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Lucien always thought the Mother had a sick sense of humor when it came to his fate, but surely the jokes should have stopped being funny after she made his mate want nothing to do with him.
In fact, with the looks of things, it seemed they were only getting funnier for her.
He swirled his glass of still full whiskey, not willing to take a sip, not ready to forget, even though he had come to this dingy tavern, before the crack of dawn to do just that.
To forget his own existence, and that his mate would rather shrink her own existence than interact with him for even a second.
To forget that the same night she had further withdrawn from him, he had watched her try to kiss another male from his bedroom window.
To forget that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her and not long for her, desire her, crave her, need her.
He inhaled deeply to steady himself, his blood heating up, at the thought of her—in the process catching a whiff of stale beer, tobacco, musty walls, and a potent amount of the smell of a jasmine flower in full bloom.
There was something about that last scent. It carried with it a faint cloud of honey—leaving a sugary undercurrent on his senses, almost like he could taste its sweetness on his tongue.
His head immediately snapped up, and turned to search the sea of fae for her—which, given the time of day, was a shocking number—from his spot at the bar.
And as though drawn to Elain like she was his focal point, sure enough, he instantly spotted her petite feminine figure hidden behind a huge light brown cloak, as she dodged seating areas and walked steadily to the other side of the pub, entering a door only reserved for staff.
Without thinking he took a quick sip of his drink for liquid courage, and instantly winnowed to her destination, stopping a few steps in front of her.
Her head was down, as if trying to seclude herself with her hood, not bothering to pay attention to her surroundings and notice him.
She didn’t even have an atom of self preservation, didn’t even use her heightened fae senses to scent him out and that annoyed him to no end, especially considering they were the only ones in this barely lit stretched out hallway, that hardly looked safe. And he could have been anyone.
Lucien watched her continue walking, without looking up, oblivious to him until he was directly in her line of sight, her soft body almost colliding his—goosebumps breaking out on his skin from that promise of a touch alone. Even though they didn’t actually come in contact, even through the huge barrier of their clothes, he still felt the effect of coming so close to her.
“Oh forgive me, I wasn’t looking,” she, head still down, turning to the other side to move around him.
He didn’t know what came over him but he was so sick and tired of pandering to her, wanting to preserve his better judgement for her, while she treated him like he was invisible. He was done playing nice, and today she was going to meet the side of him that didn’t hold back, the side that made him renamed, as the Lord of Foxes.
He felt the fire in his blood heating up in answer, anger barely rising beneath the surface as he swiveled to her line of sight, blocking her way.
She moved to use the other way, but he blocked her again, wanting her to see him, notice him.
Her head came up, an annoyed expression on her features, but as soon as the realization of who she was looking at registered, her features immediately stilled, eyes widening with fear.
Not the fear of imminent danger, the fear of being caught. He had caught her doing something she wasn’t meant to be doing. Something no one else knew about.
His heart picked up speed, thrilled that for the first time he was privy to something about her that she didn’t let on to anyone including the male she was so eager to kiss yesterday.
He watched her immediately school her expression to one of indifference, the blank one that she usually put on whenever he was around. But it was too late because he had gotten a reaction out of her, and it drew a high out of him that he was going to chase for the rest of his life, starting now.
He folded his arms over his chest, his forearm muscles flexing with the strain. “Going somewhere, Lady?” he asked, his voice taking in a lazy drawl.
Her eyes took him in, and he could see the little screws working in her brain, deciding what to do, deciding her next move.
“If you must know, yes I am,” she replied, face still sickeningly indifferent. “Now if you will excuse me.”
Elain moved to try and get around him again, but he blocked her again, legs stretched out lazily across the path she wanted to pass.
“Where?”
“None of your business,” she answered, flatly. He caught a quick flash of anger on her face before she turned off her emotions again.
Yes, give me your anger, I want it, I need it, I crave it.
“You're right. It is none of my business what you do with your time,” he said, leaning against the wall.
“Especially quite an unholy time at that,” the infliction in his voice taking on that of the one he usually used while negotiating to finalize a deal in his favour. A tone that he had learnt in the cutthroat battle of words exchanged in Autumn Court.“But, I wonder though, it might be Ferye’s business, or Nesta’s, or maybe even the Shadowsinger’s business.”
When he said that last name, his words dripped of barely restrained fury, the flames in his eyes speaking to her, telling her without the use of words that he knew what she had been up to the night before.
Her entire body tensed, and he could see all the feelings she had been hiding bubbling to the exterior of her facade, but she still kept it on lock as her hands stretched out between them, and opened a door that he didn’t even notice was there until now.
