get it over with.
The tall, unfairly handsome man across the table snorted. “Didn’t think I’d ever find an escort turning down money.” Annoyance flared to life, spiking her pulse, but she kept it cool and let her grin curve into something feline.
“You’re not the only man in my book, Azriel Singer,” she purred. His eyes grew cold. Calculating and hard.
“Of course not. How many men do you have on the docket tonight? Or is there a corner you prefer?”
Gwyn cocked an eyebrow, her ire simmering just below the surface. “That seems particularly judgmental considering you’re the one who requested my services.”
“My brothers suggested I try something to get a girl out of my system. A one-time thing. What’s your excuse?” he seethed.
In one surprisingly graceful move, she looped her arm through the handle of her purse and rose from the table. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Mr. Singer, but I’m going to humor you,” she explained curtly, stepping around her chair and pushing it in. She waved down a waiter and handed him her card before turning her burning gaze back on the man whose eyes flickered back. “I chose this profession, because I did not always have that choice. I choose who. I choose when. Nobody else. And that is power.” The server returned, and Gwyn furiously signed her name on the dotted line and gave him a radiant smile and a thank you.
“Have a lovely evening, Mr. Singer,” she hissed, “and you’re welcome for the drinks.”
And with that she stalked off, intent on messaging Tarquin Summers as soon as she returned to her apartment.
Warnings: Contains some suggestive themes and content. A touch of smut and an all around good time. Please enjoy responsibly. I look forward to seeing what the next part brings. <3
PART ONE of THREE in a new Nessian AU brought to you by the Acotar Writing Circle!
Cover made by @hlizr50 and a special thanks to Heather for also reading and helping suggest minor edits.
Based on the song: Fictional by Khloe Rose
Summary: Nesta has always hidden herself in books. Most if not all of her real life relationships had ended in fire and chaos. She was an expert in self destruction after all. But when a birthday gift from her sister brings a touch of magic to the world, and a piece of fiction into her reality--- Could things really change for the better?
Cassian chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling— She tried to keep herself from falling into that sound. How could one male hold so much power with one sound?
“I would hate him if he were real.” Nesta rolled her eyes, slamming the book shut as she shifted on her bed to flop back against her pillows in a particularly ungraceful fashion. Why did he have to be such an arrogant bastard? And why was that hot? Like really hot? She wanted to scream, instead. A second later she eyed the book, leaned forward, picked it up, and flipped it open to her last page.
She watched him from where he stood across the room, leaning against the door frame. His long hair was piled up on his head in the messiest of buns. And she couldn’t help but stare at the size of him— And the fact that he was in nothing but a towel.
“Go put some clothes on.” She laughed, hiding her face in her hands to avoid him seeing the blush that came glowing on her cheeks.
“Aw, but I really wanted to show off.” He taunted, moving from that spot on the door and towards the bed.
Her eyes wandered lower, to where the towel loosened at his waist as he moved. It was going to fall before he made it to her bed, and she knew what would come next.
“This book is far too predictable.” Nesta groaned, “And she is nothing like me. Whoever wrote this needs to learn how to appeal to their audience.”
Given that the book had been a gift from Elain for her birthday, Nesta didn’t complain about it too much. At least not to her face. But Elain had paid a small fortune to someone to have this story commissioned. To have her in it. Or at least her name, and her likeness. Not much else about the book seemed to carry true to her.
She wondered if anyone else in the world who’d purchased one of these had found the same feeling. Like they were reading about them, but a skewed, weird version of themselves. How was it that this fictional version of her was charming and sexually shy. Why was she hiding her face when Nesta would’ve watched that towel fall from his hips? Fuck. She hated it. But it was such a train wreck that it was hard to put it down. She’d have to let Gwyn and Emerie read it when she finished it, because she needed them to see how horrifically awful the author had managed to portray her.
Cassian pounded into her, one hand holding hers over her head, the other firmly at her throat as he took her from behind.
“Fuuuuck.”
She closed the book again, slammed it down on her bedside table, and rolled over to stare at the window.
“I can’t with this. It’s so bad.”
Why did Elain have to buy her that stupid book? She’d never actively tell Elain that she hated it, of course. She couldn’t do that. It would mean having to face the hurt puppy look on her face if she realized that the gift wasn’t appreciated, and Nesta wouldn’t do that. She’d pretend she liked it for the rest of eternity if it meant keeping Elain’s smile where it belonged.
But what she wanted more than anything now, was this story— Accurately told. Wanted Cassian with that hand around her throat pounding into her as she demanded more from him. She wanted to know what it’d be like if he fucked her rough and hard, not this slow sensual sort of domination on the page.
It’s not like she was worthy of much else anyway. She was an expert after all, in self destruction. Which is exactly why she pulled out her phone and sent a message to her group chat with Gwyn and Emerie.
Club? I need to go blow off some steam.
Gwyn is typing…
Nesta drummed her fingers on the bed as she watched the words flash across the screen. Watched as they started and stopped and started again.
Gwyn: Hey, so I can't make it tonight. Boss called me in to help organize some things for the press release tomorrow.
Emerie is typing…
Emerie: Shit. I was counting on Gwyn being able to go. I've got a huge order coming out of the shop tomorrow that I need to finish up.
Nesta rolled her eyes at the phone in her hand. She'd be drinking alone it seemed.
Nesta: Don't work too hard. I'll have a few for you guys.
###
It had taken Nesta all of twenty minutes to be presentable enough to leave the house, the plunging neckline of her black party dress left little to the imagination, and the shortness of it left even less. High heels, messy bun, she was dressed to attract male attention and any number of them would be willing to take her home. She’d learned that a long time ago.
And now she was standing in the seediest bar in town, one of the few places she would never bring Gwyn. It didn’t fit her vibe, and it most definitely would’ve made her uncomfortable, if not downright anxious. But for Nesta, this was home. This was where she could find the one nights that would treat her like she felt she deserved, use her up, waste her and go about their business.
She sat at the bar, staring at her phone as if waiting for someone, anyone to text her. Seemingly disinterested in the bars population. Another thing she’d learned over the years, if she made herself look uninterested, it made the bastards in this club want her more. And she liked to have her pick of the litter when it came to who she’d go home with.
She shoved her phone in her purse and turned her focus to the drink in front of her. She picked it up, swirled it around for a few rotations and then tipped it to her lips downing it in a few solid burning gulps. She set the glass back on the bartop and made her way out to the dance floor.
It was time to hunt her prey for the night. Or at the very least for a fix.
And she'd take that fix as a quickie in a bathroom stall with a hand around her throat if she had to.
A turn around the dancefloor and she'd found several interested parties. Or at least, parties interested in dancing. One who was interested in taking her home. And one who wanted her to be the mystical unicorn in his throuple.
She didn't even date, and all of her relationships had ended in disaster. So why the hell would she want to be relegated to fixing someone else's relationship? Not unless they were looking for an expert to school them in self-sabotage. Fuck that.
None of them were catching her interest. None of them had the type of attitude that she needed from a night out like this one. Because all that damned book had done was make her feel less than worthy of the things that she refused to let herself have. She couldn’t be the charming shy princess of the story. She’d never be that.
Nesta knew and had always known that she was a raging bitch. She’d abandoned her sisters in hopes that their father would get his shit together and actually take care of them, leaving Feyre to pick up all of her slack. Feyre had a job at sixteen, paid most of the bills and kept food on the table.
What had Nesta done? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
And when their father died? She’d just shut down. She’d turned to the drinking and the seedy bars, and one-night stands. Once a bitch always a bitch. It was better to be treated like one.
Maybe she needed to try another club. Or maybe she just needed more to drink so that she was less picky.
So she made her way back to the bar, sat in her seat and propped her chin on her hand. “Can you get me another double? I’m not drunk enough.”
The little girl behind the bar, dressed in her crop top and short shorts, shook her head as she started pouring the double shot of whiskey. “I figured you weren’t. It usually takes you three or more to be in the right mindset to pick a guy.”
“Gee. Thanks.” Nesta rolled her eyes and took the glass into her hands. She made quick work of double shot number two. And waited patiently for the girl to refill her glass. Give it a minute and it’d hit her like a freight train, and then she’d really be ready to get the party started.
She stood from her chair, and scanned the floor again. The options were already looking more appealing. Though— One in particular caught her attention. He was on the other side of the bar, standing taller than most of the people in the crowd. Broad shoulders, long hair piled up in a half assed man bun on his head. Muscles for days, looked like he could absolutely wreck her. And those eyes—
A gasp. That wasn’t possible. That was less than possible. It was absolutely impossible. First off men like that didn’t exist, not in places like this. And definitely not in her world. This son of a bitch was the spitting image of the bastard in that damned book.
A dead ringer for Cassian.
“Of course I knew where to find you. I know you better than you know yourself.”
The line from the book jumped to the front of her mind, those amber eyes holding her gaze as he made his way across the club to stand in front of her.
She looked up at him, her face set into a scowl. And he smiled, a heart stopping sort of expression that she knew she was wholly unworthy of.
“Hello, Nes.”
A little meet-cute in the garden leads Elain to visit Gwyn in the library. Here is the first installment for a Gwynlain fic for the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3. @azrielshadowssing which happens to coincide beautifully with @gwynweekofficial and pride.
Gwyn raced up the darkened stairwell, before spilling out of the doorway and into the rooftop’s blistering sun. She squinted up at Rhysand. He chucked down affectionately at her disheveled appearance. “You’re late,” Rhys stated with mock annoyance.
The sun was making its descent and baked the clay roof in a crackling glow. Gwyn caught sight of steam and her vision of the horizon beyond blurred through pockets of sweltering air. She gulped it down and savored freedom on her tongue.
“Let me guess.” Rhys continued. “Merrill has concocted some new form of torture?”
“Nothing new about it.” Gwyn smoothed the folds of her robes and gave him an impertinent stare.
“But still torture.” He looked immediately concerned. “I can speak to...”
“I’m fine, Rhys.” Gwyn blurted. “I’ve told you that a million times already. I’m fine. I can deal with Merrill. Shall we?”
She reached for his arm without waiting for his response. Rhys reached down to gather her to his side, as wings appeared, and he pushed up once in a massive boost just beyond the wards. The force of the push caused her sandals to slip. She heard them drop against the roof mere seconds before he’d winnowed them away.
The first thing Gwyn noticed was the feel of a slightly damp lawn under her feet. The River House was close enough to the water that even on a hot day, spray from the river kept the gardens dewy and fresh. She drew up her hem only slightly to peer down as her toes wiggled. Emerie had painted them a perfect robin’s egg blue at a book club sleepover the night before and Gwyn relished the look against the green and soaked the silkiness through the soles of her feet.
Rhys had asked that she give regular reports on life within the library. Clotho was technically the correct chain of command, but Rhys had expressed an interest in speaking informally on morale and their general quality of life. Gwyn had been happy to oblige. She had a list tucked into a pocket of her robes and she respected his concern. They had been meeting regularly for months, but that was the first meeting since Rhys had suggested they move them to the River House and expand their discussion to include the new Valkyrie training program.
“You’re getting positively tan, Gwynnie.” Cassian’s bark boomed from the back steps and Gwyn’s gaze lifted from her feet to her friend’s face. “I think you’ve got twice as many freckles as you did when I first met you.” He chuckled before reaching up to tweak the end of her nose. Nesta swatted his hand and Gwyn rubbed her palm over the spot dramatically, but still managed to stick out her tongue when nobody was looking.
She hadn’t seen the pair on the roof, so they must have arrived sometime earlier. From the state of Nesta’s hair, they could have been flying. Then again, there was no telling what else could have tangled it so much. Gwyn eyed her friend’s appearance and lifted a brow. Nesta just shrugged. Not flying then. Gwyn grinned. She was happy for Nesta.
“I could give you a hat.” Gwyn spun at the sound of a feminine voice behind her in the flowers and found Elain kneeling in the garden. Elain set aside a pair of shears and slowly rose to her feet, careful not to touch her dress with her filthy gloves. “Not to say that freckles aren’t very pretty. Just… if you wanted a hat, I do have plenty. I could spare a few for you. If you’d like.”
