Thank you so much to everyone who participated in Elucien Week 2026!
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Once again, thank you to everyone who participated. We had such a fabulous week, and we can’t wait to see you again next year from July 18 - 24, 2027!
Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to.
That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.
A Vanserra.
Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives
A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Heartbeat.
Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist
-
15 years earlier
The forest called to her again.
In her dreams, windows blew open in a gust of protest. Trees clawed at the glass, possessed with the intention of crawling inside to drag her from bed. Their murmurings pitched from a gentle whisper into a chant.
Elain. Come to us. Elain.
It usually wasn't this insistent.
She stirred from sleep, hair a tangled wreath upon her head as she peered into the dim room. From her bed, she could see a bright blob of moonlight waxing nearly to its peak. It passed behind a midnight cloud before blinking back into the sky, as though winking at her. By its silver light, she could see that the brass latch of her window was still firmly secured.
Wind howled on the other side of the glass, but the room was otherwise undisturbed.
Her heart, however, was not.
In her chest, there was the usual steady rhythm. One she didn't take much notice of on a regular day. But on that early morning, under the light of the knowing moon, it was joined by a restless pounding. The hail of a war drum. She pressed a hand to her chest, marveling at the peculiar sensation, the way it pulsed through every vein, hooking them as if to manipulate her body by its strings, to draw her from the bed.
Elain obeyed. She always did, when the forest called.
No one would be walking the halls of the temple at this hour, but Elain crept silently out her window even so. She enjoyed the thrill of jumping from the ledge to the wide tree branch, feeling the swoop in her stomach as it swayed beneath her weight. She knew she wouldn't fall. The same way she knew that if she angled her head to the right, she would catch the silhouette of a grey owl with its wings spread across the swelling moon. Its cry pierced the air, masking the sound of the leaves crunching under her feet as she dropped from the tree.
The forest told her these things. It had since the moment she was young enough to understand them. Before then, too.
Her tutors still spoke with a shudder at her habit of crawling towards the forest edge the second their backs were turned. They feared they would lose her to the mist, that she would disappear into the hazy underbrush and never return. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened.
Those woods are cursed, she'd been explained when she was older. Too curious for her own good, they said. The trees disorient wanderers to feed on their souls.
At present, Elain tipped her head back to inhale a deep breath of the damp, loamy air. It felt clean in her lungs. Fuller than the breaths she could take in the temple. Her mind felt cleaner, too, all the details of the world so much richer. The chirping insects, the writhing soil, the dancing wind, all of it pulsing, bursting with life.
How could anyone get lost here? She often wondered, following the signposts the forest left for her. A stack of rocks, a croaking frog, a pointing branch. All of it as clear as if she were guiding her fingers across an atlas in Nesta's personal library. Turn right. Go straight. Turn left.
Then, the signposts became unusual. A set of footprints in the soil.
Elain paused at these.
As far as she knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person that frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before, not ones this recent. Not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
At the bottom of a mossy knoll, slipping past a trickling creek, Elain saw what the forest was leading her towards.
A boy.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.
A Vanserra.
There was no one in the temple with hair that color. It was braided in a loose tail down his back, though pieces of it escaped haphazardly, sticking to his clammy skin. He didn't stick out in the forest like she thought another person might. With his fox-like hair and his guarded posture, he looked like any cornered animal she might have found crouched in the sea of bluebells.
"Hello?" She called, keeping her volume hushed. The nesting birds didn't like when she raised her voice, and it was still too early for them to wake.
He lifted his head, and she saw that his russet eyes were red-rimmed, shining with tears. Snot ran down his nose, but he quickly wiped it away on his arm. His tears kept flowing, despite his efforts to mask them behind a glower.
"Who are you?" He bit out.
Thorns were never efficient deterrents to Elain. She didn't mind occasionally pricking her finger to admire a flower in bloom. Enduring the bite of stone on her skin if it meant feeling the earth beneath her feet. Tensions often ran high among the priestesses, and she'd developed a habit of meeting sharp teeth with an open palm.
It's why she didn't falter in her approach, even as the boy drew back his lips. The scent of copper stung her nostrils as she grew closer.
Elain stiffened. "You're hurt?"
"Go away," the boy sniffled, dropping his head into the knees he held bunched to his chest.
She waited, but the boy seemed intent on ignoring her. Elain recognized her youngest sister, Feyre, in the proud set of his jaw. She was too stubborn to admit when she was hurt, too.
"I'll go get help," she suggested, taking a step back towards the temple.
His head snapped up. "No!"
"No?" Elain tilted her head. "Why not?"
"They won't help me. Not my people, or yours."
She needed a moment to digest this answer, thinking through what she knew of the Vanserra family. They did not get along well with the temple. The High Priestess made no secret of her dislike, and Elain tried to recall the reasons why. How they were cruel. Scum of the earth. That they should rot at the bottom of the Mother's Cauldron. Though she had never been told why those things were said about the Vanserras, she thought the boy might be right. The High Priestess would insist on sending him back to his home on the other side of the dense forest that separated the seat of Autumn from its sovereign temple.
If they weren't willing to help, then Elain would just need to do it herself.
Check his back, the wind whispered, affirming her decision.
Elain crept along the dense carpet to find that his tunic was ripped, stripped away to reveal raw, angry flesh that had been torn into criss-crossing ribbons. Her breath hitched.
"Who did this to you?"
The boy didn't answer, his stare a sullen anchor in the undergrowth.
"What's your name?" She tried asking instead.
He glared at her. "Why should I answer? You never told me yours."
"Elain," she said, pulling a practiced smile across her lips. The scholars at the temple said pretty smiles helped alleviate tense conversations, and she would ascribe this one as such. "My name is Elain Archeron."
"Archeron," he repeated, practically spitting the word. "Go back to your temple, Elain."
"But you're hurt. Why would I leave you here?"
The boy looked at her as if the answer should be obvious. "Because I'm a Vanserra."
"Okay," she said, not letting her smile fall. "Which Vanserra?"
Not that it made any difference to her. She didn't know one Vanserra from the other, and regardless she would help him. She just thought it would be nice to know his name. He maintained his tense silence for a heartbeat. Then another. And then, Elain sensed a change, like a breeze rattling the leaves. Like a cracking branch.
The boy's expression faltered.
"Lucien," he said, voice dropping into a whisper. Like this was a secret he intended to keep from the forest itself.
"Lucien," Elain repeated, testing the new word with the same eagerness she approached most novel things. "I like that name. It sounds like…" She thought for a moment, replaying the sound in her head. "Rushing water. Or a crashing wave. Don't you think?"
Lucien looked bewildered. "What?" He dismissed the question with a shake of his head, replacing that momentary curiosity with yet another dark cloud. "Do the priestesses even know you're here, Elain?"
She had dealt with her sisters' sour moods frequently enough to recognize when someone was being intentionally difficult. It was a good thing she'd become accustomed to it.
"No," she said, coming closer to inspect his wounds. "But I gather your father doesn't know you're here, either."
"No, but I'm doing what he asked."
"And what is that?"
"Getting out of his sight," Lucien grumbled, ducking his head. "These woods seemed like the safest place to be."
Given what was said about the woods, and how gravely adults heeded those warnings, Elain took that to mean Lucien's other options of places to be must have been abysmal indeed. It had to be, if his wounds were inflicted on him there.
"I don't know much about healing yet," Elain admitted. "But I can run back to the temple and take supplies from the infirmary."
"Why?"
Elain was confused again. "Because you're hurt?"
"You don't know me," Lucien said, and he sounded a bit distressed. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know your name is Lucien. Like the sea."
His lips flattened. She didn't think he liked being compared to the sea. And she could understand why it could be an odd comparison. With his red hair and firey demeanor, water should be his opposite. But when she held her breath and listened, she knew that second beating in her chest was the sound of the waves crashing to shore. A proud, unstoppable force.
A lighthouse, guiding her here, to this moment.
She smiled at him, trying to shine that brightness back. "And I think that we owe each other kindness."
Lucien only huffed, bowed over his knees once again. Resigned to Elain's plan, or just whatever fate the forest had in store. Usually those things were one and the same.
"Wait here, Lucien. I'll be back soon."
"No one ever makes it out of these woods alive!" He called back to her.
Elain only laughed. She would prove him wrong soon enough.
-
"You came back?"
Elain beamed, which only seemed to sharpen Lucien's frown. "I told you I would."
He eyed the basket swinging from her elbow, russet eyes narrowing. In the time it took her to sneak into the palace and gather her supplies, a flush had swept across his cheekbones, gleaming under the soft moonlight.
"I'll have to be quick," she said. "You're starting to become feverish."
Lucien scoffed. "How do you know the first thing about treating wounds?"
"I don't." But the forest does.
Stalks of bluebell tickled her exposed knees as she knelt beside him. Nesta would scold her for wearing a nightgown in the unattended company of a boy, but Nesta wasn't there and Lucien was hardly paying attention. He looked like he was barely keeping himself upright.
"Drink this," Elain said, offering him a leather flask.
His fingers were shaking, but he had enough strength to snatch the flask from her hands and give it a distrustful sniff. "How do I know it isn't poisoned?"
"Because it would have been easier to leave you in the woods."
Lucien's nose wrinkled as he took another whiff. "What is it?"
"Willow bark tea."
She leaned closer to him, expecting he would retreat. His eyes only flicked to hers over the flask, monitoring each motion, each breath. The forest used to watch her like this too, when she first entered its mist as a curious intruder. Now she knew to keep her eyes on his, letting him read her intention as she slid her fingers into his hair.
Soft, she thought, absently spreading her touch to admire the thick tangle of silk. Like dipping her fingers into sun-warmed water.
"Drink." She tapped her other hand to his wrist, helping to guide the flask to his bloodied lips. "This will ease the pain of what comes next."
They held each other's gaze. Red and brown. Colors of the earth, clashing to determine whether it was easier to be soft or rigid. To fight the pain or yield. She understood why he resisted as staunchly as he did, because the moment he stopped, she watched the fear set in.
"It will be okay," she soothed, watching his throat bob around each determined swallow.
Lucien blinked at her in the aftermath. His scarlet brows drew a crease in the middle. "What… else was in the tea?"
"Shh." Elain hummed as she took the flask from him, setting it aside. She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat that she could hear in the back of her mind. It was slowing now. "All will be well, Lucien."
The look he cast her was stark with betrayal. His weight was beginning to slump against her.
"What did… you give me?"
"Sleep drought," she said, hushed. Like the voice her mother once used for singing lullabies. She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Just enough to knock you out, I promise."
His hand covered hers. She was sure the grip would have been crushing, if he had the strength for it. But all he could manage was a squeeze, a soft raking of his nails that was overall pleasant. She'd never minded thorns.
"I won't forget this," he swore.
"That's right." Elain began rocking him, imagining they were a ship lost in a sea of bluebells. "You will live to remember this, Lucien. And perhaps one day, you will thank me."
Elain waited until his body went limp and his heart became a slow timekeeper in her chest. Then she laid him down on his stomach, opened her basket of supplies, and began tending to his wounds under the instruction of the wind.
-
When Lucien finally woke, the afternoon sun was at its peak. Its dappling light filtered through the trees, shining over his body in warm clusters. Elain watched him stir from her hiding place in the trees.
He groaned as pushed himself up, and she winced to imagine how doing so would pull on those terrible lacerations at his back. She'd spent the early hours of the morning cleaning and packing his wounds, and though they were now dressed, they would still be tender.
Half of her was tempted to drop down from her hiding place and insist he put aside his pride so she could continue treating him. The other half knew that he would never agree after she had tricked him into drinking a sedative.
Surely, someone from his home would help him? If he could make it home, that was.
Elain held her breath as Lucien craned his neck to assess her work. He sent a searching hand over his shoulder, feeling at the bandages and the sticky poultice just underneath. A disgusted sound rose in the back of his throat, and he withdrew his hand to sniff at his fingers.
Would he smell the honey and yarrow? She wondered.
With a grimace, Lucien wiped the residue on his sleeve. She ducked behind the tree when his gaze pivoted, searching the clearing for any sign of his fraud healer. Only once she heard him shuffling through the remains of the basket did she allow herself to peek again.
Lucien quickly discovered the food and water she had left for him, but—as she suspected—his trust had vanished. With a huff, he cast her offerings aside.
"You want to help me, priestess?" He sneered. "Show me a way out of this Cauldron-forsaken forest."
I already have, she thought, removing the primrose tucked behind her ear. With an open palm held to her lips, she blew a gentle breath and watched it float into the air. Her timing was precise; it took only seconds before the flower was swept into the wind, coasting back-and-forth before it landed atop his crown.
Lucien immediately grabbed at the foreign object, crushing it in his first before he saw that it was not a bug. His tension relaxed, but rather than dismiss the crumpled flower, he continued to study it. Did he see that it was unlike any flower in the woods—all except the one Elain had tucked in the hollow of a nearby tree?
He tipped his eyes up, trying to track the flower's origin, as if it may have fallen from the trees overhead.
Keep looking, she urged him. Keep hold of that curiosity; it will be your salvation.
At last, he saw it.
Another primrose, its bright petals catching light from the dark cavity that had become its pedestal. Lucien went to it, plucking it from its intentional hiding spot with a scrutiny that she could tell was just bordering on a revelation.
With a frown, Lucien returned to the basket. He flipped it open, discovering the handful of other flowers just like it.
Well done, she wanted to say. You've discovered the source. But do you understand what I'm telling you?
Lucien's eyes were narrowed on the basket, then on the flower in his hand. He grumbled something under his breath, too low for even her sharp hearing to decipher. The forest must have heard, but it did not see fit to carry his words to her.
She almost laughed. Curse me all you want. I am the reason you will walk out of these woods.
His sharp eyes swiveled to her, and Elain quickly ducked out of sight.
"I'm choosing to trust you, Elain Archeron," Lucien announced. She bit her lip and gathered the courage to sneak another glance.
A smile was creeping at the corner of his lips. He was looking directly at her, and though she knew she was caught, he did not demand she come out of hiding.
He raised the primrose between two fingers, pointing it at the next flower she had laid for him. Just three trees away from the last one he had found, balanced on a branch. Then another, tucked under a rock. And another, all leading east.
A path of primrose, laid to guide him home.
"I won't appreciate being made twice a fool," he warned.
"Refusing my help will make you one," Elain called back. "If you're twice a fool, then that's twice I'll have had no hand in it."
She was surprised to find this made him laugh. Doubly so, when he finished chuckling to himself and smiled at her. A full, genuine smile that was so unlike the ornery glares she'd come to expect from him that it stunned her to silence.
"I hope we meet again, Elain."
Lucien turned, his gait stiff with pain as he followed her path from one primrose to the next. He didn't glance back at her, despite the uproar of birdsong and the chattering leaves. The sounds had no meaning to someone like him, but to Elain, they were an echo of the promise she could already feel pounding in her chest.
We will.
We will.
We will.
Present Day
Elain swallowed down the cold night air, raw against her throat as her lungs struggled to take in more, to expel it faster as she pumped her arms in tandem. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes for racing down a cobblestone alleyway—her ankles threatened to twist as she took a turn too sharply. She couldn’t afford to stumble now. She had to escape, had to—
“Clare?”
Elain whipped her head in the direction of the washroom door. A barmaid stood in the frame, one hand braced on the handle while the sound of music and raucous laughter flooded behind her.
Water dripped from Elain’s face. An odd sight, she was certain. She released the pooled liquid still cupped in her hands, listening to the water splash against the porcelain. It was how she grounded herself back in the moment. The caress of air against her wet face, the cool porcelain against her fingers.
