"Feyre ... Feyre, darling," Rhys begs from outside the door. I don't let him in. Instead, I stare down at the pregnancy test that's cupped in my hands. The pregnancy test that shows, after five years, still nothing. I drop the test on the cool tile but don't hear it land. Everything, even Rhys's fervent pleas, are distant.
I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from being heard. The sobs come, slow and small at first. Then, they flow out of me like waves that bend me onto the floor. Waves that beat me until I am nothing. I am nothing. I am nothing. I am nothing.
When my Illyrian wings start to form - my body unconsciously looking for escape - I don't even register that they're there. They curl around me like a comforting blanket. The sobs are still pouring out of me as the wings lift me up, carry me across the bathroom, and fly me out the window.
Just as the cool air kisses my body, a huge crash from behind has me looking towards the bathroom door. My wings and crying pause just outside the window. Rhys's dark form fills the doorframe, shadows spilling everywhere. His wings are out and his violet eyes are wide: the silver flecks more prominent than ever. They dart around, searching for a threat. When they land on the test, I turn away, not being able to bear his disappointment.
Before Rhys can find me, I will my wings to fly. To fly me away from my mate. By the time I reach the lake where Koschei is confined, Rhys's cries of agony echo from far, far away.
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An Heir: to be, or not to be
FanfictionIts been five years since the King of Hybern's defeat. Now, Feyre and Rhysand face another challenge: having children. Will Feyre have what the Bone Carver showed her or will she have to strike a dangerous deal to have her heir?