Gwyn’s gaze traveled up to Elain’s wide-brimmed, straw hat. It had an elaborate ribbon tied just beneath her chin. The absurdity of the offer was simply adorable. Gwyn couldn’t train in a floppy garden hat, but sincerity and perhaps nerves were clear in Elain’s voice, so Gwyn did not scoff.
“Thank you, Elain,” Gwyn replied gently. “But I can’t see that I would have any use for such a thing in the library or in the training ring.” She noticed Rhys and Cassian disappearing through the kitchen door, but Nesta waited for Gwyn.
“But surely elsewhere...” Elain studied Gwyn’s face as though she was being asked to state the obvious.
Gwyn’s heart lurched and her face must have fallen. She saw confusion bloom in Elain’s eyes and again her heart softened. Elain wasn’t criticizing her. To hear Nesta tell it, Elain didn’t travel very far herself, but at least she could venture into Velaris unaccompanied. Nesta stepped forward and started to speak, but Gwyn stepped between the two.
“We don’t get much light in the library.” Gwyn chided herself for her choice of words. She felt heat creep up her neck. She sounded like a moron or some sort of neglected houseplant.
Elain was positively glowing, standing there, in her immaculate garden and she wasn’t actually wrong. Gwyn should be going more places. Gwyn should have need of a hat.
“None at all?” Elain stepped forward and wiped at her brow with the back of one delicate wrist. All she managed to accomplish was to trap one dark blond curl into the dampness at her temple and Gwyn hid a smile. “How can anything hope to thrive in utter darkness?” Elain sounded ready to picket.
“They do have candles, Elain.” Nesta sounded cross and Gwyn waved her off. She didn’t want to be the source of strife between the sisters. There had been plenty of that in the past and things were just starting to settle.
“Not everything needs to be baked in the sun, Elain. We are the Night Court, are we not? Night can be beautiful too.” Gwyn practically purred. She was shocked by the tone in her own voice. Where had that come from?
“I guess so.” Elain huffed a breath distractedly at that pesky curl, but it did not budge.
“Here. Let me help you out.” Gwyn reached over and tugged the curl free. “Better?”
“Thank you, Gwyneth.” Elain breathed her laughter. “I’m a mess.”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of sweat,” Gwyn added, froze, and tried to pivot. “You’ve been hard at work.” Gwyn pointed awkwardly to an impressive pile of rose branches discarded near Elain’s very organized workstation. It was a folded towel for her knees and a bucket of what appeared to be bonemeal. Gwyn had been impressed to hear she recycled them from kitchen scraps. “We should let you get back to it.”
Elain nodded. “Always nice to see you, Gwyneth.”
“You too, Elain.” Gwyn took Nesta’s arm and aimed for the house. Nesta narrowed her eyes.
“What was that?” Nesta hissed.
“I have no idea.” Gwyn lied. She did have an idea. In fact, she had several.
“You were flirting with my sister.” Nesta accused with a hungry smile.
“I was doing no such thing!” Gwyn denied with a pout. “I was just being nice. Can’t I be nice?”
“Liar,” Nesta growled under her breath. “You’re never that nice to me.”
“Well. You’ve never offered me a hat.” Gwyn hid her blush by rushing forward into the house.
Elain made her way quietly down the dimly lit hall. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to sneak, assuming that was even a fair description of her behavior. But it always felt like she was sneaking around the River House or the grounds or even into Valeris. The last, she liked to consider more exploration, even if she would bet all of her allowance that her sisters would scoff at that characterization.
Rhys could be counted upon to be visiting Feyre’s art studio in the Rainbow on most afternoons and she’d timed her trek upstairs accordingly. Elain had no interest in dealing with the High Lord. Honestly, she had no interest in interacting with anyone, save perhaps the twins.
It wasn’t that she disliked her sisters. She didn’t even dislike the families that both had chosen for themselves, not objectively at least. But the twins didn’t avert their gazes too quickly, nor did they let them linger with confusion, when Elain’s comments or behaviors were inevitably deemed uncouth or to be based on some outdated human mindset that Elain had yet to identify and sufficiently weed out. Worse were the moments when time skipped and snagged when a vision nudged or whispered and Elain simply fell behind in conversations or trailed off in the middle of speaking.
Elain was not some shy or shrinking violet, nor was she a masochist. Solitude was just simpler and she found she liked people more when they said less and when she didn’t have to see them.
She didn’t usually find herself in his library. Libraries in general were foreign and unknown. Visits were not something that her late mother encouraged and familiarity hadn’t been possible in their new lives after her death.
Elain needed information though, so she tapped lightly on the door. She sighed happily at the lack of response and turned the ornate knob. Elain pressed her shoulder against his heavy door as it swung gently into the darkness of the room beyond. Need was perhaps a strong word. Elain wanted information. The idea of a gift had bloomed in her mind and she couldn’t seem to shake it. She didn’t want to shake it.
Ultimately, the library trip had been an utter waste of her time. It had actually taken three trips into Velaris, a visit with a local botanist, and the aid of a rather talented glass blower. Finally, she found herself standing with an awkwardly large box in her arms, asking Rhys for transport to the House of Wind and his permission to visit the library below.
“Sure.” He dusted toast crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “I’m going up there anyway. I will take the box for you.” Rhys responded absently. Had he even noticed that it wasn’t what she’d requested from him at all?
“I’d rather deliver them myself. Thank you though.” Elain responded as Feyre peeked over the edge of the box at the greenery within. “There are care instructions and all.” Elain shrugged and adjusted the box in her arms with the help of one knee. “If you could just let this Clotho person know that I will be visiting within the library today, you can just drop me at the entrance. I believe there is one somewhere on the roof?”
Feyre’s head shot up before she offered with a glint of curiosity in her eye, “I can take you.”
No way. Not a chance. Elain shook her head.
“Rhys just said he was going anyway. Did he not?”
There was some comfort in knowing that Rhysand didn’t understand her and had no interest in figuring her out. It was neglect masquerading as privacy and she offered back resentment passing for respect.
“It is done.” Rhys tapped his temple with one finger as he took one last bite of toast and rose from the table. He bent to plant a kiss on his son’s head and one on his mate’s cheek before heading for the door.
Clotho had been polite and accommodating and Gwyn turned out to be fairly easy to find.
“This one is called Bird's Nest.” Elain pointed to the first plant. “They call this one a snake plant, but I’m not sure why. The spider plant makes a little more sense when you see the little baby plants that sort of shoot off as it grows.”
“That sounds like quite the kerfuffle.” Gwyn beamed and her laughter washed over Elain. She was happy. The gift had been a good idea after all. “I’d better keep my eye on these and make sure they all stay in line.”
“Yes. Well.” Elain blushed. “And this one, it’s a bromeliad. No silly name. It even blooms without any sun. None need sun. Although they will thank you for these little bauble lights I got in town. The shop owner assured me that they mimic low sunlight.”
“Are these for light too?” Gwyn peered from across the box and reached a hand underneath for support. Their fingers brushed slightly and Elain’s pulse raced.
“Oh, no. Those are for water.” Elain tried again to adjust her hold on the box and the whole thing nearly toppled despite being trapped between their chests. Elain managed to grab hold of a colorful orb on a long glass stem. “You fill these with water and then stick them into the dirt. They will help with watering.”
“Thank you.” Gwyn smiled and Elain was nervous at the sheen in Gwyn’s eyes.
“This one is poisonous to cats.” Elain blurted. “You don’t have a cat do you?”
“Sometimes I think we might, but if he’s going to prowl around here nibbling on my plants, then he deserves a bit of mischief. Don’t you think?”
“He? If you’re not sure that there is a cat, how do you know it is male?” Elain asked, genuinely amused.
“A girl cat would know better than to eat strange plants and probably would’ve made some friends by now. At least, with the kitchen staff.” They were talking nonsense and Elain was blissfully happy.
“So.” Elain had no idea what to say next. “I’ll just give these to you.” Elain aimed for subtle, but managed to shove the box at Gwyn.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gwyn stepped away, hands raised. “You can carry them down and help me place them around my reading nook.” She turned toward the stairs. “And I hope you mean to visit them.”
“Pardon?” Elain squeaked.
“You can’t just give a girl a basket of living things and some vague instructions and expect them to survive.” Gwyn chided and Elain was fairly sure she was teasing her.
“Box,” Elain mumbled.
“Pardon?” There was definite teasing in Gwyn’s voice as she mimicked Elain’s earlier nerves. Elain blushed, though not unpleasantly, she noticed.
“It’s a box, not a basket.” Elain clarified and Gwyn chuckled. Warmth bloomed in Elain’s chest.
“If any of the other priestesses should want...”
“They can keep their mitts off my ferns.” Gwyn yanked the box possessively to her chest then.
“Bromeliad.” Elain corrected.
“See,” Gwyn called over her shoulder as she continued down the stairs. “I’m in over my head already. You simply must save me, Elain.” Perhaps they were both in over their heads, but for the first time that she could remember, Elain didn’t mind at all.
Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing the Summer ACOTAR Writing Circle. This is my first time participating, and my first collab fic in general. I am thrilled to be kicking this off with my OTP, Feysand. Writers of part two and three, you are more than welcome to reuse the banner I created or make your own if you don’t like my theme.
Also a huge thanks to my beta readers, @deepsleep07 and @headcanonheadcase for the critique that really helped form this piece. Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy it!
Summary: Feyre and Tamlin are set to say their I dos on the beautiful beaches of Cancún. The problem—Feyre's wedding jitters have escalated to the revival of a crush on her best friend a few days before the wedding.
CW: None
Word Count: 3,318
Part 2 (@thegloweringcastle) // Part 3 (TBA) // Ao3
Chapter I: Do I Say I Do?
“Careful, Rhys. Someone might start thinking you have ill intentions.” He knew Feyre had sensed him the second he appeared on the surf, lingering a few feet from where she lounged in her beach chair that sat low to the ground, her long legs extended so her feet were cooled by the rising tide.
Haloed by the July sun wearing only her bikini she looked… He wasn’t ready to think about how Feyre looked. Not with that sun glinting off an emerald-topped engagement band she never took off. Not with her fiancé throwing a fit every time Rhys was within a ten mile radius of her. For someone who had secured an engagement and was beginning his vacation that preluded a disgustingly grand destination wedding, Tamlin failed to view Rhys as anything other than a threat.
He snagged a camping chair and set it so it sat parallel to hers and he wouldn’t have to get so low to the ground to join her. “You’re looking a bit pink already. You know you’re hopeless when it comes to tanning, don’t you?”
Her lips turned up into a small smile as she rose to a sitting position. “I took a dip earlier. And it’s been a few hours since I applied.”
He took the sunscreen bottle from the pocket of his chair and passed it to her. “No need to be burnt on your wedding day.”
Her eyes snapped back to him, the set of her mouth telling him she didn’t approve of the bitter note in his voice. “Rhys—”
“I know. He’s perfect and hasn’t shown any of the red flags I mentioned from the moment you met, right?”
“Rhys!” She was red-faced for an entirely different reason now. “You are my best friend, but it is not your place to worry about my marriage.” She took his hands in hers. “You are my best friend,” she repeated, “and he will be my husband in a matter of days. I want both of you in my life. But this tension between you has to be resolved.”
This tension. A kind way of putting Rhys’ loose tongue about all of the faults he saw in his best friend’s fiance. And Feyre, stubborn as she was, refused to listen to him this time. He didn’t want to control her. He just wanted her to see sense.
“Right. Call me when he doesn’t find a guy talking to you to be a criminal offense.”
“He’s protective,” she insisted, breaking eye contact as she rubbed the sunscreen into her arms. “There’s nothing wrong with protecting someone you love.” He opened his mouth to argue again. “I’m done with this, Rhys. We can speak pleasantly or you can leave.” She sighed, turning to bare her back to him as lifted her braid. “Help me with my back please.”
