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‘Please, Nesta. Say you will.’

Nesta sucked in a long breath. Her younger sister sat opposite her, golden-brown hair plaited into two braids. She wore a top printed with sunflowers beneath her dungarees, every inch the happy flower she’d always been. Nesta could never say no to her big brown eyes.

‘I don’t know Lucien’s family.’

Elain shook her head dismissively. ‘So, you can get to know them! Lucien isn’t even close with them but his father insisted on throwing us this engagement party. I’m a little nervous to be honest.’

She wrapped the end of her braid round her finger to emphasise that fact. Nesta knew Lucien’s father was an old bastard to put it simply - that was how Lucien has described him on one of their first meetings where Nesta had interrogated him with intense scrutiny about every detail of his life. His brothers were equally as awful according to him. When Nesta had enquired how he had ended up to be a nice man, Elain had said he was a mother’s boy and stroked his cheek. 

‘They will be there.’

It was more of a statement than a question. An impending sense of doom followed it. When Nesta had first moved to the city, the only person she had known was her sister, Feyre. She’d gotten swept up in her friendship group despite knowing they were not people she would ever have chosen. She had burnt that bridge, refused to even look at it and acknowledge that she had once been a part of it.

‘Yes. But Feyre is bringing Nyx!’

The only reason Nesta met her sister any more was to see her nephew. She didn’t get on with Feyre’s husband, nor his clingy cousin or any one of their other friends. They moved as a pack. Where one went, the others followed. And within that pack was Cassian. An ex-boyfriend that she was forced to endure the company of from time to time. He had a habit of showing up on her scheduled visits with her nephew. He made it his personal mission to rattle her to the point of fury.

‘Fantastic.’

*** 

It was an outdoor occasion in early June which meant Nesta had taken double the recommended dose of anti-histamines, clogged her eyes with drops and her handbag was stuffed with tissues and a nose spray. She’d chosen a lilac floaty dress which she already felt self-conscious in. It was a halter neck that left her back completely exposed. She tended to alternate between sweats or business attire, never a dress so pretty. She reminded herself that it was Elain’s engagement party and all eyes would be on her sister - except for when it was her turn to make a speech. At least Nesta had been forewarned for that portion of the day. Elain had practically begged her to speak.

On the drive there, her stomach bubbled with nerves. The last time she had seen Cassian, they’d had a blazing row. He’d called her a stuck-up bitch and she’d returned the favour by calling him an impossible man-child then slammed Feyre’s door in his face. It is Elain’s day, she reminded herself again, no arguments. 

The estate was enormous. A huge white mansion sprawled out at the end of a long drive that was lined with rows and rows of nearly cut conifers. She was directed to the parking lot where a few other guests had already arrived. Already the high pollen count had her throat itching on the walk to the massive grounds. The wedding would be at a beach and Nesta couldn’t decide what she hated more: pollen or sand.

Flowers were everywhere, in every bed on every bush. More had been arranged for the occasion - likely by Elain herself - and they hung in garlands and wreaths. She spotted Lucien’s father, stern faced as always, speaking with other men of a similar age likely about business near one of the large marquees that had been erected. 

Finally, she found Elain and gave a sigh of relief as her sister swept her into an embrace. ‘I’m so glad you came!’

‘How the hell have you afforded this place? You do know you have a wedding to pay for as well?’

Nesta was contributing to the wedding since their parents were both dead. Elain worked as a florist. It wasn’t lucrative but she enjoyed it, so Nesta was happy to funnel her finances towards her sister. It was unlikely that she was marrying anytime soon. Their father used to joke that whatever man was mad enough to take her on deserved a medal.

Elain blushed and glanced over her shoulder at Lucien’s father. 

‘Lucien’s family is quite wealthy. This is one of their homes.’

Any words that Nesta had buried themselves in her throat. This was their home. This enormous palace with its grounds stretching on as far as the eyes could see was their home. One of their homes. 

‘I need a drink.’

‘Wine? Gin?’

Nesta shook her head. ‘Still not drinking. And I’m driving. The phrase serves its purpose though. I’ll take anything cold.’