Real. This was real. The alleyway, the chasing, the sore throat… she placed a wet hand against her neck, swallowing to ensure there was no pain.
All she could feel was her hammering pulse.
And the second, steadier heartbeat echoing underneath.
"I thought I saw you run in here." The barmaid clicked her tongue in a sound of pity, tossing a washrag over her shoulder as she rushed to Elain's side. "Did one of those drunken swines say something to you?"
As Elain began to shake her head, the barmaid caught her face between both sets of plump hands. She cooed and tutted under her breath, squishing Elain's cheeks together while she conducted her inspection.
"You're too pretty for a place like this," she said on a sigh. "It was bound to bring trouble eventually."
Elain maneuvered out of the barmaid's grip as gently as she could. "There's no trouble to be had. I was just taking a moment of respite."
There was something about a lie that could never sit comfortably on her tongue. They were like flightless birds stumbling from her lips, always a graceless plummet that drew everyone's attention.
"Mhm." The barmaid's eyes narrowed. She took a step back to re-examine Elain, paying close attention to her flushed cheeks. The damp around her face. She pursed her lips. "You're not pregnant, are ye? If you are, I can help."
"No." Elain waved away the suggestion with perhaps too much conviction. "Absolutely not. I've not—I'm not… There is no person like that in my life."
The barmaid snickered. "Well don't go around sharing that, duck. What good is a matchmaker who can't find herself a match? I'd tell people my husband died at sea." She grabbed the washrag off her shoulder and tossed it to Elain. "Now, clean yourself up. Innkeeper was asking for ye. Something about unpaid coin."
-
It was a busy night at the tavern. A group of traveling minstrels had just docked at the large port town, and that always drew crowds to the local drinking holes. Elain had been drawn, too, unable to resist her curiosity when she'd seen the fliers.
The Primrose Players were on stage, enrapturing the crowd with their story told through ballads, lutes, and fiddles. They were detailing a prince's journey across a treacherous sea, but she'd stopped listening when she felt that unmistakable sensation in her chest.
A second heartbeat. A battle drum.
A warning.
I'm coming for you.
It wasn't the first time she'd felt that pull over the years, but it was the first time it had been strong enough to send alarm bells peeling through her skull. She'd rushed to the bathroom when she'd felt the vision encroaching, and now she didn't know what to do with herself.
She'd been running in the vision, and she knew exactly who she was running from. But if she ran now, would she be careening herself straight into that destiny, or avoiding it?
"Clare!"
Elain turned to see the Innkeeper waving her down from behind the bar. With a sigh, Elain wedged her way through the crowd of people until she stood at the other side of the bar. Before the Innkeeper could open his mouth, she placed a stack of coins on the counter.
"Payment for yesterday, today, and tomorrow."
The Innkeeper fanned out the coins on the bar, counted the total in his head, then grunted his acceptance.
"I should be charging more, ye know." The coins scraped the wooden counter as he swept them into his apron pocket. "Do ye see how busy it is?"
"And how many are paying you in advance?"
His silence was the closest to agreement she would get. But seeing as how she'd be staying at his inn for another two nights, she decided to sweeten the deal by offering, "How about I add a free fortune telling?"
There was a staggering slap as the Innkeeper dropped his wet washrag on the counter. "I don't need yer quack fortunes," he said through a snort, focused on his task of rubbing the rag in wide circles. She wondered if he wasn't cleaning so much as dispersing the sticky residue across a wider area. "Just don't go scaring off my customers with bad news, witch."
Because Elain believed in the importance of regulating one's temper, she managed to excuse herself from the conversation with a deep breath and a tight smile. It also helped to imagine taking one of those tankers of watered-down ale and dumping it on his head.
Patience, she reminded herself. Causing a scene over a petty remark was not in her best interest.
On the other side of the tavern, The Primrose Players continued their story of the exiled prince, traveling the world in search of a way to reinstate his place by his father’s side. His ship finally made port, and it was there he would encounter the object of his desires. A quick glance around the crowd showed the most tavern-goers were transfixed in the story.
Having no interest in competing with the players for coin, Elain settled herself in a quiet corner and signaled at the barmaid to bring her the meal included with her stay. After dinner last night, she knew the Inn's stew was as cheap and watered down as the ale, but it was food.
She was halfway through her meal when a woman approached, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"You're the matchmaker?"
Elain forced herself to swallow the tough cut of meat she'd been grinding between her teeth.
"Yes," she said, wishing she had a napkin to wipe off the grease on her hands. "That's me."
"Please, will you tell me if I'll find a husband?"
The woman thrust her hand forward, not the least bit bothered by the mess. Elain still took the time to wipe her fingers off on her dress before she took the woman's hand.
Doing this always reminded Elain of the forest she'd walked through so long ago, as if by touching the woman's hand, she was transported through its mist. At once, the tavern faded. The music of The Primrose Players reduced into a distant hum. There was nothing here but the raw presence of nature.
Elain shut her eyes, listening as birds flitted overhead, darting from tree to tree. They sang to her as they passed, telling of the present, the future, the past. The wind swept her forward, taking her by the hand.
What do you want to know?
…Does this woman find a husband?
The birdsong tapered. Elain opened her eyes and saw a magpie perched before her, its head tilted to the side as it watched. She took a cautious step forward. The magpie shot into the air, letting out a call that was answered by another, further down the path. Elain followed as it darted through the trees, returning to the large nest where its mate waited.
The flight was short. This would be coming to pass in the near future.
"You will," Elain said, though her voice sounded so very far away. "Keep your heart open, and you will find him soon."
The woman dropped her hand, but not before Elain saw a primrose sitting in the hollow of the tree where the magpies nested. When her eyes rested on it, she heard a voice, bubbling up from a distant, forgotten memory.
I hope we meet again, Elain.
Her breath caught.
"What is it?" The woman asked, sounding stricken. "Did you see something bad?"
Elain was still staring vacantly at the spot the primrose had been, though the forest had vanished. There was only the crowded tavern and the minstrels still telling their story on stage. Her gaze had fixed on one of them, a player in a bronze mask whose only job seemed to be clapping and dancing along to the others.
"Not at all," Elain said, still waiting for the mist to clear from her vision. "I saw a future of mirth."
The woman followed Elain's gaze and made a knowing sound in her throat. "I see now. You're caught up in matchmaking of your own."
"Huh?" Elain frowned. "What do you mean?"
"That charmer in the fox mask." The woman shot her a conspirational grin. "Have you two been eyeing each other all night? Explains why he asked me to give this to you."
A primrose, as bright and delicate as she'd always known them to be, was cupped in the woman's palm. She extended it to Elain with a smile, and Elain shrank back as if she'd been met with a pointed blade.
The women's smile fell, but Elain no longer cared for keeping a pleasant image. There was no time for an explanation, let alone a goodbye. Her chair made a horrible screech as she scrambled to her feet, and she knew she was turning heads as she raced for the door, but it was already too late.
He would follow.
No matter where she went, he would follow.
Her only hope was getting a head start. With two heartbeats racing in her chest, Elain raced down the cobblestone streets of the small town, listening to her ill-suited shoes slap on the stone as she searched somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. Night had fallen, and most shops had already closed their doors, but there had to be somewhere to go. A horse, a ship, an unlocked cellar?
Elain turned down a dimly lit alley, feeling each of her great, gasping breaths saw down her throat. She wasn't used to running. It had been years since she last needed to.
Another break-neck turn at the end of the alley brought her to a dead-end. Elain swore under her breath. She'd go the other way, then. Whipping around the corner without looking, she crashed—hard—into the warm, tall body of the fox-masked player.
His arms stretched out to catch her from stumbling. The fox-mask was gone, leaving nothing to hide the smile already stretching his full lips. His scarlet hair was braided back from his face, the same way he'd worn it the last time she'd seen him.
In many ways, he was the same. Only older. Sharper. Wiser.
The scar across the left side of his face was new—new to her, at least. As if an animal had clawed his skin from brow to jaw. The russet eye she knew from memory had been replaced with a mechanical one that clicked and whirred as it focused on her.
She wanted to touch it. She wanted to scream at him. To weep in pity, to claw a matching scar on the other side of his face.
But most of all. Most of all. She wanted to pull this second heart out of her chest and give it back to him. It was too much of a burden to bear them both.
"People at the tavern tell me you're a fortune-teller." He smirked. "I've been looking for someone who fits that description."
Elain tried to shake away his touch, but his grip was iron-clad. "You shouldn't look for people who don't want to be found."
"But how can a fortune-teller be caught if she doesn't want to be?" Lucien leaned forward, exactly as warm and imposing as she remembered. His voice was a caress on her neck as he whispered, "Does that mean you missed me too, wife?"
A little snippet of what I’m working on for SJM Romance Week! I’m so excited!
Elain leaned closer, the firelight gilding her mouth as her voice dropped into something low and velvet soft. A purr, really, flirtier, sexier than anything he’d ever dared imagine from her.
“I’ve heard a rumor about Autumn Court males,” she murmured near his ear. “Is it true?”
Every muscle in his body locked. The world tilted, spun, fire, smoke, her. Gods. He tried to think, to remember how words worked, but she was already pressed against him, warm and pliant, shifting in his lap as the mirthroot sang through her blood. He curled his hands around her waist only to steady her, only that, because if he did more, if he let himself…
Focus.
“What rumor is that?” he managed, breath rough, voice barely his own.
She suddenly sat up, a wicked little smile tugging at her mouth.
“There’s more than one?” Her voice was loud and high pitched. She laughed, actually laughed, bright and delighted.
The sound hit him harder than the question. Lucien was certain, then and there, that it might be the thing that finally did him in.
Summary: When their cross-continent courtier mission has them seeking shelter under different aliases in Rask, Elain and Lucien stumble upon a pleasure hall glamoured as a travellers inn. When some poorly masked mate instincts arise, they are forced to confront everything they’ve spent years carefully avoiding.
And wasn’t that the most painful thing of all.
For Elucien Week 2026 Day Two - Feral
For @elucienweekofficial
READ ON AO3
Lucien was seasoned to pain.
Pathetic as it was, the sharpness was an old friend, serving as a reminder during his entire existence to keep one foot in front of the other. Never stop, never slow, keep alert always. He had grown quite accustomed to the numbness that followed, the severing of nerves and the phantom ache he would feel long after his magic had healed the wound. Pain was grounding. It was real. It was proof he was alive.
This was a different kind of pain entirely.
At the thought alone, his arm twitched. The arm currently banded around the female he was bonded to for life. The female who was currently sitting between his legs astride a horse in the middle of nowhere between Scythia and Rask. The female who inhaled a sharp breath at his traitorous arm.
Wind blew around them, colder than ice. Sleet and snow covered the forest floor, their cloaks and their mare. And while the snow had stopped for a short reprieve, the air still stung with an icy chill. A blizzard incoming, probably. Exactly what they needed.
Elain shivered involuntarily, not nearly warm enough in her travelling clothes. She had a long woollen dress on, thick tights and a thicker cloak still, but it wasn’t enough for these conditions. He could see the tip of her nose, bright pink in the cold, snow still sprinkled through her long hair.
She was still the most beautiful female he had ever seen in his life. Even more so now that he actually knew her. Was his friend.
And wasn’t that the most painful thing of all. Because he loved her now. And she trusted him not to completely fall to his knees and fuck the whole thing up.
Elain shifted in his arms slightly and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to not push back into her, pull her closer still, tell her he loved her and would do anything for her. So he willed hundreds of years of restraint into his nervous system and blew out a breath instead.
"How much longer do you think?” Elain asked softly, her teeth chattering against the howling wind.
Lucien didn’t know. He thought they would have reached the outskirts of the continent's innermost city by now, but his memory was a haze. The last time he had travelled here it was in search of Vassa. He’d found her father instead in these woods.
A lifetime ago, really. It certainly felt like it right now, with her pressed against his chest willingly, relaxed against him. How this reality had seemed impossible mere months ago.
When Feyre and Rhys had suggested this cross-continent courtier trip, Lucien had thought them absolutely mad. Elain had seemed content to ignore him for the rest of their long lives, and had shown no inclination that she had wished to travel. But he had known so little then. He hadn’t known that she was withering away in the Night Court, caught in an endless cycle of appeasing her sisters and pushing her own needs away. He hadn’t known that she had longed to travel to the continent, had hosted balls when they were human and could literally charm any person she batted her eyelids at. He hadn’t known the depth of her trauma, their combined fear of loss a common ground for them both.
Little by little they broke down each other's walls on this journey until what remained was a friendship deeply rooted in trust and commonality.
Lucien also fell in love with her a little bit more every day, but he kept that fact buried deeper than the bond that hummed in his chest.
“Maybe a few more hours to the outskirts of Rask, if we are lucky,” he finally replied, his throat dry and his voice husky from disuse. He had to speak close to her ear for her to be able to hear him over the wind, his breath hot against her cold skin. She shivered again, nodding.
She instinctively pressed back into him again and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath.
Elain noticed him tense and stilled. Pink flushed across her cheeks as she turned her head slightly to look back at him. “I’m sorry, I keep shivering.”
She didn’t look away. His fingers loosened on the reins, coming to rest against her stomach. A small flare of his magic had his hands heating up against her cold clothes, sending warmth through to her skin. She gasped, looking down and putting her hands over his. He gripped her tighter still.
“Are you telling me, you have been able to do that this whole time?!” She whispered incredulously and he couldn’t help the quirk of his lips.
Her face snapped up as she glared at him, her brows pinched together. His smile grew wider. Who knew that the little bursts of her well-hidden temper would practically send him panting, no better than a dog chasing a bone.
It was a favourite pastime now, to see what would set her off. She was his equal in every way, including her absolutely lethal tongue when she wanted to use it.
Oh how he wished she’d use it more often.
Elain huffed out a breath as she turned to face the snow fallen path ahead, knocking him out of his thoughts. It was for the best, given their current situation. Their closeness.
She didn’t let go of his hand though, only pressed it deeper into her stomach.
Lucien sent a prayer to the Mother and rode on.
-
Snow had begun to fall in earnest not two hours later.
Elain tried to quell the panic that had begun to rise in her chest at the thought of being stranded out here in the cold. Well, not entirely cold, if Lucien’s hands were to be considered. She couldn’t believe he had withheld that information from her, couldn’t believe that after months on the road together she hadn’t known that his fire magic seeped warmth into anything he touched.
Granted, she tried to keep their touching to a minimum as much as possible, before she completely lost her mind and threw herself at him.
It was getting harder and harder to push down that urge, that rising need that coursed through her at his nearness. It made her skin tight, electric, his scent and his mere being a veritable sensory overload. Because it wasn’t just the bond riding her. They’d long passed that. She was desperately in love with the male currently holding her against his chest like something precious.
Elain had never wanted anything more in her life, didn’t know what to do with these feelings bubbling up inside her. So she did what she did best.
She shoved them down, down, down.
There was a part of her that wondered if he even still wanted her, or wanted to pursue this bond between them. The thought followed her everywhere, the old hurt bleeding like a re-opened wound. She pushed him away for so long, barely acknowledged him for years. Maybe this was her penance for being such a wretch.
Because she wanted him. All of him. Especially his hand which was currently pressed against her stomach, warming her. In this position atop the horse, she could feel every hard line of his body through their thick clothing, had to stop herself from involuntarily moving against the hardness she felt between his legs. Particularly difficult, when every hard stride of the horse jostled them against each other. Again. Again. Despite the cold, her insides felt on fire.
