The Law of the Land
ACoTaR Western AU - People are not always who they claim to be. Rhysand Moreno learned this the hard way. Blinded by desire and the idea of forever, Rhys ignored his own advice in favor of getting closer to the woman he rescued. Naturally, it could only end one way: heartbreak, betrayal, and three thousand dollars missing.
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A/N: I know it’s kinda silly - and probably riddled with historical inaccuracies - but I had a lot of fun playing around and experimenting with everything. I’m a sucker for nonlinear timelines, and it turns out writing them is as much fun as reading them! I have plans for more chapters but would also love to receive some prompts - for this fic, one of my others, or simply for oneshots. I hope you enjoy!
~5.5k words
CW: Some smooching. Guns make an appearance and alcohol is consumed, but there is no violence or anything graphic in this fic. However, if you feel this could trigger you then please do not read, just to be careful :)
…
They stumbled backwards until Rhys felt the edge of his chair against the back of his legs and immediately collapsed into it. Feyre’s hair was coming undone from its tidy updo, and his was thoroughly mussed from her fingers running through it.
Wine mingled with whiskey as their kiss turned deeper, lasted longer, became less desperate and more sensuous. Rhysand certainly didn’t mind the feeling of her hands roaming his torso or the weight of her in his lap, and didn’t object as she moved closer and closer - until there was nothing in between their skin but the light clothes they wore.
Rhys couldn’t believe that he had found her, felt lucky to have met her.
They pulled away for just a moment.
“A thought for a thought?” Rhys breathed.
“I’m thinking…” Feyre leaned forward to sneak another kiss. “That I’m very glad you’ve helped me.”
“Funny,” Rhys leaned closer to her, brushing noses. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Feyre closed the rest of the gap, still straddling his lap as she leaned in for another kiss. Rhysand’s elbows rested on the arms of his desk chair while his hands gripped her hips. Feyre let her own hands wander; across his chest, through his hair, down his back… and further.
Rhysand became lost in her; the feel of her skin on his, the gentle weight of her hair - now completely loose - draped over his shoulder, the taste of alcohol left on her tongue. And each time they pulled away, they couldn’t resist going back for more. They matched each other’s fervor and enthusiasm and didn’t seem able to stop.
Until she abruptly pulled away and slid from his lap.
His eyes snapped open to find hers staring back as she leaned over him, now standing.
Feyre’s blue eyes were a cool and welcome oasis in the brutal heat, but in her gaze Rhysand found something new, something he had hardly so much as glimpsed during the entirety of her visit. He saw something softer, sweeter, maybe even a bit sad. There was a spark, a carefree look that indicated contentment.
But then that look changed, hardened into something more durable. And that refreshing oasis became sharper than ice, the look turning painfully piercing. Her kiss-swollen lips curved up in a wide, wicked grin, and a small laugh came from deep within her chest.
“I thank you, Mayor Moreno, for this most generous opportunity.” Feyre’s voice was still breathless as she stepped back from between his legs, brushing her hair from her eyes and tying it back in a low tail. Keys, his keys, now hung from her wrist, jingling and jangling as she tied her hair.
Rhysand came to with a jolt, pulled from his kiss drunken haze by Feyre’s abrupt change in character.
“What?” Rhys moved to follow her, only to find he was shackled to the chair. “What!?”
***
It was too damned hot to be searching for bandits.
At this hour, the sun burned a bright orange just as it tipped past its apex in the sky and began its descent over the rusty land. Heat was visible along the horizon, rippling through the air and distorting what little there was to see. The ruggedness of the terrain and the vivid colors were far more breathtaking than even the desert heat.
Rhysand Moreno would have been able to appreciate it, were it not for the dry air that threatened to suffocate him.
Though he was mayor of a well-off, riverside establishment, Rhysand did more than his part in keeping his town and the surrounding area safe. Notorious to those familiar with the land, if bad news had a name, it answered to Mayor Moreno and his inner circle.
It was no great surprise when he accompanied his sheriff and deputies into the desert after reports of highwaymen. After all, why squander skills and make things more difficult for everyone involved?
They had made it quite a way from Velaris in just a few hours. With the sun beating ruthlessly on their backs and not a trace of the outlaws they were searching for, everyone was ready turn back towards home when they noticed a mess of luggage further ahead.
Hoof and cart tracks marred the rippling pattern in the sand drawn by the wind, soft and already fading. Bags had burst open, their contents strewn about through the dirt and rocks. An open canteen - its contents long ago spilled and evaporated, wasted in the desert heat.