Fuck. After the conversation they just had about her “protective” fiancé? He really didn’t feel like dealing with the huffing and puffing today. “Feyre, seriously?”
“Oh stop it. It’s never been a problem before now. I always miss spots if I do it alone. If Tamlin’s your concern he won’t be back for a while. Even if he was, he’d see reason.” He didn’t think either of them really believed that. “It’s not a problem.”
No, it hadn’t been a problem. Then they'd gotten older and he found himself crushing on her. And that crush grew. They hit their teens and his sweet friend who was once all knees and elbows from too few meals was standing in her prom dress, taking his breath away.
His mother had made sure Feyre and her sisters were cared for when she saw the signs the Archeron family tried so hard to hide. Things got better, even if their father took it as an insult until the day he died. Their father’s feelings aside, they made friends and had food in their bellies. And Rhys bonded with all of them. But things had always run deeper with Feyre. Her older sisters teased and teased her for it as children, but there had never been anything to act on.
She had been objectively attractive, of course. More so than her sisters. But one doesn’t think that of their best friend. Rhys didn’t let himself think that way. Not until she came down those stairs on prom night. He could remember every detail, a girl of sixteen attending the school dance in his senior year. She was a vision in a gown of midnight blue and silver.
He finally saw her as a woman he hadn’t been able to look back since. Even after he graduated and the world pushed them apart for years on end. There had been other women, college flings and bar hookups. But none of them were Feyre.
Here they were at twenty-six and twenty-eight, both a little wiser and in control of their own lives. And the honest truth was he couldn’t focus on anything around her. If she hadn’t announced she was dating Tamlin six months ago, he might have acted on those growing feelings by now. Yet here they were, lounging on the private beach in Cancún with a whirlwind romance dropping Feyre at that altar. If she couldn’t see the timeframe as a red flag he didn’t think anything would change her mind.
“Rhys.”
Scanning the beach for the blond bastard, he obeyed, rubbing the sunscreen into her back as quickly as he could, trying very hard not to think about how he really wanted to run his hands over her. Slowly, not leaving an inch of skin unmapped. He shook the thought away. “There. You should be covered.”
“Thanks.” She offered him the bottle. “Need some?”
“Sure.” He came here to hang out, after all.
She leaned back in her chair again, folding one arm behind her head. “So, what took you so long to fly in?”
He chuckled. “Other than the fact I’m a full time professor in the height of summer courses, grading a buttload of essays for Astronomy 101? Some of those students…” He shook his head.
“Girls?” Feyre asked with a knowing smirk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of her assumption. “You’re the youngest teacher in the department, Rhys. They’re failing because they're staring at your pretty face instead of the whiteboard.”
He snorted, not ready to admit there had been a student or two who scrawled a ten digit number on the back of their final. “Yeah, well, flirting never got anyone an A.” He squeezed her hand. “I got here as fast as I could. Whatever disagreements I may have with Tamlin, you know I wouldn’t miss this. I said I’d be there for you through everything good and bad. This fits the bill.”
Even if he pictured himself on Tamlin’s side of the altar every time he saw the wedding invitation on his apartment’s fridge door. “I wanted to ask you—”
Before she could finish, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air. “About time! Get over here!”
Feyre jumped as white sand sprayed up onto her, clinging to the fresh sunscreen. “Mor, really!”
He saw a flash of blonde before his cousin was barreling into his arms, giggling maniacally. With her traveling so much it had been an age since they saw each other. It had been her dream to explore the best of life overseas and it seemed to do her some good. But then, any freedom must feel like heaven, growing up with a father like Kier. There were many days Rhys still ached to throttle his uncle for keeping Mor on such a tight leash. The stern hand his own father took seemed forgiving when his cousin finally opened up about everything in their early college days. Feyre had been the one to pry it out of her, simultaneously convincing Mor to lean on the found family who cared about her so much.
She was better for it now, bright-eyed and cheerful most days they talked in person or on a video chat. “Where’s Cassian and Az?” she asked. “They were here an hour ago.”
“Looking for some activities. You know it’s a crime asking men to just relax on the beach,” Feyre jested, picking up some sort of fruity cocktail she’d ordered. How she and Mor could tolerate them was beyond him. “This one’s only sitting here because he feels obligated to be nice to me.”
He frowned. “You know that’s not true. I—”
“Rhysand.” He grimaced at the too-familiar voice behind him, ignoring Feyre’s glare and its silent demand that he keep playing nice. “So glad you could finally join us.” Though his gait could almost be considered casual, there was no denying he was once again using his own body as a barrier between Rhys and Feyre. “Enjoying your stay?”
“I just flew in, but I’m sure it will be a delight. Thank you for so graciously inviting me.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“If you two are finished,” Feyre groaned. “Rhys, can you walk with me for a minute? Just down the beach?”
Tamlin’s body locked, a vicious glare in his eyes aimed at Rhys. How could he turn the lady down now? “It would be my pleasure, Feyre darling.”
She smiled, reaching for her dark cover up, despite the lack of wind and the noon sun beating down. It wasn’t his place to comment on that. Even if he felt it very much was his place to characterize the man his best friend intended to spend the rest of her life sharing a home with.
Feyre was silent at first, watching the birds soaring ahead of them. He didn’t pry, waiting until she was ready to share what needed to be shared. “I love you. You’re my best friend.”
“Yes?”
She swallowed. “So much of this has been planned by… friends. I let things go, when it came to the technicalities of the wedding. Ianthe has been… helpful.” He suppressed a snort. Just days ago, Feyre had been moaning and groaning about how Tamlin’s old friend and apparent officiant couldn’t keep her nose in her own business. “I just…”
He paused, gently taking her hand and squeezing it. “Are things okay? Are you having doubts?”
“About marrying Tamlin? No. I’m just feeling off-kilter I guess. Caught up in a whirlwind of planning and out of control. I just want to hit the pause button and make my own choice on something, but I don’t even know the first thing I’d change. I need an anchor. Something they haven’t thought of yet.”
He furrowed his brow. “And you think I can help?”
“Yes. Before Tamlin sticks it on Lucien or something. I don’t want anyone’s feelings hurt.” He cocked his head. “I don’t have my father anymore. And even if I did… things were strained when I got older. And then he died before things could mend. Rhys, would you walk me down the aisle?”
And if that wasn’t a punch to the gut.
He cast a nervous look over his shoulder. “Feyre, are you sure?”
She nodded, lacing her fingers through his. “It’ll be fine, Rhys. He knows I want you in my life. I know things will get better for you two. And I should have some say in my own wedding, shouldn’t I?”
“Of course, but…” He shook his head. He couldn’t and wouldn’t try to stop the wedding. Feyre was smart. She had to know Tamlin well enough to feel safe if she had agreed to marry him. So he would step aside. He would do this one last thing for her, even if he broke his own heart in the process. “I’d be honored, Feyre.”
~~~~~
“You did what?”
She sighed as she opened the door to the bathroom. “Tamlin, you said you were going to try. You aren’t trying. Not even slightly.”
“That arrogant piece of—”
“My best friend, you mean?”
He let out a huff. “Rhysand,” he hissed, “has no place walking you down the aisle. That’s—”
“That’s whose job, Tamlin? Certainly not my father’s any longer. Or did you expect Lucien who I’ve known for a matter of a few months to do it? Rhys and Mor and Cassian and Az will always be my family. They aren’t going anywhere, no matter how many fits you throw about it.”
“Your sisters are an option, of course.”
“Tamlin, don’t. What’s done is done. On our wedding day Rhys will be my escort. And you will keep your mouth shut about it and keep a smile on your face.”
“You have other friends, Feyre. You and Ianthe get along well.”
“Oh do we? I’m sure you know my feelings so well when it comes to tolerating her.” He reared back. “Ianthe will keep batting her eyes and paying compliments as long as you let her leech off of you, Lucien hasn’t even tried to hug me because you probably threatened to cut his arms off for doing so. Tamlin, you will stop this overbearing asshole behavior or I will not marry you.”
Faster than she could react, he lunged, red-faced and wild-eyed. His grip on her arm was bruising. While she was all fired up and ready to lay things out he had been stewing with every word. “I am doing what’s best for you,” he snarled. And that was the wake up call.
God, had Rhys been right? Was it taking the cogs turning just days before her wedding to see the red flags as Rhys called them?
“You are trying to control me. And I will not let you. Now let me go.” Seemingly in a daze, he uncurled his hand from around her wrist, the pale print from his hand beginning to pinken again. “I’ll be back later.”
“Feyre.”
“I said I’ll be back,” she snapped, shoving her feet into her flip-flops. “Do not follow me and do not send Lucien like some hound on my trail. I need some space.”
One thing. She asked one thing of this wedding and it was that her best friend be more than another name on the absurdly long guest list. What a crime it was. Down where the beach started to soften, she removed her shoes, letting the sand sift through her toes. Minutes or miles she walked with nothing more than her thoughts and a nocturnal choir around her. While the silence might have bothered most, She had always found peace in a quiet night.
Feyre sank to the sand, leaning back on her hands and tilting her head to view the sky above her. She was lucky the busy lights were on the other side of the resort. Here on their side, even with the light pollution day and night she had a chance to enjoy the star-flecked unknown. She was hopeless to identify constellations without her favorite astronomy professor of course, but they were still pretty to look at alone.
“You can see Lupus from here.” She jumped slightly, whipping her head over her shoulder. “Sorry if I startled you. Can I sit with you?” Rhys asked.
“Always.” She sat up so they could sit shoulder to shoulder and he reached for her hand, frowning when she jolted away and rubbed it instinctively. The tenderness there scared her more than she wanted to admit. And Rhys was staring. “What?”
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Nothing.”
“Feyre.”
“Rhys.”
“I know you too well to fall for your lies.” She bit her lip, casting her eyes to the ground, only looking back up when he gave a heavy sigh. “Ara.”
“What?”
“Ara, it’s almost straight ahead. And there’s Corvus there.”
“You’re speaking Latin to me.” He snorted at the frankly terrible joke, nudging her shoulder good-naturedly. She slumped against him, exhaustion taking over. “You’re going to have to carry me back,” she mumbled. “In the morning.” He tensed beside her. “I can’t go back there tonight. It would just be weird.”
“Why?” She shrugged. “Feyre.”
“He doesn’t like you.”
His lip curled slightly against her head. “I think I’ll survive.”
“We were fighting over it. You. All of you. He has his bubble, and if he can’t control the people in it… I didn’t realize how deep it ran until I told him you would give me away. I’ve never seen him so…”
The word hung between them as he reached for her wrist again. She wondered if it would bruise by morning. If Ianthe would try to dab a bit of powder over it before Mor showed up and had a cow. Feyre didn’t know what she would do at that point.
“He’s been stressed lately. Between the wedding and work and—”
“Do not make excuses for him.” The edge in his voice put a new heaviness between them. “Do not pretend this is okay, Feyre. You want to know why you’ve never seen him so violent? It’s because cowards like that need control to feel they hold the power. That they’re worth something. He let you speak your mind this long to make sure he had you for good, but the second you say ‘I do’ everything is going to change.”
If Tamlin’s anger was the strike of a storm, Rhys’ was the deadly calm before it. Chilled as death even as those violet eyes glinted against the moon. He twisted in the sand, cupping her face and pressing his brow to hers, as he had done so many times to calm her from her panic. This time he needed that calm.
“Do not make excuses. Do not wait for that stress to go away. And Feyre, please do not marry a man who will free his temper the moment you kiss him on that altar.”
She twisted her lower body to face him fully, stroking a hand over the short stubble at his jaw. It had started as a teasing touch when he was just old enough to start growing facial hair, later a habit she couldn’t resist maintaining. Until she met Tamlin and all the fond habits and touches earned scowls and glares. That hand teasing his stubble rose to run through his hair, a touch to sooth. It still seemed to work.
“All I’m saying is that six months is awfully fast for a wedding,”
“Oh, is that all you’re saying, Rhys?”
