Chapter Text
Azriel
Screams echoed around me, and my eyes fight to see through some form of mist, or smoke perhaps, absent of scent or distinct sensation, but stealing away my vision. My hand shot forward to swipe at my surroundings. The murk around my fist split in two, the fog parting for me, and the screams echo sharper through the clear air. My hands tingled, my body tensed as I drew nearer, recognizing the voice that called out into the darkness surrounding us. I knew where I was, suddenly, and the brume further obscuring this dark place halves as I tread through, stalking towards the sounds, the piercing cries that haunt my waking moments as fervently as my dreams.
It wasn’t difficult to piece together which one this was, waking moment or dream, as dark red wood logs emerged from out of the misty void, the cabin I’d known for years materializing in the darkness, appearing as though cut in half so I could see directly into the kitchen, the living room slightly further, the open door to the bedroom and the bathroom across from it. The hallway I knew would lead to the birchin.
The hallway doesn’t catch my eye for very long, despite the memories it awakens in me. No, there was something much more precious to me to hold my attention gracing this scene, and that was the writhing figure bound by her fists and ankles upon the wooden kitchen table. A gag was in place over her mouth, but her cries managed to escape despite it, the ties holding the ball to her mouth loosened from her twisting and squirming. A dark smile rose to my lips as I stepped up into the half-cabin, approaching the table, front and center of the scene. Feyre’s manic eyes caught mine, and her panic seemed to lessen, her breathing calming, her chest heaving less dramatically and more evenly. She seemed to be calling my name from behind the gag. She seemed to think I’m here to release her.
How wrong you are, my High Lady. I am not your salvation, I am your ruin.
I walked towards the head of the table, her head twisting to peer up at me as I stood behind her, admiring her, like this. My eyes raked across her bare figure, only coming up to her face as I heard my name once again from behind that damn faulty gag.
Well, that needs to be fixed.
My own smile turned borderline manic as my scarred hands brushed her hair, the golden strands dancing through my mangled fingers, across my palm, as I reached behind her head. Feyre’s eyes shut, her relaxation evident, thinking I’m removing the ball resting in her mouth, against her teeth. I watched her jaw relax. My hands felt for the cord of the gag, and with a firm tug, I wrenched it back into place, tying a knot quickly to keep it in place. Feyre’s eyes burst open, and finally, I saw that spark of fear again. That glint in her shining eyes as she realized I am not the man who was going to take off that gag, remove her bonds, hold her to me whispering sweet nothings as she’d cry into my shoulder. She tried to say my name again, through the gag, but this time it sounded like nothing more than a disjointed moan. She tried again, watching me as I circled the table, my skin on fire. She tried tugging at the binds holding her as she had been before, more fear entering her eyes as they held steady. Immoveable.
Suddenly I have a raging appetite, and I think I know just what I’m craving.
I gripped either side of the table between my white-knuckled fists and leaned forwards. The sight of her sopping cunt forced my lungs to stunt, air became difficult to obtain, retain. My mind emptied of everything but the sight of her, as I leaned forwards, shoving my face between her thighs.
My face warmed, the heat of her skin burning through mine, my cheeks, my nose, my mouth aflame as I forced my face deeper between her inner thighs, forcing her tight legs apart. My tongue felt swollen with want, and I opened my mouth to suck on her skin, sweat beginning to coat her body in a thin sheen with the effort to force her legs shut, but she must have known her effort would be for nothing.
I moved my hand to her thighs instead and shoved them apart more forcefully than I needed to, my hands bruising against her legs. Feyre cried out something from above me, the words muffled behind the gag. She needn’t say a word, though. I saw her wetness, I saw her dripping pussy. Clearly, unobstructed, so close…
My head dipped closer, my tongue aching for her taste, her clit swollen and practically throbbing with want in front of my face. I’ll see to her first, suck her down, chew her up till she’s screaming — then I’ll swallow her whole, make her come from my tongue devouring her from the inside out, make her pant and grind over my face until she can’t take it anymore, until she fucking passes out. Then I’ll wake her back up to my cock replacing that gag, drilling down that gorgeous, screaming throat.
My body was so tense with want, my cock so hard, aching, begging to be wrapped in something hot, wet, tight, and pulsing. I delayed my ascent toward Feyre’s pussy to bite into her upper, inner thigh, expelling my hunger, my aggression into that bite. I massaged the skin around my mouth as Feyre screamed around the gag above me, my teeth pressing harder into her skin until I tasted the sharp sting of copper. I pulled away, and watched as beads of blood welled up around the bruising skin, dripping down towards the cleft between her asscheeks and her cunt. With a feral grin, I rubbed my thumb over the wound, smearing the blood across her skin. Faintly, I felt blood dribbling from my mouth, down my chin.
I cupped my hand below her thigh, a plan forming in the back of my mind, and once I had a small puddle of blood within my hand, I held it above her pussy and let the blood fall. I watched as the drops cascaded down, falling, dribbling down Feyre’s clasping cunt. Her clit was so engorged I could practically see the blood pulsing, throbbing within it from want and arousal. I watched as multiple drops of blood dribbled onto that clit in succession, as Feyre cried out beneath her gag. I was going to lick her fucking clean.
I lunged forwards to do just that, but before my mouth could find its target, before I could suck that clit into my mouth, lick her clean of her own blood, I was wrenched into a different form of fog. My skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton, my mind groggy, as darkness was forgotten to me in favour of searing light blinding me through my closed eyelids.
I can suddenly feel the bedsheets beneath my sweaty body, clenched beneath my fists, the pillows beneath my head, my blankets… heavy against my straining erection. Being stolen away from that dream had been such wonderful timing. I roll to my side with a groan, rubbing my scarred fists into my eyes, before reaching down to finish the job that damn dream had left incomplete.
I had only just grasped my cock in my hand and begun to stroke with mild annoyance, which was mostly subsided by the lingering arousal from remembering what I’d been about to do to Feyre in that dream, when a gruff chuckle sounding from somewhere in my room, forcing my eyes to burst open. Irritation flares through me in waves as I spot Cassian standing in front of the large window across from my bed, the curtains wide open so the morning sunlight violently shines upon my half-naked body, blinding me for a second. The asshole must have snuck in and opened my fucking curtains so the light would wake me up. Dick .
“I’ve never known you to be such a sleepy-head, Az,” Cassian laughs, his eyes light with amusement as he watches me, my face contorting with annoyance, “Must’ve been one hell of a dream keeping you trapped in slumber-land for you to sleep in ‘till almost noon.”