Yes, she thought, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. This is my punishment.
Her body betrayed her, shivering violently against him. She felt his whole body move against her own with the movement, his fingers twitching. The snow seemed to fall harder and Elain closed her eyes, wishing for the entire world to swallow her up.
His lips were a gentle caress against her ear. “We need to find shelter. If we don’t find a village soon, we’ll have to find something else. A cave will do.”
It would not do. Elain’s sharp intake of breath told him as much and she tried not to be affected by the rumble of a chuckle she felt at her back.
It was by the grace of everything she had ever prayed to in her twenty six years that when they crested the next hill, they saw an inn. She felt her body sag in his arms in relief at the sight of the lone building, nestled in a clearing. There was barely a road to it, surrounded by trees as it was. A travellers inn then. But it was standing, and emitting a golden glow as faelights gleamed through the frosted windows, smoke puffing from the chimney in the roof. It was three stories, quite large by an inn’s standard.
“Do you remember your cover story?” Lucien asked finally as they began trotting down towards the inn.
Elain rolled her eyes. “Yes, husband.”
She looked down at the golden ring on her left hand, permanently there since they arrived on the continent. The fae here were different, she was told. Territorial. Especially to an unwed female who reeked of an unaccepted mating bond. The risk was too high.
Lucien wore an identical one on his hand. She tried not to look at it too much. Tried not to dwell on how much she liked the look of it there.
Gods, she was ridiculous.
He huffed out a laugh against her neck and she shifted in his arms on purpose. His arm tightened around her waist as they neared the inn and Elain swallowed thickly, heat coiling low in her belly.
The sooner they got off this horse the better, lest they practically climb each other.
Lucien guided them to the stables with a gentle ease she had come to expect from him. He slid off the horse first, his hand grazing her leg as he held firm to the reins and began tying up the mare undercover. She couldn’t help but watch his nimble fingers work, running her hand over her leg where his fingers had grazed. Only when he appeared in front of her again was she knocked out of her endless visions of him and those hands.
“Can I?” He offered, raising his eyebrow as she broke out in a flush at being caught out. She felt his amusement down the bond and she wanted to roll her eyes, push him away, climb down this bloody horse herself.
She didn’t do that though.
Slowly, Elain moved her leg over the horse, her fingers finding purchase on Lucien’s shoulders. Without hesitation, his hands found their way to her waist, hoisting her gracefully off the horse and sliding her down his body til her boots crunched on the ground below them.
He didn’t let go immediately, his thumb rubbing against the crease in her waist through her dress and even though there were layers between them, it ignited as though it was against her bare skin. Oh, how she wished it was.
“Stay close,” he murmured as he finally let go, taking a small step back to righten himself and grab the bags off the ground.
Elain nodded, folding her arms across her chest as a particularly forceful gust of wind blew a new wave of snow across their path to the inn.
Lucien held out his hand and Elain took it, smiling softly as she felt the flare of warmth exude from his palm.
He guided her down the path to the inn before them.
-
There were many times in his life when Lucien had relied on his keen sense of smell. Though typically a fae trait, he could scent things others couldn’t, had used this skill in many a pickle, dissecting through vast scents to see situations that required a different … path. He prided himself on this. He would protect the female at his side with his life, and yet…
As soon as they entered the building, Lucien stilled. The door nicked shut softly behind him, Elain’s hand still firmly clasped in his. She released a full body shudder as the warm air engulfed them, a heavenly feeling after being in a snow storm for hours on end. But beyond that warmth…
There was something else. A scent he couldn’t quite place. Warded, or glamoured, but different. It set him on edge far quicker than he let on to his travelling companion, who came up beside him with pink cheeks and a pink nose, looking relieved to be out of the unforgiving frost. He squeezed her hand on instinct, a steadying anchor.
The small entryway housed a large front desk that led the way down a fire-lit corridor to a wooden door at the end. Shut. Quiet.
Too quiet. Nothing lined the walls, barren and bare. Darkness loomed in every corner, fire-light licking the shadows.
Before Lucien could second guess their accommodation, a female appeared out of the curtains behind the desk. She smiled, a twinkle in her eye Lucien couldn’t quite decipher. But he steeled his apprehension and took a step toward her, leaning his elbow against the counter. Ever the courtier. Especially now. Have them think he was a defenceless lost traveller seeking shelter.
“Hello, my wife and I are after a room,” he said simply, refusing to meet Elain’s eyes while the word wife left his lips. Her hand twitched in his and he felt a surge of emotion he didn’t want to name. Couldn’t. He wasn’t going down that rabbit hole right now, trapped in a foreign realm.
The fae female smiled again at them both, bending against the counter as she looked down at her records. She wore a corseted dress that certainly didn’t match the wild weather past the front doors. Purple crushed velvet lined with black lace, an outfit completely out of sorts. Far too dressed up for a tavern worker, her breasts practically falling out of the top as it bunched tightly over her chest. She wasn’t the least bit concerned about it.
Lucien’s hand twitched, apprehension now rising at a rapid pace. Something felt wrong. He’d frequented many taverns in his centuries, all over Prythian and the continent. Not one of them triggered this feeling … this scent. The fact he couldn’t quite put a name to it made him even more on edge.
“We have one room left in one of the suites, but it won’t be available for a few hours. You can head on into the main room however and wait,” she spoke in a smooth, confident, lithe voice that raised his hackles once more. A few hours…
“We’ll take it.” Elain answered the female happily, smiling at her as she stepped closer to Lucien. She pulled off her large travelling cloak, revealing her corseted dress underneath, low neckline, long sleeves. His body sang at her mere presence and he fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder and escape out the door lest they fall in a trap. An overreaction, surely.
The beautiful fae woman offered Elain a slight smile, gaze flickering to Lucien. She held his stare, her eyes darkening before she looked back down at her books. She leant to jot something down, exposing the bare skin of her chest bursting from the velvet corset and Lucien’s eyes flicked to his mate next to him.
He watched Elain’s smile slip, her body bristling as her gaze didn’t leave the female bent over and exposing herself. He had to swallow his satisfaction at her reaction, reign in the smirk that threatened to grace his lips. Instead, Lucien squeezed her hand, jolting her out of her mind and back to him.
She looked startled for a moment. Like she couldn’t understand what had come over her. An involuntary reaction, but one Lucien understood far too well. Had spent the past few years mastering to perfection.
And although he wanted nothing more than to drag her against his chest and linger on the fact that she wasn’t too pleased this woman looked at him, they had far more pressing issues at the moment.
Because the female had finally moved around the desk and gestured with her head for them to follow her down the corridor and after 10 minutes of uncertainty, something clicked within him. He breathed deeply, letting the affirming scent wash over him as his entire body went cold at the realisation.
This wasn’t an inn.
Or, at least, it wasn’t an ordinary inn.
Sex. That was what he could smell, ever so faintly. Masked, glamoured heavily, but still there. Mixed scents and endless arousal mixed with an odd sweetness, and he felt his entire body tighten with the knowledge that they were about to walk into a pleasure hall.
Elain remained entirely oblivious next to him, though her shoulders had straightened slightly as they were led through the darkened corridor to the tavern out the back. He wondered if she could scent it too, even knew what she was scenting. Or whether her body was just having the same reaction his was, the mating bond flaring with the now unmistakable scents flowing through the air, the protective instinct whispering between that golden thread connecting them.
All he knew was that in about five seconds they were going to be faced with some sights he wasn’t entirely sure she would be comfortable with.
There was no escaping though. Not when they were stranded in the blizzard, in a dangerous and unfamiliar territory.
The fae female opened the door to the tavern and held it open for them, her eyebrows raised when Lucien stilled. Elain entered first.
The glamour finally lifted as the door opened and they were engulfed by it.
At first, it seemed like a normal rowdy tavern. A bar to the left side, lined with stools and crowded with bodies drinking heavily. Booths lining each wall, small tables and chairs filling space in the centre. But then, some differences. Low lighting, dark red and black silk drapage. Music, a deep slow rhythm rasping from a female on a small stage, flanked by male musicians. But then - a light dusky coloured smoke moved through the air with a distinct magical quality, a scent that he had encountered many times in his long life.
An aphrodisiac. To help set the mood.
Lucien saw the moment Elain took it in. Heard, felt her body stiffen. The booths lining the walls were indeed still just normal booths, but they were filled with writhing bodies amongst the shadows. Gasps and moans danced around the room in time with the music and his hands flexed at his sides from the sudden need to grab her and pull her against him. Cover her eyes, blindfold her, get her away from the males he could scent everywhere. He swallowed a growl, his entire body taut from the bond flaring to life in his ribs, that innate need to claim.
He had spent the better part of 5 years being in control around her. Letting her set the pace. Not pushing, not demanding. Being the gentleman she deserved. But as the smoke curled around them, he fought the urge to vomit at what would inevitably occur in this dark room as they continued to breathe in the smokey substance.
Beside him, Elain had no idea she was involuntarily becoming inebriated.
The blush was the first thing that completely undid him. It started high on her cheeks, a smattering, her pink lips opening as she took in what was before her. Then it started to move. Down her throat. Lower. Dusting her collarbone. Lower.
Lucien took the biggest breath of his life and closed his eyes. Counted to three. And opened them again.
Elain’s gaze was fixed on a couple in the darkened corner, a large fae with his arms banded around a petite brunette on his lap. Moving slowly, riding him, her breasts spilling out of her corset…
Her eyes darkened and her blush grew scarlett and it was then that Lucien finally reached for her.
That first touch of his hand on her arm startled her so thoroughly she spun directly into his chest. Met his gaze, nostrils flaring, eyes fluttering shut. He felt her heart hammering against his chest, through his very soul. Panic and gods help him, arousal. She was wide open for him through the bond and it very nearly sent him to his knees before her, lifting her skirts and…
“We can’t leave,” he murmured close to her ear, his fingers still curled around her arm, chest to chest. He took a deep breath, mastering himself and his wandering thoughts. Elain’s eyes were still closed but they fluttered open at his words, as strained as they were. “Not yet.”
Her gaze found the couple again and his finger moved to her chin involuntarily, turning her head back to face him. Look at him. He almost groaned at her darkened expression, and could have died right then and there. Restraint only went so far. He could feel his body loosening, blood heating…
“Eyes up here.”
He barely knew his own voice, the deep timbre that left his lips. His baser instincts took over, moving of its own accord. Moving his finger across her jaw, down her throat, across her collarbone. He felt the sharp rise of her chest as he moved down her arm, around her waist. Pulling her flush against him, she stuttered a breath against him as her warmth permeated every one of his senses. But he kept going, moving his mouth to her ear.
“We are on a foreign continent, surrounded by strangers. The blizzard outside will take us out in hours, and we need shelter. We need to pretend, just for a little while, that we aren't completely out of our depth here, wife.”
For a second, neither of them breathed. But then he heard her breath hitch, saw her nostrils flare. Lucien’s body trembled and he prayed to the Mother that she didn’t feel his thickening cock against her, but then again, maybe he wanted her to, wanted her to drop to her knees and…
Mother save him, he was absolutely fucked.
Elain nodded as her eyes met his. Eyes still dark, cheeks still pink, her lips open with every deep pull of breath. He could practically hear her brain working, churning out every bit of advice he had drilled into her for months about this continent, its people, and how to act. But, like the absolute love of his life she was, she met him exactly where she needed to.
Without taking her eyes off his, she pressed her cloak into his hands and leant forward, brushing her lips against his ear.
“Let’s go get a table then, husband.”
Lucien had to close his eyes for a moment as her warmth left his side. He didn’t think he could watch her retreating form without flinging himself against her. With every intake of breath he knew he was losing a battle only he could control. But he was only a male, and his control would only extend so far. Especially when he was surrounded by an airborne aphrodisiac and his mate.
So he breathed.
Elain had settled into the booth by the time he made his way over. That delicious flush still peppered her skin, but he forced himself to slide in next to her and place her cloak on the bench. It was only then that he allowed himself to look at her.
She was watching everything, her head cocked to the side ever so slightly. The couple in the booth next to them were still at it, their moans muffled by mouths attached to sweaty skin. Elain’s gaze flicked across the room to more bodies, more scents, more males.
Lucien bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.
They were going to draw attention to themselves he soon realised. The only ones sitting a respectable distance apart, ramrod straight. They radiated tension. He turned to face her before he could talk himself out of it, his hand brushing her hair from her neck as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder, so close to her ear.
He knew there was no going back once his lips tasted the softness of her skin. He would never recover, would spend the rest of his days begging for more.
Her breath hitched as his mouth grazed her skin and he flexed his hands to stop himself from grabbing her waist and pulling her toward him. Taking all of her. He felt dizzy, the smoke heightening every one of his senses so that all he could see, could taste, could feel, was her.
“We have to get through this for an hour or two before we can retreat upstairs. We need to act like coming here was part of the plan, before we find ourselves with too many pairs of eyes on us.”
She swallowed and nodded slightly, just enough for him to see. But then her hand was on his thigh and she was turning closer toward him, her knee pressing against his under the table. Her hand burned his skin through his trousers, like a bolt of lightning straight through him. He could barely breathe as her hand grazed up and down in small movements, almost instinctive. Did she know what was happening? Could she scent it?
Lucien’s mouth still hovered over her shoulder. So close, his lips mere inches from the softest skin he had ever felt. He wanted to lick it, bite down and smooth the hurt, leave her panting…
His entire body was loosening, that all too familiar tension coiling low in his stomach. Lower. Lower. With each movement of her hands, her fingers tightening over his thigh, his cock grew harder and he was losing his mind…
“Can I get you folk anything?"
Elain startled, her fingers squeezing his thigh in surprise as Lucien dragged his head away from Elain’s neck to face the bar maid who had sauntered up to their table. She wore a sultry expression (expected in this line of work, surely), a barely there corseted shift, an endless invitation.
“I heard you are waiting for a room. Have a pint or two while you wait.” She leant over the table and grazed her hand down Lucien’s arm.
The noise that escaped from Elain's lips made Lucien’s entire being crackle with electricity.
She growled.
The female in front of them looked taken aback, her hand dropping. Elain’s fingers snapped to her mouth, as if she could shove the noise right back in. But fire still blazed in her eyes and cauldron, if that didn’t make his cock twitch.
Lucien chuckled instead.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Elain elbowed him hard. It barely stung but Mother help him, he wanted her to do it again. He wanted this fire, wanted this need radiating from her. It lit a fuse within him, had him scrambling for control over this rapidly deteriorating situation.
“It isn’t funny,” she hissed, her cheeks flush with embarrassment. The couple they had witnessed upon their arrival were moving together in earnest now in the booth next to them, their soft pants echoing across the room and the flush across her chest deepened.
God he wanted to drag his lips across that crimson skin more than he wanted to live. Elain watched his eyes darken as they dipped to her chest and her breath hitched.
Then she fucking squirmed and Lucien’s stomach bottomed out. Pure lust vibrated down the bond and his breath stuttered.
Before he could breathe his devotion to her, sink to his knees and worship at her alter, Elain turned back around to face the female, a sweet smile gracing her lips.
“Forgive me,” she began, leaning back against Lucien. “We’ve had a long journey and I fear I am feeling a little bit delirious with exhaustion. My husband here,” she pointedly avoided using the word mate, “got a bit lost.”
The female's nostrils flared, very clearly scenting the unfulfilled mating bond between them. Her eyebrows knotted together in confusion. Before she could ask, Elain cut her off.
“Can we have a drink please? Whisky, for both of us.”