She pulled at his hair slightly and his eyes fluttered open again. If she didn’t know better, she would say time had turned back for them. They were kids again and he was taking her to his senior prom, despite her only being a sophomore. Coming home from the dance she’d joked on her front porch that they were at the point where he was supposed to kiss her goodnight.
She’d been the typical sixteen year old, crushing on a senior. Except that senior was her best friend. Romantically off limits was an unspoken rule of friendship to them, no matter what their friends and family thought. But for a moment—one fraction of a second—the world paused, giving her a glimpse of a boy that wanted to kiss her back.
She never saw that boy again.
Until now.
Days before her wedding he was staring at her like she hung the moon. Like she was the only thing keeping his world turning, as ludicrous as that seemed. But god, she wanted someone to want every part of her that badly. Looking into his eyes now, she realized all of the things she’d been compromising.
“Feyre, what are you doing?” Her hands slid down to cup his face. “Feyre.”
Every moral she had was screaming for her to stop. She was an engaged woman and kissing her teenage crush could be the biggest mistake of her life. And yet the devil on her shoulder spurred her on.
And Feyre listened, kissing Rhys for the first time. Only the stars could damn her tonight.
~~~~~
AN: I hope this is alright in length and content for the first part. As I said, this is my first writing circle fic.
Summary: When Elain borrows her best friend's beach house after a tough breakup, she's ready for nothing but peace and quiet. What she doesn't expect is for her new neighbor to be such a giant pain in her ass.
Part 2 of ACOTAR Writing Circle organized by @azrielshadowssing! You can read Part 1 by @kingofsummer93 here
Oh god, it was Graysen, no doubt about it. How the hell did he manage to find Vassa’s beach house? The man couldn’t even find the clit on a good day.
“Elain? I know you’re in there. Can we just talk? Please? The storm is getting crazy out here.” That grating voice was begging loudly on the porch.
God, Elain hated being such a pushover. But better to deal with it now before Graysen became more desperate, right? Elain wrapped her cardigan around her shoulders tightly as she made her way through the door. Sure enough, Elain could make out her ex-fiance’s face in the twilight.
“What do you want?” she asked, opening the door just enough to let her face peek out.
He was a relic from another era of her life, so out of place in his gray suit on a rotting wood porch. Graysen breathed out a sigh of relief. “You’re safe.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Elain’s annoyance rose a smidge higher.
He gestured down the street of beach shacks. “You’re practically in the middle of nowhere, Elain. Something could have happened to you.” There was a vague undercurrent of patronizing in his tone, as if he didn’t quite believe in her ability to take care of herself.
“How did you find me?” Elain demanded, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. God, she should’ve just pretended she wasn’t home.
Graysen gave her a pointed look. “I still have your location on my phone.” Ah, shit. She forgot to get rid of that, too.
“Look, I know things haven’t been great between us these last few months. I shouldn’t have kicked you out, shouldn’t have been more focused on the wedding than on you. If you need to take a break, just tell me.”
“Graysen,” Elain sighed, feeling like she was trying to explain simple addition to a child. “I’m not trying to take a break.”
“Well, we should at least talk about what went wrong, Lainey,” Graysen protested.
“It’s just not going to work out,” Elain cried, exasperated. “We outgrew each other, okay? Our friends don’t align, our families don’t align, our values don’t align…it’s not going to happen. It’s over.”
Graysen’s face twisted in barely suppressed anger. How could she have once thought him handsome? It had only been a few weeks, but the man was a complete stranger to her now. He had been, for quite some time. “Something’s wrong, Lainey,” he gritted out. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Elain’s mind flicked towards Lucien. So what if she already found other people attractive? She’d only met him today, so it was simply preposterous for Graysen to suggest she was cheating on him.
“There is no one else,” she snapped. “It’s over, Graysen. We. Are. Done. And stop calling me Lainey. I’m sick of it.” She pried off the diamond engagement ring, giving it back to him as an added measure.
Elain was expecting Graysen to yell, to beg on his knees, or to snatch the ring away and drive off. Elain did not expect Graysen to grab her wrist when she extended the ring out. And for him to yank her down the steps of the front porch, attempting to drag her back to his car.
Her scream was drowned out by the clap of thunder. Elain scrambled for a hold on the porch column, on the ground, anything to keep Graysen from hauling her into his car.
A wayward brick, spillover from Lucien’s messy front yard, was her salvation. It was heavy with the weight of the wasted years and countless memories as she swung it clumsily at the side of Graysen’s head. His eyes crossed as he slumped to the ground, iron fist loosening around her wrist.
The rain soaked into her hair, running down her face in little streams. Elain’s jeans had ripped at the knee, and there was even mud staining the front of her shirt.
Elain swore loudly when she noticed the red blood leaking down his temple. Fuck, what if she’d killed him? Her adrenaline abated slightly when her fingers found a fluttering pulse on the side of his neck. He was simply knocked out.
The rain stopped. No, it didn’t stop—it was being kept at bay thanks to Lucien holding a large umbrella over her. His red hair had been pulled back from his handsome face in a low ponytail, and his brows were creased with concern.
“That’s a strong arm you’ve got there, Elain,” he observed. “Are you alright?”
***Lucien***
Turns out the asshole who had practically tried to kidnap Elain Archeron was her ex-fiance, Graysen Nolan. With his gray suit and neatly trimmed hair, Graysen looked just like one of his half-brother Eris’s arrogant big-law coworkers.
While Elain was more than happy to leave Graysen lying there, Lucien had opted to call the ambulance. That would leave the prick several thousand dollars lighter and free of any liabilities. The paramedics checked Graysen’s vitals, strapped his still-unconscious form to the gurney, and drove away in a matter of minutes.
Elain was shivering as the frigid wind chilled her already dampened clothes. “What if Graysen tries to press charges when he wakes up?” she fretted through chattering teeth.
“Don’t worry, I was able to capture a video of him trying to drag you to his car,” Lucien assured Elain. “I can send them to Vassa—and you—once I have reception again.” He offered his phone to her.
“You’re telling me that you just stood there filming me and my ex in an argument?” Elain raised an eyebrow at him.
“You seem like a lady who can take care of herself.” Lucien rebutted smoothly, pointing to the very brick Elain had used to strike Graysen with. “My brother’s a lawyer, and he’s always emphasized the power of evidence in a case. Besides, if he managed to get you into his car, I would have hopped on my bike and chased him down for you.”
Like a modern day knight in shining armor. Lucien gave her a crooked smile and wink that hopefully softened Elain’s skepticism. His gleaming motorcycle was safely covered in the shed, but it had been proudly displayed when Elain pulled up to Vassa’s house.
“Alright then.” Elain’s cheeks turned pink as she added her number to Lucien’s contacts. Lucien’s heart was pitter-pattering like the rain on the ground, for once Elain finished typing her phone number, she would surely turn and leave.
“Say, how about you chill at my place until the power comes back on?” Lucien suggested, before she could say goodbye. “You can dry off and I can cook you dinner.”
Elain blinked. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly bother you,” she tried to say, but then stopped. “I suppose I didn’t have a chance to purchase many groceries…I can stay for a snack and then be out of your hair?”
“Nonsense,” Lucien chuckled. “Vassa would give me an earful if I offered you unhealthy snacks for dinner.”
“She would,” Elain smiled. “Alright, I’ll come over.”
“Any dietary restrictions?” Lucien asked as they started up the short path to his house next door. Elain shook her head. “Home sweet home.” Lucien flicked on the light. Oh god, he’d forgotten how much of a mess his house was. He had not expected Elain to come over so quickly.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elain exclaimed as she took in the warm lighting in Lucien’s living room. “Vassa said you had a generator.”
Lucien gestured to the ceiling. “Solar panels and a battery, actually.” he replied.
“Very sustainable of you,” Elain observed appreciatively. Lucien’s sharp eyes noticed the small, satisfied smile she tried to hide from him. He suppressed the urge to point it out, and directed Elain to the upstairs bathroom, providing her with a hair dryer, fresh towels, and a soft baggy shirt and clean sweatpants instead.
Lucien did some hasty cleaning while Elain was freshening up: shelving books, rearranging cushions, and wiping down surfaces. He was almost done remodeling his beach house: two bedrooms, with wooden refurbished furniture; a spacious kitchen, complete with the latest gadgets; bathroom, with restored vintage hardware; a cozy living room; and a mini basement that had been converted into a wine cellar. The only thing left was the yard, which was in desperate need of a garden.
Mushrooms, garlic, and bell peppers were expertly chopped before sauteed on the stove. The vegetables would go nicely with the leftover cilantro-lime rice from last night. And Lucien had gone to the fishmonger today, purchasing fresh cod filets that would pair well with lemon and dijon mustard flavors.
Earlier that day, he had been organizing the bedroom on his second floor when a rental car rolled into Vassa’s driveway with a stunning woman in the driver’s seat. One of Vassa’s distant cousins, perhaps?
Lucien was nosy, so he’d turned off his music and listened to her hash it out with “Graysen” over the phone. Watched her struggle up the steps of Vassa’s beach house with a large pink suitcase. The lady was even more beautiful once she’d stepped out into the sun, with her golden brown loose curls fluttering in the wind, big brown eyes, and perfectly kissable mouth.
And then he’d promptly gotten a call from Vassa, saying her friend Elain Archeron had broken up with her good-for-nothing fiance three weeks ago. “She’s going to stay at the cottage for a few weeks. I think the two of you would get along very well,” Vassa had chirped. “And…if you want to take things a bit further, you have my approval!”
He could practically see Vassa kicking her feet and giggling once she’d hung up. Despite rolling his eyes, Lucien couldn’t help but grin. He’d just finished plating the food when Elain came down the stairs.
“That smells amazing,” she called out appreciatively.
Lucien turned around and immediately felt breathless. Elain looked positively beautiful with her hair freshly dry and loose. And though the shirt and sweatpants were far too baggy for her lithe form, seeing her wear his old clothes satisfied that primal male pride.
“I figured a hot meal on a cold night would be better than processed food. Please, have a seat.” Lucien watched anxiously as Elain took her first bite.
“Oh, it’s delicious,” she sighed. “Really, I didn’t even know how hungry I was until I started eating. Do you like to cook?”
“I do,” he replied, his heart swelling with pride at her praise.
“Do you bake?” she pressed.
“I don’t,” Lucien confessed. “Do you?”
“I like to bake.” Elain’s face brightened visibly. “Vassa failed to mention that her house didn’t have an oven. Can you believe it? No oven? I mean, I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But I just can’t believe a family could live without an oven!”
Lucien laughed. “You’re free to use my oven anytime,” he offered. “As long as I get to take a 25 percent cut of whatever you make.”
“Of course. Baked goods are always meant to be shared.” Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, causing some of the cutlery to rattle. The two shared a surprisingly comfortable silence for a couple bites. “What brings you to Long Island?”
“Soul-searching.” Lucien shrugged. “I’m from Montreal, actually. Last summer, I learned that my mom had an affair with her college sweetheart…and he’s my real father.”
“Oh my god. How do you feel about it? Are you okay?”
“Overall, it’s a good thing? The man who raised me was pretty abusive, and he passed away last year. And my mom got back together with Helion.” Lucien didn’t always dwell on the horrors Beron inflicted on him. On his family. He didn’t realize his hand was trembling until Elain laid her hand over it.
The softness of her hands grounded him, drawing away his fears. Elain’s brown eyes were wide, but she did not look at him with pity like so many others did.
“Helion treats her well, thankfully. But it’s been hard for me to wrap my mind around it…to view this stranger as my father. And to finally work through all the trauma. So I quit my corporate job, bought this place with the money Beron had left us, and took up contracting full time. Therapy, self-care, all that jazz.”
“That must be incredibly difficult.” Elain withdrew her hand, and Lucien’s fingers twitched slightly at the sudden emptiness. “I hope Long Island is to your liking?”
“I’ll be okay,” Lucien assured her. “Plenty of work to be found here, decent weather…comparatively,” he added with a smile, seeing the disbelieving look Elain gave at the storm lashing outside. “It’s a quaint town. Great people, though.”