That makes me sit up straight, surprise lancing through me.
“Noon?” My voice is thick with sleep, the gruffness of it keeping the full extent of my shock from my tone.
“Mmhmm.” Cass confirms, a glint in his eyes drawing my attention, and wariness.
“You planning on hanging around here much longer, or is there something more you need me for beyond calling me out for sleeping in a bit?”
My tone is a bit aggressive, but damn, can’t he see the outline of my stiff cock through the sheets? Of course he can, he just likely doesn’t care. Or is turned on by it. The fact remains that my cock hasn’t deflated a single atom since this conversation began, my mind still half on the image of Feyre’s dripping, forbidden pussy.
“Sorry, I’m guessing you want some alone time with him?” Cassian responds, unphased by my tone, his eyes falling on the obvious bulge in the blanket between my legs. I meet his gaze with a deadpan look and the asshole has the nerve to just chuckle. He draws the curtains partially closed, finally , so the room isn’t blindingly bright anymore, but instead of leaving he simply meanders closer to the bed.
“What happened this time?” He asks, hunger lacing his voice. He is the only one I can talk to about these fucking dreams, so of course I know what he’s referring to. My dreams, the only kinds of dreams I ever seem to have these days. My kinky, erotic, highly disturbing dreams, starring none other than our best friend’s goddamn mate. His one true love, his equal, his queen. My High Lady. And the bane of my fucking existence.
Ever since that night in our cabin in the mountains, that night that all began with a half-joking proposition and a bunch of sweaty best friends in a birchin, I haven’t been able to remove this female from my mind. No matter how many times I’ve tried to amputate the feeling of her flesh against mine, the slickness of her cunt swallowing my cock, her tongue entwined with mine, it’s like she’s seared into some hidden cavity of my brain I can’t find or cut out. And I should, I have to find it, have to remove it even if it leaves me with only half a fucking brain, because I swear to the forgotten Gods of this realm that if I have to go years, centuries, the rest of my Cauldron-forsaken life without the feeling of her body on mine, the memories will drive me to insanity. Because we had decided, all of us, that it could not be a repeat thing. It would be one night, one night only, to indulge in this thing between all of us, because as right as it felt, Feyre and Rhys were mated. We couldn’t continue this, couldn’t impede on their bond. But one night wasn’t fucking enough. And that was more than evident by the dreams that haunted my subconscious more nights than not, and it doesn’t fucking help that those dreams seemed to be getting more and more deranged and twisted as I suffered with only my memories of her to keep me company.
Cassian himself had been having dreams of his own, variations of that night, images of things we all could have done differently if only that night had lasted the eternity it should have. Dreams we could only share with each other, because I’d rather slit my own throat than tell my brother of 500 years that I’d been having repeated wet dreams about his mate. Cassian felt the same. Especially given the nature my dreams had begun to incorporate, the feverish lust, the obsession, the fear I was starting to crave seeing glinting in her eyes. I almost couldn’t believe my reaction when she had told me I scared her back in the birchin all those many months ago, the discomfort it caused knowing I could terrify her like I could my victims. But then she said those fateful words. “I like it,” she’d said, “You scare me, Az, in the best way. Keep doing it. Please.”
I think it was that please that broke me, that changed me so permanently. Because that discomfort had morphed so quickly into pleasure it felt like whiplash in the moment. Seeing, feeling her grind on me, crying out at the pain my cock had caused her changed me irrevocably. My fantasies of her then could almost be called tame in contrast to the fantasies I have of her now. Tied down and writhing for me, at my mercy. My teeth in her skin, a knife painting her, myself even, with the blood of our passion. The way I want to break her on my cock, carve my name into her skin, wrap my fist around her throat until the light dims from her eyes her head falls limp before I bring her back to consciousness with my thrusts, my hips bruising hers. I want her to scream as she runs from me, as she fights me, and I want to hear those screams turn to moans as she accepts that she lusts after me as strongly as I do her. Yeah, I’d rather die than have Rhys ever find out those are the thoughts I have of his mate in the dark, in the privacy of my room at night. The thoughts that thrum in my head, scratching at my active consciousness even in the light of day, calling out to me even worse when she’s near. Cassian is the only one who understands this feeling, who won’t judge me, because he knows the feeling of having had her once, and being forced to thirst for another, forbidden taste from a distance.
“Az,” Cassian follows up, his eyes darkening as he gazes at me questioningly, “What was it this time? I already know it was good.”
He looks down knowingly at my erection again, and I snort softly.
“Well, you guys weren’t there this time. I had her all to myself again.”
Sometimes in the dreams, Cassian, Rhysand, or both were there with me, all of us forcing Feyre to submit to our darkest wants, and sometimes even each others’. As much as I hungered for Feyre, that night happened to also reignite a feeling I thought I had long forgotten, one that has since managed to bury into my psyche almost as intensely as Feyre has; the feeling of all of us coming together, joined like that. It had been years, I think at least a century, since we all had been… involved with each other. It was more an experimental phase we went through as youths, that had managed to repeat itself, though much rarer, as we grew older — when there wasn’t a female around to sate our urges, or on the rarer occasion that we all had a falling out. Being together… like that… solidified our bond, our friendship, our devotion and our connection to each other in a way that was not often needed. In the same way I haven’t been able to lock out the memories of Feyre, wanting me, crying my name, I have found myself almost impossibly aroused at the memories of us sharing her, seeing her breaking under us, driven mad by her lust for us. Though, I will admit while I don’t have a preference between sharing her and not, having her all to myself definitely has its own appealing qualities.
“This one was back in the cabin again,” I continue, Cassian’s eyes losing themselves in memory for a moment before settling back on me, “She was already crying out when I found her, bound to the kitchen table in the center of the room. She had a ball gag that was hanging from her lips, the knot had gotten loose from her fighting, and she started calling my name from beneath it. She wanted me to let her go, and she stopped struggling because she assumed that’s what I was going to do.”
“What was she wearing?” Cassian breathes, enthralled, clearly picturing the scene I am painting for him in vivid detail.
“Nothing. She was naked except for the straps holding her down and the gag in her mouth.”
My erection was not leaving anytime soon. On that train of thought, my gaze follows Cassian’s sweats and the bulge growing in his crotch. I peer up at him, a question in my eyes, and once I meet his I see another. No, his eyes don’t hold a question. A challenge, maybe.
