bloodlust

5

The next day, Feyre went exploring. She found that there were several wings in the castle, each branching off into separate rooms. She wandered through what were likely offices, vacant bedrooms, finding a few doors locked and pressing her ear to the door in curiosity, but finding nothing of note.

Eventually, she wound up back in the library. Ascending the steps, she breathed in the scent of old books and leather. It was such a welcoming, homey smell to be in a place like this. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was somewhere else, in another life where books could be friends.

Nesta had always read everything she could get her hands on, as did Elain. Neither of them ever took notice that the fall of their family occurred at a pivotal point in Feyre's education. None of them had any clue that Feyre couldn't read. She could sound out words if she really strained herself, but otherwise was completely illiterate. It was one of her great insecurities.

She was staring out a tall, arched window, noticing three mountains looming very far in the distance, three jagged peaks piercing the sky. She squinted her eyes, thinking of the carvings on the library door. These mountains must have some significance to this place.

"Wander too far from home?" Came a rumbling voice behind her.

She gasped, her heart nearly jumping from her chest as she turned to find a beautiful male behind her. He had skin like Rhysand's, hair just as raven's black, but he had a darker edge to him somehow. Shadows loomed around him like friends, clinging to his form. Blue gemstones attached to his fighting leathers, glowing softly.

But none of this is what caught her eye.

From his back sprouted gigantic demon's wings, their taloned tips stabbing from their peaks. They were tucked in tightly to his back, but she could tell how big they must be when spread open. She wasn't sure why his gaze made her face hot.

His hazel eyes danced with dark amusement as his face gave nothing away. She blinked at him, trying to remember what he'd asked her, lost in his aura.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" He narrowed his eyes at her accusingly. She swallowed harshly.

"Feyre," she said, her words awkward and fumbled. Something about this male reduced her to a bumbling idiot. He arched an eyebrow at her as though questioning if that was supposed to mean something to him. "Rhysand said... he said that I could come here."

"Very well," the male nodded. He turned on his heel, eyes browsing down a section of books like he was looking for something very specific. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know more, to re-engage him, but the words came before she could think it through.

"That easy?"

He looked over his shoulder, furrowing his brows at her. His piercing hazel eyes glared holes through her. His entire presence was commanding, terrifying. She had the feeling he'd done a lot of dark things in his life.

"That's all you want to ask me?"

"Is there something you were expecting?"

"Perhaps verification that I'm actually allowed to be here," she shrugged. "I could have been lying." He looked her over, nostrils flaring slightly.

"You weren't," he said dismissively, trying to turn away from her again.

"How do you know that?"

He closed his eyes, releasing a harsh breath through his nose. He turned to face her again, bulky arms crossing over his chest. He assessed her like an opponent, perhaps trying to sense what her intentions were. She didn't even know that herself.

"I just do."

"Do you... read minds like Rhysand?"

His lips twitched slightly.

"No," he said simply. Talking to him was like pulling teeth.

"You have wings," she said, instantly wanting to groan at herself. Why was she still talking?

"Observant."

"Not much of a talker are you?"

"No," he smirked slightly. She nodded once, turning back to the window. He stood, watching her for a few moments before taking a step forward, catching her attention again. "Are you not afraid?"

"Afraid?" She scoffed. "I'm terrified here."

"You don't seem it," he tilted his head.

"Would you like for me to be afraid of you?"

"Most are," he shrugged one shoulder.

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes at her again. He seemed chronically suspicious. She wondered if he kept himself up at night, his mind constantly whirling with the assessments he made on those around him. She wondered if he knew that was an anxious habit.

"Fine, keep your secrets," she huffed, angling her body away from him to return to the view she'd been lost in. He stood for a few moments before walking away silently, combing through the stacks of reading material until he found what he was looking for and vanished back down the hallway, leaving Feyre alone once again.

If she hadn't cried out every tear she could muster, she likely would have shed more then. That was when Feyre realized she was actually quite lonely. She used to crave solitude, and now, it only reminded her of her imprisonment.

She would have killed for one more moment of Nesta's bickering or Elain's stories. She even missed the calm sound of her father sitting by the crackling fire, carving his statues with a whittling knife.

With her loneliness in tow, she returned back to her room for yet another night alone with nothing but her own thoughts to torment her. She despised the dark parts of her that wanted Rhysand to provoke her, just to feel something.

She was becoming numb to this place, and quickly.