“Get in,” she said, motioning into the room, her voice ice cold so unlike the soft melody he, and everyone was used to, the kind that he didn’t think anyone would ever imagine she was capable of. Except him that is. Surprisingly it had the opposite effect because it further roused up his system.
He entered inside, to what looked like a pantry of sorts, and she followed him in, the lighting in the room more vivid than the one in the hallway.
When she had successfully closed the door behind them, Elain turned to face him, her expression serious as she asked, “What do you want?”
That she would immediately think he wanted something from her was quite an anomaly. He wouldn’t have told anyone any secrets of hers even with a sword to his neck, but considering he had just tried to stealthily pull information out of her, he wasn’t the least bit surprised that she would assume that, and he wasn’t even angry about it. In fact he was going to use it to his advantage, and finally finish this never ending game of push and pull, they played with one another.
He leveled her with a stare, and a challenge.“A bargain.”
Even though the words came out of his mouth, they still jarred his entire being. And it seemed not only him was affected as the color immediately drained out of her face, panic flaring in her eyes, her chest picking up speed.
“What do you want?” she asked again, as if scared to directly ask what his bargain terms were.
He knew that she thought he was going to ask her to accept the bond, but he would never do that to her. Forcing her to confront him though, that was something he would willingly do to her.
“For you to speak your truth about the bond.”
Some of the panic left her eyes on hearing his words, and the only thing she said before he felt a magical ink marring the flesh of his neck down to his torso was, “As you wish.”
Elain watched in shock as an ink formed its way from Lucien’s torso—she would guess since it was covered with his shirt—all the way to his neck. She could see an intricate design of a sun with the rays enhanced as a swirl of gold and black elegant lines peeking out through his collar.
As soon as the ink stopped forming on his skin, she felt one start brandishing itself on her own skin. Not on her torso to her neck , like Lucien’s, but on her lower back. A shiver went through her spine.
What had they done? What had she done?
She turned, worried eyes to him, and she saw a split moment in his eyes, where he went back to the Lucien who came, every winter solstice with gifts for her, and longing in his eyes for her—and she wanted to lean into that Lucien, it would have been so easy to accept the comfort she knew he could give her, but then she remembered what was at stake for her if she let him in she, and so she braced herself, and pretended. Pretended she didn’t care, and made sure her words reflected her disinterest as well.
“What truth?” she feigned.
His eyes narrowed, the trace of warmth she saw caught before now gone. “Tell me how you really feel about the bond.”
“You should know by now that I do not care for that.”
“Do I?”
All the anger she had been suppressing since the previous night's events, and from the moment she first saw the infiltrating male, came boiling to the surface, a rising furnace that would not be quenched.
She almost growled at his stubbornness, and insistence. He was always pushing. All he did was push and push and push. Till she had to retreat into herself.
She needed to make him give up, and for some reason she felt like she could be mean to him. Everyone else expected her to be sweet, boring Elain, and she maintained that image for them, cared that they wanted her to be sweet, boring Elain, but him?
She wanted him to hate her.
She took a step towards him, until they were almost toe to toe and she had to look up up, at him to meet his gaze.
“Why can’t you understand that I don’t care for you or the mating bond?” she hissed, her tone, the deadly one she used to tell him to get into this room.
Elain watched how hurt flashed in his eyes at her words, but Lucien only chuckled darkly.
“You have been in Prythian for what? Two years, and you still don’t know how magic works?” he scoffed. “No one’s ever taught you, not even your lover?”
She grimaced at him calling Azriel her lover as he pulled his collar down motioning to the sun tattoo on his neck. “Speak your truth or the bargain stays.”
Frustration roared to life in Elain’s chest. “I told you I don’t care for you or—”
“So why can’t you just act normal around me?” he asked, moving closer to her. “I see how you behave with others, so why am I the exception, Elain?
The sound of her name from his lips for the very first time, awakened a primal part of her that she kept hidden. She shoved and shoved it down but it would not stop rising. Anger and discomfort filled her bones,and she felt herself shrinking deep, trying to catch her breath but failing.
“Why is it that I vex you so much?” he whispered, cutting through her internal battle, his voice sounding almost strained, and closer like he had continued moving towards her.
Mate. You belong to him and he belongs to you. Touch him. Taste him. Smell him.
Stop stop stop. Shut up!
“You do not vex me, you haunt me,” she blurted out angrily, stepping closer to him so he would just shut his mouth, “I can’t breathe when you're around me and yet your mere presence consumes me, it’s unnatural and I need it to stop.”
“And what is it you think you do to me?” Lucien snarled, his eyes darkening in rage, and something else beneath the depths of its orange hues. The secret resentment she knew he had for this bond finally showing.