I swallow and gesture to the empty space beside me on the bed. His breathing grows louder, and Cassian joins me, making no other move other than sitting next to me, only an inch or two between us.
“I approached her then, watching her. She thought I was going to release her. Save her. She kept calling my name, breathing it out in relief, but all I wanted was to hear her screaming, moaning. So I wrapped my hands behind her head, and refastened the gag just as she’d fully relaxed, popping that fucker right back into her mouth. Her lips were swollen, and they were fucking quivering when she realized I’d tightened it, rather than removed it. She tried to talk again but it was nothing more than an incoherent moan. Then I moved to the other end of the table so I was staring right at that perfect fucking pussy, listening to her whimper, watching her try to struggle again. She was so wet, she was dripping right onto the table, and her clit - fuck, her clit , it was so swollen, so fucking horny. I could almost see the blood fucking pulsing in it.”
“ Fuck .” Cassian swallows. He is unapologetically full mast in his sweatpants, and my cock is honestly aching from how long it has been stiff with no release. I swear the blanket is starting to fucking chafe it, so I throw it off.
“I’m sorry, man, I can’t wait,” I grunt, my fist reaching into my boxers and grabbing my weeping cock, “I’ve been so hard.”
Cassian watches me, his eyes falling to my hand jerking my cock in my boxers, the tip peeking out of my waistband. He swallows hard.
“Not a problem, man,” He rasps, his own fist falling to his member through his sweats, “As long as you don’t mind if I do the same while I listen.” I nod, and he pulls his own cock out, his eyes falling shut in pleasure as he starts stroking it next to me.
“She tried to fight me, when she realized I was going for her pussy she tried to slam her legs closed but I dove in too fast for her. I wedged my face between her thighs, fucking licking and sucking every part of her I could while she tried to pop my skull with her legs. I forced them open though, baring her to me, and I could see just how turned on she was by how much her cunt was weeping for me. It was like a goddamn waterfall, it was coating her thighs, dripping down her ass cheeks.”
The room was filled with the sounds of our stroking, and I spit on my hand a few times before going back to choke my dick, while Cassian licked his hand instead, his eyes still closed and his mouth parted as he breathed heavily.
“I- fuck - I bit her thigh, her inner thigh, right beneath her fucking pussy. And I bit down until I tasted blood. I watched her bleed for me, watched the skin bruise where I marked her, and I took some of the blood dripping down her thighs and I let it run down her pussy instead. The dream cut me off right before I got to do anything, but I meant to lick every drop from her pussy. I was going to eat her so fucking good, so fucking good, was going to lick her ‘till her fucking lungs gave out, ‘till she came so hard she blacked out. Then I was going to rip that ball gag from her mouth, and replace it with my cock. And she was going to wake up gagging on me.”
“Fucking damn ,” Cassian groans, his voice hoarse. His strokes speed up, becoming sloppy. My cock feels ready to fucking burst, and I honestly can’t think of anything more than how much I want to come, how much I want to give myself over to this release. My own fist is squeezing the life out of my cock, my breathing choppy as I groan low and deep.
Like a taught band finally snapping I start to come, spurts coating my chest, my hands, which finally start to slow as I force this to last as long as I can. I feel the sounds that escape me so deeply in my bones it causes a shudder to wrack my body from the intensity.
Looking over at Cassian I notice he’d come too, white spurts painting his chest and hand same as me.
“That was…” He starts, tucking his cock back into his waistband with a sigh.
“I know.” I grunt.
“I hate feeling like this. Like we’re hiding this from Rhys and Feyre.”
I move the blanket further so I can get off the bed. Cassian watches my back as I stalk towards the bathroom to clean up, my back hunched slightly as the guilt finally starts eating at me again, once my arousal starts to ebb away.
“I know.”
⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨
Feyre
I am covered in sweat and I can feel my cheeks aching from the smile that covers my face, looking down at my glorious, naked mate. An overly-confident grin paints his as he watches me, his eyes glittering the way they do when we were together. I couldn’t get tired of the sight if it was the only thing I saw for the rest of my centuries-long life.
“Again?” Rhys purrs, his hand reaching between us, snaking between my thighs. His fingers brush my clit, sensitive from having already came, and I groan as he pushes his fingers harder, testing that limit. I wince out of reflex and he immediately draws back, massaging my inner thighs with his hand instead as he leans up to start sucking on my jaw, down my neck, my collarbone. And of course, I am aroused, I am turned on, I am absolutely enamoured by my mate. I love him with all my heart, my soul, and more. But as his head dips lower and his hand finally returns to my core again, stroking gently, I can’t help but want for… more? I understand his hesitance to push me, the idea of hurting me in any capacity probably feels as nauseatingly unspeakable as it does for me to cause him any pain, but that doesn’t stop my mind from wandering. Of two males who could take my pain in stride, and who could give it just as easily. Two males who are not my mate. So the very notion is ludicrous, the fact that they can even grace my thoughts in that capacity while my mate is showering me with love and adoration, when no doubt the only person on his mind is me , has me sick with guilt. Even more so because this is not the first time my mate's best friends have entered my thoughts when my mind should have only been centred on my mate, my king, my equal.
Rhys’ fingers enter me, and I groan in genuine lust, but even as his fingers rock in and out of my core, even as his thick, hard member grinds up against my thigh, these fucking males that are not him keep grinning at me through my memories.
We all decided to keep that night, our first and only time together in the mountain cabin, our first and only time. A one-night deal. Though, Rhys and I had both acknowledged after the fact that it had been one of the best nights of our lives, and that lust had infected us for days, weeks, after.
“Remember how it felt to have Az’s cock pounding into you? Remember choking down Cassian as he fucked your beautiful, tight throat?” He’d ask me while fucking my soul from my body, ‘that night’ becoming sex-addled dirty talk for us. Nothing more.
It has been months, almost a year since that night. It no longer fuels Rhys and mine’s dirty fantasies, and we haven’t mentioned Az or Cass in bed like that in over a month. So, it is safe to say that night really was a one-night deal, by decree of my exquisite, stunning mate. It is also safe to say that while Rhys might not have been thinking about that night any longer, I had never stopped. If anything, the memories seemed to haunt me more potently, more incessantly, the longer it’d been. And more often than not, those memories would shift. Take on some sort of agency of their own, diverging from the forms they originally took and becoming something different, something wild. Taking the forms of my deepest, darkest desires. They became Cassian holding me down as I kicked and screamed with abandon, as Azriel stalked towards me like he intended to make my screams sound like whispers when compared to what my vocal cords would produce when he got his hands on me. They became darkness embodied, my body blanketed in shadows as I hid from the males I knew were searching for me, hunting me, willing to use any force necessary to make me submit to them and use me for their needs.
