A gift. All of it.

A weekend getaway was the perfect opportunity. 

He only had a moment of silence, though, because his friends soon trailed in after and they were not as quiet and serene as Azriel himself.

“This place is fucking huge!” Cassian yelled, his voice echoing throughout the grand room. Nesta followed him, eyes rolling, her hand in his. 

“Three days in this place,” Rhysand said, sighing as he entered. 

“It would be better if it was just Em and me, but I suppose it’s still going to be fun,” Mor chimed, giving Azriel a wink as she passed him.

“Let’s get unpacked and make a trip into town for groceries,” Feyre said, dropping her purse onto the counter and heading back out to the car to get her art bag. 

“And booze,” Cassian said, following to grab he and Nesta’s bags. “Can’t forget the booze.”

Azriel’s dropped his bag by the door and went back out to see what he could help unload. He nearly ran into Elain on the porch.

“Let me get that for you,” he said, taking her duffel bag from her.

“What a gentleman,” she sighed dramatically, her hand over her chest.

He rolled his eyes and carried it inside before making a couple more trips and then found himself in the grand room where Elain, Nesta and Feyre were whispering frantically. He raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter by Rhysand. “What’s happening there?”

“There aren’t enough beds,” he replied, simply.

With a shrug, Azriel said, “We knew that when we booked this place. Elain is taking the last bed and I’m taking the couch.”

Rhys took a swig from his beer. “There is no couch.”

Azriel blinked and looked around. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it, but…there wasn’t. Those closest thing was an ancient loveseat Mor and Emerie were sitting on and there was no way he was fitting on that thing.

Elain caught his eye with a wince. “I guess it’s a good thing Gwyn got invited to speak at that conference in Cesere, or you’d be sleeping on the floor.”

He blinked again. “What?”

Rhysand chuckled. “Follow along, Az.”

The realization hit him the moment he saw Elain’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “You want me to share a bed with Lainy?”

Rhysand grinned and walked away, only for Azriel to realize that his tone had made that sentence sound like an insult.

“Not that that's a bad thing,” he followed, quickly.

Elain’s cheeks turned brighter, if that was even possible. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Azriel continued, when she said nothing. “Or, the…chair, thing.”

Elain looked at where Mor sat with Emerie on her lap. They barely fit on the little piece of furniture. 

“You’re not sleeping on that,” Elain said, at last, her voice quiet. “And the entire cabin has hardwood floors. You…can sleep with me.”

Azriel nodded, all the while thinking that this “mix up” had been intentional. Rhysand’s grin had been telling enough, but Feyre had been trying to play matchmaker between him and Elain for years. She probably sorted out the whole ordeal the second they found out that Elain no longer had a roommate for the weekend. 

He wondered if there was a couch stashed somewhere in their room, just to make sure this happened.

“It’ll be just like when we had sleepovers when we were little,” Elain added when he picked his bag up and set it by the door to the room.

Their room.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a room with Elain. It was that he did, far more than he should. He’d been in love with his best friend for longer than he could remember. He didn’t remember a time where he didn’t love Elain. But she had no idea and she never would.

Rhys, Feyre and Cassian decided to go to the store, while Elain, Nesta, Emerie, Mor and Azriel stayed behind. Within minutes, Mor and Emerie were making their way out to the hot tub, Nesta joining them. Which left Elain and Azriel in the living room.

“I’ll warn you,” she said, opening the cooler they’d brought from Velaris and pulling out two beers. “I'm a blanket hog.”

Azriel huffed a laugh, taking one from her outstretched hand. “That’s not good, then, because so am I.”

“Looks like we’ll need to find another blanket, then,” she smiled, that blush still staining her cheeks as she clinked her bottle against his. “Should we…join the others in the hot tub?”

Azriel nodded and when they both made a move for the bedroom, Azriel rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll just…get my shorts out of my bag and change in the bathroom.”

Elain cleared her throat as she nodded. 

He did just that, and when his shorts were on, he went out onto the back porch and sank into the hot tub with Mor, Emerie, and Nesta. 

The second he made himself comfortable, the sliding door opened again and Elain appeared in a little lavender bikini. Azriel’s mouth went dry and he tried his best to look away but he couldn’t. The second Elain’s eyes met his, Aziel’s jaw locked. Her eyes remained on his as she set down her towel and got in, opposite of him. 

“Az!”

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Mor. It obviously hadn’t been the first time she had said his name. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you minded being a gentleman and going in and grabbing us each a beer, too,” she said, raising an eyebrow as she looked at him.

He cleared his throat and looked at where Elain sat, her own beer pressed to her lips. He stood quickly, getting out. “Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.”

He wrapped his towel waist and walked back into the kitchen. Rather than grab a few bottles, he grabbed the entire cooler, knowing Cassian would make sure the alcohol they were buying now would end up in the fridge anyways. Shouldering open the door, he found Nesta and Elain talking quietly, while Mor was swigging from a flask. They immediately hushed and looked at him, even as he set the cooler down and eyed Mor. “You needed a drink, huh?”

“I needed a beer,” she specified, taking one from him, as did Emerie and Nesta. “I never said I didn’t have a drink.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, grabbing fresh drinks for himself and Elain before taking his seat again, across from her. “What were you two talking about?” He asked, looking between Elain and her sister.

“The four orgasms your brother gave me last night,” Nesta grinned, opening her beer.

Elain choked on her beer, letting Azriel know that they certainly hadn’t been talking about that which made his curiosity grow. He gave Nesta a blank look. “Sorry I asked.”

Mor laughed quietly as Emerie put her arm around her. Elain was still trying to catch her breath, trying not to choke, blaming it on the beer going down the wrong pipe. 

The others returned from the grocery store and Feyre and Rhysand began cooking up a meal that was way too big for the lot of them. Once they’d eaten, they found themselves in the hot tub again, this time all of them trying to fit. Azriel was practically sitting on Cassian’s lap at one point, and once Cassian was drunk enough to become handsy, he excused himself. 

“Done snuggling?” Cassian grinned as Nesta climbed onto his lap with her newly filled drink. 

“Only to go clean up the kitchen,” Azriel announced, nudging Cassian in the head as he passed. “Feyre and Rhys did enough. It’s the least I can do.”

Azriel was almost to the door when Elain said, “I’ll help!”

The water sloshed and she rose, beads running down her body before she wrapped it up in her towel.

He swallowed, nodding and holding the door open for her. The headed for the kitchen, both sides full of dirty pots and pans, the counter lined with plates and silverware from their family meal.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, pausing as they passed their room. “I’m gonna change real quick.”

“You’re not getting back in?” He wanted to see that lavender bikini again…

“Too cramped,” she replied, scrunching her nose. “Wanna turn on a movie instead?”

So much for the bikini, but she did have a point about it the hot tub being a bit full.

One by one, they changed, before meeting in front of the sink.

“You wash, I’ll dry?” She asked, handing him the sponge.

Those hazel eyes narrowed, but he turned the hot water on. “Seems like I got the raw end of the deal, but sure.”

“What movie do you want to watch?” She asked, taking the pot he’d just finished rinsing bubbles out of.

He didn’t hesitate. “Something scary,” he grinned, even as Elain’s face blanched.

“You know I hate scary movies,” she groaned, wiping down plate after plate.

“We’re in a cabin, in the middle of the mountains,” he defended. “There’s never a better chance than now.”

“This sounds like the worst time possible!” she laughed, shaking her head as she put the dry dishes into the cabinet. 

“You asked what I wanted to watch, that’s what I want to watch,” he said, washing the last pot and drying it himself. His voice was light and Elain’s little smile only made him want to keep the gag going longer. “I promise not to let anyone get you tonight.” Since we’re sleeping in the same bed.

Elain must have thought the same thing because her cheeks were heating, once again. “Fine. One scary movie, but we’re watching something funny afterwards.”

“Deal,” Azriel said, smiling as he turned off the faucet and helped her put the clean dishes away. 

They went into their room and opened Azriel’s laptop on the bed. Opening one of the many streaming services, he scrolled through his options until he found one he liked and selected it as he grinned. 

“Friday the 13th,” Elain said, looking at the date on her phone. “Ha ha.”

“It’s practically a holiday,” he said, settling back against the pillows. “Only comes around a couple times a year, we might as well celebrate.”

She muttered something that sounded like Doesn’t seem like celebrating to me, but tucked her legs underneath herself and leaned back against her own pillows. Her arm leaned against his.

He pressed play.

To his surprise, she lasted a good half hour into the movie before starting to hide behind her pillow. Azriel pretended not to notice the way her knee fell against his, tried not to notice how when she jumped, she jumped towards him. 

“How pissed would you get,” Azriel began, quietly, as tense music began playing through the speakers, “if I scared the shit out of you in the middle of the night, just for giggles.” 

Elain slowly looked over at him from behind her pillow. “Try it and find out.”

Azriel’s brow rose and he grinned. Something in her tone had his stomach doing strange, familiar things. “Are you trying to be intimidating?” 

“Is it working?” she asked, the screen still blocked from her vision. 

Azriel pretended to think about it for a minute before saying, “No. Not at all.”

A scream sounded from the movie and Elain yelped, throwing her arms around Azriel. He caught her with an oomph as she buried her face into his chest. 

“I hate you,” she said, her words muffled against his shirt. “I hate you for making me watch this horrible movie.” 