All this mess, and not a single person in sight.
The whole group drew closer, silently pulling revolvers from holsters and knives from sheaths.
“Hello?” Rhysand called out, his voice echoing off of rocks. It was silent for a beat, and they exchanged looks until they heard a response.
“Hello?” The voice was lighter, more feminine, and rough around the edges. Thirsty. “Is someone there? Would you please help?”
Amren took the lead and thumbed back the hammer of her revolver as they moved forward. Slowly, they reached the edge of the crevice and, in perfect unison, leaned cautiously to peer inside.
Sitting at the bottom, half covered in shade, was a young woman in attire not at all suitable for the desert: heavy layers of skirts attached to a fitted bodice. Tall lace-up boots with less than sensible heels. Thick velvet gloves reaching halfway to her elbows. A hat with a brim so narrow it did nothing to protect from the sun.
“Oh, heavens be praised!” She stood up, beating dust and grime from her skirts and shading her eyes from the sun. “I’ve been stuck down here for ages. Would you be so kind as to find a way to help me?” A look of suspicion crept across her face and she quickly stepped back into the shadows. “Unless you’re going to kill me, then I would prefer it if you kindly left me be.” Her voice was hoarse and even as she stood in the shadows, Rhysand could see the cracks in her dry lips and the angry red burns which covered her fair, freckled skin.
He shared a look between his deputies and sheriff. They were all thinking the same thing: No weapons visible, a single woman, old horse tracks, no supplies, and severely dehydrated.
Not a threat.
Cassian spoke for them, flicking his badge as he did so. “Well, Miss, you’re in luck. Helping people is exactly what we do.”
It took nearly two hours, multiple strategies, and many choice words before they managed to help her out of the crevice. But they did, and they were able to begin the trek home before sun fall.
Each member introduced themselves to the woman and described their city - where she would be staying - to her in turns as she drank from the spare canteens they handed her.
Once the woman had soothed her parched throat and hid her bare skin from the sun, she finally introduced herself as Miss Feyre Pratt. After settling behind Amren on the saddle, she shared with them how exactly she found herself in the previous predicament.
“Bandits?” Morrigan voiced the question they were all itching to ask.
“No, thank goodness. My horse spooked, you see,” Feyre explained. “It must have been a snake, or perhaps a wolf - you do have wolves around here, don’t you?”
“Coyotes - not wolves. And you’re lucky they didn’t get to you in the night while you were all alone down there.” Amren’s response - though true - was unnecessary, and when Rhysand looked to where the two women shared a horse, he saw Feyre’s face pale.
“Ah, it’s not a bother on you. You’re headed back with us, and though I might be biased, our town isn’t so bad.” Rhysand adopted a teasing manner in an attempt to ease her mind.
She hesitated before continuing. “Well… either way. My horse spooked, threw me, and ran off. My luggage went everywhere, the world spun, and the next thing I knew I was at the bottom of that crevice and all alone in the middle of this desert.” She gestured to the wide-open land surrounding them, but quickly returned her grip to Amren’s waist as the horses picked up to a trot.
If Rhysand had to guess, he would assume she was a city girl.
“It’s all right, Miss Pratt.” Azriel - who had been fairly quiet through the entire ordeal - finally spoke. “There are a few other towns nearby, surely your horse will turn up sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we’ll provide you a safe place to stay and enough food to eat for the entire duration of your visit.”
“Thank you,” The gratitude in her eyes shone brighter than the desert sun as their group continued to plod along the desolate land.
***
Rhysand didn’t have time to look away before Feyre began to shuck off the many layers of skirts, revealing a pair of leather trousers beneath, crisscrossed with a leather thigh holster.
A double barreled six chamber revolver gleamed within it.
She started talking. “The truth is yes, I could have done this without you. But you see, you saved me a lot of grief and a lot of time, and have really just made everything easier overall. So, I wanna make sure you know how valuable you’ve been to me.”
Feyre pressed the dress in a tight roll, now clad in a white button up, leather jacket, and the trousers she had been wearing under the many layers. The lace up boots she wore now - previously hidden by skirts - were far more practical than the ones she had on when they found her, stranded in that crevice. With no heels and soles covered with soft leather, they were nearly silent. They also provided more protection against snagging shrubs and sand, with the top hitting at mid-calf.
“Phew, that thing sure does make one overheat. Honestly, you men don’t realize how easy you have it,” She waved her hands, fanning herself. “Now then, I’ll just help myself to some of your money and be on my merry way. I’m certain someone will find you before sunrise, don’t you worry too much about that.” She clapped her hands and set off to work, walking past him with more confidence than anyone he had met.