Lucien still tried to get a breath down as he watched the female nod and back away from their booth, clearly perplexed. He couldn't think straight, that thread between them practically roaring. His body screamed to touch her, to calm her, to take her.
Within seconds, Elain had her face in her hands. She was clearly mortified, but frankly?
Lucien had never been happier.
-
Something was happening.
While she was definitely new to the keen senses of being fae, still learning this new body and new feelings that lived within her immortal soul, this was something else entirely.
It started small, when they first walked in. As she took in this place, and the people. What they were doing with their bodies, with their mouths. Skin against skin, moans and cries muffled by the gentle music weaving its way around the room.
Her skin felt tingly. Magnified, heavy, sparked by flame. Her body loosened and tensed all at once, a feeling of weightlessness rolling over her. An itch that she couldn’t describe was rising like the tide within her and it made her feel completely and utterly terrified.
A deep ache had begun settling between her legs and she was mortified.
She had growled like an animal at that poor woman. Completely unintentionally, like her baser instincts took over and demanded she remove her hand from her mate. She had never felt so wildly out of control before and she couldn’t even meet Lucien’s gaze out of fear she would literally climb on top of him.
Another part of her practically preened at the thought.
That part of her could kindly stay rooted deep.
Beside her, Lucien's smirk did funny things to her heart and deepened the growing ache between her legs. He was attractive on a bad day, one of the most well-dressed and put together males she knew. But now ... it was a growing battle to not throw herself at him and beg him to love her. Beg him to take her to bed and...
She felt her cheeks heat and Lucien's eyes drag across the betraying colour. She needed to get herself together.
Elain shyly smiled at the woman when she deposited their drinks on the table, half out of apology, half willing her to leave quickly. She took the glass immediately and brought it to her lips, taking the longest drag of the smokey liquor.
It burned all the way down, but her entire body was aflame anyway.
Lucien did the same, still leaning into her. Every press of his body against her warm skin made the air leave her lungs. He still looked mighty chuffed with himself and she wanted to swat him again.
“Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?” She muttered before taking another drink.
He merely smirked at her again, his eyes dark as his lips wrapped around the glass.
She couldn’t take her eyes away from them.
“I feel … odd,” she sniffed, looking around the room, the sweet smelling smoke dusting the air. It didn’t smell like Rita’s, or any of the tavern’s in Velaris. It wasn’t the deep rich smoke that frequented those establishments, it was something … different.
Lucien tensed, his hand still cradling the glass on the table. He looked around the room before taking a deep breath. He took another long drink.
“It’s magic,” he murmured, not meeting her eye. “An elixir to …” he paused, before glancing sideways at her “enhance the mood.”
Elain stared at him, her heart dropping. “An aphrodisiac?"
She practically hissed out the word, panic lacing her voice. Because of course it was. It was herbal after all, she should have picked up the sweet notes of the elderberry that frequented the mix. Not that she’d ever made it herself. Or thought about it.
Her heart pounded erratically. The bond was hard enough to resist on a good day, let alone having it affected by a magically produced enhancer.
“It’s alright,” Lucien’s jaw tensed as he likely felt her panic, her foolish heart betraying her. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
But it wasn’t panic causing her heart to race. Every point of contact with him sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her, and she was petrified she would completely ruin everything by throwing herself at him. She was not herself. But also completely herself. Because wasn’t this everything she was feeling magnified?
Lucien’s nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered shut. She saw his fingers white knuckle the glass of whisky and she flushed deeper. Oh gods. He could scent her.
She brought the rest of the whisky to her lips and swallowed the rest in a quick pull. Focussed on the warmth down her throat, resting in her belly. Lower, lower.
“Fuck,” she breathed out the curse on an exhale, her fingers trembling.
Lucien’s eyes snapped to hers. Another devilish smirk pulled at his lips and hell, if that didn’t make the situation worse. He shifted, moving his arm around her back to settle against her waist, pulling her closer to him still. Playing it up, sure, but it was so much more than that. It always was between them.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before,” his voice was low, igniting across her skin as his warm breath peppered her cheek.
She huffed. Wished she had more whisky. “The situation has never called for it.”
He was watching the way her fingers played with her dress. Something to do instead of touching him, her whole body screaming at her to give in, touch him, claim him. They trembled now with restraint and she swallowed thickly as her eyes moved around the room again.
It was the wrong thing to do. Because she saw several pairs of eyes on them. Males. Females. Some curious. Confused. Suspicious. Whispers between pairs, exchanged between the low thump of music. A new wave of smoke drifted across the room and Elain turned her head to whisper in Lucien’s ear.
“We have admirers. Or a problem.”
Elain felt him turn his head slightly to look. Assess. She heard his metal eye whirr as he took in their surroundings, tense as he deemed a threat. Her stomach twisted as she kept her body curved towards his, her mind battling her body with every second they were in this blasted room.
“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he muttered between gritted teeth before both his hands gripped her waist and pulled her effortlessly into his lap.
A small gasp tore from her mouth as she straddled him and she bit her lip hard to suppress the moan that also threatened to escape. Because she was on fire.
-
If there was a hell, Lucien was surely there.
Every moment spent in this room was torture, the sweetest kind, threatening to tear him apart piece by piece. But Mother above, he would have prayed for every second of it as well.
Elain was warm against his body, her hands curved into his shoulders to steady herself. He felt them tremble as she dug in deeper, nails biting his skin. Her arousal circulated the air, so thick, so essential, he wished the world would swallow him whole so that he didn’t embarrass himself by coming right then and there.
The male and his partner who stared at them with calculating eyes deemed this interaction appropriate enough that their gazes finally drifted.
Elain’s golden hair spilled between them, cascading around their faces and blocking them from the rest of the tavern before she shifted gently, pressing her forehead against his. Breathing in his air, his warmth. Still biting her lip, he wanted to sink his own teeth into that plush skin, kiss the air from her lungs.
If this was how he died, he supposed he should be grateful.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his fingers digging into her hips. She seemed to be in a daze, eyes fluttering closed and hips involuntarily shifting against his. He had never been harder.
“Don’t be,” she whispered, the whisky on her breath mingling with the sweet scent of her arousal and he groaned as she shifted again. A slightly firmer roll of her hips, like her body knew his just on instinct alone and needed more.
Another roll. Elain’s eyes were still closed, her breath coming out in soft pants. His eyes rolled back as he let out a guttural groan, his hands moving from her waist to the soft flesh of her thighs. Squeezing. Grounding. Like it might bring him back from the brink.
He’d dive over if she told him to. His soul was hers to command, to keep, if she only uttered the words.
Lucien grazed his lips over her exposed throat, clammy and warm, so rich with her scent. Sweeter still as her arousal swam through his veins, his body practically vibrating with it's instinctive need. But it was more than that too. Because how many times had he imagined this while he had been travelling with her? After the fight in Spring when they both finally confessed some hard truths. When she was sleeping a door away in Winter after a night of tense negotiations. After a night out on the barge in Summer when they had both had too much to drink and fell asleep tangled up on the beach.
Moments that mattered because each one broke down the fortified walls of each others souls and exposed the truth of it all.
They were so close now, mere inches apart, and Lucien had a moment of clarity in the haze of mind-addling lust.
This was the precipice. Here, in this pleasure hall in the middle of nowhere, the showing of hands forced to the surface. He wanted so much more. He wanted everything, yearned for her on such a deep level that this dip off the edge would hold more questions than answers. He’d waited so long. He’d wait forever, if it meant that this was real.
It wasn’t though. It was smoke and circumstance.
It sobered him up quicker than a bucket of water.
“Lucien…” her words were a whimper, a plea.
It nearly undid him, her whine. But he’d never forgive himself for taking this from her, from them, this way, when his dreams were filled with confessions and love, slow and real. Everything she deserved. Everything they deserved. Guilt and shame seeped down the bond and his entire body revolted against it, trembling, when he opened his mouth. He gritted his teeth and choked on it.
The words on his lips tasted acrid, but so was the thought of doing this in front of strangers.
'I can't-'
A rap on the wooden table knocked them both out of each other's orbit and when Lucien turned his head to see who interrupted them, he saw red.
-
“Your room is ready.”
Lucien’s arm sprung to her waist, tightening, a deep rumble vibrating through their chests pressed together still. Protecting her from the threat.
The threat being the male from the bar, who had appeared at their table from nowhere, so lost to this that they were. It was so jarring that tears sprung in Elain’s eyes as she faced the bulky male who raised his eyebrows at her.
He held out a golden key to Elain. Only had eyes for Elain.
With trembling fingers she reached for it.
Lucien’s fingers flexed against her. His eyes flashed. Teeth bared. And damn if it didn’t ignite something in her all over again, low in her belly. But beneath that, her stomach twisted, nausea roiling through her. Because he had hesitated.
But then Lucien growled again and her eyes snapped back to him. He vibrated with leashed power.
Without thinking, Elain's hand came out to rest on his front. Right over his heart. It hammered against her fingers, mirroring hers. His jaw flexed but he was still looking at the large male before them. She slowly dragged her hand down his chest, her fingers pressing into every rivet and line of his stomach. Oh.
It knocked him out of his rage. His eyes found hers and her mouth went dry. They were darker than she’d ever seen them, a spark of flame within. He blinked, once, twice, the tension tightening his body dissipating with each. It didn't help the unease building inside her.
‘We’re going upstairs now,’ Elain whispered. To him. To herself. To the male. To the universe.
Her whole body trembled under his gaze. She knew what they were about to do. But pain and hesitation that was etched on his face still burned behind her eyes, confusion lancing its way into her heart. Because not only had he hesitated, but she had felt his shame down the bond. Guilt. It broke something inside her.
It was another crack in her heart, but Elain was used to walking around fractured.
So she did what she did best. Pushed the hurt and pain down and let her mask slip seamlessly across her face. They were friends. Courtiers. Travel companions.
And she needed to get them the hell out of here before he unleashed the power of the Day Court on the unsuspecting people of Rask. Ruining their entire cover.
With great difficulty and a lot more poise than she felt she possessed, she slid off his lap, taking a miniscule step back. Lucien looked like he had been knocked in the head, the expression on his face dazed, drunk, a little mad. With the key in one hand, she laced her fingers with his and pulled him up.
Still gripping her hand to steady himself, he brushed a loose curl away from her cheek. Another stuck to the clammy skin of her forehead, but he tucked that one away too. His eyes held hers, held too much within them and Elain swallowed thickly as his fingertips grazed her cheek, fire licking the whole way down. It settled in her heart, hollowing it out.
Leaving nothing there at all.
She turned and walked out of the room, his fingers still twisted loosely in hers.
tags: AU, regency era, beta read we survive like amren, Lady!Elain, Gentleman!Lucien, Lucien is down bad, protective Lucien, sassy Lucien, brief moment with threatening man, virgin!Elain, rake!Lucien, smut, mdni, one bed, vaginal fingering, clothed sex, grinding, coming in pants, dirty talk
summary: Lucien attends yet another ball when he spots the woman he's had his eye on for years. It is unfortunate he'll never be good enough for her, only the seventh son of a duke. He's content to watch her from afar, sulking on the wall, but it seems fate has other plans. When he finds a man trying to lead Miss Archeron down an alley way against her will, he does what any gentleman would: punches said man in the face and offers her a ride home. It is most unfortunate that it starts to rain and they must seek shelter at his family cottage where there is only bed.
a/n: this is part of my bingo 500 requests for the anon who had requested jealous!neris (already written and can be found on the masterlist) as well as one bed for Elucien. this one got away from me big time but i’m in love with it. special thanks to @violencelittlething for being my biggest hype woman and convincing me to turn this into an interconnected standalone series!!!
bingo taglist (comment to join): @nocasdatsgay
Bingo Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Elucien Masterlist
Lucien had been unable to keep his eyes off the middle Archeron sister all night. Despite the abundance of twirling couples on the dance floor and twinkling lights hanging from the rafters, he never lost sight of her. She is the sun among stars, shining brighter than them all. A shimmering pink dress clung to her figure, accentuating her curves with an alluring elegance. Her long curls were gathered into a bun atop her head, leaving her slender neck exposed, inspiring a host of decidedly sinful thoughts in Lucien’s mind.
It is why it hasn’t escaped his notice that she has clung to the wall all evening, content to watch her sisters dance with their husbands and politely shake her head at every suitor who asked her to dance. It was an unusual sight, to say the least. Miss Archeron often captivated suitors and entertained them with equal fervor. She loved to dance and be fawned over, much unlike her sisters. It was one of the things Lucien admired about her. Many women of the ton would pretend to be disinterested in the gentlemen and the attention to look more desirable, he supposed. But Miss Archeron never shied away from showing her love of the game. It was perhaps the only time a woman could feel powerful. She had the power to pick and choose whom she gave her time to. Who she decided to bless with her attention.
He had enough self-awareness to recognize that he was being hypocritical, of course. He too was stuck to the wall, watching the merriment from afar and denying any offer to write his name on a lady’s dance card. Usually, he’d eagerly accept every offer to dance, even making a few offers of his own, spinning ladies around all night until their feet hurt and their mamas ushered them home. Then he’d make his way to White’s, drink a few glasses of whiskey and leave with a woman he never remembers the name of. That is, except for the balls Miss Archeron attends. He can’t behave that way in front of her, opting instead to watch the one lady who would never choose him entertain every other single gentleman in the building until the clock strikes midnight.
He’s briefly startled when his friend Jurian enters his peripheral, sidling up next to him with two glasses of champagne. Lucien thanks him when Jurian offers him a glass.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Jurian says, his eyes sliding from Lucien to Miss Archeron.
Lucien scoffs. “Why, thank you, good friend. What ever would I do without your helpful insight?”
“Well, you certainly wouldn’t ask the lady to dance,” he snorts.
He takes a sip of champagne, the bubbly drink refreshing in his mouth. “Why try when I know I will be denied?”
“Ah, and there lies the problem. You cannot possibly know that you will be denied if you have yet to try,” Jurian says, as if he is as wise as the pastor who speaks at sermons every Sunday.
Lucien rolls his eyes and gestures towards Miss Archeron, who is once again shaking her head at a man who walks away in obvious disappointment. “It is obvious she is not interested in entertaining anyone this evening. It would be rude to bother her.”
Jurian clicks his tongue. “And every other night your excuse is that she already has several dance partners. Tell me, Lucien, what scenario would you ask the lady to dance? You never have a problem approaching the other ladies.”
Lucien ponders his answer for a long moment. He’s not entirely shocked that he can’t think of one, at least not one that he would like to share with Jurian. He may be his friend, but there are some things a man keeps to himself. Such as feeling inadequate compared to a woman like Miss Archeron. If you asked Lucien, only a prince would be worthy enough for her favor. His father may be a duke, but his eldest brother Eris would be the one to inherit the title after he passes, and even if some terrible accident were to befall his brother, he has five others ahead of him.
“I’m not sure,” he murmurs. “Perhaps she would have to ask me.”
Jurian doesn’t even try to hold back his boisterous laughter. “As I said. Pathetic.”
Lucien sighs as Jurian wanders off, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His eyes keep catching on Miss Archeron, the way her warm brown eyes flick to the dance floor then back at her feet. He wonders if her sisters’s recent marriages are the cause of her change in behavior. He supposes if his brothers were to find such all-consuming passion and adoration, and he were subjected to witness it perpetually, he too would grow weary of the games. Of dancing around while making meaningless small talk in hopes an engagement will come of it.
Hours pass. Lucien tried making rounds, greeting fellow guests and using his courtly charm to garner the latest gossip, but he tired of it quickly. There is nothing left for him to do here. Miss Archeron had even disappeared at some point during his walk about the ballroom.