“I have tried so many times to fight this. Gone to the ends of the Prythian and back, for Cauldron’s sake I even went as far as the human lands—"
“Well, it is not far enough! Nowhere is far enough to free me from your torment.” She seethed, fists clenched at her sides, resisting the urge to touch him, shake him.
“Nothing is ever enough to make it stop. Even when I ignore you. It is not enough. Even when I run, it is not enough, and I get called a mistake for it.”
He heaved. “And that is my fault?”
Elain severed the distance between them, to the point where not even a thin slice of glass could cut through, her upper lip drawn back in a growl.
“Yes, it is. All of it, and I loathe you for it.”
The silence that followed after she said that to him, was deafening. But, a shift neither of them could ignore settled in the air. An unspoken tension—a filled bomb waiting to explode.
Their heaving chests touched as she heard his heartbeat synchronize with hers, and their individual scents morphed into something that was distinctly theirs but carried an animalistic undertow of pure undiluted lust and desire.
Her gaze dropped to his soft, mouth watering lips, to his pulse point, the illicit line of a sunray, moving with each drum.
His pulse was thumping so fast that she thought his vein was going to burst right out of his throat with the force of it.
And then her eyes came back up to his eyes, and from the sizzling flames in them, that showed only intoxicating, unbridled hunger—she knew that it was game over. The bomb had detonated, and there was no curbing it.
Elain didn’t know who moved first, but one second they were still viscously glaring at each other and the next they were attacking each other, their lips fused together in a fierce kiss that no force found in Prythian, or in any other multiverse could pull them apart.
Their tongues touched and she moaned as she felt warm heat engulf her body, the kind of heat that burned from her throat into her heart, before rushing straight to her sex.
Her core clenched, as she tasted his essence, but before she could fully savour his taste, he withdrew his tongue back slowly. She immediately chased after it, seeking more of his taste. However, he pulled away again.
They began a dance of push and pull—him offering her just a taste, then pulling away before she could fully enjoy it, and her eagerly chasing after him, desperate for more.
He did that again and again and again, until her brain was an edged, seduced mess that she had to pull back and beg him breathless. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Stop pulling away.”
His mouth broke out into an unhurried smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “The taste of your own medicine must be so delicious,” he taunted.
Her eyes sparked with aggravation. Aggravation that he was enjoying punishing her this way.
“I preferred you with your mouth shut.”
“Is that so?” he mused, prowling forward, making her walk backwards, until her back hit the wall.
“I should just shut it up myself,” she threatened.
“So do it,” he challenged, not missing a beat.
She moved to fuse their mouths together again, to effectively shut him up, but before her mouth could touch his, he abruptly spinned her around, making her gasp as her front aligned with the wall.
She started to protest, her face facing away from him—not being able to kiss him yet again, but her objection was cut short when she felt his hands go to the button holding her cloak together, popping it open, the heavy garment falling to the floor without the support of her shoulders.
Her breath hitched, heart speeding up as he pushed her dress up, stopping midway.
“Tell me to stop,” she heard him puff at her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
She trembled, feeling like she would rather die than tell him to stop. Knowing that the word that should come out her mouth was “stop”, but what came out of it with a pathetic whine was “don’t stop,” as anticipation filled her lungs, while she waited for his next step.
Warm thick air hit her skin as he fully exposed her lower half, her breath coming out choppy when she felt his hands lightly trace the tattoo on the skin on the small of her back.
“A flower in bloom, its stems reaching out to the sun,” he whispered, reverently.
Her bargain mark. How he knew where it was going to be without physically searching all over her body beforehand was a mystery?
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t realize his knuckles were now lightly tracing her slit through her lace panties.
So light, it almost didn’t feel like it was happening, but the goosebumps appearing on her skin, and her shaking limbs proved otherwise.
“I can feel your wetness through your panties, you're already dripping for me and I haven’t even touched you the way you deserve,” he purred, his voice husky. “Will you let me touch you the way you deserve?”
This was such a bad idea, she should have fought hard to resist this, resist him, but what he was doing to her felt so good, it was turning her brain to mush, nothing but pure mush.
She spread her legs giving him better access. “Yes,” she sobbed, she would let him do anything to her at this point.
Elain jolted as his fingers shifted her undies to the side, to fully touch her flesh, his knuckles continuing to trace the seam of her bare sex.
“I want you to cum all over my fingers. Do you want that too?”
She reddened at the vulgarity of his words. Shocked that he was speaking to her this way. No one ever spoke to her like this, not even him— scared that they would hurt her sensibilities, and sometimes they did— but clearly she was in too deep to reason, because the way she rotated her hips, seeking more friction—especially where she wanted it the most, was answer enough.
“Yes. I want it too,” she agreed, panting.
He hummed. “Do you really?” He stopped tracing her slit.
“Please,” she begged, chasing after his knuckles.
