Chapter Text
"You know, Rhys won't forgive you for all of the years you let Feyre carry the burden of providing for your family."
I whirled, too long legs catching on each other--I had to fling one hand out to brace myself against the armoire as a faint voice in my head cried wrong, wrong, wrong. This body--the wrongness of it lit an ember of anger in me. And him--He was leaning in my doorway, narrowed eyes above a feral smile. The membraneous wings flared behind him were still faintly reddened with scar tissue and the insolence in his stance was provoking. He just oozed impertinence. And the way that his eyes dropped from my head, to my toes, and back again? It was enough to fan that ember of anger into a flame. I wrapped myself in the fire--I needed it, needed the fire of a forge to make me stronger, to burn away the dross and shape my weapons, so I could face the battles ahead. My nostrils flared as I realized this little confrontation might only be the beginning of a war with my personal tormentor.
"Then I suppose it's a good thing I don't need his forgiveness. And I shan't ask for it." My shoulders dropped back as my chin shot up, my body square to his as my hands fisted in the folds of my dress. His eyes dropped to my chest, an appreciative smirk plastered across his face. Oh, how I dearly wished to smack that smug, proprietary look off of his face.
"While standing like that makes your tits look fantastic, it's not exactly going to get you far in a fight," he chuckled, stalking forward with an exaggerated swagger. A faint flicker of pain shadowed his face, so quickly there and gone that I would have missed it before-- before the Cauldron, before everything Fae had invaded my body. No matter--I could see his weaknesses that much better now. So he was still stiff then, had probably let himself be trounced during one of Rhys' frustration fueled bouts. My eyes narrowed and I pursed my lips, ready to deliver a scathing retort-as soon as I thought of one--about his crippled wings. Even if he was making it rather difficult, fixing me in place with those hazel eyes. Or maybe it was the way that the latent magic buzzed and plucked at my skin, fraying my hold on myself. Damn him, he was breaking what little control I had managed so far. And then his voice tore me from my thoughts again. "Though I do suppose you have a rather nice view of the ceiling, your nose up in the air like that. And it is a magnifient ceiling, I suppose. Rhys is proud enough of it. But if I'm being honest, princess," and here his voice dropped to a gravelly growl, reverberating in my too-sensitive ears, "the way it exposes your neck is practically an invitation."
My lip lifted in a half-snarl as he lifted one hand towards me. This was history repeating itself, with me in a new body. Cassian was so, so close now, but I held my ground against his predatory advance. I would not retreat, not surrender. That feral smile flashed over his face again as he stepped closer again, waiting for me to cry craven or for the slightest movement of my knee. And then I remembered, remembered the way his eyes plumbed the depths of soul. For a moment, the angry flames I had wrapped myself in flickered and a wave of vulnerability washed over me; I clenched my eyes shut as I rallied my anger, lips parted to say--
And then the broad, callused pad of his thumb caught against the tender column of my throat, the heat of his skin like a fire-brand, sweeping down slowly, then back up, tantalizing and excruciating all at once. I froze, becoming preternaturally still, as his thumb came to rest on my pulse point. The same point he had teased with his mouth before. The sensation was overwhelming, mind-numbing in this new body. All reason vanished as I shuddered beneath his touch. My eyes snapped open to meet his sharp gaze and I cursed myself for freezing like a rabbit as my heart began to pound--no matter the sensation pouring through me, my instincts were still human, still prey. No wonder the Fae had slaughtered us--them--so easily. And Cassian's smile grew wide, his white teeth gleaming as I staggered a step back, straight into the armoire. His remaining fingers curled around my throat, gently hugging tight to my skin as he leaned in close, shadowing us with his dark wings. His mouth found my ear, his breath hot and quick as he whispered "No fight left, princess? And here I was hoping for a delightful little tussle."
Rage bubbled and boiled in my veins then, the fire of it licking my bones. I lunged for him, my right hand fisted in anger. His hand dropped from my throat to catch my fist, cradling it tenderly. Somehow, that only made my angrier. I threw my head back, and then forward, catching him a glancing blow across the chin. He fell back from the hit howling with laughter, holding both hands up and away from me as I lashed out with my knee--I caught him in the hip. Clearly he remembered our last encounter. "Truce," he coughed out between laughs as I advanced on him, "truce."
I narrowed my eyes warily, hands still fisted. I would flay him alive for this. "Bastard," I spat, " You deserve to have that hand broken."
His grin wavered. A hit, then. He looked me up and down again then, assessing.
"Dirty mouth there, princess. I'd like to see you try to do it. "
He paused, that feral smile returning. Whatever it was that he was about to say, I knew I wasn't going to like it. I pursed my lips and he only smiled wider.
"Hell, I'll even teach you how to do it."