With those thoughts racing through my mind my pleasure seems to amp up until my skin feels feverish, sweat coating my skin as I writhe, imagining dark deeds being done to me in the shadows of my mind.
“Look at you, love, already ready to come again from just my fingers,” Rhys chuckles against my breasts, his own breathing as heavy as mine, “Wouldn’t have thought I could get you there from just my fingers, at least, so soon after making you see stars already.”
“What can I say,” I moan, one of my hands fisting his hair as guilt burrows deep into my gut, my arousal just barely overwhelming it digging in its claws, “You know my body like no other, Rhys.”
It only takes him a few more pumps of his fingers and the glide of his thumb over my clit and suddenly I’m exploding again, crying out as I feel my cunt clasping around his fingers.
As my orgasm ebbs, the guilt begins to overwhelm me, more powerfully than it ever has before. It feels like a creature has taken residence within my gut, its gnarled claws scraping, seething, punishing me for my wayward thoughts. Because it wasn’t my mate’s talented fingers that brought me to orgasm, or even images of him doing depraved and obscene things to my body, but his closest friends. Males he considers his brothers. I feel sick.
Rhys pulls away from me slowly, kissing me softly, before getting out of bed to grab a damp cloth. When he returns, wearing loose pants having clearly cleaned himself up, I lie back as he gently cleans me, too. I force myself to smile up at him, force all feelings of betrayal as deep as I can manage so I can push all the love and affection and adoration I have for this male into my gaze as I look upon my mate. Because I’d rather die than have him think I could hurt him like that, betray him in our own bed. But I should have known Rhys would always be able to sense my pain.
He looks down at me, and his eyes shine with something unspoken.
“You don’t have to be scared, Feyre darling,” Rhysand sighs, his expression softening.
“What?” I croak.
“You don’t have to feel guilty.”
I blink up at him, terrified, confused, and so very guilty.
He gives me a slight smile, before getting up and walking towards our balcony.
“We should probably talk,” He says, turning to me and beckoning me closer before walking out, the mid-day sun shining brightly on his stunning features.
Oh, Gods.
I get up from the bed, throwing on a silk robe as I go to follow him. Dread sinks its claws in me almost as distinctly as the monster in my gut now known as guilt.
He knows .
⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨
Rhysand
I’ve known for months. More than that actually, I think I’ve probably known since the very Cauldron-damned night. Known how it changed us. Changed her.
She can’t stop thinking about it. We haven’t been talking about it, but it’s been on both of our minds.
One thing remains clear to me, though. We should have had this talk a long time ago. I just didn’t have the balls until now. And the only thing that truly made me grow the balls I needed to have this conversation, was the realization of exactly how hard this has been on my darling Feyre.
I’d been so caught up in my own mind, my own desires, I hadn’t even actually realized just how vividly this… thing had been affected her as well. For weeks, months, after that night, I swear my every moment was tormented by the memories of that night, of seeing my mate so satisfied, so passionate, so worshipped. Everything she deserved. It was impossible to suppress, and seeing how much it turned Feyre on when I referenced that night when we were together, I didn’t particularly try to. I let it overwhelm me. My waking moments were filled with thoughts of my mate and my friends in ways I likely shouldn’t have entertained… my thoughts were able to turn the most mundane thing into a segue to that night. I swear, once I’d seen a clay-painted model some artist was selling of a snowy, tree-covered mountain while walking through the rainbow and my memories of our night in the snowy, mountain cabin had led me to become so hard I had had to convince Feyre to have a quickie with me in some dank, back alley. I was not proud of that moment, but there it was. That was how desperately that night relived itself through my memories. Unluckily for me, my dreams did not fare much better. Actually, they were far, far worse.
Night after night dreams plagued me, Feyre, Azriel, Cassian, and myself - sometimes a participant, sometimes an onlooker. At first, they were fairly tame, if one could even call them that, simply scenes from that night replaying in the abscesses of my sleep-addled mind. Feyre crying out my name as she was shared between Az and Cas, her face contorted in pleasure and agony as she rode Az, as he slapped her ass, as her head was wrenched backwards by a fist in her hair.
As the months passed they… changed. Rather than snippets of things that had actually happened, they became something that fills me with equal parts shame and pleasure to admit. Images I hated to enjoy, scenes I should not ever want for my mate. Dreams where she was in pain, dreams where her fear was so thick in the air I felt as though my breath could fog. Dreams that made me shut down when I woke, dreams that left me in the morning filled me with unquenchable need, before engulfing me in shame. And as my dreams turned more wretched, the more I drew away from the pleasure I derived from them, the more I suppressed that desire. The more I buried even the original memories of that night, for fear that those horrible, terrible, blissful dreams would return. Because what kind of mate was I? What kind of male dreams of their mate in pain and hungers for more, finds bliss in their terror?
Although, sometimes (though Feyre would disagree with ‘sometimes’) I could be a well and true jackass. Because in dealing with all my own shit, it took me far longer than I’m proud of to admit to realize the same thing had been ailing my mate, though in a different form. That those cravings had been enrapturing her, same as me, likely for as long as mine have. Though she hasn’t had nearly as much luck at suppressing her emotions. Something I must admit, I’m more than glad about, that she hasn’t had as much practice as I have had at… suppressing one’s true thoughts and feelings.
I turn, watching Feyre step onto the balcony behind me. I had told her not to be afraid, nor to feel guilty, and yet I can see both fear and guilt swallowing her from within. Pain lances through me, that I’ve allowed this to go on for so long. That I hadn’t noticed she had been feeling exactly as I had for all these months.
“Feyre,” I breathe.
“I- I am so sorry, Rhys, you have to understand. I never- I never wanted to- I-” Her eyes look as though a dam had broke behind her eyelids, moisture filling her waterline before tears begin to slide down her silken cheeks. Each one, every salt trail down her face, is a sharp nick to my heart.
“I’ve been having these dreams,” I cut her off. Her gaze is cautious, curious, and she pauses to listen to what I have to say.
“I’ve been… having dreams for a while. Ones I didn’t know how to tell you about. Ones that filled me with shame, and guilt, and made me so hard sometimes I couldn’t even think well enough to acknowledge the shame and the guilt. But I always felt it, if not as an underlying sensation, then afterwards.”