They walked together to the bar - all paid for, of course, by the Vanserra family. It had been a few years since Nesta drank. She leaned heavily on it during difficult times and Feyre and her friends were inclined to drink wine for every occasion. It was better for Nesta if she avoided it entirely though she found she didn’t miss it. 

More guests arrived and Elain was led away in their greetings. A few made polite conversation with Nesta when they saw her standing alone. She’d been told more than once - including by Cassian - that she had a resting bitch face so people tended to avoid her. 

She was inspecting a rose bush when she heard the familiar boom of Cassian’s laughter. Of course, he had an arm slung around Mor. Strictly platonic, Nesta thought with irritation. His scraggly dark hair was drawn back into a messy bun and he was decidedly more dressed down than any other guest. Feyre was struggling with Nyx who thrashed in her arms wanting to walk. He was a sickly child after a difficult pregnancy and they coddled him beyond belief. The poor boy only had sugar when auntie Nesta gave it to him. Everything had to be organic. He had a regimented day which only ended up stressing Feyre because he wouldn't nap at the regulated times. Her husband was conversing with Azriel, both males dressed head to toe in black, more suited for a funeral than an engagement party. Lucien strode over to greet them, red hair shining in the sunlight. 

Nesta inhaled slowly, watching as the group took in the beautiful surroundings. Then Cassian’s eyes snapped to hers. He was moving. She was moving. Moving quicker towards a gate in between the rose bushes not caring where it was going.

She slammed it shut and kept her legs moving. He called her name. Then came barking.

A glance to her left revealed the sight of a pack of dogs, all barking, all pounding towards her. She’d been good at track though not in heels. Nesta sprinted across the lawn, only just making it to the small house at the other end of the garden as she slid open the door and took refuge. 

‘Fuck me,’ she breathed, over the roar of dogs.

Her heart pounded as she leant against the glass. Out of the dogs and Cassian, she’d take being chased by dogs. 

‘What’s the fuss? Shush.’

A man’s voice came from somewhere in the house. The dogs were still at the door, barking and leaping against it. 

‘We’ll all get told off if you keep up that racket.’

Lucien’s brother, clearly, from the short auburn hair and brown eyes. He didn’t seem too alarmed by the sight of Nesta in his house. 

‘Can I help you?’

‘The dogs chased me,’ she panted. ‘Just needed somewhere safe.’

The corner of his mouth quirked into a handsome smile. ‘That’s what they’re trained to do when a stranger enters their property. You must have run very fast. I’m impressed.’

‘Ex-boyfriend at the party,’ she said, swallowing against her dry throat. ‘I’d have run a marathon in these heels to avoid him.’

He gave a laugh, tipping his head back. Then he filled a glass from the tap and held it to Nesta. She gratefully downed it. Her heart still fluttered uneasily and she was glad for the amount of deodorant she’d sprayed on that morning.

‘I am making an assumption that you are Nesta since you look like Elain but aren’t covered in tattoos or have a child with you.’

‘You would be correct. And you are one of Lucien’s brothers but I don’t know any of your names.’

‘Eris. First born. Vanserra family name atop my shoulders. No pressure.’

‘You live here, not the big house?’

He shrugged and looked around the neatly furnished home. ‘Gives me space. I’m an architect so my office is here. Nobody bothers me. Plus all the dogs can only put hair on my belongings.’

‘All your dogs?’

She could count at least seven that were still on the porch. The barking had ceased and their tails wagged happily. The glass was smeared with nose prints and muddy pawprints.

‘Proud dad of twelve,’ he replied with a smirk. ‘Give me a moment to change then I’ll escort you to the party so you don’t need to break the Olympic sprint record on your way back.’

It really did only take him a few moments to emerge from his bedroom in the bungalow in smart black trousers and a white shirt, rolled up to the elbows. He ruffled his auburn hair casually though the crispness of his clothes suggested designer, very expensive designer. 

‘So, this ex-boyfriend, how did he wind up at your sister’s engagement party?’ Eris knelt down to lace up his shoes. 

‘He is in my youngest sister's friendship group so I think Lucien knows them from Friday evening drinks.’

Eris gave a nod. ‘Azriel?’

‘You know them?’