“Yeah,” Elain smiled. “Are you remodeling this house for…?”
“Maybe a vacation home,” Lucien shrugged. “If I ever have a family of my own, it could be a nice place to stay at during the summer.”
“Oh? Are you...dating anybody?” Elain asked. Her voice was neutral, but there was an apprehensive look in her eyes. Like she was at the edge of her seat waiting for his answer.
“Nope,” Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Single for three years and counting.”
Elain’s jaw dropped. “No way,” she blurted out. “A guy like you?”
“Just waiting for the right lady to come around,” Lucien chuckled. He tilted his head slightly, regarding Elain with a level gaze that made her blush. It wasn’t like him to be so forward with a woman who had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, but there was something so undeniably compatible between him and Elain, he couldn’t help it. She seemed delicate at first glance with her soft smiles and blushing cheeks, but Elain clearly had some fire to her. And Lucien liked that.
“And you?” he asked. “What brings you here?”
“I’m sure Vassa already told you.” Elain grinned.
Lucien held his hands up in the air. “Guilty,” he laughed. “She said you’d be here after breaking off your engagement. But of all the places to go, why Long Island?”
“Graysen and I were living together, so of course when I broke up with him, he kicked me out,” Elain answered ruefully. “Vassa was probably too nice to sexile me, but Jurian’s roommates probably need a break.”
Lucien laughed. “Those two are definitely a handful whenever they’re together.”
“Yeah. My parents have passed away, so no family home to return to. My older sister is in law school in California. My younger sister is working in London right now.”
“Damn,” Lucien whistled. “How are you doing after the breakup?”
“Relieved, actually,” Elain confessed. “It’s one of those relationships where everything seemed perfect in the beginning, but it became clear Graysen didn’t truly see me…as me. I think having a girlfriend elevated his status, and he didn’t care enough to keep the relationship alive after the honeymoon phase was over.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Lucien grimaced. “He sounds like a real ass.”
Elain sighed and ran her hands through her loose curls. “Yeah, I should’ve left him earlier. But I’ll be here, working remotely for the foreseeable future. It’s nice to have a neighbor like you around.” Again, that delectable tell-tale blush creeping up the side of her neck.
“I can only hope I’m sufficiently good company.” Lucien reined in the urge to lay himself at her feet, to offer more than just friendship. “Well, here’s to new beginnings, for both of us.”
“To new beginnings,” Elain agreed with a knowing look that made his blood heat, as she clinked her glass against his. Just as he raised the glass to his lips, the light went out.
“Well, shit. The battery juices have run out,” Lucien groaned. “Sorry about that, Elain.”
A/N: Yes...the garden is incomplete but symbolically when Elain and Lucien get together, she'll create a lovely garden that completes his--their--home (home is where the heart is, amirite?)
The ACOTAR Writing Circle is an event organized by @azrielshadowssing where several writers each start a fic, and then pass it off to someone else for the second and third parts. Please go to her page for more information, and to see the masterlist so that you can read all of the fics! Part 1 was posted March 26th, Part 2 is posted today on April 9th, and Part 3 on April 23rd!
For Part 2, I am continuing the fic started by @sunshinebingo!! I was so excited for the opportunity, and she did a fantastic job with part one, so please go back to read it for context, of course!
Pairing: Gwynriel
Word Count: 9.5k (~11k total)
Rating/Warnings: E (explicit content, blood, violence, needles, firearms)
Summary: When Gwyn awakes, she is tied up in her own house and finds out that Beron, her father's closest associate and distant cousin, has a plan to keep her by his side. If only someone knew what was happening to her. Maybe they could help her escape.
PART TWO
Once, when Gwyn was in the fifth grade, she and Catrin had walked together to the convenience store after school. It was a small place just down the street–hardly much of a distance at all–but instead of leaving school from the front, they had taken the back exit in order to avoid catching the attention of one of their dad’s cards. They didn’t want to be shuffled around by yet another nameless face, not that day, and so they had fled to the convenience store for just a few moments of peace.
They’d been giggling with their heads bent together in the candy aisle, giddy with their success, when they heard a familiar voice that had seemed so out of place that it made cold drip down their spines.
When they’d looked up, they saw their teacher, Ms. Scranton, in the family planning aisle with a box of condoms in her hand.
Inexplicably, this moment felt exactly like that.
A single second passed, stretched into taut eternity. More gunshots overhead, and the feeling of the guard’s fingers digging into her skin. Gwyn stared wordlessly at Azriel, this man who had somehow been in the right place at the right time, clearly aiming to save her, but he didn’t return her gaze. He hadn’t looked at her at all since that first glance when the guard pulled her into this room.
There was blood sprayed across his face, and it felt so out of place that all she could think of was that box of condoms in Ms. Scranton’s hand.
The second ticked away, and Gwyn opened her mouth to say something. Azriel’s eyes flicked over to her–fleetingly, as if drawn by the movement of her lips but then deciding that it was nothing worthwhile–and instead of pulling the trigger, he reeled back his arm and drove the butt of the gun into the guard’s forehead. Instantly, the grip on her arm went slack as the guard crumpled to the ground.
“Come on,” Azriel said. He took advantage of her shock by grabbing her elbow, replacing the guard’s cold, stony grip with his warm and broad hold. He spun her around so that instead of facing the front door–where she thought she saw Beron exiting in the midst of all the gunfire–they headed towards the back of the house.
He pushed on the small of her back, ushering her ahead of him as they made their way through the foyer. And Gwyn was so stunned by the pools of thick blood on the ground, on the rug she had helped her father pick out, that she didn’t even think to challenge him. She felt his fingers begin to undo the knots at her wrists, and automatically began to slow down to help him reach the ropes better.
“Hurry,” he said behind her. “We only have a few seconds before Beron realizes that you aren’t right behind him, and he sends someone else in here to get you.”
The feeling of the ropes finally going loose around her wrists was enough to break through the daze. Gwyn realized that she was allowing a man–who for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger to her–to give her orders. She whirled around to face him.
“What’s going on?” Gwyn rasped out. Her head swiveled around to search for Beron. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, couldn’t hear the gunshots anymore over the ringing in her ears but she felt the vibrations of them. Someone was still shooting, somewhere.
Azriel didn’t miss a beat. He continued charging towards the back of the house, catching her by the wrist and towing her right along after him.
“We have to move,” Azriel rushed out. “Come on.”
Gwyn shook her head. Even if he couldn’t see her gesture, it made her feel a little bit better. All of this was so wrong. There were bullet holes in the childhood photos lining the hall, and a gun in the hands of the man in front of her.
A gun. Azriel, her friend and an accountant, was holding a gun.
“Give me that!” Gwyn suddenly gasped as Azriel pushed open the back door. They crossed out onto the patio, and she had to squint her eyes against the onslaught of sunlight. She reached out blindly for the gun. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”
Gwyn didn’t have much experience with guns–she much preferred her self defense courses, and knives–but she felt sure that the firearm training courses her father had forced her and Catrin to take gave her far more authority to wield a firearm than Azriel’s CPA license.
Azriel smoothly maneuvered Gwyn away without missing a single step, keeping her at arm’s length as he continued to lead her towards the back fence. Their feet pounding into the grass, and his eyes going wide. As if she was the insane one.
“Gwyneth,” he said. “We don’t have the time–”
Azriel’s voice was interrupted by a clamor coming from behind them. Beron’s men, barging back into the house as it became clear that Gwyn wasn’t coming. Azriel rolled his eyes, let out a very exasperated sigh, and then hauled Gwyn up into his arms.
Perhaps he was right. Maybe she was insane, because the logical reaction to some strange man with a gun grabbing her would have been to scream, especially since she had just been kidnapped by Beron not ten minutes ago.
But she swallowed down the sound, sure that screaming would have only drawn Beron’s men to her sooner. Their voices were getting louder, and the gunshots had faded away entirely. Apparently, whoever had been holding them off was long gone.
And so Gwyn went with the second, far less practical reaction. As Azriel carried her over his shoulder, past tasteful patio furniture and her mother’s now decrepit garden, she leaned over and dug her teeth into Azriel’s shoulder.
She was rewarded with the sound of him grunting, but nothing else, and then he skillfully extricated her from his shoulder and tossed her into the open air.
The breath was stolen from Gwyn’s lungs as she plummeted, and for a split second she tried to remember if there was a cliff in her backyard, and if she was going to die. But Gwyn reached the end of her descent very quickly, landing on something hard. Her eyes burst open to find that she was on the other side of the fence bordering her yard, and that there was a face above her. A stranger, with a slit in his brow and his long, unruly black hair pulled back behind his head.
“Hey,” he greeted. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
He was such a big man that Gwyn would have been terrified, if not for the fact that the smile on his face could only be described as goofy. She found herself nodding in agreement, and wrapping her hands around his neck so that he could carry her more efficiently.
Another gunshot rang through the air, and after such a long time of not hearing any at all, this one caused Gwyn to jump. She glanced to the side, just in time to watch Azriel’s body falling down from over the fence beside them. He immediately began to try to peel himself up from the ground, a hand clutched over his side.
Gwyn kicked the man holding her, and he let her gently onto the ground without complaint.
“I told you that you’d hurt yourself!” Gwyn chastised.
She leaned over immediately to take away Azriel’s gun, if only to prevent further damage, only to find that the wound was on the complete opposite side of the weapon. It would have been almost impossible to have given himself that wound, if he’d been aiming in the general direction of Beron’s men at all. At the last second, Gwyn found a knife holstered to his waist, and took that from him, instead. She helped him fully onto his feet, and then they both began to follow the stranger further into the small patch of trees behind her house.
“Where are we going?” Gwyn said. A few more gunshots sounded out, and Gwyn could only hope that the sparse covering of trees would prevent any of the shots from landing.
“Next street over,” the stranger said. “I have a car, but we have to hurry if we don’t want them to follow us.”
“Too late for that,” Azriel gritted out. “Look.”
And as they crossed through the last few trees, Gwyn saw a black, nondescript car idling on the side of the street, covered entirely in shadow. Then, from around the corner, she saw another car swerving in the road, still a decent distance away, but rapidly closing in.
And behind them, more gunshots. Beron’s men, who had hopped the fence and were running in their direction with guns aimed straight for them.
“Move,” Azriel said, pushing Gwyn’s head down just as a bullet whizzed past, burying itself into the side of the black car that was waiting for them.
This time, Gwyn allowed Azriel to tug her along. He shoved her down into the car as the stranger held open the door, and waited as she crawled over the seat to make room for him. The stranger had gotten into the front seat and began driving away before Azriel had even fully closed his door.
The entire car was blanketed in a thick silence as they raced down the street, the tires screeching against the asphalt. Gwyn tried to peek her head up over the back seat to see if Beron was still following them, but Azriel shoved her back down with a hand on the crown of her head.
“Yes, they’re still coming,” he informed her. “Don’t look.”
“Why would I take advice from you?” Gwyn snapped back. She jerked her chin down towards where he was still clutching his side. “I wasn’t the one who got shot.”
Azriel rolled his eyes at her, and she poked his wound in retaliation. Azriel hissed.
“Lift your shirt,” she ordered him.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “No.”
“Just do it.”
He did.
“So what exactly was your plan?” the stranger said from the front seat.
This drew Azriel’s attention away from Gwyn just long enough for her to examine the wound in his side without his scrutiny. There was a pretty nasty gash, right along the line of his bottom rib, but it didn’t look like an entry wound–Gwyn had seen too many of those on her father or her father’s associates. It looked like the bullet had merely grazed him, the lucky asshole.
“Shut up, Cass,” Azriel groaned from beside her.
The car jerked as Cass took a turn at a worrying speed, which caused Gwyn to tilt over in the seat, pressing her cheek into Azriel’s shoulder. His arm had been raised to allow her access to the injury, but it fell down upon her shoulders to catch her as Cass righted the car. She pushed herself off of him with her hands flat on his chest.