He laughed softly, rubbing up and down her arm. “You’ll live. A little adrenaline is good for the body.”

“A little is one thing,” she said, her arms wrapping tighter around his neck as the wet sound of someone being stabbed came through the speakers. “My heart is about to beat out of my chest.”

Indeed, he could feel her frantic heartbeat, they were pressed so closely together. He could smell the vanilla and elderberry scent of her shampoo where her head was tucked beneath his chin.

With his other hand, he gently rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you if anyone tries to come get you.”

She pulled back, just a bit, so she could look him in the eye. “You better.”

Another scream rang out from the movie and Elain jumped just as bad as she did the first time. Azriel only chuckled and continued to rub her back. After a minute, he felt Elain’s head turn toward the movie again.

But she didn’t act like she had any intention of moving from where she was curled up in his lap. The laughter of their friends out in the hot tub still carried in to them, and Azriel knew both Cassian and Mor were drunk beyond reason. But no one had come to check on them after they’d gone inside to wash dishes.

He assumed that was Feyre’s doing.

After a particularly gruesome death where a woman took an ax to the face, she asked in a small voice, “How many more deaths?”

He glanced down at her and thought for a minute. “Four. Including the bad guy.”

She nodded. “And then we can watch something sweet?”

“Something sweet?” Azriel raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said something funny.”

“Well this movie has traumatized me and now I want to watch something romantic.”

“Romantic?” he repeated. “I don’t know about that.”

“No, no,” Elain said, fighting back. “You picked this mess, I pick the next one. Those were the rules.”

“Since when?”

“Since now, when I made up the rules.”

Azriel laughed, quietly. “Alright, fine. What romantic nonsense are you forcing onto me?”

“Oh, 13 Going on 30, not even a debate,” Elain said.

It was her favorite. He knew it was her favorite. He knew it was the movie that she was going to suggest, which is why Azriel had his eye roll ready to go.

Once the movie ended, he found hers and pressed play. She was instantly perkier, instantly invested in the laptop. 

Meanwhile, Azriel was leaning back against his pillows, yawning. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Oh no,” she said, chuckling. “I watched yours, you’re watching mine.”

“You spent half the movie behind your pillow,” he argued.

“You may do the same for this movie if you feel so inclined,” she jabbed. “But, you’ll miss the best parts.”

“Anthony Serkis dancing to Thriller is the best part,” he replied, leaning back, arm stretched out across the back of the pillows. “Wake me up when that scene comes on.”

Elain poked him in the side which made him jump, which made her giggle. 

“Eyes open or I’ll do it again,” she warned, and settled back into the pillows.

They were close.

It wasn’t unusual. They’d known each other for twenty years at this point and had been best friends for the majority of it. Throughout that friendship, there had been a thousand movies watched and their bodies had grazed one another’s. No, it wasn’t unusual, but every time Azriel’s skin grazed hers it still sent an electric buzz throughout his entire body. 

He never showed it, though, never gave any indication that he felt a damn thing when his skin touched hers. He wondered if she felt something similar or if she had ever had a thought like the many of his that ran through his mind. 

Surely, she hadn’t.

If she had, their friendship would be very different. Shit, it wouldn’t even be a friendship. It would be something more, something greater, something real that would have come out of Azriel’s wildest dreams. 

He looked over at her. She was fully engrossed in the movie, not even aware of his inward thoughts. 

Maybe it was that fourth beer, even though he felt none of the alcohol’s effects by the point, but he let his arm drape across her shoulders, just to see what she’d do. And at first, she did nothing. Azriel nearly muttered an apology and a fake excuse about reaching around her for something I’m the night stand…

But then she scooted closer, infinitesimally, settling against him. Into him.

His fingers began drawing shapes on her bare shoulder, the sleeve of her cardigan having fallen down. The tank top she wore beneath showed off the beginnings of a tan that he knew would be golden in the summer from working in her garden any spare daylight she had. And likely some nights, depending on what shift she’d be working at the hospital.

Slowly, as if she didn’t want him to notice what she was doing, she laid her head in the crook of his neck.

It was a wonder he was still breathing.

The door from the balcony slammed and they jumped apart, Mor’s bright laughter suddenly much louder than it’d been before.

“Are they in their room?” A voice tried to whisper from right outside their door.

Tried, but failed, because it was Feyre and it sounded as if she’d made good on her promise to drink the entire bottle of wine she’d bought at the store.

“I think so, but I think they’re asleep, so we should go to bed.” Rhys was, once again, the voice of reason.

The door knob jiggled and both Elain and Azriel held their breath. Thank God he’d thought to lock it, figuring Cassian would try to play some prank in the middle of the night.

They heard a very unladylike snort. “The door is locked. They’re not sleeping, they did what we’re about to go do—”

There was a scream and then Rhys’s voice was fading as he spoke, getting quieter with every word, as if he’d tossed Feyre over his shoulder and headed for the stairs leading to the rest of the bedrooms.

The movie continued to play, but neither of them spoke in the silence. Azriel felt Elain’s eyes on him after a moment, and he turned towards her. Gazed into those warm, caramel eyes. But her eyes weren’t on his.

She was looking at his mouth.

To hell with it.

Azriel leaned down and brushed the softest of kisses to her lips.

At first, she didn’t react but perhaps it was just the shock of it all because her lips met his as her hand rested idly on his thigh.

The kiss was soft, sweet, gentle. Yet, it was earth shattering. He felt that kiss in every inch of his body, he felt alive for the first time in a long, long time.

When the kiss broke, Azriel only backed up an inch and they stared at one another.

When Elain didn’t say anything, Azriel whispered, “Sorry.”

“Why?” she breathed. “I’ve been…waiting for you to do that for a long time.”

Azriel’s breathing hitched. “How long?”

“Long enough,” she promised, and kissed him again. Her soft, gentle hands ran through his hair as Azriel’s arms went around her. That kiss deepened and Azriel couldn’t form a single thought.

His entire world was changing before his eyes, but he couldn’t focus on that, couldn’t focus on a thing. He’d spent many nights dreaming about this, and here it was: he was kissing Elain Archeron. 

If this was all he got, thank the Mother, but he would take advantage of the opportunity he’d been given. His lips left hers and she next felt them on her neck, followed by the barest hint of teeth. Her head tipped back, giving him better access, and a quiet moan slipped out as his lips found that glorious spot where her neck met her shoulder. She melted into him as he explored that spot, what she did when he kissed, licked, sucked, tasted.

Her hand was still on his leg and she squeezed lightly as his mouth worshipped her neck. He paused for a moment, her hand much higher on his thigh that he’d realized. If she even scarcely moved her hand up, her fingers would brush against him, his body would let her know just how much this was affecting him. But as he let his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot, she didn’t timidly shift her fingers up a bit. No, Elain brazenly reached out and cupped Azriel through his sweatpants.

He hissed onto her skin, all the while relishing in the feel of her fingers around him. 

She seemed to find satisfaction over this, over his sounds, over the way his body tensed and quickly relaxed. She smiled, Azriel feeling the gesture against his own lips. After she gave him a gentle squeeze, Azriel was pulling her by her hips until she was planted in his lap, straddling his waist. One arm was instantly around her, the other holding the back of her head as he kissed her. He wanted to be as close to her as possible, every hesitant inch of him that he held back all these years finally being able to let go. 

The second her body made contact with his, she rocked her hips and Azriel swore against her lips. 

“Too much?” she breathed. As she pulled back, he could see how flushed her cheeks were, even though the only light came from his laptop. 

Azriel couldn’t help but quietly laugh. For her to think that this was too much… “No. Not at all.”

This time when he kissed her, her body melted into his. She was pressed up so tightly against him that he swore he could feel the beating of her heart against his chest. 

When his tongue slid between her lips, she moaned and the sound alone had Azriel wishing he was inside of her. What sounds would she make then, as he pleasured her far greater than anyone surely had before? He would be sure of it, if that time came, when that time came. Judging from the way her hands had been wandering, it wasn’t too far off. 

The movie still played in the background, the laughter of their friends outside, but there was nothing and no one but the two of them in that moment. Elain ran her hands through Azriel’s hair, hair nails lightly dragging against his scalp and he made a low noise of pleasure. Smiling, Elain pulled back to survey him. He’d be willing to bet his face was just as flushed as hers, his lips just as swollen.

“Tell me when to stop and I will,” he breathed.

She bit her lip and glanced down. Down, at the evidence of how much he was enjoying this. “And if I don’t want you to stop?”

Azriel hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to go further, he had never wanted to go further this badly before, but because he was caught off guard. If there was one thing that he and Elain never talked about throughout the years of their friendship were each other’s sex lives. He knew Elain, though. She may not have been completely innocent, but she sure as hell wasn’t as outspoken as her sisters about what went on behind closed doors. 

“Then I won’t,” Azriel said, at last, jaw ticking as he swallowed. He felt like he was about to combust, every part of his being barely hanging on by a thread. 

Elain ran her hands down his chest as she said, “Good.”

Her fingers delicately found the hem of his shirt and she pulled it up over his messy hair before tracing the ink on his chest. Azriel scarcely breathed as he remained perfectly still, letting her explore the skin she had always seen but never touched.

