bloodlust

4

Feyre woke up sobbing, her head in her hands. In her dreams, she'd relived the moment her hands had slashed a blade across someone's throat. She wondered if Thoran's friends and family had been watching. She wondered why Rhysand was so quick to order his execution over an insult to her of all people.

He seemed to entirely despise her, and yet sought to use her as some form of either entertainment or weapon for himself. It made no sense to her logically. She would never be strong enough to inflict any kind of lasting damage, and yet he'd chosen her to do the killing. Perhaps that was his mode of operation. Maybe he didn't like to get his own hands dirty, and instead had desired to test her.

How would he have responded had she swung the dagger of her own volition?

He'd known she'd be too weak and too moral to do it, and yet ordered it all the same. Was he testing her? What could he possibly be trying to prove? And what did a fae lord want with a human to begin with, knowing humans and faeries had hated each other for centuries.

Once she had finally soothed herself enough to negate the tears, she ran herself a steaming bath, disappearing into the water and bubbles and hoping to wash herself clean of this place.

Rhysand had been serious when he'd called it the Court of Nightmares. The creatures she'd seen... They would haunt her forever, waiting for her to close her eyes and her mind to drift before reminding her of their faces, their noises, and the sickening pallor of their scaled skin.

Feyre had just laid back in her bed when a knock sounded at the door. Freezing, her breath caught in her chest. The knock came again, this time more incessant. She slowly climbed out of the bed, afraid to make a noise.

She neared the mahogany door, readying to press her ear against it when she heard Rhysand's voice.

"Feyre darling, just open the door. I know you're standing there." Blushing furiously, she reached out her hand and twisted the knob, opening the door for him. He leaned in the doorway, a smirk on his face before inviting himself in, strolling over to her sitting area and plopping down onto the couch.

"What do you want?"

"Convoluted," he shook his head. "Ask me something more simple."

"Why are you here right now?" She arched an eyebrow. He grinned.

"Perfect question. I'm here to retrieve you." His legs were spread wide as he lounged, leaning his head back against the blue ornate sofa.

"For?"

"Personal gain," he shrugged.

"Explain," she commanded.

"No," he smiled. She scowled at him, crossing her arms self consciously after realizing she was wearing nothing but her silk pajama set. "Get dressed."

"Now?"

He gave her a look like that should have been obvious. She nodded, but he made no moves to leave. Frozen, she wondered if he'd stay there the entire time, lounging.