Though his desk chair didn’t roll, it did swivel, and Rhys took advantage of this as he turned to keep his eyes on Feyre. She fiddled with something behind his desk before pulling out her travel bag and stuffing the rolled-up clothes inside.
Rhysand’s head spun, confused and addled, not able - not wanting to catch up with the real world.
She… she had… she had snuck in here ahead of time. She had snuck in, hidden her bags between the desk and the wall, and slipped back out, all without his knowledge. She had probably done it while he waited for her outside of her lodgings, right across the street. That was why she had taken so long.
Of course she had, because Rhysand made it all too easy for her; he ignored his own advice and trusted her, had shown her around so she would know where everything was should an occasion arise in which she needed to reach him.
Rhys had been foolish enough to fall for her, and now she held his ring of keys, had it right there on her hip. That ring carried every key that mattered; the one to his front door, to his vault, a spare for the sheriff’s office, a key for the shackles that bound him. That ring gave her all of the power.
He needed that ring back.
Rhysand struggled to form words. Embarrassment flared bright in his chest, a million suns going off with each heartbeat. But beneath it, anger and hurt burned stronger.
“So you’re a bandit, then?” His words came out a fierce growl.
“Oh please, Mayor Moreno. Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” She spoke as she worked, abandoning her bags for the door to his private vault. “I prefer the term ‘thief’ - it’s far more appropriate for my field of work.”
“Which would be what? Trickery? Cheating and lying?” He glowered at her as she moved about with cunning efficiency.
“Cleverly and delicately crafting different versions of the truth,” She tapped Rhys’s nose as she walked past. “I think that you, sir, would be surprised by how much talent it takes.” Feyre winked at him.
“I think you meant lies, Miss Pratt.” Rhys retorted.
“No sir, I did not. I try my utmost best to avoid lying if it can be helped. It keeps things tidier that way.”
“But you’re a criminal. How do I know you haven’t killed anyone? Maybe you’re just lying to make me feel better. Maybe you’re planning to shoot me dead when you’re done here and leave my body for my brothers to find.”
She glared at him. “I am a thief. I steal from people who can afford to be stolen from. I am not a bandit. I do not kill.” The vault door squealed on its hinges.
“Really?” Rhysand asked, drawing the word out.
She just ignored him and began to count out stolen goods, sorting money into three different bags.
He pressed the matter. “I see you have a gun. Surely there have been people you had to kill. Perhaps an officer who caught you in the act? Or a bounty hunter, right on your tail?”
She remained silent but for the counting - a mumbling under her breath, tying a bag closed when she reached a thousand and moving on to the next one, starting the process over.
“Or maybe it was a partner in crime, maybe they kept taking more than their fair share,” Rhys leaned forward as much as he could, the chair creaking with his weight. “Who was it, Miss Pratt? Who have you killed? You can’t expect me to believe someone as cunningly clever as you has been able to do what you do without some casualties. Not when you have that gun right there on your thigh, polished to a shine.”
Feyre paused her counting. Looked up at him. Where Rhysand expected to see regret, perhaps even a few tears, or maybe just plain insanity, he instead saw a fierce fire that had him shrinking back in his chair. An intensity that almost made him regret the poking and prodding.
She stood from her crouch and stalked towards him, cheeks flushed with anger. “Let me clear something up with you, Mister Moreno. Yes, I am a criminal. Yes, I use people to get what I need. Yes, I am clever and conniving and rotten all the way through. But it is because I am - as you said, ‘cunningly clever’ - that I have not killed anyone in my job, have not ever wanted to kill anyone, and hope to not have to ever kill anyone in my future.” Feyre stood before him now, was beginning to lean over where he sat.
It was almost working. He wanted her closer, needed her closer. Just a little closer, close enough so he could grab the keys back from her.
She saw his eyes flick down, back to her face, down, and then up again.
She put one hand over the keys and began to back away, the anger in her voice fading. “There is only one person in this world I would willingly kill, but I’m too much of a coward to follow through.”
She said it simply, without a drop of emotion in her voice, and went back to counting out money, one thousand in each bag.
***
The week went by smoothly for Mayor Moreno after he helped Miss Pratt get settled. He provided her with enough coin to contact the uncle she was travelling so far to see and to replace the belongings which had been irreparably damaged.