She followed one flowing swirl of dark ink that trailed down his bicep, letting her hand continue down his arm until it wrapped around the hand he had resting on her hips. Azriel watched in frozen silence as she brought his scarred hand to her lips and pressed a kiss over his skin. At his quiet gasp, the only sign of his shock, Elain’s eyes flicked up to his. Keeping her eyes on his, she then kissed each finger, before taking his other hand and showing it the same love and affection.

He blinked away the burning in his eyes at the tender act. He and Elain had discussed his hands before. She knew how he felt, to have them acknowledged. The cool wash of shame he usually felt was replaced by a tightening in his chest and he kissed her again. Her hands were once again exploring his body so he took the opportunity to do the same.

One of Azriel’s hands left her face, trailing down her neck, to her breast— where he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He felt her smile against his lips and he chuckled, loving the feeling of her breast in his hand, even through the thin t-shirt she wore. It was baggy enough that he hadn’t even noticed, but now…

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling away from the kiss, from pinching her nipple just hard enough that she whimpered, and he watched as they both hardened beneath the fabric.

“Can I take this off,” he whispered, letting his thumb brush beneath the hem of her shirt, over her soft, warm skin.

Elain nodded and he wondered if words may have become just as foreign for her as they were for him. He took his time taking off that first piece of clothing. There had been so much anticipation that led to that moment, so many years wondering and imagining. Now that it was happening, he didn’t want to rush it, wouldn’t rush a thing. He would take his sweet time.

They had nowhere else to be. 

He pulled the thin tee over her head and tossed it aside, not bothering to look away from her for a second to see where it had gone. His gaze was fully focused elsewhere.

Elain watched, slowly rocking her hips side to side in a silent tease, as Azriel gently cupped her breasts in his palms, his thumbs brushing over her peaked nipples. 

Elain let out a held breath as he leaned down and took one of them into his mouth. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she gasped, eyes falling shut.

Her hips bucked of their own accord, her head falling back, and one of Azriel’s hands swept down her, holding her to him. His teeth bit down on the sensitive nub, his tongue flicking over it a second later, before his lips closed around it and he sucked. At the same time, his other hand showing the other as much attention as he could. He was hard, so hard, just a pair of leggings and panties between the two of them. She ground her hips down on him as she straddled him, the quiet noises she made like the sweetest song he’d ever heard.

His lips found her other breast, becoming as acquainted with it as he had the first, letting his teeth and tongue explore and then his lips were back on her neck.

“Az,” she breathed. 

“Hmm?” His mouth never left her breast.

“I want you inside of me.”

The words rushed out of her mouth, hardly a whisper, but Azriel caught each and every word with perfect clarity. He leaned back and caught her eye, and he knew by the look in hers that she meant it.

Slowly and gently, Azriel held her tight and rolled her over, laying her back against the blankets. Hovering over her, he kissed her softly on the lips before trailing down her body. His lips found her neck, her shoulder, between her breasts and down her abdomen before he looped his fingers into her shorts and pulled them down to reveal a lace thong in a color very similar to what her swimsuit had been. 

He pressed a kiss over top of her sex, through the lace and he swore he heard her release a shuddering breath. He relished in the sound, in the sight and smell and feel of her. His senses were overrun with her, everything around him screaming Elain, Elain, Elain. All he lacked was the taste of her, though her kiss was still fresh on his lips. He wanted to linger, to truly taste her, but she’d been very clear with what she wanted. He’d take his time between her legs, the next time he had the opportunity.

So he slowly dragged that scrape of lace down, Elain lifting her hips to help him. And then she was bare before him.

Azriel sat up on his knees, taking her in. There was a blush on her cheeks and he couldn’t tell if it was her nerves that caused it or what they’d been doing, but he brushed his thumb along her lips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

That blush deepened and she pressed a kiss to his thumb before she reached out and tugged him towards her by his sweatpants. “How are you supposed to fuck me with those on?”

The noise that came out of Azriel was primal as Elain’s fingers gripped the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them down. She sucked in her bottom lip as his cock sprang free, beautifully hard and ready for her. 

Slowly, she brushed her thumb over the head and stroked him once before she laid back and spread her legs for him.

For a moment, it all became real. Azriel felt like he was living in a dream and maybe he was; but, if he was, he didn’t ever want to wake up. He ran a finger between her folds before sweeping his hands up her thighs, positioned himself just right, and slowly slid his cock inside of her. 

Elain gasped as her fingers dug into his skin, her body tensing before starting to adjust to his size, his length. 

Her eyes had fluttered shut as he slid all the way home, in to the hilt.

“You feel…” Azriel couldn’t find the words. Amazing didn’t seem to cover it. Earth-shattering was a little closer to what he was looking for, as was mind-blowing, but he dropped his forehead to hers and breathed, “so fucking good.”

She only nodded in agreement, pulling his lips to hers and kissing him with a need that told him she’d been waiting for this as long as he’d been.

He pulled out and pushed his hips back into hers a long, slow thrust. He let her feel every inch of him, and with every roll of his hips, he moved faster, harder, deeper, until the headboard was thudding against the wall. Azriel had a hard time caring, didn’t really give a shit as he looked down at Elain, watched as his cock slammed in and out of her. She was whimpering, his name tumbling from her lips in hushed whispers.

Her head fell back against the pillows as she moaned and her hand went right between her legs, expertly finding that tight bundle of nerves.

“Are you close?” He asked, dragging his teeth along the exposed column of her throat.

“Yes.” Her voice was high, breathy, something straight out of one of Azriel’s most private, personal dreams.

He leaned down, his lips inches from her rosy nipple, ready to help guide her over the edge with his teeth, but she threaded her fingers into his damp hair and pulled his face up to hers.

“I want,” she panted, hand tightening in his hair, “to come with you.”

The words nearly destroyed him. Azriel nodded, lips finding hers and set a brutal pace, not caring about the banging of the headboard on the wall or the fact that the movie quit playing at some point. He was too focused on how amazing Elain felt, how beautiful she looked, how sliding his cock inside of her had felt like home. He felt it build, felt her winding up tighter and tighter and then Elain cried out, his name a prayer and a curse all in one. As soon as she shattered around him, nails dragging down his back, he’d cum right alongside her, burying his face in her neck and groaning her name.

He had never felt anything like it, had never felt anything even close to how he felt as he fell over the edge, holding her in his arms. He rode out his orgasm as she rode out hers, and when he couldn’t move anymore, he fell into her. His face was still buried in her neck, he was still whispering sweet nothings into the silence.

Once Elain’s knees stopped shaking around his hips, her hands found his back. Those gentle, delicate fingertips of hers swept across his skin until his breathing evened out. When he finally found the courage to look up at her, the look in her eyes made his knees weak. He brushed back her hair that had fallen into her face and pressed his lips softly to hers.

“That was…” he began, quietly, shaking his head. “Elain, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Years?” she suggested, and when he grinned she laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“Was it…”

“Better than I ever expected,” she confessed, taking a deep breath. With his face in her hands, his forehead fell against hers. “What do you want to bet that everyone in this damned house just heard everything we just did?”

Azriel laughed quietly before kissing her, sweetly. “I don’t give a damn if they heard or not. Let them hear.”

Nesta doesn’t miss the way that Elain tenses slightly beside her or the quiet ‘no’ that Feyre whispers under her breath. Nesta tries to breathe through the feeling brewing deep in her gut, like a forest of thorns growing and circling tightly around her, sinking those thorns in deep and flooding her veins with a dark, twisted sort of dread. Everyone knows about the Mandray family. It’s one of the worst kept secrets after all. 

“Father, you can’t be so careless,” Feyre speaks up, but the hard look their father turns on her has Nesta’s youngest sister dropping her eyes. 

“Lord Mandray has offered a very handsome sum. Only a fool would reject such an offer.” 

Nesta can see another argument forming across Feyre’s face, so she cuts in before her sister can make a mistake she'll regret. “I would be honored, Father. Thank you.” 

Feyre shoots Nesta a wide eyed look, but Nesta ignores it, keeps her features schooled as their father nods appreciatively to her. With a deep breath, Nesta turns back to her meal, but she finds she doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore. Instead, she pushes the food around her plate until it’s time to retire back to her room. 

Nesta feels like she’s walking through a fog as her lady maids help her prepare for bed. Like she’s watching her whole life unfold before her through a mirror. She can see her whole future in front of her, but it’s through the lens of murky glass and all Nesta can do is bang against it with silent screams. 

With a soft sigh, Nesta settles at her vanity, pulling a brush through her hair. She startles when she hears the door to the servant’s stairs opening, swinging around in confusion. There, peeking his head around the door with a soft, tentative smile is Cassian. His eyes dart around the room, and once he realizes there’s no one else in the room, he steps inside fully, closing the door behind him. 

Nesta takes in Cassian’s trousers and tunic, the jacket he has pulled on. She knows these are the clothes he considers his ‘nice’ ones, but Nesta isn't’ quite sure what warrants them. It looks like he's run a brush through his hair, although nervous fingers have definitely re-tangled some of the strands. Nesta meets Cassian’s hazel eyes, and there’s something swimming amongst those swirls of green and gold flecks, an emotion she can’t quite put her finger on as they flicker in the lowlights of the candles. 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Cassian says, stepping forward and settling beside Nesta on the bench in front of her vanity. 

“It seems news travels fast.” 

“As does news about the Mandray family. I’m sure you’ve heard what their household is like.” 

