bloodlust

2

Feyre's limbs were numb from the cold, damp atmosphere in the dungeons. The unforgiving stone was harsh against her body. She wanted to lie down, feeling so exhausted that her eyes were on fire, but the cold was causing her to shiver so violently that it was impossible.

Something slithered off to her left, letting off an eerie hissing noise. Feyre froze, holding her breath. The creatures that lurked in the dungeons of the Court of Nightmares were horrifying and grotesque. She'd only caught glimpses of wraith-like figures and scaly, slimy skin.

It was so utterly dark that Feyre had lost all sense of time. She could have been there for years or days, she wasn't sure. Her shackles clinked as she shifted her weight to her other hip, trying to regain feeling in her leg. Pins and needles pricked her skin as she stretched her leg, wiggling her toes to try and revive the bloodflow.

There alone in the darkness, Feyre's mind drifted. She wondered what her sisters were doing. Had they come looking for her? They'd certainly never find her, and she was grateful for it. She couldn't imagine Elain in a place like this. Nesta would likely get herself killed for her bravado.

As the time passed, Feyre's own bravado had begun to wane. Rhysand had said he would see her soon, hadn't he? Surely, he wouldn't just leave her to rot with the demon wraiths he'd wrangled into matching cells.

She'd nearly given up entirely when she heard distant, authoritative footfall growing louder as the owner drew nearer. She scrambled to sit up, squinting when a flame came into view. She blinked, her eyes burning even worse.

The wraiths hissed, rattling the bars of their cages and snarling in languages she'd never heard. She saw a tall, broad figure approaching her and curled herself into a ball as physically far away from the bars as she could be.

The figure bent in front of her, torch illuminating devastating features and intense violet eyes. His dark hair fell in his eyes and a smirk curved his plush lips. His face was so irritatingly perfect that it made Feyre want to ruin it. She imagined hitting her fists against his face, making him regret placing her in here.

"Why, hello, darling," he smiled. "Feeling quite violent already, aren't we?"

She growled in frustration, hating how easy it was for him to get into her head, to know her thoughts. She glared at him, imagining she could set him ablaze with the weight of her ire alone.

"I've come to speak with you," Rhysand said, tilting his head to the side as he looked her over.

 She couldn't imagine how she must look to him. Her wild, tangled hair and cracked lips. No food or water for this long mangled the human appearance, she was certain.

"I want nothing from you." She wanted to spit in his face, claw at his eyes.

"We both know that's untrue." He gave her a knowing look.

"Release me," she snarled, glaring at him from under her eyelashes.