He takes his coat with a quiet thanks from the footman at the door and makes his way toward his carriage. He has just made his way around the hedges that line the property when he hears a scuffle.
“Let go of me, you loathsome creature!” a feminine voice shouts.
Lucien Vanserra has always prided himself on being a gentleman, unlike his brothers who take to referring to women as if they are objects to own. Combined with a childhood spent watching his father act with cruelty and abuse toward his mother, it is no surprise that his feet turn on their own accord, marching toward the sound of the voice.
When he rounds the corner, he finds no other than Miss Archeron’s delicate arm in a drunk Lord Adams’s grip. Lord Adams’s waistcoat is unbuttoned, his undershirt wrinkled, and he is positively sloshed as he stumbles, trying to pull Miss Archeron down the dark alley that separates the two neighboring houses.
Lucien sees red, his father’s temper surging until he can feel it in his throat. “Lord Adams,” he announces his presence. “I do believe the lady has asked that you let her go. Besides, it is unseemly for a gentleman and a lady to be alone at night, especially considering that your wife waits at home with your babe.”
“Oh, bug off,” Lord Adams slurs as Miss Archeron tries to pull her arm out of his grip again, huffing when it doesn’t budge. “It is of no concern to you what I do in my spare time, nor is it my wife’s.”
“Perhaps not,” Lucien hums, stepping closer to the two. “But what is a concern to me is that Miss Archeron does not seem to be a willing participant in whatever it is you are up to, are you, Miss?”
Miss Archeron shakes her head, brown eyes glaring at the man holding her captive. “No, I most certainly am not.”
Lucien smiles sharply, hands sweeping out. “Well, that settles it then. Let Miss Archeron go; mosey your way to the nearest gentlemen’s club and find yourself a lady who is willing to spend the night with you. Though I must warn you,” he says, mock sympathy lacing his tone, “I’m afraid they’ll require payment.”
His comment has the desired effect. Lord Adams’s face is overcome with anger, and he lets go of Miss Archeron to swing at Lucien, missing his face entirely and instead stumbling off to the side. “You bastard!” he curses.
Lucien motions for Miss Archeron to move away from the man, and she eagerly lifts her skirts to get behind him.
“Listen, man,” Lucien warns. “I do not wish to harm you. Let us go on our merry ways and forget this ever happened, yes?”
Lord Adams’s face turns ruddy as he glares at Lucien, and a sound not unlike a wild animal in the woods he grew up traipsing through escapes the belligerent man before he’s charging at Lucien.
They hit the cement, and Lucien curses as pain spreads over the back of his skull. The sound of Miss Archeron’s gasp brings him back to the matter at hand. He catches Lord Adams’s fist before it connects with his face and rolls them over so he is on top of him instead.
Lucien lands a few punches to the man’s face until his nose is spewing blood. His fist is raised, poised to strike, but the knowledge of Miss Archeron standing just a few feet away stops him. Instead, he rises to his feet and fixes the cuffs of his jacket. “Go home, Lord Adams. Lick your wounds and consider this a lesson on what will happen to you the next time you fail to treat a lady with respect.”
Lord Adams groans and rolls onto his stomach, but makes no move to get up.
Lucien rests his non-bloody hand on the small of Miss Archeron’s back and leads her away from the fool.
“Do you have a ride home?” he asks as he shakes out his sore hand.
Miss Archeron stares at him, her mouth opening and closing before she seems to collect herself. “No. My sisters left an hour or so ago. I was planning to walk home.”
His steps falter, halting them both. “Walk? Alone at night? You barely made it out the door before a man tried to take advantage of you.”
Miss Archeron’s nose wrinkles in indignation, her arms crossing under her breasts. “I can handle myself,” she grumbles.
He can’t help the scoff that escapes him. “You can handle yourself? No offense, Miss Archeron, but it didn’t exactly look like you had it handled back there.”
She huffs, lifting her skirt before turning her back to him and striding away. “I don’t have to listen to this,” she says over her shoulder.
Lucien gapes after her for a moment before following her at a jog. How such a small woman can walk so fast is beyond him. “Miss Archeron! Wait!”
She ignores him at her side, head defiantly held high as her silk flats smack the concrete.
He nearly grabs her arm to stop her but catches himself. That would certainly not help the situation. “Please. Let me take you home,” he rushes out as he practically chases her. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady walk home alone?”
“You need not worry. I am hardly a lady,” she says, barely sparing him a glance out of the corner of her eye.
Lucien growls, tossing his head back at the sky as if to ask God, Why must this woman be so stubborn? “What would your sisters say if they knew you walked yourself home alone at night?”
To his relief, this stops Miss Archeron in her tracks. She doesn’t look pleased with him for using her sisters against her, but that’s fine. He doesn't need her to like him; he needs her to get home safe.
He takes his chance while he has her attention. “I have a carriage. Let me take you home, and you’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you wish.”
The brown eyes he had so often fantasized looking up at him with warmth now glare at him with fury.
“Fine,” she snaps. “You will take me home and never speak to me again.”
He nods his ascent despite his heart sinking. He leads her toward his carriage, the walk silent except for the sound of their shoes scuffing the ground. Lucien takes his chance to look at her up close. Her face soft and glowing, her lips full and the color of pink poppies. Her hair is tied up in a bun, but no amount of pins prevents the wisps of curls from falling into her face. Her rich brown eyes reflect the stars in the sky, and a necklace rests delicately in the center of her collarbone, drawing his attention to her breasts. They’re small, but no less perfect in Lucien’s eyes.
He mentally scolds himself and fixes his gaze in front of him again.
His footman, William, greets him when they approach the carriage. Lucien helps Miss Archeron step up by her hand, and despite the gloves covering her hands, he feels goosebumps shoot up his arm at the contact. He slides in beside her, careful not to get too close as to make her uncomfortable or sit on her pretty dress.
William gives a forward cue with the reins, and the horses begin trotting.
Lucien tries not to stare at Miss Archeron, but it proves quite a feat. Her golden-brown hair gleams beneath the moonlight, and her gloved fingers fiddle with the charm on her necklace, pulling it up and down the chain. His eyes zero in on her breasts once again, watching the way they rise and fall with her breaths. What he would do to drag his lips across them, leaving a trail of kisses. To suck her nipples into his mouth until she whimpered.
He blinks and snaps his attention to the passing landscape on his side of the carriage. He is not beating the rake allegations anytime soon.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes and listens to the sound of rocks crunching under the carriage wheels. He should start a conversation, perhaps. Miss Archeron is probably bored out of her mind—he certainly is. But what is there to talk about? I was watching you like a stalker all night. How come you didn’t accept any dance proposals? No, that wouldn’t do. A sadness washes over him at the realization that he knows nothing about her. Nothing other than that she has two sisters who protect her fiercely, she loves sweets, is a skilled dancer, thrives at parties, and is the daughter of a merchant.
Her father! That is as good a conversation starter as any.
“I hear your father is one of the best merchants in town,” he says.
Miss Archeron turns her head to look him up and down. “Yes. They call him the King of Merchants.”
“Wow,” he marvels. “That’s most impressive. Have you ever sailed with him?”
She purses her lips in hesitation. “I’m afraid not. My father has always been consumed by his work, and unfortunately leaves little time to spend with his daughters.”
Lucien can feel the tension seeping off her. Note to self: fathers are not good icebreakers. Fool. He should have known, especially considering he hates talking about his own father. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmurs.
Her eyes roam over his face, like she’s searching for something, and must not find whatever it is because she graces him with a response. “Thank you.”
He runs his hands over his thighs, trying to think of something else to say—anything to lighten the mood. “You and your sisters seem close.”
A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips. “We are now, but we haven’t always been. Well, I suppose Nesta and I have, but Feyre is a different story.”
“How so?”
She tilts her head, lips twisting as she ponders her answer. “The simple answer is Feyre was a daddy’s girl while Nesta was our mother’s… um, favorite project, so to speak. I was left somewhere in the middle. But before Mother stole Nesta away for hours at a time, when we were younger, she would play with me and take care of me. Unfortunately, by the time Feyre was born, Nesta wasn’t able to do the same for her, and we were left to do as we pleased. Feyre would join Father in his office, and I would play out in the garden.”
“A garden?” he asks with a grin. “Do you garden?”
“Oh yes,” she gushes. “Flowers, mostly. The gardeners used to swat me away and tell me it was improper for a lady to get her hands dirty, but they gave up years ago.”
“Look at you, Miss Archeron. I never took you for the rebellious type,” he teases.
She lets out the most melodic laugh, and Lucien swears his brain stops working for a moment.
He’s about to respond when William speaks up. “Lord Lucien, I am afraid we are heading into rain.”
“What?” Lucien asks a bit dazedly.
William looks over his shoulder, raising his voice. “It’s going to rain, my lord. Shall we seek shelter somewhere?”
“It’s going to rain?” Miss Archeron asks, her voice slightly panicked. “How far away are we from Grosvenor Square?”
“About two hours left, Miss,” William responds.
“Surely we can make it,” she insists, but as the words pass her beautiful lips, raindrops land on them in quick succession.
“We can take shelter at my cottage,” Lucien assures her. “Take us to my family’s cottage, William. We will wait out the storm there.”
“We cannot,” Miss Archeron hisses. “It is improper for a lady to be alone with a gentleman. It is bad enough that I agreed to get into a carriage with you. If the ton finds out that I was in your home, I can kiss any chance of finding a husband goodbye.”
“You need not worry, Miss Archeron. My staff is most discreet, aren’t you, William?” Lucien asks with a roguish grin.
“Indeed, my lord. What happens at The Foxhole, stays at The Foxhole,” William agrees.
“The Foxhole?” Miss Archeron asks with furrowed brows.
Lucien smirks, leaning close as if telling her a secret. “It’s what my brother named it when he was a child. He thought himself the most clever.”
She stares at him, and he swears he can see the cogs turning in her brain before she gives him a disbelieving smile. “Because you’re gingers?”
He erupts into laughter, throwing his head back as rain pelts his face. “Miss Archeron, you know we gingers find that term offensive,” he chides.
Her mouth drops open, an apologetic expression taking over her face. “Oh! I am so sorry, Lord Vanserra. I meant no offense.”
“I am jesting you, Miss Archeron. Yes, it is because we are redheads that my brother thought it best to name our home after a fox’s den.”
“I see,” she laughs sheepishly. “And please, call me Elain. You are welcoming me into your home, after all.”
Lucien’s cheeks heat. “And you may call me Lucien.”
They make small talk for the rest of the ride to his family’s cottage. He tells her of his brothers, of growing up near the woods, and all the mischief they got into as children. He tells her about his eldest brother nearly running a dog rescue out of their home with his twelve hounds, eliciting the most beautiful, unrestrained laugh out of Miss–Elain. She tells him of growing up with her sisters and losing their mother. More about her love of gardening in addition to baking. He doesn’t think he’s ever laughed as hard as he does when she reminisces on her first few attempts at baking. Burnt tarts, using granulated sugar instead of powdered sugar, and what she describes as an absolute disaster attempt at sourdough bread.
Eventually the rain gets so bad that Lucien takes off his coat to hold over their heads. It doesn’t do much to protect them from the rain blowing straight at them, but it’s the best he can do. He tenses when Elain scoots closer to him for warmth, her teeth chattering and cheeks flushed from the cold. Of course, he thinks to himself dryly, the night he makes the most progress with the lady he’s had a crush on since he first saw her at a ball many years ago has to be the same night she may nearly die of hypothermia.
He releases a sigh of relief when the carriage finally pulls into the cottage’s driveway. He jumps out, helping Elain down by the hand, then scooping her up and running to the front door. She laughs boisterously as he carries her, her slight form bouncing in his arms as he runs, her wet hair now plastered to her face. It takes some rifling before he successfully pulls his key ring out of his pocket and unlocks the door.
As soon as he sets Elain down, he rushes to the fireplace, tossing logs and newspaper in along with a match. Once the flames catch, he opens the trunk that doubles as a coffee table to retrieve blankets. When he turns around, Elain has already sat down in front of the fire, her shivering more obvious now that they aren’t in complete darkness. He wraps a fleece, burgundy blanket around her shoulders and places a dark blue knitted blanket in her lap, to which she softly thanks him.
He grabs a blanket of his own, wrapping it around himself as he sits next to Elain. He tends to the fire with a fire iron, shoving more newspapers under the logs, adjusting the shape of the wood so the flame grows higher.
“Thank you again,” Elain murmurs, “for everything tonight.”
Lucien gives her a soft smile. “It is no trouble, and nothing worthy of thanks. I would hope any gentleman who came across a lady being harassed would react the same as I.”
“Hardly,” she snorts. “Most would sooner join in, unfortunately. I’m going to have to get creative about what I tell my sisters. They may very well hunt the man down if they ever catch a whiff of what happened.”
He turns his head to look at her, at the way the flames reflect in her brown irises, the way her skin glows golden. He wonders if there is any lighting she doesn’t look absolutely breathtaking in. “Your sisters are protective of you?”
There's a faraway look in her eyes as she stares into the fire, her lips curling into a slow smile as if she’s remembering a distant memory. “Understatement of the century, I’m afraid. Even Feyre, who's technically my younger sister, would step in front of a musket for me. We weren’t always wealthy, you know,” she says, glancing at him briefly. “After our mother died, our father was overcome with depression. He didn’t work, didn’t eat, hardly even bathed. He’d just sit in his chair and whittle away. The money dried up eventually. My sisters and I were so young we couldn’t even get jobs, not that there were many available to women, anyway. We had to wear each other's hand-me-downs for years. That’s when the girls at the park or the market would make fun of me. Nesta always accompanied me, and if she heard them, she’d give them a good tongue-lashing, but Feyre would find out about it later and leave dead rats or buckets of blood at their doorstep. I’m surprised no one ever accused us of being witches.”
“That’s marvelous,” he chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. “Not that you were made fun of, of course, but that your sister was so creative in her revenge. I wish my brothers were more like that.”
She adjusts the blankets around her, pivoting slightly to face him. “You and your brothers aren’t protective of each other?”
He sighs, years of strained relationships and petty squabbles weighing on this one breath. “I’m afraid not. The culture of our family is every man for himself. Tattling was encouraged, lest you wanted to be punished too, and our father’s punishments were… harsh. It wasn’t exactly the ideal environment for close, brotherly bonds. We have no trust in one another, and I’m sure at least a few of my brothers would argue there is little love, too.”
Lucien startles when he feels her cold, delicate hand encase his own. “I’m sorry”, she says, her voice soft and laced with sympathy.
He tries to force a smile, not only for her sake but for his too. He cannot allow himself to dwell on the pain. “It is alright. We are grown now and can make our own choices. I still have hope that one day we will reconcile without our father’s shadow looming over us.”
She nods, her teeth stark white against the dark room. “I’m sure of it. Despite our closeness now, my sisters and I didn’t always get along. It is never too late to repair things. I’m grateful every day that we quit knocking our stubborn heads together and realized what was important.”
“Oh,” she says suddenly. “Are you okay after that…”
“Fight?” he supplies with a grin. “Nothing a good night's sleep can’t fix. My hand will likely be bruised, but I’ve healed from worse.”
She nods, her lips pursing as her eyes linger on his hands, then her attention drifts back to the fire.