“Yes, well, not much I can do about that,” Nesta sighs softly, turning back to the mirror and braiding her hair back so she can sleep comfortably. 

“You can decline the proposal,” Cassian offers, and Nesta meets his eyes in the mirror at his words. That emotion from before is back in them, and they’re so intense as they stare back at her. 

“You make it sound so simple. But it is not. I need to be careful.” 

“You could run away.” 

Cassian leans forward, taking Nesta’s hands in his own, and Nesta’s focus snaps down to the contact. His hands have always been so much larger than hers, fully enveloping hers with just a curl of his fingers. They’re calloused from his work, but so warm, so grounding in their strength. Nesta can’t help but think about the first time Cassian held her hand. When they were still children and he practically dragged her up one of the apple trees in the orchard with promises that the best fruit was hidden in the upper branches. She thinks about the way his fingers would brush and slide against her own when they were teens and he’d steal the book she was reading right out of her hands to tease her about it. She thinks about last month’s ball, when his hands were warm but trembling when he asked her to dance, how he weaved a strand of her hair between his fingers while they tried to keep their breathless laughs quiet when they hid from the party and staff in an alcove. 

When Nesta looks back up at Cassian’s eyes, there’s a promise there. There’s always been a promise there. It has her heart ticking up in pace, singing to answer that promise, but the caution instilled by all the years, her father, it’s so ingrained deep within her. Like etchings into her very bones, and she doesn’t know how to turn away from it. 

“And where would we go?” Nesta whispers. 

“We’ll find a small town far from here where no one knows our names,” Cassian promises. “And I’ll get a job working on a farm or apprenticing with a blacksmith.” 

“You’re too rebellious for your own good.”

“I’ll make a rebel out of you, Nes.” 

“And what of my sisters? I can’t just leave them here.” 

“You underestimate them. It was Feyre who told me about the proposal.”  

Nesta bites her lip, her mind reeling from everything that’s happened today. She knows she should stay, that it’s the right thing to do, but gods does she want to take Cassian’s offer. 

“We could do it, leave now while everyone is asleep and be long gone before they wake,” Cassian says, like he can read everything written across Nesta’s face. He’s always somehow had the uncanny ability to do that. Cassian reaches forward again, his hands framing her face. There’s such pleading etched across his face, such hope in the way he whispers her name. “Nesta…” 

Before Cassian can finish that sentence, Nesta stands up. She can feel Cassian’s eyes on her, but he doesn’t say anything more. With a deep breath, Nesta makes her way over to her wardrobe, pulling open the doors. 

“What should I bring?” 

Cassian is on his feet in a second, smile wide as he walks toward Nesta. “Probably best to stick to simple dresses. We don’t want to draw attention.” 

Nesta nods as she begins to pull clothing out. “There’s a bag under my bed. Can you grab it? There’s also a bag of coin under the mattress. We’ll need money.” 

Nesta hears Cassian’s feet as he shuffles toward the bed then his soft gasp. “Gods, Nes, where did you get all this?” 

“I’ve been saving. Just in case,” Nesta explains, whirling around with her arms full of dresses. 

“I could kiss you right now.”

“You will do no such thing until we are wed. I may be running away with you, but I will keep my propriety.” 

Instead, Cassian presses a soft kiss to her cheek, taking the dresses out of her arms. A blush skitters across Nesta’s skin at the touch, her heart skipping a beat. 

“Anything else?” Cassian asks. 

“I just need to do one more thing,” Nesta replies. “I’ll meet you at the stables.” 

With a nod, Cassian grabs Nesta’s bag and sneaks back out the servant’s entrance. Once he’s gone, Nesta quickly changes into riding clothes before opening her bedroom door. She checks both ways down the hall, but it’s quiet and empty at this hour. She pads her way down the hall on tiptoes, slowly opening the door at the end of the hall. She has to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and after a moment, she can make out the bed at the center of the room. 

“Feyre,” Nesta whispers once she’s closer, moving to sit beside her sister’s sleeping form and gently shake her shoulder. Feyre startles awake, but she relaxes once she realizes it’s Nesta. 

“Nesta?” Feyre asks sleepily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Her eyes take in Nesta’s attire and then she’s gasping softly, rushing forward to pull Nesta into a hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. I’ll keep your secret, I swear.” 

Nesta lets out a wet laugh, hugging her sister back. She sits back after a moment, quickly wiping her cheeks before reaching out to swipe away the tears that slipped out of Feyre's own eyes. 

“Promise you’ll write,” Feyre requests. “When it’s safe. You can use a fake name, but I’ll know.” 

“I promise.” 

With one last final farewell to Feyre, Nesta carefully makes her way down the stairs, constantly checking over her shoulder and each hall she passes. When she makes it to the stables, Cassian is already there, sitting astride her horse. 

“Ready?” Cassian asks, reaching a hand down. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

The plants did not respond, but she could feel them around her as if they were their own entities. Her sisters did not have the same affinity toward the earth as she did and that was why she was the only one allowed in the garden. Nesta would more than likely burn the garden to the ground if she grew too frustrated, and Feyre would wilt them too quickly. Their mother had left it in Elain’s hands to make sure the garden was well kept and that her sisters remained as far away from it as possible.

Now with their mother and father both gone it was just her working the soul and watching over the plants as they grew.

Feyre appeared beside the gate and said, “El, does something feel off to you?”

Looking up from her work curiously she asked, “What do you mean?”

Feyre frowned looking toward the sky as if she would find her answers there, “I don’t know I feel like there’s something coming, it’s just a feeling in my bones if I’m being honest. Nesta seems on edge too, but she won’t open up about it.”

That wasn’t surprising to either sister.

“Read the cards,” Elain offered. “It’s about the only thing you can do, and if you get an answer you need more clarity on get the pendulum out and ask it.”

Feyre shifted from foot to foot, “Why can’t you do it? You’re the seer.”

Elain dusted her hands off and sat back so that she could focus her attention on her sister, “Because I’m not the one with the feeling. If I did the reading I wouldn’t be able to tell if I was heading in the right direction or not. Only you can know that. I’ll help guide you, but you are the one that needs to be doing the reading.”

Elain knew that her sister was nervous to do the reading, but nodded her head and said they would do it later when she felt a little more relaxed. Feyre was always more of a nighttime person than the others. She thrived in the darkness and it made sense since she could manipulate the shadows and her spells were always stronger on major lunar cycles. She watched Feyre head inside and deep down knew that the youngest of their small coven was right. Something was coming and it made Elain feel the need to hide.

But what could make her feel like this?

A file slapped against Azriel’s desk. He looked up to see Rhysand and Cassian standing before him. “We’re heading to Washington,” Rhysand informed him. “Devlon just handed us this file. Three sisters, a small coven, but still. We should be in and out in a few days.”

Azriel reached for the file and flipped through it. From their surveillance, he read that the sisters were reclusive. They lived in the same home as their parents who had passed several years prior. They had managed to fly under the radar because they weren’t a part of a major coven, they seemed to stick with themselves. “Why now?” He questioned as he looked at the middle sister’s photo, she was beautiful, that unnatural beauty most witches had. Just another way to lure unsuspecting victims to their deaths. “I mean they haven’t done anything that would alert the order, so what makes Devlon think that they need to be taken care of? I’ve got eyes on the Vanserras that say they’re more of a threat or even the Hybern coven.”

“I don’t know and I don’t really care,” Rhysand said. “It gets us out of this fucking office and away from the prick we call a boss so I’m all for it.”

Cassian nodded his head, “I’m with Rhys on this one. Let’s take a few days and go see about this small coven, wipe them out, and then come back home.”

Seeing as how he was going to be outvoted on this he shrugged and closed the file, “All right. Let me head home and get my bag and then we can head out.”

The brothers quickly cleared out to go prepare for their trip and get any final orders from Devlon before heading to the small town in Washington where the sisters lived.

The moon was high in the sky as Elain and Feyre sat down at the old worn table they had eaten breakfast on nearly every day of their lives. When Feyre was a teen she had painted flowers and spells on the table to help it last and so far those spells had held. Now she was sitting at the head of the table, candles lit around the room. She shuffled the cards nervously and Elain reached out a hand to stop her. Feyre looked up wide-eyed.

“Relax, I’m right here,” she soothed.

Nodding Feyre shuffled again until a card flew out of the deck. Death lay before them. Gulping Feyre moved it forward and kept shuffling until the next card, The Fool, landed on the table. Elain watched with interest and when she looked at Feyre she gave an encouraging squeeze on her arm. One last time Feyre shuffled until the Knight of Wands reversed popped out. “What does it mean?” Feyre asked her sister.

“Change is coming,” she said as she pointed to Death. “What change only time will tell, but I have a feeling life as we know it will never be the same.” Next, she pointed to The Fool, “We’re going on a journey.” Picking up the card she stared at The Fool, “Makes sense if change is in the air. And finally, the Knight of Wands is telling us that we can’t act impulsively.”

Nesta appeared in the doorway, “I wonder what kind of change the cards are warning us about.”

“Should I get the pendulum?” Feyre asked Elain.

She shrugged, “It wouldn’t hurt.” While Feyre went to get the crystal she used for asking questions Elain turned her attention to her eldest sister, “Do you sense it too?”