He also invited her to dinner each night with his small circle of family and friends. Each night, she became more and more comfortable around them. Each night, they were the last two awake, talking about anything and everything, flitting from one conversation topic to the next. Each night, Rhysand Moreno fell in love with her a little bit more.
It was on Feyre’s second night in Velaris that Rhysand shared with her one of the most critical rules to surviving alone in such a dangerous land.
His voice was quiet and husky after so many drinks and hours of conversation. “Now darling, let me tell you something. When you’re out here, especially a young woman all alone like yourself, you don’t trust anyone. You sleep with one eye open and watch your back with every step. That’s the rule of the west - the law of the land, if you will. A matter of life and death.” He angled his head towards her, meeting her wide eyes as he spoke.
She blinked. “Why’s that?” Her voice was low to match his own, to match the atmosphere, to match the night surrounding.
“Outlaws. Bandits. Highwaymen. Thieves. If they saw you, all innocent and alone as you are, they wouldn’t hesitate to steal your clothes from off your back, shoot you dead, and leave your body to rot in the sun.” He noticed her fingers tighten around her crystal glass. “I’m not saying this to scare you, Miss Pratt. I’m saying this to help you. Trust no one. It doesn’t matter what they look like or how they act; you don’t know if they’re acting to trick you into something you’ll regret. You cannot afford to be afraid to fight.”
She brought her glass up, one side of her mouth quirking. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mayor Moreno. Thank you for looking out for me.”
“Please, call me Rhys.”
Her eyes sparked when they clinked their glasses of sweet tea, and the smile on her face stayed for the rest of the night as she got the mayor of Velaris to share every last detail about hispride and joy - his wealthy, riverside town.
It was on her fourth night that Feyre learned of the secret ins and outs of the city, the back alleyways and small tunnels designed for easier river access.
Feyre sat with Rhys at a quiet table in the corner of Sevenda’s, watching as the sun just kissed the horizon.
“Feyre Darling,” Rhysand drawled. “You have never seen a desert sunset unless you have seen it over our proud River Sidra.” His words were lightly weighted and soft as a breeze, but in his gaze, she saw something heavier. There was a hope, a timid question she had never before seen on such a self-assured man.
“Well then, Rhys, I suppose we should remedy that.” Feyre leaned in closer, answering his question in accepting his offer.
Rhysand led her through the streets himself, her hand in his as they crisscrossed between stables and buildings, snuck behind houses, and even climbed a few roofs.
Finally, they reached a secluded bend in the sparkling river where the sunset glowed like molten iron over the rushing water.
Together, they sat and stayed well after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the sweltering heat quickly dissipated.
It was on the fifth night that Rhysand lost a silly bet - him against the owner of their favourite restaurant and his brothers. The mayor officially owed everyone drinks.
“Just put everyone on my tab for the rest of the night,” Rhys slapped Cassian on the back, the brothers leaning against each other and laughing too hard to stand properly. “Goodness knows I’ve got plenty to pay for it!” They erupted into another fit of laughter, amused by nothing but Rhys’s unfortunate luck.
Drunk on good company and fine spirits, Rhys was too caught up in the fun to notice the wide smile Feyre directed at his back. He didn’t see the gleam in her eye when he mentioned his well-endowed account, nor the straightening and loosening of her posture when he again sat beside her.
It was on Feyre’s last night - before she was supposed to leave - that everything worked out to her advantage.
She had a grand day visiting with the citizens of Velaris - touring the art sector and playing with the children - and an even grander night with Rhysand and his family.
She beat the desert sun and was strolling through the streets before the heat became unbearable. Feyre popped into shops and said goodbye to the few storeowners she had become friendly with over her stay. She played in shaded alleyways with the children despite the unseemliness of a woman partaking in such rambunctious activities - at her mature age, nonetheless.
When it soon grew too warm for even the most energetic children to play, Feyre left them to spend the remainder of her time with the poor and houseless.
She helped with chores and socialized with the community, assisted with cleaning and cooking, and watched the young ones while parents were otherwise occupied.
Feyre knew their struggle, understood what it entailed and wanted to try her very best to help others make it through their own hardships; she did not want these joyful children, these optimistic and exuberant kids, to resort to ruthless actions such as she did.
This was how Rhys found her - elbow deep in soapy water, scrubbing dirty pots while conversing with one of the mothers of the camp and keeping a close eye on the swaddled infant in the basket by her side.
“Ready for dinner, my lady?” He proffered his arm for her to take.