He is grateful when the conversation tapers off, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. It had been a long night, and talking about his family was never easy. He still couldn't believe Elain Archeron, the woman he’s been infatuated with and too much of a coward to speak more than a few sentences to, was sitting right next to him in his cottage. They’d spoken together tonight more than they have in all the years they’ve known each other combined. A part of him couldn’t wait to tell Jurian, to see his face of absolute shock, to hear his disbelieving tone, to feel the inevitable slap on his back when Jurian realized he was in fact not off his rocker and it really had happened. The other part of him wanted to keep it to himself, between the two of them. He doesn’t think there’s any genuine hope of them ever becoming more. Elain had simply been a lady in need and Lucien had been there at the right time. In the morning, she’d go back to her life and he to his, and in a few weeks he’d hear the gossip about her being engaged to a prince or some duke in Ireland where she’d move far away, never to be seen again except by her family. Lucien would smile and say congratulations despite the hollowness spreading through his chest, and he’d shake the lucky man’s hand and wish the happy couple a prosperous marriage. Then he would go home to his empty apartment, maybe write to his eldest brother if he’s desperate enough, and pray for the day it stopped hurting.
The clock chiming pulls him from his thoughts. He glances at Elain—her chin propped in her hand, her gaze distant as she blinks slowly at the fire. By the number of chimes, he realizes its three in the morning.
“It’s late. Why don’t we head to bed?” he whispers.
Her brown eyes slide to him, and she nods.
He rises and collects the blankets, stuffing them back into the trunk. When he turns around, he finds her still on the ground, having not moved a muscle. He huffs a laugh before extending a hand to help her up.
The wooden floorboards creak beneath their feet as they walk down the hall. The bedroom is simple, with a king-sized bed centered on the wall, dark mahogany furniture, and accents of red in the curtains and bedding.
He lights a candle, then goes to the armoire, pulling out one of his mother’s nightgowns and laying it on the bed. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “Uh, this is it. The staff will wake at six and breakfast will be served at seven. I’ll be on the couch if you need me. Sleep well, Elain.”
He’s reaching for the door when a hand wraps around his other wrist. “Wait,” she says, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean you’ll be on the couch? Are there no other bedrooms?”
“Ah, no,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “This is one of our hunting cabins. It was never really meant to house more than a couple of people, despite our family’s size. Don’t worry, I’ve slept on the couch many times and it is quite comfortable.”
Elain lets go of his wrist to wring her hands in front of her. “You could stay in here. I know it would be improper, but it would be rude to leave you on the couch in your own home. Besides, it’s still quite cold.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.
She looks behind her at the bed, then back at him. “Yes.” She swallows. “As long as you are okay with it, of course. It’s not like we’ll be doing anything unseemly.”
“No,” he shakes his head, “no, of course not. We will just sleep, then leave right after breakfast.”
They both nod in agreement, staring at each other, waiting to see who will make the first move.
“Uh, perhaps you should step out so that I may change?” she suggests, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
Lucien nods like a fool, giving her a thumbs-up before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door is closed, he smacks himself on the forehead. “Idiot, idiot, idiot,” he whispers. There are too many reasons to count for how terrible an idea this is. He, a renowned rake, sleeping in a bed with a virginal lady he is not even courting, much less married to. If word gets out about this, he will arguably be fine—his reputation, at least. But if Elain’s honor is sullied because of him, if she loses the chance of finding a match because the ton believes her to be a fallen woman, he would not only feel absolutely terrible, but he fears for the safety of his balls once the Archeron sisters find out it was he who compromised her.
He startles when the door opens, his mouth drying at the sight of Elain. She stands in the doorway, the glow of the candle in the room outlining her frame. He’s once again struck by how beautiful she is. The nightgown is simple and white, her golden strands cascading down her shoulders, and his traitorous mind concocts images of her in another type of white gown. He licks his lips, his eyes trailing down her body, imagining a bouquet in her hand, a ring on her finger, carrying her through the threshold of their new home and christening every inch of it.
He coughs. “All done?”
“Mhm,” she nods, moving into the room and crawling under the covers.
Lucien hesitates, then faces the wall as he unbuttons his jacket and shirt. He leaves his trousers on, not wanting to make this any worse than it already is, then removes his boots and socks before slipping under the covers, lying flat on his back. He stares up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly he lost his mind.
“Goodnight, Lucien,” Elain murmurs, rolling over onto her side, her back to him.
He clears his throat. “Goodnight, Elain.” He leans over, blowing out the candle on the side table, and tries his best to calm his racing heart.
Lucien doesn’t recall exactly how it happens, but at some point after closing his eyes to at least try to sleep, he rolled over to face Elain, and now her ass is firmly pressed against his cock.
“Elain,” he whispers, his voice strained.
She hums, pushing her ass further into him. He’s thankful he left his trousers on, preventing her from feeling the pre-cum leaking out of his cock.
“Elain!” he calls more urgently.
She gasps, pushing herself up by her elbow, looking over her shoulder at him even though it’s too dark to actually see. “What?”
A strangled noise escapes him. “It seems we have gotten closer in our sleep.”
“Oh my,” she gasps. “I am so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he grunts. “Perhaps we should put a pillow between us?”
While he can’t see her, he can sense her hesitation. “Elain?”
“It’s just, um,” she starts. “Something seems to be… happening to me.”
“Like what?”
“My thighs are wet and… something down there is throbbing,” she says, horror seeping into her tone. “What is happening to me, Lucien?”
Lucien drags his hand down his face, taking a deep breath and praying for the Lord to give him strength. “It is… normal, Elain. It’s alright. It’ll go away eventually.”
“But I want it to go away now,” she whines. “I can’t sleep like this.”
He takes another deep breath. “I understand, but there is only one way to do that, and I’m afraid it is quite inappropriate.”
“How?”
“You could touch yourself or…”
“Or what?” she asks, her voice growing sultry, and Lord help him, it is not making it any easier on him.
“Or I could touch you,” he whispers. “But, like I said, it would be inappropriate. If you want me to turn around while you… I can.”
“No,” she says, grabbing him. “Don’t go. Help me, please.”
He swallows. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me, Elain.”
“I don’t know how to touch myself!”
Jesus Christ. Of course she doesn’t know how to touch herself. Plenty of women die without ever touching their own vaginas, unlike men who grow familiar with their cocks by the time they finish puberty.
In his silence, Elain asks another question. “Would I still be a virgin?”
“Well, technically,” he stammers. “Your virginity is only taken once a man inserts his… penis inside you.”
“And you can help me without doing that?”
He’s going to Hell. He’s going to burn in Hell for all of eternity. It’s a wonder God hasn’t already struck him down.
“Yes.”
“Please, Lucien,” she whines again. “Help me. I need–I need you.”
Fuck it all. “Okay, okay, it’s alright,” he whispers. “I’ll help you.” Perhaps a stronger man would be able to withstand a woman begging, but Elain is no ordinary woman, and he is apparently as weak as a twig. He pulls her closer by her hip, and she sighs when her ass is pressed against him again. “I’m going to lift your gown, alright?”
She nods against the pillow, her breaths quickening.
He lifts the nightgown with his fingers, the digits caressing the skin of her legs as he goes higher and higher until her inner thighs are exposed. He can’t believe this is happening. It feels like he’s a boy all over again, touching a woman for the first time.
He slides his hand back down, right above her inner thighs. “Spread your legs for me.”
She obeys, lifting one leg and hooking her ankle over his calf.
“I’m going to touch you now. Are you still sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she pants. “I want this.”
He removes his hand to stick two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. As soon as his fingers make contact with her cunt, she’s gasping, her body jerking.
“Shhh,” he soothes. “It’ll feel good, I promise.”
She relaxes, then moans as his fingers slide up and down from her clit to her entrance. He decides to go easy on her; the poor girl is already so worked up. He presses down lightly on her clit and makes circular motions, slowly at first, then as her moans and whimpers escalate, he gradually speeds up. To his detriment, she begins to grind her ass on him, his cock hard and straining against the fabric of his pants. He can feel his cock sliding between her cheeks, can feel every time his tip brushes against her hole.
“You’re doing so well, honey. Are you going to come on my fingers?” he asks, his own hips thrusting into her, chasing the feeling of her plump ass.
The only response he receives is a string of incoherent whimpers.
His other hand slides under her, curving around and under her gown to grab her breast. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? Dreamt about doing this very thing and so much more?” He pulls the sleeve of her gown off her shoulder with his teeth and kisses the skin there. “You’re exquisite, Elain. Your kindness, your gentleness; you’re what I’ve needed for so long.”
“Please,” she begs. Her hand moves to clutch the hair at the back of his head and he hisses, his cock twitching.
“You want to come? Is that it? You need me to help you feel better?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants.
His motions become more fervent, his teeth nipping at her shoulder, his hand massaging her breast and pinching her nipple. “I can’t wait for the day I can see you in the light,” he says hotly. “Your gorgeous breasts bouncing as I thrust into you, your ass jiggling as I fuck you from behind. Would you let me do that, Elain? Would you let me fuck you? I’d rip off your pretty dress and bend you over the nearest surface, rutting into you like an animal.”
“Oh, God!” she cries. “Yes, I want that. I want you to fuck me, please, Lucien, fuck me.”
He tsks. “I can’t fuck you tonight. But when you’re my wife, I can fuck you all day long, until your precious cunt is begging for a break. Until your legs are shaking and your ass is red from my hands. Everyone will think you’re so innocent, just a poor girl dutifully serving her husband, not knowing that you beg me to fill you up with my cock.”
A wanton moan escapes her, and he can feel his release approaching at his own words. To marry Elain Archeron, to fuck her every day and night would be a dream. He’s loved her from a distance for so long, and now the possibility of it being real is so close he can almost taste it.
He adjusts his hand so that his thumb is on her clit and his finger teases her entrance, pushing in slightly but not enough to reach her hymen lest she need to prove her virginity later. Her cunt is tight and soaked, and he has to fight the urge to push his fingers all the way, curling them just right until she screams his name. He tells himself there will be plenty of time for that, despite knowing that come morning his fantasy will end. He lets himself enjoy it a little while longer.
Elain writhes and moans next to him, her ministrations against his cock becoming more desperate. He quickens his pace, circling her clit faster and faster. “Come for me, Elain. I want to feel your tight little hole fluttering around my fingers.”
She arches toward him, her body shuddering as she comes, moaning his name over and over as the waves pass through her.
“That’s it. Good girl,” he says, his voice strained as he continues his movements while he ruts into her plush ass. His release follows. He groans, biting her shoulder gently as they grind into each other, chasing every last drop of ecstasy.
Once it’s passed, they lie there panting. Lucien’s skin is warm and sticky with a layer of sweat, his pants uncomfortably wet with his come. How pathetic he is. Years of fucking women down the drain all because Elain makes him come undone in a way no one else has before.
“Are you alright?” he asks breathlessly.
She huffs a laugh. Rolling over to face him she says, “I’ve never felt better. You?”
He can’t see her in the dark room, but he imagines her flushed cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. “Like the luckiest man in the world.”
There’s a light smack on his chest, and he pulls her closer, relishing in the sweet smell of her strawberry-scented soap. He trails kisses from the crown of her head to her cheeks and nose, stopping just before he reaches her lips.
“You just had your fingers… inside me and helped me reach the pinnacle. Don’t tell me you’re too shy to give me a kiss,” she teases.
That’s all the permission he needs. Her lips are even softer than he imagined. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, moaning as he pulls her impossibly closer. He eagerly slips his tongue inside her mouth when her lips part for him, and quickly gets lost in the rhyme, exploring every inch of her mouth.
When he pulls away, they’re breathless again, and he can’t help but smile.
“What?” she asks, her thumb brushing his cheek.
“I just can’t believe this is real,” he whispers reverently. “This feels like a dream I’ll wake up from any minute now.”
“Does this mean,” she trails off, hiding her face in his chest.
“Mean what, Elain?”
She sighs, pulling her face away and looking up at him. “Does this mean you’ll court me? Or are we just going to pretend this never happened?”
A stunned laugh escapes him. “I would love nothing more than to shout from the rooftops that I am courting Elain Archeron.”
“Really?” she sheepishly asks, her head tilting down.
He lifts her head with a finger on her chin, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Really. We can discuss this on the ride back to Grosvenor Square tomorrow. For now, I want to enjoy our last few hours alone together. Until we’re married, at least.”
He quickly changes his pants and cleans himself up, then climbs back into bed with Elain. She falls asleep with her head on his chest, his fingers running through her silken strands. Sleep escapes Lucien, too afraid to close his eyes for fear that this is all a dream. He watches the sun rise through the curtains, listening to the soft sounds of Elain breathing. Their next few moves will have to be careful. The last thing he wants is their engagement to be cloaked in scandal, but that is a worry for another day. For now, he appreciates the gift he has been given. The chance to be with Elain, to show her how much he loves her, to worship her for the rest of their lives. It is a dream come true, indeed.
‘The mother, the cauldron, the fucking universe isn’t wrong Azriel. She’s my mate.’ Lucien said with unwavering conviction. Flames dancing in his russet eye as magic fizzed around them.
Azriel heaved air into his strained lungs, his chest burning from smoke and exhaustion. His heart hammering with rage. His very soul vibrating in bitter furious envy of a Vanserra of all people.
Azriel had scented their bond, but there was something wrong with it. How could the mother match them of all people? He shook his head, grief creating an ache far greater than any injury. ‘It doesn’t make sense, you don’t know the first thing about her, her sisters are here, she belongs with me, she doesn’t want you.’
Lucien sighed and dropped on to the floor beside him, groaning with the effort and holding his arm to his chest gingerly. at least the male looked equally as exhausted Azriel felt.
Lucien stared off, his eye glazed with memory ‘I loved a female I thought was my mate. I swore up and down that the bond just hadn’t snapped yet. I was so certain. Because of my own selfishness she died. She’s dead because I believed what I wanted too instead of what was actually happening. I was so desperate to love and be loved in return.’
Lucien’s expression twisted with pain as he shifted, his eye sweeping over the destruction they had caused. The male was annoyingly calm.
‘I know she’s my mate Shadowsinger. I know because you’re right, I don’t know the first thing about her, but I’d give anything to know just one tiny thing. I’d leave now and never bother her again if she asked, cauldron I’d even officiate your fucking wedding if I thought it would make her smile. The way she makes me feel- it’s. I’ll wait for her forever Azriel.’
He turned and looked Azriel in the eye as he added. ‘You can see what you want to see Shadowsinger but I know the truth and so does she. I won’t stand in your way if I believe it’s what truly would make her happy. Can you say you would do the same?’
'Waiting and Waiting for You to Make a Move' featuring: Elucien
cw: lucien is alive, so he's going through it (endearing?). petty-ish elain. platonic!feycien because in my dreams they're still friends. theres a ts reference in there somewhere, third person but Lucien pov, forgive how cringe the spicy scene is, (making out, but still)
a/n: HAPPY SOLSTICE @fluffy-cloudz !!! tis i, your secret santa! i've been cooking this one up, desperately trying to think of something you would love, and this is what i word-vomited out. i truly hope you enjoy it, all of the love!!! <333
wc: 2.5k
@acotargiftexchange
Lucien was a strong-willed man.
Naturally he was, having grown up in a manor full of males raised by Beron Vanserra. A strong will was practically a requirement if you wanted to survive past the age when your mere existence became a threat.
It was due to this will that he had survived countless perils: escaping the vicious aforementioned fox den, a lifetime or two living with Tamlin, getting his left eye ripped out from its very socket—in a particularly gruesome manner, if you'd ask him—along with the fifty years and countless lashings that came after, Tamlin again, with a psychopathic priestess in tow that time, and a war against the King of Hybern himself.