Cass. Gwyn mentally rifled through all of her previous conversations with Azriel, trying to place the name. He’d mentioned a few of his friends before, and she kept mouthing the nickname to herself until she could place it.
“Cassian?” she said, leaning away from Azriel so she could look in the front seat. Which was a mistake, because they had made it into the city, now, and the buildings were rushing by so fast as Cassian wove in and out of traffic that it immediately made her nauseous.
“That’s right,” Cassian said, winking at her. Her stomach churned, and didn’t settle until his eyes were back on the road.
She fell back into her seat, sinking down until she couldn’t see out any of the windows.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Cassian said. “We’re splitting up soon. I’m gonna lead Beron away while Az gets you somewhere safe?”
Why should I trust either of you?
The thought rose up to the forefront of her mind as Gwyn glanced at the man beside her. He was pressing his hand against his side again, but she was too exhausted to summon up any sympathy. Reality was crashing down on her before the adrenaline had even begun to melt away, and the stress and worry began to coalesce in a sickening, migraine-inducing way. All she wanted to do was get out of this car, free from Cassian’s reckless driving, and go back home.
Except, she wasn’t sure she had a home, anymore.
“Don’t tell–”
“Rhys,” Cassian finished for Azriel. “Obviously.”
Cassian brought the car to a lurching halt, and then hopped out of the driver’s seat before even putting the vehicle fully in park. Azriel was close behind him, and then Gwyn was left with no other choice than to scramble out after him. When she stood up, she realized that they were in a busy parking lot outside of a Whole Foods.
“This is where you plan to kill me?” Gwyn muttered to herself, though she watched as Azriel surreptitiously tucked the gun in the back of his jeans. He must have still been hurting, and his hands were covered in blood, but he was opening the door to the car right beside them, and ushering Gwyn inside once again.
“See ya later,” Cassian said as farewell, as he hopped into the car on the other side. He started the engine, and waved heartily at Gwyn as he peeled away.
She didn’t say bye. Instead, she turned around and crawled over the center console and into the passenger seat. Azriel landed beside her, and Gwyn studied him carefully as he turned on the car and pulled out of the parking space.
“They might still be following us,” Azriel said. He gave no indication that he was injured other than his stilted tone. “Cass did a nice job of shaking them off, but Beron has a lot of people on high alert all over the city, and he’s pissed. So we’re going to take the long way to the safe house to make sure we aren’t being ta–tracked.”
The stammering was new. Gwyn had never known Azriel to fumble over his words.
You never knew him at all, she thought.
Gwyn didn’t say anything. Azriel glanced over at her, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As they maneuvered out of the busy parking lot and onto a far emptier side street, his speed picked up. Gwyn watched the needle on the dashboard, and then looked back at his face. Assessing.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he said finally.
His driving was far smoother than Cassian’s. Just as fast, maybe, but she didn’t feel the need to vomit with every turn. She’d take her chances.
“Who are you?” she said.
Her eyes didn’t miss the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“It’s gonna be a long drive,” he said. “You should put it on.”
“I will when you do,” Gwyn said dismissively. She tried again, “Who are you?”
“You know who I am,” Azriel said. His eyes never left the road, which wasn’t as much reassuring as it was suspicious.
“I know who you want me to think you are,” Gwyn said. She crossed her arms and turned away to look out the passenger window. The buildings all whisked past her at a dizzying pace, but it was a welcome change from Azriel’s stoicism.
“That’s all you need to know.”
Gwyn wasn’t as certain about that as Azriel seemed to be. Her mind was spinning out of control, and it had nothing to do with the lingering adrenaline or carsickness. She kept looking out the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following them. She began mapping the splatter of blood on her white dress until she could still see its shape imprinted in the black when she closed her eyes.
The city streets faded gradually into forest, and then into crags and boulders. The road became less pavement and more packed dirt as they circled the base of the mountains, to a place so remote and secluded that she wondered if he really did bring her here just to kill her. They were at a small lake at the base of the mountain, where a small, rickety cabin sat nestled up against the rock.
And Azriel had remained silent and steadfast for the remainder of the drive. Something she wasn’t unfamiliar with, but that grated on her nerves nonetheless.
“We’re here,” Azriel announced, the sound of the car door slamming shut behind him punctuating his words.
Almost reluctantly, Gwyn climbed out and followed Azriel up to the cabin. He had parked somewhere behind the shaky looking structure, obscuring the car from view, as if anyone would ever mistakenly happen upon this place to begin with. She scrambled after him as he ducked through a back entrance, and felt her face fall as soon as she entered the cabin.
It was a single room, fitted with a small kitchenette, a lumpy old bed with several moth-eaten quilts, and a door to the side that she suspected led to a bathroom. Altogether, the space was very tight. And in shambles.
She’d been expecting some place built for romantic getaways, or hiking trips. Not the house of sticks made by the second little pig. Gwyn wondered who was supposed to be the wolf.
She turned around slowly, watching as Azriel secured the door behind him, and waited until he was facing her.
They stared at each other for a moment, like two opponents sizing each other up, before Azriel brushed past her and took the one and a half steps necessary to reach the bed. He got down on his knees and rooted around underneath it for a while before coming back up with a white first-aid box.
He settled down on top of the bed, and began taking off his shirt, wincing as he raised his arms over his head. Gwyn noted that the wound was still bleeding, and had to hold herself back from immediately going to his side. The pained expression made it a bit easier to pity him, but she still held a grudge over his not being very forthcoming with information in the car.
“You’re an accountant,” she said flatly.
Azriel tossed his shirt into a corner, and then pulled gauze and antiseptic from the kit.
He didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”
“Why do you have a gun?” she said. It was the wrong question. It didn’t fully encompass everything that was currently rattling around in her brain, but it was the first thing that came out of her mouth. Again, she recalled Ms. Scranton, and the question she had blurted to Catrin without thinking.
Why does she have condoms?
Azriel began cleaning his wound, hissing, and Gwyn took a step towards him before she remembered that she was supposed to be pissed. That she shouldn’t trust him. This wasn’t Azriel the accountant, Azriel the man who came to the library every week for book club. Not Azriel, the man who stopped by every Monday morning with her favorite pastry. Not even Azriel, the guy who sometimes spent a suspicious amount of time in the adult romance section.
This was Azriel, the guy who had mysteriously appeared at her house just in time to shoot a couple of people, kidnap her, and bring her into the mountains.
She found a perverse amount of pleasure in the fact that he–apparently–was horrible at doing sutures.
Gwyn still had the knife she had taken from him, and she twisted it around in her hands before falling down onto the bed beside him. The mattress bounced, causing Azriel to poke himself with the needle, and she smiled.
When Azriel realized she was still looking at him, waiting for an answer, he met her gaze and shrugged.
“Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”
Irritation flared up in Gwyn, heating her cheeks and causing her to clench her teeth. She crossed her arms, and glared at him.
“You’re going to start answering my questions,” Gwyn seethed. “Or else I’m going to head right back out that door and–”
“What?” Azriel asked, his eyes suddenly jerking up from his task and meeting hers. She found the hazel of his eyes had cooled to a dark, fathomless shade, and bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping. “You’re going to leave, and then do what? Head back to Beron? Please.”
The sound of him scoffing scraped against every single one of her nerves. Gwyn gritted her teeth, and practiced tensing and then relaxing each of her fingers before she spoke again.
“Just answer me,” she said in a measured tone. “Why did you–”
“Start asking better questions.”
Gwyn’s hold on the knife tightened. She could kill him. No one would ever find him here, and besides, he’d probably been planning to do it to her, anyway.
Azriel flicked a dirty bit of gauze off the bed onto the floor, and she saw a muscle jump in his cheek. Good. At least he was just as pissed off as she was.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Gwyn said through her teeth. “Considering the fact that I was just drugged less than a few hours ago, that I just witnessed a gunfight in my living room, and that I’m now trapped here with you.”
She made sure to say the last word like an insult.
Azriel gave up with the sutures, instead electing to simply pack the wound with gauze, and then wrap a bandage around his middle. He sat up with a slouch that was typical of his abhorrent posture, but for some reason when he was pathetic and shirtless, it had Gwyn’s mouth going dry. She wrenched her eyes back up to his face.
“We can stop pretending, Gwyneth,” Azriel said. “Ask. Better. Questions.”
“Pretending what?”
Azriel shot up from the bed, stomping over to the other side of the room as if it would do anything to put some distance between them, but in the cramped space, all Gwyn would have to do was reach out in order to touch him. She kept her fingers clenched tightly around the knife.
“This innocent act isn’t cute, Berdara.” Azriel said. His eyes narrowed, and she could actually see them become darker and darker, until she was so deep in the black of them that she had no hope of clawing her way back out. “We both know who you are, and I think it’s about time that you laid all of your cards out on the table if you want any chance of getting away from him. I can help you, you know.”
“Help me–” Gwyn shook her head, and her eyes going wide as she stared at him. Dumbfounded. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Azriel’s expression smoothed over, going completely unreadable as something in him shifted. When he spoke again, his tone was blank–clinical, even. Cold.
“Gwyneth Berdara,” he said. “Twenty-six. Daughter to Marienne Berdara, now deceased, and Samuel Berdara, now missing. Twin sister to Catrin Berdara, now deceased. Master’s in Library Studies from Velaris University, currently working in the University Library and assisting with research–”
Gwyn interrupted, if not to piss him off, then only to shake off the bit of panic that had begun to creep up at the mention of her mother and sister.
“How do you know all of that?” she said breathlessly.
Azriel continued. “Fire, I think it was. For your mother and your sister. Of course, that’s only the official story. Your father has been known to be involved in some rather…unofficial business. Getting involved with the likes of Beron Vanserra, his cousin. Making money and then gambling it away. Writing checks he couldn't cash. No wonder he ran off.”
“Stop it,” Gwyn said shakily. She got up from the bed, and held onto the metal footboard to keep herself from falling over. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He raised an eyebrow, the first hint of an expression on his face ever since he’d begun laying out every detail of her sorry life like it meant nothing. The first hint of an expression, and it was as if it was all to say: Wanna bet?
“Works five days a week,” Azriel said. “Eight to five. You go to the deli a few blocks down for lunch, sometimes you meet your friend Emerie and you order a veggie sandwich with avocado. On Sundays you sing at church, and on Saturdays”–he paused to take a thready breath–”you lead book club.”
Gwyn let go of the metal railing, and slowly–deliberately–walked up to him. She didn’t stop until they were toe to toe, until she could tip her chin up, and stare him directly in the eyes. She turned the knife over in her palm.
“Who,” she said, “the fuck are you?”
The corner of his mouth turned up, something wry and pitying, and then dipped back down.
“You’ll have to excuse me for next week,” Azriel said. “I didn’t finish chapter fifty-five.”
Gwyn almost stabbed him right then. Consequences be damned, she was furious. She had sat next to this man in her library every Saturday afternoon for six weeks, and had never known that he was this deranged. That he knew all of this information about her, or even that he had ever held a gun before in his life. He’d sold this story to her so well, the one of him being an accountant with two cats and a mortgage, of romance novels being his guilty pleasure. He’d treated every bit of information she’d shared with him as if it was brand new, acting surprised, and asking questions. Just how much of it did he already know?
She’d flirted with him. When she thought he was just a harmless, if impossibly fit, guy, she had flirted with him. She remembered thinking that his quiet demeanor was charming, that the tattoos she could see peeking up around the edges of his shirts were mouthwatering, that he was awkward as hell and she liked it.
She thought his eyes were pretty. But now, with them staring down at her, all she could feel was heat. Not pretty. Scorching.
“Now,” Azriel said after a beat. “This is where I’m stumped, so you’ll have to help me out. I’ve been tailing you for weeks trying to figure out what you did for them. Your father kept you so close, and Beron definitely had taken notice. So what is it, Gwyneth? What kind of irreplaceable work do you do for the Vanserras, and how have you been hiding it all this time?”
