bloodlust

17

Rhysand walked deeper into the cavernous mountain, and the growls and anguish of whatever creatures lurked in the darkness grew louder with each step forward. Feyre tried to keep her eyes straight and focus on Rhysand's back as he walked before her.

At first, Feyre dismissed her growing sense of claustrophobia as paranoia about where Rhysand was taking her. She convinced herself she was imagining the walls growing closer to her body. But when they got so close she could no longer extend her arms without bending them, she knew something was wrong.

But Rhysand trekked onward, deeper and deeper into the winding path of stone.

"Rhys?" She said, her voice tinged with worry, immediately blushing about the intimacy of the nickname. Somehow, Rhysand felt too formal to say.

"Come along, Feyre darling," he said, not even turning to address her. She stumbled another step forward.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked, tone demanding, but still following him anyway.

"Beneath my Court, Feyre, I told you," he said conversationally. "This is called the Black Vein. A passageway leading deep beneath the prison cells of the Court of Nightmares." He lifted a hand, fingers trailing across the wall.

"I don't understand," Feyre sighed. "Why make it so hard to navigate?"

"It was built to transport prisoners. Not much you can do to escape when you can barely turn around." The walls were still drawing closer, Rhysand finally having to turn to the side, walking awkwardly forward.

Feyre's brows furrowed at his answer. If such a passage was built for prisoners, how did he know it so intimately? Why would he take her through it? All to prove a point?

"There are a plethora of underground passageways beneath my Court that none but I know of," he said, his voice deep and low. Like he was trying to not make too much noise. He was still shuffling sideways through the stone, and Feyre turned, following the same way.

She tried to breathe in the stagnant air, but nothing was helping. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and her clothes and hair were slicked to her skin with sweat. She had always hated tight spaces, could never quite breathe right in them.

Rhysand's eyes finally turned to meet hers, his eyebrows drawing together in what might have even been concern, but her vision was swimming.

"Is this," she panted, "what you wanted from me?" She couldn't fucking get any air in. "You wanted to see me desperate like this? This scared?" She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. They had stopped moving momentarily, but it still felt like the walls were getting tighter, squeezing her to death.

"Get in front of me," he said sternly, reaching for her. She shook her head, holding her stomach with her eyes closed. "Feyre."

He gripped her hips hard enough to pull her tightly against his body.

"I need you to take the deepest breath you can for me, and then push all of the air from your lungs. Okay, Feyre? Can you do that?" She nodded, obeying and taking the biggest breath she could manage.

As soon as she pushed the air out, he was lifting her with horrifying ease, pulling her in front of him, his back pressed as hard into the stone as he could to give her as much room as possible to squeeze by him, but she was still rubbing her entire front across his. Somehow, his thigh ended up pressed between hers.

She gasped, her eyes opening and widening at him. He didn't react, just watched her with serious precision. She took another breath and he lifted her the rest of the way past him and in front of him. She gripped both walls, steadying herself.