So one could imagine how entirely stupid and barbaric he felt, driving himself mad over one woman. Not even one with the decency to properly traumatize him beforehand.
Just a woman.
Granted, this 'mere' woman had him taken near immediately, even though she was chilled to the bone with the waters of the Cauldron, lying on the dingy floors of Hybern, and the whispers of Feyre in his ear, who told him story upon story of her nightmarish life prior Tamlin.
She also happened to be his fated mate. This is most likely where the 'driven mad' part comes into play, since not only was she dismissing his increasing affections, but also the bond along with it. It was truly taking a toll on his heath, when every moment spent in silence is a moment spent dreading the up and coming moment when she officially rejects him.
Everyone could tell, it wasn't exactly a secret, anyhow. And it was worrying people around him. Specifically, it was worrying none other than the High Lady herself, who hadn't seen Lucien this down in a long while.
She had come to the conclusion he needed her help after finding him alone in the gardens one evening, long after everyone had gone to bed. He wore a wistful expression as he traced the petals of a Hydrangea, and she had most certainly felt the kind of aching pity you feel seeing a run-over animal.
That pity had unfortunately landed him here.
Here being Rita's.
Now, don't get him wrong, a much younger Lucien would have sprung at the opportunity to go to a club he's never been to and deflower a woman or two— in fact, a Lucien four years ago would. But everything is different now.
He remained sat in the booth that Feyre had picked out, intending to stay in it. He was nursing his drink, some ridiculously named special that had the most amount of alcohol on the menu, something he would need if he was going to get through this night.
So far he had rejected two offers to dance from a duo of nymphs who had less or more draped themselves onto him and an invitation back to some pretty female's apartment, which he had no interest in going to. His abstinence deeply infuriating the female across from him.
"Did you swear an oath of chastity without my knowledge?" Feyre remarked, a familiar lilt of sarcasm in her voice, "I didn't realize, forgive me."
"Feyre, you know entirely well why I am sitting in this seat." He said harshly, looking down at his drink.
"But do you owe her loyalty?" She asked.
His heart lunged into his throat, his free hand drifting up to his heart, where the pesky little mate bond resided. "I might not," he began, "But I intend to do so anyways, until she formerly rejects our bond, and very likely after as well."
A sigh escaped the female, she was entirely at a loss how to help him. She would never force Elain into this, and he would rather lose his one good eye than do anything of the sort.
He watches as Feyre sinks into the seat, her hands coming to her head in a manner one could only define as aggravated.
He felt bad, truly, she was trying so painfully hard to cheer him up. "Perhaps we could just go home?" He proposed. And even though it was hardly eleven, he added, "It's late out, and Nyx isn't going to be asleep for much longer."
Feyre peaked out from behind her hands, glaring at him. He was familiar with this routine, and simply narrowed his eyes back.
After only a few moments of this petty staring contest, she relented, standing up and leaving more than enough money on the table for a party of ten, much less the two of them.
"I'm going to go to the bathroom, wait outside for me." She waved back, turning into the sea of bodies to fight her way to the other side before he could even protest.
But he was more than happy to leave, pushing out of the suffocating club and into the chilled air. His steps clicking on the now cobblestone ground, leaning back against the building, tilting his head back with a drawn out exhale.
Outside was probably worse than inside, Lucien thought. Outside, all he could smell was his mate.
He was truly driving himself mad, absolutely off his fucking rockers. She followed him everywhere, in his sleep, behind his eyelids, in the crevices of his soul, and now she had to follow him via hallucinations. Was this the agony that the tales spoke of? The long-drawn suffering he would have to endure? Would he slowly lose all his senses until his mind and body was consumed with her?
"Are you waiting for someone?" An entirely ethereal voice said from beside him, one he could recognize from only the echoes carried on the wind.
His eyes snap open and move to the voices owner. "Elain..." He breathed out, barely a whisper of pure need gracing his lips. Surely too much for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
Upon finding her, his heart tripped treacherously in his heart. He cleared his throat and body straightened on instinct, "Lady Elain," he corrected, greeting her with a tip of his brow.
She stood there before him, a masterpiece made flesh. His hands shaking in their effort to hold back from her, trying to retain focus on the words she had uttered previously.
But before he could entirely process her words, she repeated them again with no ceremony, "Are you waiting for someone?"
His heart, which previously held residency in his throat, dropped to his ass. Did she think he was waiting for another female? "Feyre." He said quickly, entirely uninterested in his mate thinking he was disloyal for even a second.
"Feyre, I'm waiting for Feyre."
The tension in her shoulders relaxed, a smile on her lips, which previously were pulled into a frown. "Ah," she hummed, looking down at her shoes, "That makes sense."
"Yes." He murmured, willing his eyes away from her lips. His usual demeanor of restrained-gentleman weakened by the alcohol, naturally he would never do anything she hadn't made explicitly clear he had permission to, but his longing was shittily concealed, his tongue loosened.
Though the sight of him, disheveled and flushed, was enough to loosen Elain's tongue along with his. "What were you doing out?" She uttered, brushing her skirts.
Lucien let out a hum, "Just a few drinks, to 'loosen me up', Feyre said."
"Of course. And surely not engaging in any...amorous congress, I'd assume?"
His eyes narrowing just slightly, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure what you mean by that."
A scoff escapes Elain, who's calloused hands fold into two tight fists, "Oh you know plenty well what I mean by that. You are downright flushed, shirt half undone and practically reek of unknown females."
Ah, those damned nymphs.
But before he could properly explain himself, the words Feyre had said to him just minutes before replay in his mind. Half drunkenly, and entirely stupidly, he said, "And? What if I was?"
The woman before him looked entirely scattered. "Excuse me? You are a mated male." She squeaked out, practically fuming. Her usually rosey cheeks now red with indignantion.
He let out a scoff, "Am I at fault? Don't think I haven't seen you and the Shadowsinger dancing around one another."
"Me and— Oh, you...you— foolish man!" She said, turning around on the balls of her feet and stomping away.
Guilt immediately floods into his chest, that stupid mouth of his, sprouting off utter nonsense to his mate, who prior had done nothing wrong.
"Elain...wait!"
He said, moving forward to trail after her, entirely abandoning his post waiting for Feyre. "My Lady, please...I didn't mean that."
But she continues stomping away, faster than one would assume with her stature. If this were any other instance, he would have curled in on himself and died a shameful, shameful death. But he was drunk, and entirely at fault here. His deep-seated need for her to understand overriding his usual self-hatred.
"Don't follow me." She said, twisting and turning throughout the cobbled streets, going what seemed to be the exact opposite of the way home.
Yet he steamed onward, worry now joining in to create a triage of reasons for doing so. "My Lady, you'll get yourself lost..." He said, extending a hand to reach out for her, gently hooking around her wrist.
"I understand if you have no desire to see me right now, I would feel the same. But please don't sacrifice your safety, it's rather cold out and you're barely wearing thick enough clothes." He said, immediately releasing her and slipping off his jacket to placing upon her shoulders, his hands resting there subconsciously.
"Please, let me walk you home. I will go directly back to the Human Lands without a word of displeasure if you so wish for it, and you will never hear a word from me again. But please, My Lady...lets get you somewhere warm."
Elain's honeyed gaze meets his, her eyebrows furrowed with displeasure. "Why...why were you with other women? I thought you were pursuing me?" She muttered, embarrassed and pissed.
Luciens eyes soften and he lets out a soft breath. "I wasn't." He said, looking away from her to add. "Even if I was, why would you care? I'm just waiting for you to reject my advances at this point."
A soft sigh escapes her and her hands comes to his, "How many gifts of yours have I returned?" She said, "None. In fact— I stare at them in the middle of the night, when sleep refuses to come to me. And that is often."
He nods slowly, a low fluttering sensation in his stomach at the thought of her caring for his gifts, it was a lovely sensation, but going ignored for his own well being. "I'm confused, My Lady." He said earnestly, eyes searching her face for the answers.
"I have returned gifts from Grayson and Azriel, but never you." She said, meeting his gaze. "Never you."
Lucien opens his mouth to speak his confusion again, but she quickly cut him off, offering the answer without waiting. "You have no competition, Lord Lucien. So, why aren't you pursing me?"
His mouth opens into an 'o', his eyes darting along her face. "I've been waiting for your signal, My Lady." He said earnestly, "I haven't received any, and I will not aggressively pursue until I've been given clear consent."
"And what is clear consent to you, Sir?" She said, "Was my keeping your cloak from our first meeting not enough? My continuous acceptance of your gifts?"
"A definitive answer. An action, perhaps. But I would never assume something based on an action that could easily be cordial."
"Oh, for the love of—" She huffed, rolling her eyes. Her hands slipping from where they covered his to the collar of his top, pulling him down to meet her lips, standing on her toes.
Lucien's eyes widen from shock, hands shaking and his brain repeating, "Is this real?" over and over until it goes numb.
With nothing left but his heart and his instincts, his hands leave her shoulders coming to rest on the small of her back. He tugs her body towards his, dipping his head down to meet hers. Absentmindedly, he guides her towards the brick of a nearby wall, carefully backing her into it so he could properly ravish her mouth.
A gentle noise escapes Elain, a mix of surprise and excitement. At the opening of her lips, he instantaneously slides his tongue against hers, fingers digging into her hips to restrain himself from completely consuming the poor woman.
Her hands comb through his hair, tugging the ginger curls at the base of his head in a way that makes his hands lower down her back and lips leave hers to kiss her neck.
"Oh, fuck." He whispered against her skin, leaving hot kisses along the line of her neck and inhaling her scent deeply, letting out a rumbling groan at the feeling of her against him. His hands knead into her, squeezing her ample bottom as he hoists her up, her legs hooking on his hips.
Elain shakes from the euphoria of feeling him, nails dragging along his shoulders and neck as she pants. A tight, hot feeling erupts in her gut, her tightening in a desperate attempt to get some for of friction against her.
"Lucien," she breathes, clinging to his back at the feeling of him hard against her, rocking her hips before he steadies her with his hand, keeping her from moving. "Please." She whines, tugging his hair the same way that made him hard before, just to get what she wanted.
"No...I can't, My Lady. I can't...not here." He groaned breathlessly, sucking a mark into her neck, her eyes tearing up at the sensation of it. He shakes his head against her as she whines again, growing harder at the smell of her arousal, gasping into her skin.
"Lucien?"
His head unceremoniously whips up, Elain turning her head as well. Feyre stands before them, with a rather amused raise of her eyebrows as a smirk is plastered on her face. He feels Elain go rigid and warm beneath him, her face flustered as she croaks out a series of noises that sound like the very being of a few words, without ever fully becoming any.
Lucien gently sets her down and fixes her— his coat. He clears his throat and smiled, "Lady Elain and I were having a conversation."
Feyre nods slowly, a grin gracing her lips. "Uh-huh...well, you two can continue when we get back. Just...put a silencing glamour on your room, please. Nyx needs as much sleep as he can get." She said, turning around and walking off, a shake of her head visible even as she gets farther.
He clears his throat, hand coming to rest— appropriately— on the small of Elain's back, a grin on his lips that he tries to hide, if only for his mates sake.
"We will." He called out to Feyre, Elain huffing in exasperation as he guides her back to her house for the night, the bond pleasantly humming between them.
i really hope to enjoyed it! as you've probably guessed im not entirely confident in my writing, but I hope i made something that checked all of your boxes and you liked reading!
Summary: Lucien’s heart stopped the day his wife’s heart did.
Or at least he wished it did.
Because Lucien’s heart still remained beating while Jesminda’s heart continued to beat in another person’s chest. Dr Lin’s Jane Doe, they called her.
Gods, he hated her.
Why did she get to live when Jesminda did not?
Rating: M, some smut
Read on AO3
A/N: *peeking from behind the door* yes, I’m coming out of my very long writing hiatus for @elucienweekofficial I just felt like I couldn’t not! Especially with how perfect this fic premise fit the Day 1 prompt: Heartbeat. Literally😅
This will be a two-parter, with part 2 being posted for the day 6 Scars prompt.
Disclaimer: I am personally very pro-organ donation but if you’re not, that’s fine too. This is just a silly fic. Please don’t take it too seriously.
Now that’s out of the way, I hope you enjoy!
Lucien’s heart stopped the day his wife’s heart did.
It stopped when the container truck slammed into their car on the highway and ripped her away from him. He remembered the exact millisecond her heart stopped. Even through the hospital walls, his all too keen fae hearing could track the fading beats and with it, his heart stopped beating with hers.
Or at least he wished it did.
Because Lucien’s heart still remained beating, and he was cursed (or blessed as some naive fool would call it) to walk about this world alone to keep pieces of their lives together alive.
All while Jesminda’s heart beat in another person’s chest. Dr Lin’s Jane Doe, they called her. A name Lucien could never forget.
Gods, he hated her.
Why did she get to live when Jesminda did not?
***
Lucien tilted his head up to the ceiling. Eyes closed, his long breath shuddered every step in and out of his body.
He hated Tithe Day. It was an antiquated custom that should have been left behind when society entered the industrial revolution, or maybe just when wheels were invented. He never understood why Tamlin never abolished it. Even if it had been greatly streamlined, meetings with the High Lord were only required if the people failed to make the tithe after three consecutive years, the kneeling and pleas for another chance were demeaning and humiliating, excessively so.
They were such a pain to watch and Lucien was only on the fifth family for the day. His eyes met Andra’s across the room, who gave him a small shrug. The male didn’t necessarily agree with the practice but neither did he find an impetus to transit to a differently flawed tax system. A necessary evil, he would end up saying, as Tamlin nodded in agreement at the back.
Lucien swallowed back a scoff and turned back down to his tablet, mindlessly scrolling down the list of her families they had to get through today. Mother’s tits, there were so many-
Like a yarn still attached to the spool, his gaze was helplessly pulled towards the doorway, towards the Archeron sisters shuffling somewhat begrudgingly into the room.
Feyre, Lucien’s brain supplied automatically in recognition of his friend. It would mean that the ones next to her were Nesta and Elain; the latter of which had his thoughts gradually seeping away from his mind.
Ba-dum, ba-dum-
A honey blonde mop, a shade lighter than both her sisters’, whose tight curls perfectly frame an oval face. Though her lips never stopped muttering to her sisters, her face tilted a degree towards his direction, chocolate brown eyes widened to orbs. Chocolate brown locked with russet.
-Ba-dum.
Time unwound between heartbeats. In the span of a blink, the world righted itself and Elain’s face relaxed back into neutrality. The moment passed as if it never happened.
Lucien turned his attention back to the tablet as the trio bowed to the High Lord. His eyes narrowing at the description next to their names. The Archerons fell behind the requisite payment by just a hairline three years ago and got caught in a web of compounding interest, culminating in their appearance before the High Lord today. The initial amount was so marginal it was unfortunate, really.
Nesta, as the oldest, spine rigid and dignified, made their plea case. A worked installment plan to catch up on their late payments within the year. It should have been a simple case primed for dismissal. Except for the fact that Feyre snubbed Tamlin’s attention at an event once, a flat rejection that played jump ropes on the line of propriety and humiliation.
Tamlin’s lips curled unpleasantly, a curt rejection poised at his lips.
“You’re blessed with the earth elemental gift, aren’t you?” Lucien’s voice rang across the hall, cutting in before Tamlin could say his piece. He would pay the price for undermining the High Lord’s authority later but for now, the courtier could mediate. “Quite the green thumb.”
Elain blinked twice, caught off guard at the question. Next to her, Nesta narrowed her eyes while Feyre frowned.