Nesta’s face was blank, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, “I saw someone…. It was weird, El. For a moment I thought they were watching me, and when I went to check again they disappeared. It was the weirdest thing.”

“Maybe you were seeing things?”

She shook her head, “My friend at the bookstore told me someone had come in asking about us. I have a feeling it was the person I saw.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elain hissed.

Nesta went to respond when Feyre walked through the door, oblivious to the tension between her elder sisters. She began asking questions, the first being if it was going to be a big change and the answer was yes. Follow-up questions resulted in a handful of yeses and nos. For the most part, it was unhelpful. “We’ll figure it out,” Nesta said, pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning against. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you two in the morning.”

“I need to go too, I have an early morning at the flower shop. Try not to stress too much, whatever it is we’ll face it together,” she bent and kissed Feyre’s forehead before heading up the stairs to her personal floor.

The bell on the door to the flower shop rang and Elain looked up to see Nesta stepping in. The look on her face told Elain that they had a lot to discuss. “Lock the door,” was all she said before heading to the back room and started a privacy spell so that no one would overhear their conversation.

Nesta joined her a moment later, “I lied last night.”

There was a moment of silence and then, “About what?”

Nesta cringed, “The person watching me. I confronted them and asked them what the hell they wanted. She - her name is Emerie - said that she was from the witch hunters association. Apparently, there was some kind of tip on us?” Nesta shook her head and then said, “I don’t know what they would be watching us for though.”

Elain sat down in one of the wooden chairs she had and said, “We rarely use magic outside of the home, we’re not a big coven and we never get involved in witch business. So why on earth would they be watching us?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want Feyre overhearing and reacting badly. She was nervous enough as it was,” she rubbed her temples. “I have a feeling that more hunters are on their way here to take us out.”

“Then we should leave, we’ve done nothing wrong but if just existing is going to have a death sentence on our heads then I’d rather hide than risk staying here,” Elain told her sister.

“The cards said not to make hasty decisions. If we run we look guilty for whatever perceived crimes we’ve committed in the association’s eyes.”

She wasn’t wrong and Elain hated that they were going to have to stay. She hated the thought of her sisters in danger. “What happened to the hunter you confronted?”

“Emerie actually wanted a way out, I gave her an amulet that would make her unrecognizable to the association, and she’s living here in town now.” Nesta said, “That probably didn’t help with why they want us dead, but she hated the association and she promised to help us.”

Elain couldn’t fault her for wanting to help someone who wanted out. “Let me know if anything else comes up, and we’ll talk to Feyre tonight once we all get home. Maybe we can think of a way to protect ourselves. Maybe these hunters will contact us first to maybe discuss our crimes and then if things go badly we flee.”

“I couldn’t touch them,” Nesta says, not bothering to look up from her page. “But I can feel the power. They’re definitely charged.”

Cassian turns his attention to the crystals sitting on the sill by the open window. He carefully gathers them up, placing them back in the box the shop woman had originally packed them in.

“What are you doing? We need those for the banishment.”

“We can do it tonight,” Cassian explains simply. “I vote that we spend the day doing something fun.”

Nesta slowly closes her book, pinning Cassian with an unimpressed look, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed. Cassian refuses to let the look get under his skin the way he knows she hopes. Instead, he just smiles.

~ * * * ~

“This is your idea of fun?”

Cassian chuckles as he throws his truck into park, turning to where Nesta has her arms crossed in the passenger seat.

“Well, I don’t want to look like a crazy person talking to myself, so that sort of limited my options.”

Before Nesta can protest more, Cassian throws open his door. He hops down and walks around to the passenger side, opening Nesta’s door for her. Nesta slides out of the truck, her feet crunching against the gravel of the parking area. He leans in to grab the backpack from the backseat, tossing it over his shoulder. When he turns back to Nesta, her arms are still crossed and that ever present scowl is pinched across her face.

"That doesn't look like the face of someone who is about to have fun," Cassian teases.

"Has anyone ever told you you're annoying?"

"Multiple times actually."

"And you don't think that warrants a personality change?" Nesta quips.

"You and I both know you wouldn't have me any other way, sweetheart."

And with that, Cassian turns on his heel, making his way toward the trail head. Luckily, Nesta doesn't make any further comments, nor does she dispute his claim, as Cassian hears her soft footsteps fall in behind him.

The start of the hike is a bit steep, so Cassian has Nesta walk in front of him along the narrow path to avoid her slipping. They weave their way up and up, the main road and its cars getting smaller and smaller until they eventually disappear behind the sea of bark. The breeze shakes the branches above their heads, raining down leaves that crunch under their feet.

At a particularly tricky section of the trail, Nesta grips Cassian's hand in her own. He helps hold her steady as she navigates the small rocks pressed into the dirt to create a semblance of stairs. Despite her being a demon and the cool Autumn air, her hands are surprisingly warm, and when the trails evens back out and she releases her grip, Cassian misses that heat instantly.

The path finally branches off to a series of flat rocks, creating a type of overhang, and as they step out of the cover of trees, the full sight takes shape. Canopies of reds and yellows stretch out below them, leaves twisting and swaying in the fall breeze. The Sidra River cuts a path to their left, blue waters glistening and tiny shops and homes dotted along its banks. The sky is mostly blue, but the white clouds that do marr its surface create streaks of light like the Cauldron itself shining down.

Cassian finds himself entranced as he watches Nesta take in the view. The way her whole face softens and her lips part slightly in awe. Her eyes dancing across the landscape before fluttering closed, dark lashes splaying across the apples of her cheeks. Her chest heaving as she takes in a deep breath.

"It's beautiful," Nesta comments.

"Yeah," Cassian whispers, never taking his eyes off her.

It takes a moment, but Cassian shakes himself out of it. He steps forward to join Nesta, sliding the backpack off his shoulders before settling with his feet dangling over the edge of the rock. Nesta settles beside him, as Cassian digs through the bag, pulling out the two sandwiches he had packed and handing one to Nesta.

“It’s so… quiet,” Nesta notes as she unwraps her sandwich.

“The peacefulness is why I like to come out here,” Cassian says, turning his head to face Nesta. “Oh. Um… you have a little…”

Nesta’s eyebrows dip in confusion, and Cassian gestures to his own face in an attempt to better explain what he means. Nesta just continues to blink at him. After another moment passes, Cassian decides to say ‘fuck it.’ After all, this could very well be their last day together. He reaches his hand up between them, his thumb rubbing gently against the corner of Nesta’s lip. Nesta’s eyes catch on his at the brush of his skin against hers, and Cassian isn’t sure if either of them is breathing. Her skin is soft and tantalizing, and Cassian can feel himself subconsciously leaning in closer before he catches himself, pulling back and clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s fine,” Nesta assures him. “Should we head back?”

Cassian can feel the word ‘no’ weigh heavily against the tip of his tongue, desperate to escape, so he swallows it down and simply nods. He offers Nesta his hand, but she doesn’t take it, pulling herself to her feet. She takes one last look at the view, something Cassian almost thinks is longing gracing her face, and then heads back for the path. As they make their way down the trail, Cassian finds himself desperate for miles, for the woods around them to stretch for miles and miles and swallow them whole. Instead, his truck comes into view.

~ * * * ~

The sun is just beginning to set when they pull into Cassian’s apartment complex, purple clouds bleeding into deep blue as the first stars begin to twinkle to life. The ride up the elevator is silent, and it takes all of Cassian’s willpower to quiet the incessant buzzing of thoughts ricocheting around his head as he gathers the crystals and sage. Nesta produces a piece of black chalk from somewhere, holding it out for Cassian.

Cassian takes a deep breath before reaching forward and taking the piece of chalk out of Nesta’s outstretched hand. He bends down and begins drawing the circle along the floor. Once the circle is complete, he pauses, fingers gripping the piece of chalk tighter. Before he can talk himself out of it, he draws the line of the pentagram.

“I don’t think we need a pentagram. The lady at the shop just said a circle,” Nesta points out.

Cassian ignores her, hopping to his feet and collecting candles, lighting and setting them around the pentagram.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be using the crystals, not candles.”

Cassian digs his phone out of his pocket, finding his message chain with Rhys, the photo of the page he had pleaded with him to find in his library. He can feel Nesta’s eyes on him, but he reads the words in the photo.

A deep rumble seems to shake the whole apartment, the pressure in the air dropping as dark tendrils skate along the floor in swirling clouds. Barely another moment passes before a man is standing in the center of the pentagram, power pulsing out of him in heavy waves. His dark eyes pin Cassian in place like a predator sizing up its prey. A slow smile pulls across his face, all sharp edges and too white teeth.

“You humans always do have a death wish,” the demon sneers, looking at Cassian down his nose in disgust.

Cassian resets the stance of his feet, squaring his shoulders as he stares the demon down. “I want to make a deal.”

“Do you?”

“For Nesta’s soul.”

The demon’s eyes snap to where Nesta is standing, watching the whole exchange with wide eyes, before settling back on Cassian. Something like realization seems to crash across his features, and then he laughs. It’s mocking and wrong and it grates against every nerve ending in Cassian’s body.

“A soul has a high price, boy,” the demon bites out. “Are you sure it's worth it?”

“Yes,” Cassian replies without hesitation, earning a head tilt from the demon in response.

“Interesting…” the demon comments before a slow smirk tugs up one side of his lips. “Alright. You can have her soul… if you can find it.”