“I have nothing to do with them,” Gwyn said. She lifted the knife, pressing the end into Azriel’s abdomen. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he pressed his palms flat against the wall behind him, as if welcoming her to try it. “I’m just a librarian.”
“That might appear to be true,” he conceded. His head tilted to the side as he studied her, a strand of hair falling down over his forehead. “Your internet history certainly turns up clean. And all of your whereabouts can be accounted for every single night with a solid alibi. So it must be something behind the scenes. What is it, then? Drugs? Medical care? You did have that brief stint in nursing school–”
“You’re insane,” Gwyn said, suddenly grabbing him by the neck just to shut him up. His expression faltered, just for a second, maybe some uncertainty, and then the mask was back on. “None of what you’re saying is making sense. I’m just a librarian. I made a point of it, ever since the night of the fire, to have as little to do with my family as possible. How can you even think that?”
“We counted numerous phone calls with your father, his associates, and the Vanserras,” Azriel said. “And then Beron’s sudden interest in you, and the sudden deposits into your account.”
“That was my father’s last attempt to hoist his blood money off onto someone else,” Gwyn said, glaring. “I reported it. Beron thinks he chased my father away, but it was me.”
There it was. Another crack in the facade. Azriel wavered.
“It all looked very convenient.”
“Does this look convenient?” Gwyn asked, nodding down towards her bloodstained stress.
Azriel opened his mouth and then closed it. His shoulders sagged.
“I’m tired,” he said suddenly, voice devoid of all emotion.
She didn’t release him. “Just how long have you been tailing me, Azriel?”
He didn’t answer her. His eyes drifted away towards some point over her shoulder, and she pressed the knife a bit harder against him to draw his attention back to her.
“I let you do my taxes,” she said.
“I hired someone else to do them,” he confessed.
Gwyn gasped. “You fu–”
“Two months.”
The blood drained out of her face. “Two months?”
He shrugged, unaffected. “It’s nothing personal, Gwyn. I do what I’m told.”
Suddenly realizing that she was close enough to him that she could feel the breath coming from his lips and fanning across hers, Gwyn released him. She feigned disgust, as she backed away. She should have been revolted.
“And who gives the orders?” Gwyn said. She decided to try her luck. If he believed her, then he might finally start to give her some answers.
Azriel’s eyes dragged down her form, from her eyes and to her toes, and then all the way back up.
“Finally,” he said. “You’re starting to ask some good questions. Rhysand calls the shots, usually. Sometimes he delegates. You met Cassian.”
Gwyn mentally retrieved the other handful of names Azriel had mentioned in the past. “And Amren and Morgan, right?”
“Morrigan,” he said. “Sure.”
“And what exactly,” she swirled the knife in the air, “do you guys do?”
“We’re a…” he trailed off, chewing on the side of his cheek. “We’re a company that specializes in organized disobedience.”
“Crime,” Gwyn corrected. “Like Beron.”
“Nothing like Beron,” Azriel corrected, his voice dropping so low that Gwyn supposed she should have been intimidated. Instead, it made her cheeks feel warm. “Or the Vanserras. They’re indiscriminate with their dealings. They don’t care about who they might affect, or what the outcome of their actions might be. They only care about greed and causing the most destruction possible. We’re far more magnanimous with our goals.”
“Why does this sound like a superhero comic?” Gwyn scoffed. “The misunderstood villains, who really just want to do the right thing. I feel like I’ve seen this exact movie.”
Azriel’s brow furrowed. He stepped away from the wall, but Gwyn backed up again to maintain the distance.
“You really think we’re the same as Beron, then?” Azriel said. “What was it you said earlier? About how he seemed so preoccupied with his whores? Please don’t tell me that’s all you think.”
“Oh, I’d love to hear your theory,” Gwyn said, laughing humorlessly. “Go ahead. Why do you think Beron is so insane?”
“His wife left him years ago,” Azriel said. “He’d gotten in the habit of distasteful affairs, sure, but more than that, he began to lose his grip on reality. He started making calls that not only weren’t sound business decisions, but that also ended up turning innocent people into collateral damage. It gives the rest of us all a bad name.”
“Seems like you’d do a pretty fine job of that all by yourselves,” Gwyn said. “Considering the fact that you were stalking me.”
“Then why are you here with me,” Azriel said. He took another step forward, and this time, she had nowhere else to go. The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the bed. “And not back there with him? Do you truly think I’m just the lesser of two evils?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Gwyn murmured. So quietly, that she thought he didn’t hear it, at first.
And then his face softened, and he lifted up both hands to rake them back through his hair. His eyes darted all across her face, before he groaned, and turned away from her.
“Go take a shower,” he dismissed her. “There should be some clothes in the bathroom so you can change. If you leave that ugly dress outside the door, I’ll get rid of it.”
“You want me to shower?” Gwyn asked. “Just like that?”
Azriel shrugged, still looking away from her. His arms dropped back down to his sides. “We clearly don’t trust each other. None of that is going to be fixed right now, and we have to wait for Cassian to get back, anyway, before we do anything about Beron. Might as well get comfy.”
Gwyn blinked at him, and then felt her arms go slack.
“You want me to shower?” she asked again.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Why?” she asked. “So you can watch me?”
His face went pale, and when he looked back towards her, his eyes were wide open.
“I’m not going to–”
“Why not?” Gwyn said, setting her jaw. “It probably wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I never watched you shower,” Azriel said, his tone clipped.
“Did you put cameras in my teddy bears?” Gwyn said. “Because that might be a step too far.”
“Do you have teddy bears?”
“Seems like a thing you should know,” Gwyn sniffed, as she strode past him and headed towards the bathroom. “If you were any good at your job.”
She closed the bathroom door behind her before she could bear witness to his response, if he had one, and leaned back against the door for a moment to collect her thoughts. Once she felt like she had her breathing under control, she immediately ran over to the shower, turning it as hot as it would go, and let it run while she searched every inch of the bathroom.
Clearly, Azriel wasn’t who she had thought he was. And clearly her distant uncle was insane. And Gwyn didn’t like the idea that she had to choose either of them, but she was–tragically–out of options. She would have to stay with Azriel, at least for now, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t search for any escape routes.
The bathroom had a small window, but she thought it was just a bit too small for her to wiggle through, and so she began to search for other ways to get out undetected, if things went wrong. There was a narrow water closet, which turned up with nothing, and then a cabinet under the sink where she found the clothes Azriel had promised along with a fully equipped toolbox.
Her prospects were dim.
Sighing, Gwyn finally stripped down and turned to the shower. At least if she didn’t have a concrete plan of escape, she could console herself with the fact that she was draining the last of the cabin’s hot water for whenever Azriel took his shower. She took her time washing the blood out of her hair and scrubbing it beneath her nails, until her skin went red from the scalding water. And then she waited even longer, until the water was just tepid, and stepped out.
Allowing a puddle to collect beneath her, Gwyn leisurely dried herself. Maybe Azriel would slip in the water and knock himself unconscious, allowing her to steal his car and drive… somewhere. She sighed, wondering where she would even go if she had the chance, and began to step into the clothes Azriel had provided. They were a bit loose, but she could tie the pants tighter, and cuff the sleeves of the shirt. In the end, it was far more comfortable than the excuse for a wedding gown Beron had forced her into.
When Gwyn stepped back out into the main room of the cabin, a cloud of steam followed her, filling the room.
“All yours,” she said as she plopped down on the bed beside Azriel. She glanced around, happy to note that the dress was gone. He must have been rifling through the kitchen, because there were cold cans of soup and stale granola bars all over the mattress. She picked up one of the least offensive granola bars and began chewing on it.
Azriel didn’t move. He watched her curiously for a moment, and then slowly raised his hand.
Gwyn felt his fingers on her cheek–light, barely grazing–before she realized what he was doing. She pushed herself up off her stomach, and rolled back onto her heels just to escape his touch and the bizarre things he was doing to her nerves. She swallowed down a bite of her snack, and stared at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Your face is still swollen,” Azriel said. His hand was still lifted towards her, and he leaned forward so that his thumb could catch her lip. “And this cut doesn’t look good.”
Gwyn shrugged. “It’ll go away.”
“I don’t have any ice,” Azriel said, his tone a bit lofty. “But you need something. For the swelling.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Gwyn said. She slapped his hand away, and then pointed towards the door to the bathroom. “Don’t you wanna go clean up?”
Azriel watched her suspiciously for a few more seconds, but once she simply resumed eating her granola bar, he eventually got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom. Gwyn waited until she heard the shower turn back on before she got up and began to search around the cabin.
The first thing she looked for was the car keys. The second thing was the gun. Azriel had taken both with him.
Gwyn groaned with frustration, and allowed herself to fall back onto the bed, crushing packs of crackers beneath her as she stared up at the ceiling. She was well and truly out of options now. If Catrin was here, she might have been able to come up with an escape plan, but all Gwyn had was Azriel, and today had clearly shown that she had no idea who he was.
But maybe he still had a plan.
She waited patiently as he finished in the shower, carefully tucking the knife she had taken from Azriel between the mattress and the frame, so that she could reach it if she needed. As soon as the water had turned off, she sat up on the edge of her bed, leaning forward as she waited for him to come out. Call it boredom or desperation, but she was almost glad when she saw his face.
And then absolutely giddy when she saw how furious he was.
“No need for ice,” he grumbled, ruffling his hair with a towel. “The water in the shower is cold enough to bring the swelling in your face down. Wanna go back in?”
“I’m,” Gwyn said between fits of laughter, “good.”
Azriel retaliated by shaking out the rest of his wet hair all over her, leaning over the footboard of the bed to ensure that the droplets would land on her. She shoved him away, eager to maintain all pretenses of being revolted by him, but she couldn’t deny the fact that when he had settled down on the bed beside her and her laughter had dissipated, the smile remained achingly on her face.
“So,” Gwyn said finally, sighing as she fell back against the pillow. She looked over at Azriel, who was still sitting up and carefully extricating all of the food out from beneath her back. “What’s the plan?”
“What plan?” Azriel deflected. “Can you get off the chocolate chip ones? They’re my favorite.”
She didn’t move. “You know, the plan. Are we just gonna kill Beron, or what?”
Azriel snorted, his mouth pulling into a smile as he finally freed the last of the granola bars from beneath her. He tossed them onto a side table, and then landed down on the bed beside her.
“That’s too easy,” he said. “He deserves to watch his worthless empire burn.”
Gwyn nodded, as if she had any idea what it felt like to be so melodramatic. “Sure. So what do we do?”
“We don’t do anything,” Azriel said. “You stay here, and when everything is safe, we’ll drop you back off at home. That is, if you’re telling the truth about having nothing to do with Beron.”
Gwyn didn’t bother with trying to convince him to believe her. Not anymore. Afterall, wouldn’t that be kind of hypocritical of her, considering she didn’t believe him, either?
“If you think I’m staying here and letting you take care of him when he was the one that almost forced me to marry him,” Gwyn paused to gag, “then you’re stupider than I thought. So. What are we going to do?”
Azriel's head rolled to the side, and when he looked at her this time, it was still in that calculated, indifferent sort of way, but the black of his eyes had warmed some. Had gone bronze, flashing gold and green in the waning light from the cabin window. She felt her breath hitch behind her ribs, and her fingers twitch from where they were folded over her stomach. She wanted to brush the hair away from his forehead.
“Fine,” Azriel said finally. “I’ll tell you.”
She might not have known the full extent of his organization’s influence, not really, and he definitely hadn’t been forthcoming with any of the details about his identity, or his tailing her–but in his explanation of the plan they had for bringing down the Vanserra’s, Gwyn was able to glean little details about Azriel and his friends. That they headed a small, but powerful sect of organized crime in the city that apparently had their own moral code, one that directly opposed the morals lauded by the Vanserras. She learned that they had a seemingly bottomless pit of resources, connections, and money. And that they had connections within the Vanserra family. An older son, who appeared to align with their values, and would likely become the new head of the family, should Beron fall.