“I’ve been having dreams too,” She whispers.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I do, and I should have realized so much longer ago than I did. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to address it. I’m so sorry my own guilt has distracted me from the fact that the very same feeling has been eating at you. And that it still is.”
“I-” She shakes her head, “I know why I feel guilty. For the dreams I’ve been having. The feelings, the thoughts I shouldn’t have. Because… my mind should be filled only by you. My mate. And-” Feyre looks as though she’s in physical pain, admitting this, but she must, “And it’s not. My dreams, my thoughts. I see you, and my love for you, which is so true, so deep, and unyielding, Rhys, because I am so intensely devoted to you. But I also see them. So, I know why I feel guilty. But why do you?”
“A mate… a mate should want nothing more for his one true pair than happiness, safety, to be loved and protected for as long as they both uphold their bond. It should be a fate worse than death to see one’s mate in pain, in agony. It is an abomination for a mate to take pleasure in their mate’s pain. To hunger for their fear. To want to see them beaten, broken with longing.”
“Do you want to hurt me, Rhys?”
Gods, the shame that nearly cripples me that those words are leaving her mouth. That we’re having this conversation.
“No,” I rasp, and only the spark of interest, of desire, shining in her eyes alongside the sheer disbelief of this topic makes me continue, “But I have been having dreams of the others… hurting you. Forcing you down, making you scream, making you bleed for them. Us. Me.”
“Oh really?” A deep, masculine voice drawls from beyond the balcony entrance. A figure, no, two figures stand in the middle of Feyre and mine’s bed chamber. Feyre’s wide eyes and stiff body tell me she is just as tense as I am. Just as terrified. If I had thought having this conversation with her would be hard, my mate whom I have a connection with unlike any other, who understands me and who I understand like no other, the very notion of repeating it with Az and Cas fills me with pure dread. My skin feels both too taught and frozen over. Why won’t my damn lungs work?
I’ve known for weeks that Feyre has been just as consumed by the same perverted thoughts that have been ailing me, known since the very night how it had affected her. Us.
How will Azriel and Cassian react, knowing that I’ve been dreaming for months of them… doing the things I’ve been imagining them doing to her. Such bloody, criminal things. Knowing how I want to watch them treat my mate in that way. They’ve been my friends for centuries, they’re the closest things I have to brothers.
When Cassian had thought I’d forced Feyre into a mate bond with me back in Hybern’s throne room, when I’d had to pretend she hadn’t chosen me and all my faults, which sometimes it still baffled me she had, as a trick against Tamlin, he had turned against me without a moment of hesitation. If it had been true, I’d no doubt have lost my brother at that moment, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. If I’d forced Feyre in that way, I’d no doubt deserve to be alone, to have lost both her and him.
He had just heard me say that I’d been having dreams of him and Az hurting my mate, an idea that should be abhorrent to me, to any male. I can hear the words coming from his mouth, as his shadow-laden figure stalks towards us, with Azriel at his back, and I can almost see the sneer forming, the disgust in his eyes.
What kind of mate are you?! He’ll yell, How can you possibly deserve her? How can you stand the thought of her in pain? What the hell is wrong with you?!
Cassian stalks out onto the balcony first, Az at his back, and not even the grin on his face is able to cause me to register that anything other than the worst is about to happen.
Am I about to lose my brothers?
⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨
Cassian
I don’t know what exactly had caused me to walk into Feyre and Rhys’ room. I’d seen the door open and I felt this urge to be a nuisance, to go check on them. To be in their presence. I guess it was pure luck that I’d walked past their door at the moment I had, with Azriel clinging to the shadows behind me, because if it had been any other moment, I would have missed those words.
“I’ve been having dreams of the others… hurting you. Forcing you down, making you scream, making you bleed for them. Us. Me.”
Fuck. Yes.
I felt so much lust at that moment, at the realization that Az and I weren’t alone, I swear I went momentarily blind. But I knew as surely that Az had felt the same thing, in his own feral, brooding way, that I had to make our presence known. Because I had no clue when else an opportunity this clear-cut would present itself to us, and I think I’d spend the rest of eternity breaking my own pinky over and over in self-deprecation if I passed that one up.
As I walk up to them, sunlight slowly inching its way up my body as I walk out onto the terrace, my grin begins to slip. I had been smirking like a fiend since Rhys’ admission to Feyre, but upon seeing his expression, bright and clear in the open light, I falter. He looks terrified. I almost don’t want to turn to look at Feyre.
“Cass, I-” Rhys’ voice is hoarse. I don’t remember ever seeing him this nervous in… I can’t actually think of a time. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Is this the wrong move?
“Was this some joke? Did I take that out of context?” I ask, suddenly filled with nerves. Az, the bastard, slinks back into the shadows by the terrace entrance.
“What?” Rhys croaks.
“Or were you lying?”
“I never meant for you to hear that.” He swallows harshly, and I realize. He thought it was just him. That we didn’t feel this fucking urge, too. That I would blame him for wanting the same goddamn thing I’ve been trying not to want for months.
He thought I could hate him for this.
“Rhys, I hate fucking seeing you like this,” A smirk starts to stretch across my face, “Get your big-boy pants on. I’d hate for you to be this nervous wreck while I’m making your mate scream for your benefit. This is not an attractive look for you, and if Feyre’s getting another taste of our cocks she might just leave you for us.”
Silence. Damn, I thought that joke would land.
Well.
I hope I have a good funeral at least. Even if Rhys explodes me into dust so there’s nothing to bury, I’m sure Mor will figure out how to have a nice procession for me.
But then Rhys lets out a breath through his nose. Tension seems to drain from his back, his shoulders, his eyes. Then he’s chuckling. And he’s looking up at me, and I swear, if I was a woman I’d melt like they do in cheesy romance novels.
“Fuck you,” He says on a laugh, “She’d never leave me for the likes of you, not even if your cock was double its size and your wit double mine.”
I bark a laugh.
“If his cock was double its size it wouldn’t just feel like it was spearing me through to my throat, it would be. So, no, I think I’ll stay with my mate and his average-sized cock that won’t literally split me in half,” Feyre says, her voice light. She goes to stand next to Rhys and my smile doubles in size as Rhys frowns.
“Average-sized?” He scoffs.
“Hey, she said what she said. We’ve all got to be happy with what we’ve got, it’s not Az and mine’s fault we’re so hung.”