With a wave of the demon’s hand, a door appears suddenly against the wall of Cassian’s living room, the wood a dark oak with wrought iron nailed into lines across the planks. The hinges creak open, and the darkness awaiting on the other side has the air stuttering to a stop in Cassian’s lungs. A cold breeze blows out the door, leaving goosebumps breaking out along his skin, and he swears there’s a heartbeat coming out of the unnatural darkness. Or maybe that’s his own heartbeat pounding through his ears.

At some point during the process of the door appearing and opening, Nesta has drifted to Cassian’s side. He reaches over to take her hand in his, palms sliding together and fingers tangling in a tight grip. He takes a final deep breath, trying to calm the budding panic settling in his stomach and threatening to claw its way up his throat, then steps through the threshold. The door closes behind them with a resounding boom, and all that’s left is the darkness.

“You know, I knew you were an idiot when you accidentally summoned me, but this is taking it to a whole other level,” Nesta snaps at him, tearing her hand free from his.

Cassian turns toward her voice, blinking a few times to get his eyes to adjust. “Are you kidding me?”

“I should be asking you that! What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about you,” Cassian practically yells. “I can’t lose you.”

“And I’m supposed to be okay with losing you? This is a suicide mission. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

“No, I’m not,” Nesta protests, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Cassian steps forward, finding his way toward Nesta through the shadows enveloping them. He reaches his hands up between them, framing her face and sliding his thumbs against her cheekbones. They may not get another moment. Nesta may be right and this may be a suicide mission, a fool's dream. So Cassian finally gives in. He gives in to that feeling that's been bubbling and flourishing deep inside him since he first saw her standing in the middle of his living room. That feeling that took root in his chest and spread like vines through his veins until every part of him thrummed for her. He finally leans down and presses his lips against Nesta's, relishing in the softness of them, in the soft sigh that skates across his skin as she melts into him.

A screeching cry breaks the darkness, causing them to break apart. Cassian snaps his head in the direction of the sound, squinting through the shadows. He’s not sure why, but he half expects some winged creature to come tearing toward them, but the stillness remains.

“Welcome to hell,” Nesta mutters. “Literally.”

Nesta grabs his hand and begins walking. He wonders if her demon eyes help her see down here as he blindly follows her. But luckily, as they walk, shapes start to take form. They’re in some sort of tunnel, jagged obsidian rock framing them on both sides and above their heads. Some sort of dark liquid drips down along the rock, and Cassian shudders to think what it could be. Their steps begin to echo around them, the ceiling of rock starting to stretch higher and higher.

The darkness finally begins to bleed into a pale light, and Cassian is finally able to take in more around them. Particularly, the forms walking past them along the walls. They’re ghostly devoid of any color, clothes ragged and barely hanging on to their lithe limbs. Their steps don’t make a sound, and their gaunt faces stare straight ahead with a hollow expression.

“Don’t look at them,” Nesta snaps, keeping her voice low.

“Are they dangerous?”

“If they feel threatened.”

Cassian glances back to the forms. One of them lifts their head slowly, vacant eyes meeting his. Cassian quickly snaps his eyes back forward, just in time to see the tunnel empty out into a large room. Despite there being no sunlight, a large elm tree stretches its branches wide and high to their right, its leaves an ominous deep red. A tall double door made out of that same dark stone stands a few feet ahead, intricate drawings carved into it. It seems to follow some sort of story, the way the carvings weave together. In front of the doors, evenly lining either side, are statues. Cassian swears their stone faces watch him.

Before they make it to the door, the statues snap to life, and suddenly, Cassian finds Nesta’s hand torn away from his own and three female figures crowding into his space. They each are wearing a pale flowing dress, but Cassian doesn’t miss the emptiness to their eyes. Those eyes bore in him, burrowing under his skin like claws, as they circle around him like prey.

“Who do you think you are?” one of them bites out, dragging a nail across his shoulder and down his arm.

“What is it you think you’re doing?” another snaps, digging nails into his forearm in an iron grip.

“Just let us pass,” Cassian pushes out through gritted teeth.

“Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“Are you sure she wants it?”

“Are you sure she wants you?”

“Why would she want a bastard like you?”

“What do you have to offer her anyways?”

“As soon as you free her soul, she’ll find someone better, someone worthy.”

Cassian squeezes his eyes shut, focusing his mind on drowning out their lilting voices dripping with cruelty. He thinks instead about Nesta. As the women continue to hiss in his ears, he thinks of Nesta’s soft smiles, the ones she rarely shares but he knows are just for him. As the women’s nails scrape against his skin and through his hair, he thinks of Nesta’s soft golden waves and the way they fall against her shoulders and back when she wears her hair down. He reaches out blindly for Nesta’s hand to ground him but comes up empty. It makes his eyes snap back open.

Over one of the women’s shoulders, Cassian finds Nesta. She’s standing stark still, a man Cassian doesn’t recognize, who doesn’t look like one of the statues from before, standing before her. The sneer painted across the man’s face and the way his eyes seem to be cutting into Nesta is enough to have Cassian using all his strength to get away from the women. He tears his arm free, pointedly ignoring the pain at the action, shouldering past the other woman blocking his path.

It only takes a few seconds to get to her, and he’s putting himself between this man and Nesta. He’s not quite sure what the man is, but the way his skin seems to bubble and shimmer has Cassian thinking he must be some sort of shapeshifter. The sneer falls from the shapeshifter’s face and his head tilts eerily as he takes Cassian in with dark eyes. Even though those eyes never leave Cassian’s face, he can feel them dig into his bones, sinking into his soul and the secrets it bears. Slowly, the shapeshifter begins to stretch and change, an all too familiar set of dark curls appearing, but the face is less familiar, even as the cruel lines of the smile strike a chord deep in Cassian’s chest.

“Let us pass,” Cassian says again, keeping his voice steady as he reaches back for Nesta’s hand.

The shapeshifter doesn’t say anything, so Cassian decides to take a tentative step forward. When nothing happens, he takes another. The shapeshifter’s eyes follow them, and Cassian can still feel the eyes of the three women crawling over his skin, their hisses of doubt still trying to worm their way into his mind. But Nesta’s hand is a solid weight in his hand, so he presses on, past the other guards, and pushes through the door.

The other side of the door is more darkness, but globes that flicker a sickly yellow at least line the walls. In the distance, Cassian swears he can hear running water.

“Who was it?” Nesta whispers as they walk. “Who did Fear show you?”

Cassian swallows around the lump trying to solidify in his throat, tightening his grip on Nesta’s hand. “My father.” When Nesta doesn’t say anything more, Cassian decides to give in to the question on his mind. “Was the man you—Feyre mentioned there was a guy that—”

“Yes.”

Before Cassian can say anything more, they come up on a river of some kind. It’s wide, but even in the dim lighting, he can see the other side. From the shore they’re standing on, it doesn’t look too deep, but the current is slow enough that Cassian is sure that even if it's not, they should be able to make it to the other side with little issue.

“Cassian, stop!” Nesta’s panicked voice breaks through the quiet, her hand tugging hard against his. “Just one foot in and they’ll pull you under.”

“What will?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“What do we do then?”

“Wait.”

Cassian turns to Nesta fully then, his brow furrowed in confusion and tongue heavy with further questions, but Nesta’s gaze is pinned down the river to their left. A small yellow orb breaks through the shadows. It bobs and grows, and soon Cassian realizes it’s coming from a lantern attached to a wooden boat. At the other end of the boat stands a man, or at least Cassian thinks it’s a man. A long, ragged black robe hangs from his body, and the hood hides the top half of his face, only long pale fingers that grip the oar truly visible. The boat comes to a stop in front of them, and the man holds out a hand expectantly.

“You have to pay with a memory,” Nesta explains. “Something important, that means a lot to you.”

Cassian watches as Nesta extends her hand, the way she closes her eyes and shudders when it meets with the man’s. After a moment, the man’s hand shifts toward Cassian, and Cassian slowly raises his own, clasping to fingers around that pale palm. Cassian’s eyes slide closed, and suddenly he’s ten years old. Twinkling red and green lights flicker in his eyes, and the laughs of Rhys and Azriel in the other room echoes in his ears. He can just make out the fresh pine scent of a recently cut down tree and the smokey smell of a crackling fire, but it’s the soft perfume that fills his senses. Delicate hands guide his own as he presses a cookie cutter into the dough. Before Cassian can focus on anything more, the scene falls away to blackness, and when he blinks open his eyes, he can’t even remember what he had been thinking about.

Satisfied with their payment, the man steps back to take up post at the back of the boat. Nesta steps in first and Cassian follows behind her. Once they’re both settled, the man pushes off the shore with the oar. As they make their way down the river, Cassian can’t help but lean over and look into the dark waters below. Gaunt faces with empty eyes stare back at him, their mouths agape and frail limbs reaching up through the dark waters. Suddenly, Cassian understands why Nesta said not to step in the water.

The water begins to pick up around them, burbling and rising around them in swirling waves. They lap up against the side of the boat, and Cassian grips the wooden seat beneath him to stay steady against the rocking. A dip in the river sends the boat careening slightly forward, the sound of the waves growing louder and louder, echoing in Cassian’s ears and bouncing around his head. He can’t see ahead, but he’s sure there must be some sort of rapids. Considering the jagged rock of this whole place, he’s not sure how that will end, and he can’t help but swallow hard against the fear bubbling in his throat.