Azriel outlined the plan into the late hours, allowing for questions and suggestions made by Gwyn. Cassian didn’t come to interrupt them, and Azriel didn’t seem worried that they were still stuck at the cabin. He continued explaining that they had been planting evidence on the Vanserras for months, that everything would culminate into one final operation tomorrow, where Az, Cassian, and Rhys staged a messy crime scene that would place Beron Vanserra, beyond reasonable doubt, right at the center of it. He’d be taken down for the months of evidence, as well, shamed into earlier retirement, leaving the door open for his eldest son to take the reins. And if all else failed, they’d kill him. Would likely still kill him, even if everything went right.
The only thing that wasn’t part of this plan, apparently, was Gwyn. Rhysand had given Azriel explicit orders not to interfere when it came to her. She was a wildcard, apparently. A liability. She’d be fine without their direct intervention.
“Dramatic,” Gwyn said, summarizing Azriel’s entire speech with a yawn. “Don’t you guys ever have anything better to do than scheme and stalk random girls?”
Azriel smiled wryly. “Just go to bed. If you really want to come, you’ll have to be well rested when Cassian gets here.”
“You’ll really let me come?” Gwyn said, even as she pulled back the covers and settled her head against a pillow.
It wasn’t that late. In fact, the sun was still lingering along the edge of the horizon. But Gywn could hardly keep her eyes open, and her limbs felt so heavy she could barely lift them to pull the covers over her shoulders.
“If you sleep,” Azriel said, nodding. He slid into the bed beside her, and she felt his knee bump into hers as the mattress bounced. “I’ll even let you take the first shot.”
Gwyn closed her eyes, and listened to the sound of crickets outside.
“I don’t believe you,” she murmured. “Not for a second.”
Azriel chuckled, though she couldn’t tell what was so funny. “Why not?”
“Because nothing’s real,” Gwyn said immediately. She could feel her tongue moving sluggishly in her mouth. The adrenaline had completely left her body, leaving her drained, exhausted, and useless.
She felt Azriel’s hand cup the side of her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open to find that odd expression on his face again. The soft one, made of bronze and warmth deep in her abdomen. She swallowed, and tried to keep her eyes open as he traced a lofty arch over her cheekbone with his thumb.
“That’s not true,” he murmured, his head pitching forward until his forehead pressed against hers. “Some of the things were real. It wasn’t all an act.”
“Like what?” Gwyn challenged. “Because you already admitted you can’t do taxes.”
He smiled, a bit of his teeth showing, and Gwyn was struck with the inexplicable impulse to taste the edges of them with her tongue. Errant desires from before she had realized what she knew of him had all been a carefully crafted lie.
“This,” he said, allowing his hand to drift down from her face and to the place where her neck dropped in a curve down to her shoulder. The knuckles of two of his fingers swung back and forth. “This is real.”
“Did you really read the books I assigned?” Gwyn asked suddenly, eager to evaporate the tension. Somehow.
It didn’t work. Azriel whispered to her again, this time in such a low, rough tone that her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. She remembered sitting next to him on a couch in book club, the feeling of his thigh against hers, and his voice as he whispered a line from one of their books.
“I should have known,” he drawled, “that the books would be what mattered to you most. Yes, Gwyneth. I really read them.”
She nodded, as if she was satisfied with his answer, and then drew in a shaky breath.
“What else,” she huffed out, “was real?”
Azriel hummed thoughtfully. “I think I told you once I liked your eyes.”
“Yeah,” Gwyn said. His hand dropped from her shoulder, trailing down her arm until it fell to her waist. She felt his fingers, warm and gentle, right at the hem of her borrowed shirt, and arched towards him. Azriel smiled appreciatively.
“And your smile,” he said.
She licked her lips. “Okay.”
“Do you need more?” he asked, his fingers swinging back and forth across the hem of her pants.
More what?
“More what?” she asked.
His fingers stopped at the front of her pants, tugging lightly, and then she felt tension in the drawstrings at the front. Like he might untie them.
“More things that are real,” he said. “Of course.”
“Right,” she said. She swung her leg up over his waist, canting her hips towards his. “Of course.”
“Gwyneth,” he said. His nose brushed across hers, and his other hand came up in the space between them to slip between the side of her neck and the pillow. She could feel her pulse pressing against his palm, and tried not to feel embarrassed because of it. “Were you thinking of something else?”
“In your dreams,” she breathed, even as she began to roll her hips forward. His fingers pulled one of the drawstrings free from the tie, loosening it.
“Probably,” he admitted. “Tell me, do I appear in your dreams, too?”
He used to. Ever since the first day he’d shown up in the library, and every day since. Oh, Gwyn had dreamed about him. His fingers, his mouth. Sure, yeah, his cock. Those thoughts didn’t just go away because a man brandished a gun in your honor and saved you from the whims of an insane man. If anything, they simply burned brighter.
Fuck.
“No,” Gwyn said. “Maybe you should try.”
He laughed lightly, his fingers already slipping beneath the edge of her pants. She bit back a moan. He was barely even touching her, and she felt like a livewire.
“Try to do what, exactly?” he asked.
“Try to earn your place,” she gasped as his fingers brushed across her pussy over her panties. “In my dreams.”
I’m losing it, Gwyn decided, and Azriel rolled over her, shoving the blankets out of the way. He settled himself with his knees between her legs, and one hand braced on the pillow on either side of her head. I’m completely fucking losing it.
She felt his lips for the briefest of moments on the corner of her mouth, and then she felt his tongue flicking across her pulse, as if in affirmation that yes, he had felt it earlier. His hands left the mattress to brush up across her abdomen, dragging her shirt along with it, and when his fingertips met the bottoms of her breasts, his lips joined them. Kissing lightly across all ten points where his touch melted into her.
And then he pushed his hands forward, curving over her breasts, and cupping them so that he could close his mouth over a nipple, flicking it with his tongue.
“Azriel,” she sighed. Her fingers dug into the blankets beside her, so tightly that her fists shook. She pressed down with her heels on the bed, bringing her hips up to meet his, but he was too far away. Hovering, just out of reach. “Fuck, can you…”
She trailed off when his teeth scraped across her nipple. Just enough for the sharpness to register, before he brushed his thumb across the wetness, and turned his head to the side to lave at the other breast with his lips and his tongue. He waited until she was writhing beneath him before releasing her.
He rested his chin in the space between her breasts, looking up at her from beneath his lashes, and grinned. With the way the light slanted in through the windows, the angles of his face became softer. The color in his eyes brilliant.
“Tell me, Gwyn,” he lilted. “Are you dreaming of me yet?”
She shook her head, and placed both hands on his shoulders, pushing him down towards where heat was coiling tightly at her center.
“Not yet,” she said. “Keep trying, though.”
His tongue trailed all the way down her abdomen, until it met the edge of her pants, where Gwyn attempted to try to tear her clothes off. But his hands caught her wrists easily, and tucked them both beneath her back. As if that would stop her from shoving his face into her.
“Keep them there,” Azriel said, somehow reading her mind. “Unless you want me to stop.”
She groaned, her back arching so that her aching breasts were exposed to the cool draft of the cabin, causing her to shiver. She curled her fingers into fists beneath her back, and then nodded.
“Fine, yeah,” she said, though she had no intention of keeping her promise. “Just take them off.”
Azriel looked at her, smiling in amusement, which only solidified Gwyn’s plan to slip her hands back out as soon as he was too distracted to admonish her. But he only hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants, and began to slowly slip them down her legs. She helped to kick them off, and allowed him to prop her legs up so that they were bent at the knees.
He knelt down before her, his hands on the outside of her thighs to guide them down onto the bed, and dipped his head forward to scrape his teeth against the inside of her thigh. Gwyn huffed out a gasp, as her hips jolted forward unbidden.
“You forgot something,” Gwyn said. He let his hands drift around her thighs until he pressed them down into the mattress, spreading her before them. He shifted down on the bed, putting his face that much closer to where she could already feel herself aching for him, and then pressed a chaste kiss right to the edge of her panties.
“You mean these,” he said. “Right?”
“Yeah,” Gwyn panted. “Take them off.”
“I kind of like them,” Azriel said absently. His nose brushed across the inside of her thigh, and then his tongue. She groaned. “I think I’ll keep them.”
She would have argued, truly, but then his tongue fell from her thigh and onto her center, licking at her clit through her panties. She gasped into the air, dots of stars blurring her vision, and then hurried to catch her breath before he did it again. And again. He sucked at her clit through her panties, both hands pressed to keep her legs still on the mattress, creating divots in her skin where the shadows in the room gathered.
Azriel sighed into her, and then lifted one hand to tug the panties aside. His tongue felt flat against her, and she felt the moan rise up from deep in his throat and then fall against her. Gwyn’s legs shook, and one hand slipped out from behind her back to grab onto his hair, pulling his face tighter against her.
Azriel immediately stopped, drawing his head back.
“What did I say?” Azriel said. “Should we keep going?”
Gwyn nodded her head, though with how heavily she was breathing, she couldn’t fathom how she managed anything at all.
Gwyn let go of his hair, one finger at a time. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment, shaking, before one molten look from Azriel had her slipping it back beneath her.
“You’re a jerk,” she said.
“Among other things,” he said, clearly distracted as his gaze fell back onto her center.
He flicked his tongue across her clit, and before the moan had even left her mouth, his lips closed around it, sucking.
After that, Gwyn didn’t complain. She needed her hands behind her back to keep herself from scraping her nails across her skin, to keep from tearing at Azriel’s hair or at the sheets. Her entire body felt like it was shaking, like some celestial body had fractured away from the sky and pierced into her, and her bones were reverberating from the impact. She gasped up into the air, digging her heels into the mattress, and then into Azriel’s back as he let go of her thighs. He wrapped his arms around the backs of her legs instead, so that he could pull her forward and press her up against his face.
His tongue swirled around her clit, his lips dragging against her like some mimickry of a kiss. And then he let go of her with one hand, and brushed his fingers across her outer lip, and she had to bite on her cheek to hold back a scream.
“Oh my god, Azriel.”
He didn’t respond, except for a moan that seemed to rake up from his chest all the way to his throat. She lifted her head up from the pillow to watch him, to see how his hips ground into the mattress beneath him, and his fingers dug deep into the skin of her thigh.
His eyes met hers, flashing in the last of the setting sun, before he pressed his fingers inside of her.
Finally, Gwyn felt a bit of release from the pressure that had been building. Like a music box that had been wound all the way to its end, and had just reached the point where it could be spun no tighter. She sighed, allowing her head to drop back to the pillow, and simply let go.
Azriel’s fingers stroked inside of her as his tongue laved against her clit, his breaths seeming to rise and fall just as rapidly as hers. He curled his fingers, and then that coil inside of her broke, and all that was left was the melodic lullaby.
As she fell apart, she was distantly aware of Azriel’s hands on her wrists, pulling her hands out from where they had been pinned to allow them to comb through his hair, to caress his cheek and land across his back. She sighed, and might have said his name a thousand times before he finally crawled up over her.
Azriel pulled her up against his chest, and then rolled over so that she was tucked up beside him.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, before she felt his lips across hers. Lazy and indulgent.
Like a dream.
***
When Gwyn woke up, it was cold.
Her arm reached out, but she already knew before she felt the empty sheets beside her. He was gone.
Gwyn shot up in bed, throwing the blankets aside and glancing out the window to confirm that it was still early in the morning she could see some stars fading, blinking out. She grabbed the knife from where she had hidden it beneath the bed. Next to the door, she found a pair of boots obviously meant for her, and shoved them on.
When she opened the door, Cassian’s car was there, but Azriel’s car was missing.
Gwyn trudged up to the driver’s window and peered in, only to find the car empty. No people.
No keys.
Gwyn groaned, something raw and broken into the air, and then kicked the side of the tire before whipping around and storming back into the house. She went immediately to the bathroom, where she knelt down and yanked the toolbox out of the cabinet beneath the sink.
Fuckers, she thought. They left her here.
Gwyn stormed back outside, toolbox clanging against her hip.
But it wasn’t too difficult to hotwire a car, was it?