“How the hell is this the turn this conversation took?” Rhys shakes his head disbelievingly, humour dancing in his eyes entwined with forced annoyance.
“Well, we can change the topic, if you’re feeling this uncomfortable about your shortcomings. Nothing to be ashamed of, Rhys, truly.”
“Or,” Azriel finally speaks, slinking out from the shadows and joining us on the balcony, “We end the conversation here. Move onto something that requires… less talking.”
Gods, that voice. That deep, growling, rasping voice of his. I swear, I’m almost as attracted to his voice as I am to Feyre’s cunt. No, not her cunt. Her tits maybe? No, her tits are just as good. Her hair, maybe. And I say that only because, technically, I cannot fuck her hair.
“What did you have in mind?” Feyre asks, the only one brave enough to speak first. She was breathless as though Az’s voice gave her the same reaction it does me. Or maybe it was the innuendo. Possibly both.
“What are you comfortable with?” His eyes darken to a fucking pitch, and I almost moan.
“Anything,” She says, and I hope to the Cauldron she means it, knowing what perverted thoughts Az has begging to be released from the confines of his imagination, “Everything.”
“I want to show you,” Az says, and he looks at Rhys before turning back to Feyre, “I want to give you a taste of the things I’ve been dreaming of all these months, and I want you to tell me what you’re comfortable with. I need… we need to know your limits.”
Rhys swallows, and Feyre’s expression is the definition of heady.
“I can do that. If you let me in, I can show her, show us.”
And then I’m following them back into their room, and Rhys is sitting us all on his bed, and I’m thanking the fucking stars that the furthest thing I expected to happen is happening. That the urge to walk into this room was so strong I couldn’t ignore it, that I have these incomparable Fae in my life, and that we share this connection.
Then I close my eyes and can see only darkness, until I feel the delicious scratching of Rhys’ mental claws against my consciousness. And then I’m swept, like the others, into Azriel’s filthy, depraved mind.
First, there is only this feeling of overwhelming lust. Then, images start to flit in front of my eyes, one after the other, before they begin to slow. Like Az is choosing which ones he wants to show us.
Finally, the whir of scenes stops, and I watch as the one Az has chosen to start us off with begins to play out.
“Please!” Feyre cries, somewhere in the darkness, “Please stop!”
Out of the darkness, appears a maze of sorts. Obstacles and walls seem to be emerging out of a red haze, vines crawling over the red bricks of the walls and slithering through the mist that blankets the floor. Pink skin appears in my vision, and I realize it’s Feyre, half-dressed in what appears to be nothing more than a torn tunic, tears rolling down her face. She darts between the walls, her body tense, her face whipping around as her eyes search her surroundings. Her hands are shaking.
She continues to back up, slowly, as to not make a sound, but her eyes are so trained at where she’d run from, she is unaware of one of the creeping vines behind her rising.
With a scream that brings a dark grin to my lips, she trips backwards as the vine had knocked her off balance, falling on her ass with a thump.
Footsteps sound from not too far within the maze. Feyre starts frantically crawling backwards, her breathing picking up, not caring that some of the vines are thorned and rip into her skin, tearing her tunic further.
“Sweetheart,” Az drawls once he emerges from behind the closest wall, red mist wafting behind him, “I told you to run, but if you’re so desperate for my cock that you can’t wait long enough for me to catch you, what kind of demon would I be to withhold it from you?”
“No,” Feyre chokes out, crawling backwards. Slowly, so slowly. It takes Az two steps to reach her, and when he does he reaches down to grab her hair in his fist, wrenching her tear-streaked face up to his.
“Az,” She cries, shaking her head. Her hand begins to trail up his thigh, though, and Az pretends he doesn’t notice.
“Look at you, crying, so desperate. You want my cock, Feyre?” He growls, letting her drop back down to her knees but keeping his fist locked tight in her hair.
“Az, please, just let me go,” She cries, shaking her head. Her hand inches higher.
“That wasn’t an answer, gorgeous.”
“I don’t want this, Az, I want you to let me go,” Her voice is pathetic, whimpering.
“Oh yeah?” The rumble, the timbre of his voice. Gods. “Here, then.” He uses his other hand to undo the laces of his pants, dropping them only low enough to take out his cock. He shoves her face into his crotch, her mouth forced to breathe against his throbbing cock.
“Suck it, Feyre,” He growls, “That’s all you have to do. Suck my cock, and I’ll let you go. I won’t fuck you, I promise. Just your throat.”
Lies. He knew it, and there was no doubt she did too.
She looks up at him, still crying, and as she opens her mouth to respond, Az uses the opportunity to shove his cock into her mouth, silencing her. She immediately gags, but quickly recovers as Azriel groans. His hips buck and he disappears deeper down Feyre’s throat, using his fist in her hair to control her. It was then that I noticed another vine that arched up from the misty floor lying beneath her. Directly beneath her. She started to grind on it, and I almost came on the spot.
Suddenly, the scenes started to change again, the same whirl of images spinning and spinning. A new scene begins to play out, and I watch, enraptured, and hard enough to come from a breeze.
The council room within the House of Wind appeared out of the darkness, growing nearer and clearer as the mist around it settled. Approaching, I gaze into the room, filled with maps, weapons, a large oak table lying in the centre of the room. Around it, sits Feyre, Rhys, Az, and myself.
Rhys sits at the head of the table with me behind him. We appear to be talking about something, our lips moving, taught expressions lining our faces, but no sound escapes our lips. We aren’t the key subjects of this scene. Or, at least not yet. No, for now, the focus is set on the other end of the table, where Az and Feyre are. Az is sitting like a king in one of the high-backed chairs surrounding the council table, and Feyre is standing next to him, reading a map in front of her curiously. Not noticing Az’s eyes on her from behind, nor Rhys’ gaze flicking to them within his conversation to me.
Az leans forwards, casually, in every meaning of the word sensual, and nonchalantly shifts his left hand forwards. From Rhys’ and other-me’s eyes, it would appear as if he was simply resting his hand on his knee. From here, watching this scene from behind them, it was explicitly clear that wasn’t the case.
Az’s scarred hand strokes Feyre's cloth-clad outer thigh, and she immediately freezes. Her gaze is trapped within some random point on the map she’d been perusing. Azriel seems to take advantage of her surprise, and his hand darts around so that he can stroke at the fabric of the breeches of her inner thighs. Inching higher, higher. When he reaches that pinnacle, she sucks in a gasp.