‘I dated Mor briefly. A long time ago. Dated being a loose sense of the word. Both dates, her friend showed up and started giving me shit that I didn’t deserve her.’ He loosed a dismissive laugh and rose.

‘Was that friend a big bruiser called Cassian?’

Eris grimaced. ‘That’s the one. Oh no. That’s not your one?’

‘Bingo. In my defence, I hadn’t been in the city long and I wasn’t in a good place when we met.’

‘I’ll let you off,’ he said, ‘for your poor tastes. We all make mistakes.’

At the slide of the door, the dogs tried to push their way past Eris to Nesta, more eager with curiosity now rather than out for blood. She shielded herself with his body, making him laugh again. The sound was deep and warmed a part of her.  

‘They’re very friendly,’ he insisted, holding out his palm for one to sniff. ‘They’re just not accustomed to beautiful women stampeding through their garden.’ 

‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’

Hesitantly, Nesta held out her hand. One dog pressed his wet nose to her palm then another nudged that one out of the way to get to her. They were all different breeds, some mixed, some with three legs or one eye. They were all the sorts of dogs that got dumped at a shelter when vet bills became too high.

Eris extended his arm for her to take. ‘If you need assistance today, feel free to use me. I know how they can be - but they can’t stand me. None of them will come near me so I don’t mind if you need to hide by me.’

Nesta slipped her arm into his as they walked across the lawn. ‘You’d be signing yourself up to a whole evening of my company. I won't leave your side.’ 

The smile he gave her was warm but there was a challenge in his eyes. ‘You say it like it’s a bad thing. Allow me to be your date for today.’ 

‘You’d pretend to be my boyfriend?’

‘I’ll pretend to be anything you want if it pisses them off.’

*** 

Eris was a knight in shining armour, sweeping Nesta away whenever they steered too close to the other group. He introduced her to a number for the Vanserra family friends - all of whom seemed to be rich and powerful enough for Nesta to wonder if Elain knew what she was getting herself into. He kept up a lie that they were dating. Both liked yoga, both were early morning people, neither drank, both preferred the autumn. It was easy to pretend when they were so similar. He blessed every pollen laced sneeze, guided her into the marquee when her allergies became too much and genuinely seemed to listen when she spoke. 

‘What is the difference between a fun accountant and a regular one then?’

Nesta sipped at her pink lemonade through a straw, keenly aware that Eris watched the movement of her lips. ‘A regular one is boring. I am a fun accountant because companies employ me to audit their accounts. I get to discover which CEO is wiring money to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands or who is skimming off the top for their retirement fund and blow the whistle thereby ruining their fun. There’s a lot of travel involved, but the money is good and I don’t have anybody waiting for me at home.’ 

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘It’s not particularly thrilling but numbers are easy.’ She shrugged, ‘I spend a lot of time in hotels or on flights so I get to read and there’s little washing up to do.’

Thankfully at the buffet table, Elain had included a number of vegetarian dishes that Nesta could eat. For once it wasn’t a giant mushroom stuck between a bun. 

‘Oh, my father will have a field day if he finds out you're vegetarian,’ Eris snickered. ‘Although the large man at the other end of the marquee is staring at you as if you are dessert.’

Nesta didn’t even need to glance over her shoulder to know that Cassian was haunting her steps. She edged a few inches closer to Eris and then his arm slipped around her waist. 

‘Is this okay?’

‘Perfect,’ she murmured, nuzzling against him. 

They shared a plate, with Eris opting against any meat options for Nesta’s benefit and sat on a stone bench, hidden away from most of the party. Eris spoke of his work – and his father’s disappointment that he’d chosen architecture rather than law. He said that being paid to argue should have been his dream career making Nesta laugh then.

‘Thank you for saving me at the buffet.’

Eris smiled then pressed a hand over his heart. ‘A hardship I’m happy to undertake. A bad break up?’

‘Awful. Several attempts at breaking up. None of them registering with him. Lots of screaming matches. Lots of “quit your job, it’s emasculating me because you earn so much and I still live with my buddies and wake up hungover every weekend!”.’ 

‘It doesn’t sound like he’s changed since I knew them. And Morrigan?’