“Yes,” the middle sister nodded briskly, her mind made up in an instant. She lifted her chin and focused her gaze at Tamlin, a perfectly calculated mix of deference and reverence designed to play to the egos of powerful men. “Would the High Lord be in need of such services?”
They did, in fact. Their garden, a sentimental keepsake from Tamlin’s long passed parents, had fallen into disarray in neglect over the past few months after their previous landscapist unceremoniously quit.
At a cock of Tamlin’s head, Lucien replied affirmatively and they quickly came to an arrangement. A month to restore the garden and whatever additional time required to lay the necessary spellwork to maintain its upkeep. A debt to be repaid all while protecting delicate prides.
It was only after they left that Lucien realised he had met his match. That was a battle of words and wit won by charm and smiles.
***
If one (mostly Andras, that teasing prick) asked him if he was snooping, Lucien would deny it to his grave. He just so happened to be walking through the corridors where its long stretch of windows overlooked the gardens. The exact same gardens which prim and upright Alis seemed to be berating Elain.
“As skilled as you may be, punctuality should be the most basic courtesy you show the court. To be late on your second day! Heavens above!” She exclaimed.
Elain stood by dutifully as the estate’s facility manager continued to lecture her. Never giving excuses nor defending herself. At the end of it, she sincerely apologised and promised never to let it happen again. That, at least, softened Alis’s anger, who at last left with a final ‘Just don’t do it again’.
Lucien made his way over after Alis left, stopping just behind their new landscapist, kneeling by a bed of dying roses. He asked with an amused smile, “Tough luck with Alis already on your second day?”
Elain flinched at the intrusion, just barely and quickly subdued, but a flinch nonetheless. She replied with a practiced smile, “Unfortunately, it seems. Although I do hope to get back into her good graces soon.” She gave a pointed look at the green glow bathing the sad looking plants and the steadily receding marks of soil rot.
Lucien didn’t buy the act. He held back a frown, his nostrils flaring at the burst of fear that Elain had momentarily emitted. Russet eyes tracked the stilted movement of delicate arms and narrowed at the wrapped bandage around the exposed slit of her wrist. He caught it mid air, long fingers gently circled the back of her hand and brought it closer to him.
He asked sharply. “What happened?”
Their linked hands trembled. Lucien didn’t know who was the one who did — her in pain or fear or him in barely controlled anger?
Elain’s other hand joined theirs, albeit momentarily, to extricate her hand from his and protectively held her injured wrist to her chest.
She shrugged in a suitably convincing manner of dismissal. “I was mugged on the way home last night.”
“Mugged?” He echoed, barely hearing himself over the blood rushing in his ears, “for what? What did they take?”
Her jaw clenched, relaxed and clenched again, fingers sweeping featherlike caress along the back of her wrist. She replied, “My father’s watch.”
Lucien dragged his gaze across her wrist, still cradled against her chest, up to her eyes, where shadows seemed to haunt deeper within its recesses. A hurt so complex Lucien couldn’t unpack. It chased away the edges of red crowding his sigh and left sympathy in its place. In that moment, he did the only thing he could: as gently as he could muster, he took that injured hand into his own and engulfed it with a healing warmth.
“Thank you.” Elain said, smiling gratefully after he released her hand. It was the first time he had seen the female smile with zero reservation.
It stole his breath away.
Lucien straightened his back, clearing his throat. Elain, too, turned her attention back to the sad looking flowers and bathed it with a green glow.
“If it’s alright with you, I can walk you back from now on.”
Elain blinked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He shrugged as he slipped his hands into his pockets, “I want to.” The notion of letting Elain walk back alone in the dark after what happened wrangled something within him. Unacceptable, it hissed at him.
“Let me know when you get off. I’ll drop you a text later so you have my number.” He said when she didn’t object.
She cocked a brow and asked with humour, “and how would you get my number?”
Lucien found himself unwittingly smiling. He returned smoothly, “Nothing wrong with using official records for personal reasons.”
A giggle escaped her, a melodic chime ringing in the air. She stood up, wiping the dirt off her hands on her apron. Nodding in satisfaction at the bed of roses that now looked much less sickly than it did before. She lifted her phone from her pocket and handed it to him. “Or you could just give yourself a missed call right now. You know, just to avoid any abuse of authority.”
He bent over slightly to drop the phone back into her hand after following her suggestion. His lips drew close to the pointed tip of her ear. “There, no more abuse of authority. Purely,” he paused, delighting in the tiny goosebumps raised, “personal.”
The tip of her ears stained pink. Elain twisted her body back to her plants, muttering in a voice so unclear it might have been undecipherable if not for his fae hearing, “I’ll see you later then.”
A lightness settled in his chest. It felt hard to keep the smile off his face.
“See you later, Elain.”
***
Twilight is a time of beauty. A mix of pink, orange and blue splashed across the sky. As temporary as it was, the view served as a reminder to look up, to forget worldly concerns in that fleeting moment, and take in the gift nature offered.
Lucien had spent just a little too long looking at the twilight sky today. Occasionally, he sneaked glances at the partner of his walk, someone whose beauty rivaled even the best of nature’s offering. It wasn’t an awkward silence per say. In fact, it felt too comfortable. One where words weren’t needed to fill the gap.
Their shoes clattered on cobblestone, their shoulders occasionally rubbed against each other’s. A little girl ran up to them then and thrusted a basket of stalks of daffodils with red ribbons tied to them.
“Flower for your date, sir?”
Lucien and Elain exchanged glances. A light danced in those chocolate brown eyes in a silent message agreeing to play along. Lucien passed some bills to the flower girl and ran his fingers along the bunch.
“This one!” The girl piped up, her grin wide enough to split her face, and picked up a particularly fresh looking stalk, “perfect for the pretty lady.”
“Excellent choice,” Lucien agreed with a pointed look, “very pretty indeed.”
Someone who looked like Elain must be no stranger to such compliments but still, in the orange glow of twilight, Lucien spotted the rose dusting over her cheeks.
“Do you like receiving flowers, Elain?” He murmured after the flower girl had proceeded to hunt for her next sale. He raised his hand to brush a stray strand away from his face.
“It could be considered contrived to give flowers to a landscapist.” She remarked, even as the look in her eyes was warm.
Lucien considered her words. “What about giving flowers to Elain? Not Elain the landscapist or the earth elementalist. Just Elain.”
A smile plays on her lips and she admitted, “Then, Elain does like flowers. They’re pretty.”
A pure and honest answer. There was no pretense in seeking a deeper or more philosophical reason to her love for flowers. Just an appreciation for the simple beauty in a world where it was so easy to get caught up in its ugliness.
Elain bumped into his shoulders as Lucien came to a halt. He turned around to face her. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced the long stalk, halving its length. He tucked the flower behind Elain’s ear, pushing back the same stray lock he brushed away earlier.
His eyes drank in the sight before him and inadvertently took a step back in appreciation.
Elain reached her hand out and froze him in motion. Hands delicately gathered his long auburn tresses, and rested them on one shoulder.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked, her question stained by a quiet caution. With that red ribbon that had now unwound and somehow floated its way to her hand, she deftly tied the red ribbon around it.
Lucien hummed. “Do I need a reason to?”
There is a reason for everything. Her pointed gaze said and she was right. Wanting to be a good, decent person was a reason. As was simply wanting to get into her pants. Equally real and valid.
The trouble was Lucien himself didn’t quite understand the reason behind his own behaviour.
***
With a few phone calls and a cup of tea with a law enforcement captain later, Elain’s mugger was put behind bars, and her father’s watch back on her wrist three days later.
“Will I still be seeing you later?” She asked tentatively after Lucien had broken the news and returned the watch to her.
There was no longer a reason to keep walking her back and he should say no to keep things clean and uncomplicated. The proverbial “not shitting where you eat” and all that.
Only, “of course, we have our running tab of ice creams that you owe me,” was what came out of his mind. Logic taking a backseat.
If only the small grin Elain gave in return did not make his heart skitter.
The walk from the High Lord’s estate grounds to her home quickly became the highlight of his days. It was too often derailed by little adventures — detours with strolls by the river, dinners talking about anything and everything, a trip to the freaking planetarium. The clock shifted right for when their walks came to an end each day.
Spending time with Elain was effortless, something more than just acquaintances, almost fringing on a lifelong friendship.
Unfortunately, today was a day he would not get to walk Elain home. His diplomatic role in external relations had him playing courtier at the annual Seven Courts meeting and the networking dinner reception thereafter. Lucien usually relished at such events; flitting around the crowd and solidifying the much needed intercourt ties, or simply forming much more personal ties; ones that end with clothes lying askew on the ground and bodies pressed together.
Tonight was not turning out to be one of those nights. His mind played tricks on him: of a phantom achingly familiar melodic chime of laughter followed him around, chestnuts in the canapés reminiscent of tight locks of honey brown, floral arrangements of an assortment of flowers that somehow all smelt of jasmine and honey.
Lucien stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the estate garden and released a long breath. He rested his elbow on the railing and scrubbed his face with his hand. He should really at least make sure he fulfilled his official diplomatic duties for the evening.
A small movement in the painstakingly restored gardens drew his attention like a moth to a flame-
“Why are you still here?” Lucien half demanded, the air around him still shocked from the disappearing embers of his winnow.
A green glow extinguished into the night. Elain blinked up at him, not expecting the sudden intrusion. The space between her brows creased, “I’m fine tuning the maintenance array. Why aren’t you at the meeting?”
“The meeting?” Lucien asked, amused. “That ended hours ago. What time do you think it is now?”
Elain looked up at the now darkened sky. She flicked her wrist to read the time on her watch. Rosebud lips formed an ‘o’ before curving upwards into a sheepish smile.
“Oops?”
Surrounded in the dark lush green of her garden, with dirt smudged on her temple, and the moonlight which glided off her cheeks and chased the beaded sweat down her jawline, Elain Archeron was the most beautiful fae Lucien had ever seen.
“C’mon,” he said gravelly. He paused to clear his throat, “if you’re ready, let me walk you back.”
“Alright,” she nodded, unaffected as she spooned sheets of paper into her hands, “let me just grab my stuff from the office and we can head off.”
“Did something happen at the event?” She piped up after they entered her small office.
“Hmm?”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in concern, “You look bothered by something.”
You. You are what’s bothering me. Lucien nearly blurted out. You, with your stupidly beautiful eyes and annoyingly luscious hair and freaking dirt smudged face.
Elain continued to eye him silently. She wound her arms to the back to undo the apron and slide it over her head, a sliver of smooth, alabaster skin peeking out as she lifted her arms.
She froze her hands above her head, nostrils flaring at the change of scent he had unwittingly emitted. “Lucien?”
With a speed that would astound even his toughest Vanserra instructor, Lucien crowded Elain into the wall behind, a hard thigh wedged between her legs. His hand caught her twin open palms and pinned them in place, his other hand a light caress against her cheeks, thumb wiping away the dirt that had been taunting him.
“You had some dirt there.” He panted raggedly.
Elain advanced an inch, her legs now flushed against his thigh. The slightest movement surged lightning down to the one part of his body commanding the most blood flow right now.
“Where?” She challenged, leg snaking around his thigh.
His hand caught her thigh mid movement and tightened his grip, settling her leg around his waist. “Do you really want to know,” His voice dropped an octave, “Elain?”
Pupils blown wide, the sweetest scent permeated through the narrow space between them.
“Yes.” She breathed.
Their lips crashed together. An explosion of movement, everywhere. His tongue against hers, her fingers entangled in his hand, his hand snaking beneath and up her shirt, leaving its trail of goosebumps.
His teeth scraped across her upper lip. “Elain,” he pleaded. A desperate bid.
“Yes.”
Buttons scattered to the ground as Lucien littered kisses down her neck and chest. Experienced fingers unhooked the bra in one smooth motion and the garment joined the buttons. He closed his mouth around a nipple, relishing in the whimper emanating from the writhing female.
Lithe fingers eagerly undid his belt and shoved downwards to grab-
He hissed, “Elain.”
“Yes, Lucien.” Her hands sandwiched his face to force his gaze to hers. Sobriety rang clear even within the haze of lust in her eyes. “Yes.”
Pants and panties yanked downwards as Lucien plunged deep within Elain in a single thrust. She gasped sharply, leg squeezing tightly around his waist.
Yes, she trusted him. Yes, she wanted this, she wanted him.
Lucien trembled in inaction as he let her adjust to him. Russet eyes were equally beseeching. Yes, he wanted this. Yes, he wanted her more than he could imagine in his wildest dreams.
Twin heartbeats hammered to the skies as they moved against the other. Light blinds with every thrust, pleasure building closer and closer to the precipice, until he follows her over the edge, world shattering, stars bursting.
Yes, yes, yes.
***
They laid, sweaty and sated, on the ground. The aftermath of their joining left them limp and entangled but just ridiculously happy. Lucien could hardly keep a lazy grin off his face as he idly drew circles with his fingers on her stomach.
“Stop it!” Elain giggled at the ticklish sensations, swatting his hand away.
He playfully obliged and directed his attention upwards towards her chest. He twisted his upper body to hover over her, head lowering to give her breasts the tender loving care he had decided they wholly deserved.
He pressed his lips to a scar at the centre of Elain’s chest. “Where did this come from? Looks serious.” He murmured.
“It was. A heart transplant, from a multiple vehicle accident on the bridge linkway between Winter and Spring that sent me veering off a cliff four years ago.” She covered her hand over his, finger tracing over the scar slightly. She sounded faraway, her mind falling into the depths of a trauma sequestered deep in her mind. “They said it was a miracle I survived.”
Bella rang faintly in Lucien’s head. He should’ve been so terribly grateful that she survived, especially when one car accident had already taken so much from him. If only his darn mind could stop racing.
A multiple vehicle pileup on the bridge linking Summer and Winter four years ago. There weren’t that many accidents with such a description. Identical to the one he and Jesminda were in.
He choked. “W-which hospital were you in?”
Elain frowned, not expecting his response. “Winter General. Why do you ask?”
Lucien withdrew his hand, his entire body extricated itself. The instant loss of heat was stark but Lucien barely felt it over the sound of his heart beating thunderously in his ears. Elain felt miles away.
“What was your doctor’s name?”
Somewhere still so far away. A deep continuous frown. A distant reply. “Dr Rebecca Lin. What’s going on, Lucien?”
Dr Rebecca Lin. Dr Lin. Winter General. Four years ago. Multiple vehicle pile-up. Dr Lin.
It all came crashing down.
He whispered, more to himself. “Dr Lin’s Jane Doe. You’re Dr Lin’s Jane Doe.”
Concern merged with frustration and wariness. “What are you talking about?”
Lucien wanted to burst into a hysterical laughter. Of course it had to turn out this way. The gods were not done fucking with him yet apparently. He exclaimed, “It’s you! You’re Dr Lin’s Jane Doe. Winter General, October, four years ago. On the worst day of my life.”
Finally, their eyes meet across the room. Wild russet against stricken chocolate brown.
Her voice was a dangerous calm as she asked, “what are you saying?”
“Jesminda’s heart beats in your chest. You live when she died.”
He couldn’t be here. Not now and definitely not with her.
Lucien gave one last look at Elain. Her mused hair, swollen lips and undeniably devastated eyes. A picture of vulnerability.
A part of him rammed at him, screaming at him to hold her in his arms and never let go. He squashed it mercilessly. How could he when Jesminda died while she lived? How could he ever face her in the afterlife if he did so?
Lucien did the only thing he could. He winnowed away.
A/N: ignore the cliffhanger. Did you spot the Bridgerton S4 reference?😌