Rhys’ head immediately looks up, his eyes going to his mate. From his line of sight, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. At least, nothing condemning.
Feyre looked about to say something, until Az cuts her off with a deadly whisper.
“Say a word to your mate, love, and I’ll show him how wet you are for me. How do you think he’ll react knowing how horny you get for other males?”
Feyre’s mouth slams shut, and she gives Rhys a placating smile instead of whatever words she had been about to speak. He accepts it, looking back again, but she doesn’t notice the glint in his eyes that I do.
Az’s hand moves, rubbing against Feyre’s core through her breeches, but she does a better job at hiding her reaction this time, the only evidence of him affecting her is her clenched fists against the wooden table and the blush crawling up her chest, her neck, flooding her cheeks with bright pink agony.
Suddenly, Azriel wraps an arm around Feyre’s middle, and she stumbles a single step as he drags her back to fall into his lap.
Rhys looks up again, confusion etching his features as he sees Feyre in Azriel’s lap.
“I tripped,” She says breathlessly, “Sorry.” She turns that last remark to Az, as if he wasn’t the one to pull her into his lap ass-to-crotch.
“Not a problem, my lady.”
Feyre doesn’t move to get out of his lap though, and Az doesn’t move to remove his arm from her waist. And I realize what this is, as Rhys pretends to glance back to his papers, and Az’s dream version of me doesn’t even hide his hunger as he watches Az and Feyre knowingly.
It’s a game.
It’s all a game of pretend.
Az’s other hand sneaks further, his scarred fist forcing its way beyond the ties of her pants beneath the table. I watch as the fabric shifts at her crotch, at the mass beneath the cloth pressing in and out, in and out. Feyre’s breath catches, but I’m impressed by the otherwise straight face she’s maintaining.
“Quiet, love,” Az hisses, “Or your mate will see how turned on you are for me, grinding against my cock right in front of him. About to come on my fingers with him not barely half a dozen feet away. Such a dirty little slut, aren’t you? My filthy fucking whore.”
The air is sizzling, my breath nothing but the sensation of fire burning through my lungs, my chest, everywhere, everywhere.
Az’s dream-me is watching them as intently as I am, and I notice how hard he is as he starts to stroke himself through his breeches, something I wish I could do in this disembodied form. Rhys is no longer pretending that he was not hanging onto every movement, every word, every breath the two of them have been sharing, his eyes fierce, burning through their bodies and Feyre tries not to writhe on top of Az. Searching for more, but playing the game of pretend anyways. Rhys' eyes spark as he shifts in his seat. He is far from angry, though. No, his possessiveness has taken a backseat in his mind in favour of allowing the adrenaline of pure lust and hunger to take the wheel instead.
“I do hope this information will remain within this room, after everything’s finished,” Rhys speaks up, his voice echoing throughout the chamber.
Az’s brows rise.
“What information?”
“That my wife is nothing more than a perfect little whore, dalliancing outside of our mate bond. And a terrible actress on top of that,” Rhys growls, standing, the silhouette of his erection clear against the confines of his trousers, “Did you really think I couldn’t see you grinding against him, Feyre darling? Couldn’t smell your arousal from across the room as you let him touch you beneath the table? You’d lost this game of yours before you even knew you were playing one, mate of mine.”
“Rhys-”
“Get her on the table, Azriel. I think my mate needs to be taught a lesson in respect.”
Azriel’s face transforms as he practically snarls in approval, his gaze turning on Feyre. The weight of his hunger, of being caught by her mate, causes her chest to heave with apprehension.
“I’ll do anything to make this right,” She starts to say and Az grabs her hips again only to throw her onto the table, her words being cut off in surprise.
“Yes,” He growls, “You will.”
And then Az’s dream-me is gripping her wrists above her head, and Rhys is holding her legs open as Az grabs one of the many knives strapped to his body and uses it to cut the cloth of her pants from ankles to hips, ripping them off of her, before tearing the buttons of her tunic and tearing that open as well, so that she is nothing more than bare and at his mercy. I wish more than anything then that I could venture closer, to get a clearer view of what I know is Feyre’s dripping pussy on display for them, for us.
Before that thought could go any further, I am wrenched out of that dream as well. Through the haze of my lust, I almost didn’t realize that the whirr of memories had become different than last time, waiting to enter another dream that would never come. Instead of whizzing past, the memories seem to simply flit through, slower than before, like giving a selection of snippets, highlights.
One after the other I watch various images pass by, Feyre gagged and held down as she’s fucked from behind, Feyre on her hands and knees, counting through euphoric tears with her ass cheeks marked with red handprints, her crying out as Az and I fuck her at the same time, my fist gripping her throat tightly.
More and more memories, some of which I recognize from details Az has shared with me, others I don’t. Until, finally, the images stop, and I watch as the last snippet playing is one I do recognize, looking exactly as I imagined it from the way Az had described it this morning. Feyre is strapped down to the kitchen table in the mountain cabin, a gag in her mouth, tears in her eyes, and Az’s face between her legs. I watch as Az bites into her thigh, just as he said he did, and I watch the blood fall from the wound when he's finished. Watch the blood drip down his face as he dribbles blood atop her naked pussy with a look of sheer concentration and devotion.
Fuck me.
Seriously, I need someone to fuck me, because my disembodied cock aches to the point of fear of what might happen to it if I’m not.
Thank the Cauldron, my desperate plea might just be answered, as I blink to find myself back in Rhys and Feyre’s rooms, Az’s show-and-tell being over, I guess.
We all look at Feyre, unwilling to move, unwilling to act on the devil inside each of us urging us to act without thought, without her say-so. Az’s dream-Feyre might not have any limits, but his fucked-up, kinky dreams don’t automatically extend to real-Feyre. Though, a part of me that’s just as kinky and fucked-up as him wishes on every damn star in the sky that’s not the case.
Feyre seems to understand what we’re waiting on, looking at each of us, one by one. Her gaze rakes over each of our bodies and I swear it only makes me harder. I think she knows that though. I think she’s torturing us in her own, small way before we unleash ourselves on her.
“Yes,” She breathes, and the wind stops, time extends, and the breath that leaves my lips is an explosion to my senses, “Yes, to all of it.”
A blink. A single blink. Her eyes had only closed for a fraction, less than a fraction of a second, before I’m on her. My mouth is on hers, my hips rutting against her body, and I pull back only to shove my fingers through her scalp, pulling her hair and twisting her head up.