Nesta scrunched up her nose. ‘Oh, you mean, “babe, she’s like my sister! That’s why she sleeps in my bed and doesn’t like other girls talking to me” that Morrigan? The “we slept together once years ago, you’re being paranoid” Morrigan?’ 

The memories made Nesta shiver. She wasn’t asking to be put on a pedestal. What she wanted was to be considered ahead of Mor from time to time. Or for Mor not to be invited along for every occasion. Especially not to a weekend away on the coast. She’d shown up for Cassian’s birthday and the pair of them had shared the double bed in the hotel while Nesta slept on the couch. That had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

‘Feyre is younger than Elain, isn’t she? And she’s already married to Rhys?’

Urgh. That also made Nesta’s skin crawl. Rhysand was fourteen years older than Feyre. She’d had one high school boyfriend then met him. Within a year, her twenty-one year old sister was married and pregnant. Feyre claimed she was happy as a stay-at-home mom with painting occupying her free time but Nesta saw her more as Rhysand’s trophy wife. That was an argument they’d had before and Rhys had demanded she leave his house. With pleasure, she’d snarled back.

‘Yes, I am the designated spinster of the family.’ Nesta swept her head into a bow. She picked up a small pastry filled with cheese and onion. ‘Cassian used to call this rabbit food. Told me to eat real food. Would always try to kiss me after he’d eaten a steak to piss me off.’

‘He’s a dick. There’s no other way to say it.’

A band had started up or at least, Nesta had thought it was. On closer inspection, five musicians were upon the stage playing light classical music, all in finely tailored clothing. A far more sophisticated affair than Elain and Lucien might have planned. It was definitely not their sort of thing so she wondered how much Lucien’s father had dominated the affair. Certainly the average age of the party was more suited to him than Lucien or Elain – and they were likely his own guests, business associates, clients, or potential clients.

‘Shall we dance?’

Nesta raised her eyebrows in surprise. A man who actually wanted to dance? ‘You’re suggesting this to give me a grope, I suppose?’

Eris tipped back his head with another easy laugh. ‘Is that on the cards? I wouldn’t refuse that. No, I like to dance. I thought you might too. Plus, Cassian and Mor are staring daggers at us so I thought we could have them frothing at the mouth before the evening is done.’

That was all the incentive she needed. Eris pulled her close, hand slipping into her own while another glided around her waist. His body was long and lean, capable of making her feel small without dwarfing her. 

After two songs of easy dancing, the tone changed to a slower one. Nesta wasn’t aware of who else was dancing or even who else was in the main marquee. When Eris drew her close enough for their bodies to be flush, all she cared about was her head that rested on his shoulder, the nose brushing against his neck as they danced, his broad hand on her bare back.

To onlookers, it would be cosy, romantic even. Eris allowed her to use him, she reminded herself as her arms enclosed around him. He made a murmur of contentment then his lips brushed against her brow. It shouldn’t have given her butterflies.

‘It’s no wonder Cassian cannot stop staring at you. You are the most beautiful woman in the room.’

She glanced up at Eris but there was nothing playful on his face. Nesta felt dizzy when she looked at him; the clean-shaven face, the hard set of his jaw and golden light in his eyes. He certainly was handsome. And her type. And happy for her to use him however she wanted that evening.

‘He didn’t deserve a moment of your time.’

They danced a little while longer until she hobbled to a table, the balls of her feet aching from her high heels. Warm hands undid the straps around them then Eris was putting his own shoes onto her bare feet, insisting he didn’t care if he wore socks. 

‘I’m the eldest,’ he explained, ‘Whatever I do is wrong. Who cares if I wear socks to a party at my own house? What matters more is that you aren’t in pain. I have crocs in the house if you’d prefer those.’

‘Only if they match my dress.’

His arm stayed around her shoulders as they observed the others dancing when the sun began setting. It was pretend, Nesta knew, but part of her enjoyed his touch. She liked when he murmured something in her ear, the timbre of his tone making her knees weak. She liked being able to burrow against him, so his warmth chased away the goosebumps on her skin.

‘Eris, you said you weren’t bringing a plus one.’ A beautiful woman in a sweeping green dress joined their table. Definitely Lucien’s mother from the russet eyes - which made her Eris’ mother too. ‘You’ve hidden her away rather than introducing us.’ 