Lucien chuckled slyly. “Who knew you could be this responsive with me, Elain?” he taunted, his fingers parting her lower lips. The pad of his middle finger going to her core, pulling up her wetness, and taking it to the flesh surrounding her clit, he slowly teased her there.
He kept on softly stroking the surrounding of her clit, not directly touching it—for what felt like hours but could have been minutes or seconds, until she couldn’t take it anymore.
She had never been this desperate for someone before, not Graysen, not Azriel, only Lucien and she wanted his fingers on her clit with a mindless recklessness.
Beyond caring about her modesty, her hands went down, fingers getting drenched in her wetness too, as she guided his finger unto her clit, causing an electric zap to shoot straight through her spine.
She moaned as she controlled his finger, in a circular motion on her clit, using him to take her own pleasure as she gently started moving their hands faster, and with his answering groan she knew he loved it too.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get better, his middle finger left her clit, leaving her finger to continue tracing it alone, and swiftly inserted it into her entrance.
She cried out, her finger falling from her clit, and slapping onto the wall for stability as her core immediately gripped his finger with vigor.
He started gently moving it in and out of her, fingers creating a rhythm—making deep, thorough love to her with solely his hand as the heel of his palm came up to rub on her clit.
All that could be heard in the room was the wet suction of her arousal, his heavy breathing and stifled groans. And her hitched breath every time she met him thrust for thrust.
“Has anyone else ever made you feel this good?” he asked, breaking the spell of their carnal silence with his deep, deliberate tone. The unspoken part of his question hanging heavy between them—Has he?
The answer was simple. No.
No one but Lucien could ever pull her apart like this, make her unravel like this. Not even if they tried.
Elain didn’t know who she was when she was with him, she was skittish, she was fearful, she was strong, she was demanding, she was mean, she was immoral, she was rough.
She must have been shaking her head, or perhaps he could hear her answer in the needy little sounds she was making because she could have sworn he smirked with victory, even though she couldn’t see his face.
“That’s right,” he murmured, sliding a second finger inside her.
He curved those fingers hitting that beautiful spot that made her grow wetter, practically creaming his hands, her muffled cries becoming frantic as she rocked her ass against his erection, her body trembling with the need to release.
“No matter who you go to.” Oh mother—he was back at her ear, his breath hot and wicked. “Where you go to.” His teeth scraped at her earlobe, at the same time, his thumb found her clit, and pinched it lightly. “No one but me can ever make you feel this good.”
The arrogance, the possession, the surprising dominance; it was all too intense, too much for her to handle, it pushed her over the edge, had her back bowing over with a hoarse groan as she shattered and shattered, and shattered.
The only thing keeping her from melting into a puddle on the floor was his hands on her waist.
Still on the high of her climax, he turned her back to face him, entwining his mouth with hers, helping her ride out her orgasm with his lips until she is run dry, and the only pleasurable aftershocks left in her are being caused by his tongue currently massaging hers.
He paused, detaching their mouths so he could take her in, their lips just barely touching as he watched her intensely, his hands framing either side of her head, his blazing eyes setting her on fire. And oh how she burned.
“You don’t loathe me,” he resounded, his honeyed voice penetrating her brain, rejuvenating it, making her remember the hateful words she had said to him before they started kissing. Words that were far from the truth.
She closed her eyes, hiding away from his gaze—from the swamp of emotions that she saw in them, emotions that were heavily gushing into her, like a heavy stream flowing in from a body of water.
“Say it,” he whispered, pleading, lining up their bodies together, her skin prickling at the feel of his hard lines on her soft ones.
He was giving her a choice, to be a prey or a predator. No one had ever given her the chance to be anything but prey, but with him, she was every beat the predator she had always wished to be, and so was he. Not just mates, equals on a leveled playing field.
Her eyes flew open. “I don’t loathe you,” her confession came out broken.
As soon as the words were out in the open she felt the ink on her lower back start disappearing, the magic of the night court at work. She looked at his neck, the intricate sun design already missing from his skin.
The bargain was fulfilled.
She had spoken her truth about the bond with her words, her body, her mind, her soul. And that scared her, chilled her to the bones.
She would never ever be the same again after this.
It must have been written all over her face, because Lucien’s affirming voice echoed in her fogged up, overwhelmed brain.
“I know you're scared of this bond, and what it would do to you, but what just happened only proved what I have always known. What I have always felt, what made me keep on pushing even when you run away.”
She knew his next words before they came, but she braced herself to hear it.
“Your soul is wandering, lost, just like mine. It longs for a place to call home, and that home is me. I don’t care how long it takes, I will never stop fighting till I bring it home.”
And with that he winnowed away, carrying with him the other half of her soul.