bloodlust

6: Rhysand's POV

A/N: Here's some morally black Rhysand inner monologue ;)

Rhysand's thoughts were beginning to fucking infuriate him. She was there every time he closed his eyes. He was always thinking of her, wondering what she might be doing in his absence, how she felt about him or his Court.

Feyre.

A unique name for a unique girl. He'd never met anyone like her. She was human, entirely defenseless, and yet, she didn't cower from him like he was used to. There wasn't the same reverence and awe in her eyes that he typically saw in the eyes of females.

Actually, she seemed to entirely despise him, despite him giving her a comfortable place to sleep over that wretched cell, listening to the restless wraiths skitter about all night. It baffled him.

He knew he'd never release her. Something in her struck him, made him want to tame her and own her. She belonged to him and no one else. Rhysand had always been quite particular about his things, his possessiveness oftentimes getting the better of him.

However, he'd never felt that way about a female, let alone a human.

It was fueling his rage, making his fingers itch for violence. He kept picturing the way she'd reacted to his forcing her to kill Thoran, but gods, the way she'd looked with her hands covered in his blood with that deranged look in her eyes.

That was the first moment it had truly hit him that this was no typical woman. A darkness seethed in her, deep underneath her skin. It lurked like a hungry basilisk, waiting to be fed. He had been shocked by how little he'd had to do in her mind to make her kill someone she'd never met.

All he'd needed to do was redirect her emotions for him onto Thoran and she did the hard work herself. He doubted she'd ever truly admit that to herself, seeming quite self-righteous over the whole ordeal.

He'd been meaning to kill Thoran for a while. The male had been irritating him as of late, disobeying direct orders and fucking with Rhysand's plans. He had no space for anyone who didn't serve his needs or push him closer to his goals.

He wanted complete reverence. He savored the power of making someone bow before him, entirely debased in their submission. It was like a drug to him.

He wondered what Feyre might look like on her knees for him.

He felt himself hardening in his trousers and had to readjust himself. The thought was a delicious one. It only made him ache to use her mouth, making her regret that damn attitude of hers.

He cursed himself mentally. This how it had been as of late. His thoughts always trailed back to her. It made him despise her. He'd never thought of someone other than himself in his entire life, and it had served him well thus far.

He wished he could just kill her and be rid of his problems entirely, but something inside of him revolted at the idea. She was his, he just had to make her see that. She'd worship him as everyone else did soon enough. And in the meantime, he would keep himself distracted.