“We’re going to fuck you until you lose your goddamn voice, baby,” I rasp against her throat, before licking her from her collarbone to her jaw, “We’re going to fucking ruin you.”
⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨⬨
Feyre
Cassian’s weight on mine has already stolen my breath, it isn’t a particularly far stretch at all to imagine my voice hoarse from pleasure at his hands, at Az’s, at my mate’s.
Cassian continues to maul me, the dreams Az had shown us obviously having riled him up, and I honestly couldn’t fault him. I am just as turned on, Az’s own dreams speaking to the darkest whispers of my own.
Rhys and Az watch from behind us, and my eyes meet theirs.
“Are you sure?” Rhys asks, the desperation in his voice making me ache for him, “Yes to all of it?”
I turn to look at Az in response, panting, writhing beneath Cassian.
“Your dreams, Az, mirror my own. I have been suffering, thinking I wanted all those things on my own. I want exactly what you do. More, if possible. Give me all of it, Azriel. All of you. Do your worst.”
Other than my vows towards my mate and this court, I have never meant anything so fervently. Cassian groans on top of me, and slowly rises to look down on me. Mirrored looks of fiendish delight slowly begin to overtake each of their faces, Rhys’ mask of concern dropping.
“Feyre, babe, you really shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian teases, his words scorching me with heat.
“Why?”
“You might not be able to handle our worst.”
“You’re right.”
All three males had begun to circle closer, until my words caught up with them and each froze in an almost comical simultaneity.
“You’re right,” I breathe, forcing my features to scrunch so my brow, lips, and eyes all appear as they would if I were genuinely afraid, “I won’t. You’ll all be too much for me. You’ll hurt me. I- I don’t want that, I want to stop this, I want to leave. You all need to stop, please stop. Let me leave.”
I added an extra whimper in there to sell the fear that I had been depicted as embodying within Az’s fantasies. Suddenly my three males understood what this was.
A game.
I start to back onto the bed, my legs kicking off the bedsheets as I crawl backwards, keeping that same fearful expression painted on. Cassian launches forwards again, and grasps my wrist in his large hand. I try to wrench it free with no luck, the feeling of skin pulling against tight skin burning at my wrist, my shoulder slamming backwards as I try putting the full force of my body into hauling my arm free from his hold.
“Please,” I beg again, and heat lights my every vein and artery on fire as Az follows my mate towards the bed where Cassian holds me still. As much as I anticipate them claiming me, though, I am not quite ready for this game of ours to end. Not when it had only just begun. So just as Az and Rhys approach from the far end of the bed, I lean forwards and bite down on Cassian’s hand with every molecule of strength I have in my jaw. He immediately loosens his grasp with a sharp inhale, and it’s all I need before yanking my hand free and using the mattress as a launch pad, throwing myself from the bed and racing towards the open doorway.
“Please, please don’t follow me,” I cry out, and I turn at the boundary of the doorway to see realization dawn upon formerly dumbfounded faces, before being flooded with a tempest of lust. And I know they will. They will follow me, track me down, hunt me like prey. Then they’ll find me. And, Gods, when they find me.
But I refuse to make this easy for them. So, I turn and I flee from my own bed chamber.
Pounding footsteps sound from behind me, loud, angry, promising the sweetest agony I will ever know, and I realize with how quickly these males are advancing on me that I’ll have to find an advantage before this hunt I’ve started ends far sooner than I intended it to last. Turning a corner, running so fast I almost slide into the adjacent wall and the adrenaline nearly keeping me from suppressing a laugh in excitement, a plan begins to form. Sprinting, I turn and run for the nearest window, the frame empty, leading directly out into bustling Velaris. I launch myself out the window, my robe almost flying open in the process, and I immediately shift so that the feel of heavy Illyrian wings rests solidly against my back, my robe pushed low on my shoulders to accommodate. I tuck them into my body and allow gravity to drag me down, plummeting, the many floors of the House of Wind passing me by as I descend through the open air, a laugh finally escaping me. My wings burst open to catch me, and I move to fly through a first-floor window, my wings tucking in as I dive through the open pane and disappearing as I shift back to my Fae form. Rhys, Az, and Cassian will still be able to tell I’m in the House of Wind, but I’ve put enough distance between us that the hunt won’t be over too quickly. I’ve just got to hope none of them break an unspoken rule and cheat by winnowing. I feel as though they won’t though. It would be very ill-mannered if they did.
Catching my breath, and fixing my robe, I realize the dining room is quite close. A terrible smile overtakes my face, and I can almost picture exactly what might happen if any one of them caught me there.
Cauldron, we’re lucky Mor and my sisters aren’t here.
I can sense Rhys getting nearer, Cas and Az likely not too far behind, and I quickly run into the dining room. Looking around I consider my options. There is a cabinet that would be less obvious, but being Fae, my mate would be able to smell me out regardless. My nose scrunches still at the strangeness of that. Well, the cabinet looks uncomfortable to fit inside, anyways. There’s always the obvious choice, under the table. Not much of a hiding place, but again, not that it particularly matters. I think on it for only a beat, and the choice is made for me the moment my mind flits upon example after example of all the ways the game could progress from there, being dragged from underneath, kicking and yelling, strong hands gripping my thighs. Without hesitation, I drop to my knees and scurry beneath the large wood table.
And then I wait.
I wait as I sense my mate drawing nearer and nearer. Wait as I begin to hear my name, called and cooed after by several voices. Wait even as sure footsteps breach the boundary of the room.
“I wonder,” Rhys drawls, “Where she could possibly be? Do you know, Cas?”
“I can smell her wanting cunt as clear as if it were directly in front of my face, but I don’t see her. Az, any guesses?”
“Well, I know there’s a whore hiding beneath the table, but surely that isn’t Feyre? Our High Lady has too much dignity for that.”
I was right. I’m so glad to have been right. Hands dart out, fists clutching my ankles, yanking me out from beneath the table. I shriek in surprise, kicking the figure that stole me from my hiding place with abandon.
“I suppose I was wrong,” Az growls, yanking me closer by the shins, my kicking doing nothing to loosen his grip, “Feyre is the little, badly-hidden whore. Did you think we wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see you? Cauldron, I can smell how wet you are. So good, so fucking good. I would bottle it if I could, the scent of your needy pussy. My precious little slut.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Give me everything and more .
Az’s face is suddenly barely an inch from mine.
“Anything we goddamn want.”