And the people were ecstatic. They seemed excited, perhaps even relieved, to see the mayor of Velaris walk among their ramshackle quarters. An elderly woman even reached out and patted his cheek, mumbling something indecipherable to Feyre’s ears, and Rhys didn’t flinch.
This confused Feyre.
For a moment, for the first time in so long, she wondered if she didn’t have enough information to do her job. She wondered if she had been misled or was losing her touch. She doubted - for only a moment, she doubted; wondered if she was doing the wrong thing, if he was different, just like she had foolishly hoped.
But then Rhys looked at her, and the smile he had put in place for the members of the camp looked strained to her, insincere. Perhaps, in fact, more of a wince than a smile. He was hesitant to shake their hands, was less than enthused to hold a conversation with anyone.
Embarrassment, arrogance, or disgust - Feyre wasn’t sure which one of these were the culprit, but it didn’t much matter. What did matter was the flame in her chest returned to its full inferno, the pesky flicker which had interfered now forgotten.
“Indeed,” Feyre handed the freshly washed pot back to the woman and took Rhysand’s arm.
“Take care, now.” She nodded to families as they left.
Once they had left the view of the encampment, Rhys pulled a kerchief from his pocket.
Unfolding it oh so carefully, Rhys lightly traced a finger over the silver embroidery. The gesture was so small, so instinctual, that Feyre guessed he didn’t even notice himself do it. She did, however. But as odd as she found it to be, Feyre was quickly distracted when he brought the cloth up to his face, rubbing where the old woman had touched him, then dabbing at his sleeve where Feyre had clutched his arm with soap-scented hands.
“How was your last day?” He offered Feyre the same cloth once he was done. “For your hands and arms.” he said, when she gave a quizzical look.
He disgusted her.
“It was going well until you came along.”
Rhysand’s laugh boomed, Feyre’s didn’t.
She didn’t completely mean it as a joke.
But she gave him a sugary sweet smile nonetheless.
“Truly,” she said, returning the cloth and placing her hand over his. “I think that once my family visit is over, I may get lost on my return trip. Perhaps, by some miracle, a kind mayor with dark hair will rescue me with the help of his sheriff and deputies.” The pair stopped walking and turned to each other. “I think,” she whispered. “I may not be able to leave, for fear of what other poor luck may befall me on my long journey home.”
Rhys looked down at her as a smile far softer than earlier spread across his features. “Well Miss Pratt, I suppose that would be the only reasonable solution to your situation.”
He leaned in closer, and despite the unrelenting heat and the brightness of the sun, neither of them minded the warmth of the other as they met for a kiss. They relished the contact, couldn’t get enough of the feeling even as they pulled away.
Rhysand was the first to speak. “The others are probably waiting for us,” He stepped away, but didn’t seem to want to take his eyes off her. “Would you like to change before we eat?”
And Feyre’s heart sped up. Faster than when this man before her had done exactly what she wanted, had unknowingly presented all his weaknesses to her on a silver platter. Faster than when she was running around in the streets, chasing toys with the children. Faster than when she had kissed Rhys, feeling something stir within her that she hadn't felt for so long.
But this time, it felt good. There was a rush of adrenaline that steadied her hands and solidified her heart.
She would change from this light, casual outfit. She would don the clothes which made her who she was, reminded her of where she was from and what she was for. It didn’t matter if she preferred these loose, gauzy pants to the heavy skirts or reinforced riding leathers. It didn’t matter if she enjoyed this town more than any other she had seen. It didn’t matter if it would be so easy to simply continue this new, laidback life in Velaris.
What she did on her own was bigger than her, greater than her.
Her name was Feyre Archeron, and she was going to do what she did best.
“Very much so.”
And on they continued. He waited outside of her hotel - the one right across the street from his very own home - as she changed.
When she reappeared nearly thirty minutes later, Rhysand felt his breathing hitch as he took her in. A fine gown which accentuated her shape, a breathlessness that made her lips and cheeks flush, a sheen that made her glow, and a spark of excitement that lit her eyes.
It all made Rhys far too eager to proceed with their night.
Feyre once again took his arm as the strolled, leisurely, to dinner.
She danced and laughed with everyone late into the night, and when the restaurant closed and Rhys invited her to his office for one last drink and the stars danced in his eyes and his words were heavy with promise, she couldn’t say no.
Who was she to deny the mayor of Velaris of such enjoyable company?
***
Feyre had tied each bag shut, slung them into the corner with her worldly belongings, and was now putting everything away just so, returning things exactly the way they were. How she remembered the exact positioning and placements was a mystery to Rhysand, and he kicked himself for the spark of admiration he felt for her.