“Hold your breath,” Nesta’s voice draws his attention suddenly.

“What?”

“Hold your breath, and don’t stop. Even when it hurts. Even when that little voice tells you not to.”

Before Cassian can even ask what she means, the boat jerks suddenly, and then there’s water pressing in all around him. He opens his eyes, but in the dark waters, he can’t tell which way is up. He pushes his arms and tries to swim anyways, hoping his instincts are right and he’ll find the surface. After a few moments, a burning feeling begins to spread in his chest, squeezing his lungs, begging for air. Cassian tries to swim harder, willing his arms to push through it as he fights to find the surface, but he stops short when a familiar voice caresses its way into his mind. It’s a voice of lullabies, of quiet bedtime stories about princes and warriors.

“Let go, Cassian,” the voice whispers. “Let go and breathe in.”

Cassian thinks back to Nesta’s words, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his lips firmly together as he ignores the voice.

“I said let go,” the voice hisses, no longer soft and motherly.

Cassian wills his mind to stay blank, to keep the air tight inside his lungs, even as the voice gives way to a ringing in his ears, even as red begins to pop behind his eyelids. He clenches his fists to ground himself, and he holds his breath.

When Cassian’s eyes snap open, he gasps for air, instantly coughing as dust and dirt fill his mouth. He rolls onto his back, his chest heaving as he swallows down gulps of oxygen. As his lungs finally start to settle, he takes in his surroundings. He seems to have ended up in another tunnel of shadows and jagged rock. He pushes to his feet, and it’s then that he realizes he’s alone. He spins quickly in his place, eyes searching desperately for a familiar figure.

“Nesta?” Cassian rasps, his throat still aching from before. He clears his throat. “Nesta!”

Cassian strains his ears, but only silence answers him. A stone settles hard and heavy in his stomach, his heart clenching in his chest before kicking up to beat double time. He can already feel the bile threatening to climb up his throat, as he forces his feet to move further down the tunnel.

“Nesta!” Cassian calls again, hearing the thick worry that coats his own tone. He doesn’t care, not as his blood pounds in his ears, as his whole body starts to shake. How could they have failed? How could they have come this far, but not far enough? Cassian presses his palms hard against his eyes, tries to stave off the panicked water beginning to build there. How could he be so stupid? He tries to take a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves, but all it does is stutter through his lungs.

“Nesta, fuck, where are you?” he mutters.

Cassian is about to try calling her name again when he notices a light. Before he can even think, he’s running in that direction. The tunnel gives way to a meadow, and Cassian has to cover his eyes and blink a few times against the brightness. A warm, summer breeze dances across his cheek, leaving the tall blades of grass and soft flowers dotting through the green swaying like a gentle tide. And there, in the center, is a figure, a soft blue dress adorning her frame and golden brown waves flowing down her back.

Slowly, Cassian steps through the meadow toward her. He prays to whatever gods that may be listening that it isn’t a trick, that he isn’t dreaming.

“Nesta,” Cassian whispers, reaching out for her arm.

“I find the history interesting,” Cassian defends. Nesta merely rolls her eyes with a scowl in response, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’re not exactly threatening dressed like that, you know.”

Cassian knows he’s made a mistake when he watches Nesta’s eyebrow raise, the way her chin raises just slightly. Her face is a cool mask of unimpressed. Dangerous. Before Cassian can even formulate an apology in his brain, let alone speak it aloud, his laptop slams shut, almost taking his fingers with it.

“Now, that’s just rude,” Cassian quips, but the way the left side of Nesta’s mouth tilts up in a teasing smirk and the glint in her dark eyes almost has him forgetting to mean it. “Look, my last meeting is at 3:00, then we can go to the bookstore and you can get some better books.”

“Fine.”

Luckily, the bookstore is quiet and mostly empty, just a few customers milling about. Cassian lets Nesta lead the way, following behind her as she weaves between the stacks, her hand outstretched and fingers dragging gently against the spines of the different books. She stops in front of one of the shelves, her head tilting as she reads the different titles declared along the spines. The motion leaves a few wisps of her hair falling across her brow, and Cassian shoves his hands in his pocket before he does something stupid like try to brush them aside. She just looks so soft nestled amongst the books, pulling out different ones and reading the summaries on the backs before settling one in the crook of her arm.

“Wait. If I’m the only one who can see you, does that mean people will just see a floating book?” Cassian asks, stepping forward to pluck the book away. “How about I just hold on to the ones you want.”

“Works for me,” Nesta replies, holding out another book for Cassian to take. Soon, he has five books stacked in his arms.

“The full moon is in a week. Are you really going to read all these books in that time?”

“Cassian?” a voice cuts in before Nesta can reply.

Cassian turns toward the end of the aisle to find Mor standing there, a book nestled in her own arms and her face a mask of confusion. She steps closer, eying the books he’s holding.

“Oh uh hey, Mor,” Cassian greets her.

“You know this is the romance section, right?”

“I... thought I’d branch out. Try a new genre.”

Mor reaches forward, taking the top book off the stack. She stares at the cover before flipping it over to read the summary with a snort. When she holds the book up for Cassian, she has her eyebrows raised, an expression that clearly reads ‘seriously?’ Cassian can’t help but grimace, the cliche shirtless man on the cover staring back at him. Maybe she has a point.

“That’s what I thought,” Mor smirks, setting the book back down on the stack. “So, what’s her name?”

“Her name…?”

“Who you’re actually buying these books for?”

Cassian can feel himself floundering as he stares at Mor with wide eyes. He glances over his shoulder to where Nesta is still standing, but the demon just has an amused expression painted across her face. Not helpful. Cassian turns back to Mor who is still looking at him expectantly, but then her features soften.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me, but I fully expect to meet this girl soon.”

~ * * * ~

Cassian is just finishing pulling his hair up and away from his face when the knock on his door echoes throughout his apartment.

“It’s open,” he calls.

He hears the opening and then subsequent snick of his front door, and when Cassian walks out of the bathroom, he finds Azriel standing in his living room. His brother’s eyes are stuck to the floor, his eyebrows pinched and a frown tugging down his lips.

“Why do you have an air mattress out?” Azriel asks.

Cassian’s eyes snap to the offending object, the mussed sheets and pillow making it clear it’s been slept on. At the snort from the sofa, Cassian’s eyes find Nesta’s where she’s curled up with one of her new books. The expectant look on her face and the smirk tugging up the corner of her lips is all teasing, and Cassian narrows his eyes at her in response before turning his attention back to Azriel. Apparently, Azriel saw the entire exchange, or Cassian’s side of the exchange, and his expression has turned from confusion to concern.

“Cass, is everything alright? You know you can talk to me.”

Cassian rubs a hand against the back of his neck awkwardly before letting out a sigh. “Az… what would you say if I told you… I met a demon?”

“A demon? As in…”

“Demon. Like dark eyes, does biddings. Demon. Her name is Nesta.”

Cassian expects Azriel to ask more questions, maybe even call him out for the absurdity of it all, but instead his brother just steps closer, settling a hand on Cassian’s shoulder.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Azriel broaches carefully.

“You know what,” Cassian cuts in. “Just forget I said anything. Let’s just go.”

Azriel looks like he wants to say more, but luckily, he doesn’t, and the two make their way to the gym, Nesta trailing behind them. Cassian tries to keep his eyes to himself as they start their workout, determined to avoid any more confused or concerned looks from Azriel. It’s easier said than done, though, and Cassian’s eyes keep drifting to where Nesta has perched herself on one of the lifting benches. It especially doesn’t help that her eyes are decidedly not on him.

Cassian grabs a set of weights and makes his way over to the bench beside her, trying to look inconspicuous as he starts doing chest presses.

“Do you mind?” Cassian mutters.

“It’s not my fault your friend is so attractive,” Nesta remarks dryly.

Cassian doesn’t deem the comment with a response, keeps his expression cool and unbothered. But if he takes off his shirt to finish his workout? It’s just hot in the gym. And if he pushes himself extra hard, doing the exercises that he knows really flex and pull on his muscles? Well, no one has to know.

~ * * * ~

Cassian isn’t sure if Azriel said something, Mor said something, or they both said something, but he tries to push it all out of his mind as he pulls into the driveway at Rhys and Feyre’s house for a declared ‘family dinner.’ He takes a deep breath and turns to where Nesta is sitting in the passenger’s seat of his truck.

“Alright. I don’t need my family thinking I’m crazy, so if we both just play it cool, we should be fine.”

“I’m not the one you need to worry about, and you know it,” Nesta reminds him, throwing open the door and hopping out.

Cassian barely reigns in a sigh as he opens his own door. Mostly because he knows she’s right. But he puts all his focus and willpower into it, and he doesn’t look at Nesta as he greets his friends and family and settles at the table. He loads his plate up and eats, and he doesn’t look at Nesta. He listens as everyone around him talks about their weeks and what’s new, and he doesn’t look at Nesta.

“Cass, are you alright?” Rhy’s voice interrupts Cassian’s thoughts, and his head snaps in Rhys’ direction.

“What? Why would you ask that?” Cassian tosses back, trying to keep his voice light and teasing.

“You’ve been quiet,” Rhys points out. “And we all know you’re never quiet.”

“He’s probably too busy thinking about his new lady,” Mor pipes up.

“New lady?” Rhys asks.

“Oh, yeah, apparently it’s a ‘demon named Nesta,’” Azriel adds, throwing up air quotes.

Cassian is about to tell his family off with a well placed retort, when the loud clatter of silverware hitting a plate echoes through the dining room. All four sets of eyes snap to Feyre who has suddenly gone very still. Her face is pale and her eyes seem to have glazed over, like she’s seen a ghost. The look has Cassian’e eyes darting around the room, but Nesta is nowhere to be found.

“That isn’t funny,” Feyre says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys reaches over, comfortingly squeezing Feyre’s hand in his own. “Nesta was the name of Feyre’s sister.”

“You have another sister?” Mor asks quietly.

“Had,” Feyre explains softly, her hand tightening on Rhys’. “She died a few years back. She was dating this… guy. Tomas. We could never prove it, but I know he was at fault. I know he did it. The one bright spot was some freak accident that happened to him.”

The silence that follows is heavy. It presses against Cassian’s chest and threatens to shatter his ribs until he can’t take it. He stands, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood, as he excuses himself. He wanders through the hall until he sees a door slightly ajar, light bleeding into the hallways in a single soft white beam. Feyre’s art studio. He pushes the door open slowly, finding Nesta standing at the easel, staring at the painting perched there.

“She painted me,” Nesta says, her voice hushed and awed. “I know all sisters fight, but sometimes it felt like we were on another level. I didn’t think she’d ever paint me.”

“That deal you made,” Cassian starts, keeping his voice equally quiet. “It was for revenge, wasn’t it?”

Nesta turns then, her dark eyes settling on Cassian. With her spine straight and face set in a cold, hard line, it reminds Cassian of the demon she is. The one he first met standing in his apartment. Power rumbling off her in waves, tendrils of darkness and fire licking at Cassian’s skin until goosebumps break out in their wake. It leaves him breathless.

Helion smirked as if he knew something Rhys didn’t. “I know, I’ve already reassigned it to you. I looked over your other assignments, none of them are anywhere close to critical condition.” Helion snorted. “How’s your patient who tried to have sex with a pumpkin?”

Rhys loosed a long-suffering sigh. He’d seen plenty of outrageous, dangerous, and stupid cases pass through the hospital, and he could always count on an influx of idiots around Halloween. There was something about the holiday—season, really—that made people think their horrible ideas were somehow smart.

“He’s sore but he’ll live.” Rhys rolled his eyes while Helion laughed.

“Please tell me he at least used lube,” Helion was grinning. “The Pumpkin Spice flavor would make it really festive.”

Rhys snorted as they began walking down the hallway. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Helion just winked. “You’re always welcome to find out.”

Rhys laughed and shook his head at Helion as they kept walking towards room thirty-one. He waited until they passed a small waiting room to say, “Thanks for the generous offer, but I’m a married man.” Rhys grinned as he flashed Helion his wedding band.

Helion grinned back, his eyes full of delight. “Oh, Feyre is more than welcome to join. I encourage it, in fact.”

Rhys rolled his eyes and glanced at the number on the doors; twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six… “I think monogamy was implied, if not explicit, in our wedding vows.”

“Dr. Night, Dr. Spellcleaver.” An attendant nodded to each of them as they passed.

Helion didn’t respond until they were a few steps away then his grin turned saccharine as he purred “That didn’t stop you two last time.”

Rhys chuckled but leveled Helion a look as they arrived in front of door thirty-one.

Helion winked, then straightened his jacket and nodded towards the door. “Speaking of your lovely wife, I suggest you take care of your patient.”

Rhys blanched. “What?”

Helion patted Rhys on the shoulder and chuckled as he walked away, but Rhys was already turning towards the door and stepping into the room.

The last thing he expected to see during his shift was his wife sitting on the examination table cradling her bloody hand.

***

When Feyre arrived at the hospital she was mentally preparing her explanation as to why she was there. Not for the receptionists or nurses, but for her no doubt overly concerned husband.

Rhys was always professional with his patients, but it seemed that most of his calm, collected demeanor vanished when it was her who was injured.

Initially, she hadn’t planned to go to the hospital, perfectly fine to deal with her injury at home and avoid Rhys’ fretting. They had plenty of medical supplies after all. But after several minutes and more bloody gauze than she could stomach, Feyre finally bit the bullet and drove to the clinic.

She supposed it was a mix of shock and determination that she kept a calm head during her drive because it wasn’t until she’d been ushered into a small patient’s room and left alone that the pain finally hit.

Thankfully by that point most of the bleeding had stopped. Unfortunately, her hand still looked like she’d taken one of those fake blood packets that come with vampire costumes and drenched her hand in it.

Except it wasn’t fake.

Feyre winced as she heard two male voices from the other side of the door and braced herself for the distressed fussiness soon to come.

As Rhys stepped in and met her eyes, she tried to smile but it came out as more of a wince. He was immediately at her side checking her over for injuries besides the obvious one. Once he’d determined all was fine elsewhere, he took her crimson hand in his gloved one and began to examine it with a worried expression.

“What happened?” he demanded, carefully examining her bloodied hand.

Feyre winced. “It’s stupid.”

Rhys’ eyes flew up to hers. “You hurt yourself badly enough to come to the hospital, Feyre. I’d say anything warrantying that isn’t stupid.”

“Believe me, it is.” she sighed, already feeling her cheeks heat up. “And who’s to say I didn’t come in just to see my handsome husband in doctor mode?”

For the first time since Rhys entered the room, he cracked a smile. “If you wanted to play patient, Feyre, Darling,” he flashed a wicked grin, “all you had to do was ask. I’d be happy to give you a thorough examination.”

Feyre matched his grin but it quickly turned into a grimace as he turned her hand to get a better view of her fingers. At her hiss of pain, Rhys lost all sense of teasing and became full mother-hen.

“It looks worse than it is, Rhys.” She tried to explain as he carefully uncurled her bloodstained fingers. “Most of this is dried now anyway.”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “Dried.” He deadpanned. “Meaning it was at one point it was fresh and gushing blood.”

“Gushing is a little strong, don’t you think?”

Rhys quickly grabbed a wet cleansing wipe and began to clear her skin of the dried blood.

Feyre bit her lip. She knew he was upset. Not at her, but about the mere fact of her being hurt. She let him work, the gentle movement of the wipe over her skin soothing to both of them.

“Please tell me what happened, Darling,” Rhys asked again, throwing away the wipe and grabbing a clean gauze wrap and antibacterial ointment. To both their reliefs, the bleeding had completely stopped.

Feyre loosed a long sigh and closed her eyes as Rhys expertly cleaned and bandaged her wound. “I was just trying to get into the Halloween spirit,” she mumbled, now more embarrassed than anything.

“What?” He asked with a raised brow.

“I was trying to be festive.” She hedged again.

“Feyre, Darling,” Rhys stepped closer to her, adjusting her legs so he could step between them and rest his hands on her waist. Now that she was bandaged and no longer covered in blood, he felt much calmer. “Please explain to me how getting into the Halloween spirit ends with your hand bleeding and a trip to the hospital.”

Groaning, Feyre leaned forward until her head pressed into her husband’s chest. Her voice was muffled as she finally explained. “I was carving a jack-o-lantern and watching Hocus Pocus, but I got too distracted with the movie and accidentally cut into my hand instead of the pumpkin.”

Rhys’ fingers, which had been tracing circles on her waist, froze.

“You injured yourself,” she could hear the mirth in his voice as he tried not to laugh, “while carving a pumpkin?”

Feyre pulled back and glared at Rhys who was trying his damnedest not to smile. He wasn’t very successful. Apparently, knowing that she wasn’t going to bleed out allowed him to be far too amused with her situation “Don’t laugh at me,” she warned.

He raised his hands placatingly. “I’m not. I simply find it,” he paused, eyes twinkling with mischief, “interesting that you, Darling, Miss artist extraordinaire, were taken out by a jack-o-lantern.”

“It’s not funny,” she insisted, but Feyre could feel her lip twitching.

Rhys grinned, not missing her attempt to keep a straight face. “Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

Rhys said nothing, simply went back to drawing invisible patterns on her waist, as Feyre’s resolve finally broke and she let out a reluctant chuckle before groaning again and bringing her hands up to over her face.

He pulled her hands back, careful with her bandaged one, and kissed it before resting them on her thighs. Rhys grinned, “Who knew I’d have to add my wife’s case to the list of Haloween-related incidents.“

She rolled her eyes and playfully swatted away his wandering hands. "I really hope this isn’t the most exciting one of the season.”

Rhys stepped back and picked up her purse from the nearby chair. “Don’t worry, Darling, it’s not even the most exciting one of the night.”

“Good.” Jumping down from the table, Feyre grabbed her purse from Rhys’s outstretched hand. “Thank you, Doctor.” she winked as she saw his eyes darken at the title. “I’ll see you at home.”

Rhys followed her out of the small room. “In my professional opinion,” he told her and she merely raised an amused brow, “I suggest not participating in any festive activities for the rest of the day.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “That’s your medical opinion?” she asked dryly.

“Of course,“ he smirked, "and I also suggest that next time, how about you paint your pumpkin instead of carving it.”

She scoffed but smiled as he leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

He pulled back and laughed, “Not a chance, Darling”

***

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