It may not have been an honest job, but it was a damn good one.
She re-arranged the excess money and valuables in the vault to hide the blank spaces. “Do you take criticism, Mister Moreno?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Good. To start, why do you have a vault that can be opened simply by a single key? And why must you keep it here rather than beneath the bank, where everyone else stores their money? It obviously is no more secure - quite the contrary, in fact.” He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, stopping him.
“Ah-ah, I’m not done. You’ve got a lot of work to do. Now, most importantly, the advice you so proudly provided me is the very thing you yourself ignored when you needed it most. You see, Rhys - can I still call you Rhys? Thank you. You see, Rhys, it can make you look quite foolish when you do not heed your own advice - especially when it is good advice.” She sighed. “But, you live some and you learn some, I suppose.” Feyre shrugged before returning her full attention to the task before her, once again leaving Rhysand with nothing to do but fume where he was bound.
“Is that it, then?” He asked. “You steal all of my money, insult me, and now you’ll leave me here, cuffed to this chair?”
“Aw, don’t sound so glum, handsome,” she stuck out her bottom lip. “First of all, I’m not going and taking all your money - only what won’t be missed. Barely anything when compared to what you possess. And second, you know you won’t be here for long. One of your associates is sure to find you in at least two hours.”
“Are you so confident?”
“Yes sirree. Just a while until dawn. Not too much time for you to be left here all on your lonesome, plenty of time for me to hightail it out of here. And all the money which you see right here,” She gestured to the canvas bags behind her. “Is coming that’away with me in just a short time.” A nod towards the window.
He scoffed. “And what if I told you that the three thousand dollars you have in those bags were originally intended to go to a good cause? Perhaps increasing infrastructure for the camp?”
“Oh, you really are desperate.” Feyre chuckled, and damn Rhysand if his heart still tripped at the sound. “No no no, Mayor Moreno. We both know most of that money would go towards booze, whether it be for yourself, your family, or the regulars at Rita’s. No, I think this money will be just fine with me.”
When she picked up her belongings and slung the stolen goods over her shoulders, he sagged in his chair, all but fully defeated.
She pouted at him. “It’s okay, sweetie. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m sure I made one at some point in my life.” She winked, a smile replacing the pout, and leaned in. “And Rhysand?” Her whisper tickled his ear, made his throat go dry. “There was something I lied to you about. That’s not my real name. Or, it’s not my real last name, at least.” Her breath caressed his skin and chilled his spine.
Feyre leaned impossibly closer, bracketing him with her arms, and this near embrace was far more binding for Rhys than the shackles around his wrists. Her ponytail slipped over her shoulder, brushed against his face; the heat emanating from her was almost as intoxicating as her kisses, and the way in which she moved - like a voracious mountain lion - was far more thrilling than any bandit chase, bar fight, or shoot-out he had ever been in.
Feyre reached behind and opened a drawer in his desk. “You know what, I think I’ll take this off your hands as well. You don’t need two in such a civilized establishment, after all.” From his desk she pulled a second revolver - the twin to the one he kept on himself - and stuffed it into the hidden holster beneath her jacket, her own already held in the holster at her thigh.
She shuffled back, taking the heat and power with her. “I will say, I feel a little bad that we won’t be seeing each other again.” Feyre glanced at his bindings, then at his ice-cold glare, and shrugged.
Feyre moved around Rhys as she made for the window, dropping his keys on the far side of his desk; tauntingly close, but still not close enough.
Rhysand was powerless as Feyre walked away from him with no less than three thousand dollars’ worth of stolen goods slung over her arms. She slid the window open, allowing the cool air of the desert night and sounds of the river to rush in, to fill the blank space she left.
She turned around, half of her body hanging out of the window. “Well, I gotta say, it’s been lovely kissing you, Mister Moreno, and even better knowing you.” And with one last saccharine smile and a jaunty salute, Feyre was gone.
***
Rhysand guided Feyre through the dark streets and into his office. In the peace of the night, there was only the whisper of the river to drown the sound of their shared breaths and soft giggles.
Together, they moved through his home and towards his office - the room with the best view of the river.
It also happened to be the room which held his private vault. That fact never crossed Rhysand’s mind, but it certainly crossed Feyre’s.
Rhys blindly fumbled with the door handle, and when it finally relented and the door swung open, their lips found each other again. They stumbled backwards until Rhys felt the chair against the back of his legs and immediately collapsed into it.
***
Part Two