Nesta was about to peel herself away from him and declare they were simply pretending to avoid their exes, but Eris tightened his grip around her shoulders. His thumb brushed against her skin.

‘Nesta is Elain’s older sister. We met a few weeks ago through work. I didn’t need a plus one when she was already attending.’ The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly that Nesta almost believed it herself. ‘There hasn’t been time to introduce her properly plus we didn’t want to detract from Lucien and Elain’s party.’

Satisfied, his mother gave one sharp nod. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Olivia.’ Her auburn hair was drawn into a loose bun and there were freckles across the bridge of her nose. She watched the dancers, eyes tracing over her youngest and Elain. Then, she said with a smile, ‘Perhaps we’ll celebrate your engagement next.’

Nesta nearly choked on her drink, but Eris handled it. ‘When we marry, we are eloping in Vegas. Less fuss.’

He stroked his hand across Nesta’s face, the motion so delicate and caring she almost wanted to run off to a chapel with him. 

They ended up at the same table for dinner. She was introduced to more Vanserra brothers - each one either brown or red haired with dark eyes. They spoke crassly of women who were in attendance in a manner Nesta was used to from her work though Eris chided them and apologised. They’d all likely end up as CEOs of companies through their father’s contacts rather than merit.

When it came to the speeches, Nesta’s hands began trembling. Public speaking had never bothered her. She could speak to anybody and never cared for their opinion. But this was somehow different. This was talking about her sister - her favourite person in the world - in front of a bunch of strangers. This would reflect on Elain. She barely listened to Beron speak or Lucien then suddenly all eyes were on her. Somebody had introduced her as the next speaker. Eris gave her a nudge.

‘For those of you who haven’t had the displeasure of coming across me, I am Nesta - Elain’s oldest sister.’ A murmur of laughter from Rhys and Feyre. ‘When our mother died, I kept Elain close. I became fiercely protective of her which poor Lucien found out early on. She came home from work to tell me about a lovely man who bought a bunch of flowers every day from her, who always asked her opinion on the colour scheme and arrangement, and how lucky his girlfriend must be to have a considerate man like him. I had my suspicions. No man buys flowers every day unless he’s constantly in trouble or he wanted an excuse to speak to the beautiful florist.’

Elain and Lucien beamed at each other, both utterly enamoured.

‘We lost our father young and our mother even younger, but I am so proud of who you have become – the way you have grown – despite it all, Elain. You and Lucien are perfect for each other. Your love has been a joy to watch bloom. And I know that Lucien will make you happy. Lucien, just so you know, you will need to find another florist to buy flowers from when you are in trouble.’

There was a ripple of laughter around the room and Lucien gave a sheepish smile to Elain.

‘Any man that can withstand my interrogations without crumbling is worthy of my little sister. To Elain and Lucien.’

A flood of adrenaline washed through Nesta once the speech was done and a toast had been made. Eris squeezed her hand beneath the table. ‘Beautiful speech. Well done.’

***

The alcohol had set in for many, once night had taken hold. A band had arrived, replacing the musicians, playing more upbeat music and current songs. She danced again with Eris; the man insisted on remaining in his socks even as the cotton stuck to the sticky dance floor. He was an easy partner, twirling her, keeping her steady or drawing her in so their bodies brushed against each other. How much of it was faking, she wasn’t sure of because they were both grinning no matter who watched them.

A child cried repeatedly. It became harder and harder to ignore that cry. It was her nephew, tired and miserable, up far past his bed time. Feyre’s cheeks were dotted with colour as she struggled with Nyx. He arched his back, throwing his head back. Rhys took over with no luck.

‘Would you be mad if I swapped you for my nephew?’

‘Have us both,’ Eris said simply, taking her hand and leading her towards the group.

Before any of them could pass a comment on her date for the evening, Nesta extended her arms to Nyx. ‘Come on.’

Those teary blue eyes recognised her and he held out his arms to be taken from Rhys. Feyre sagged with relief.

‘Would you mind? Just for a little while. He’s cutting his back teeth. He won’t settle.’

‘It’s fine,’ Nesta said, avoiding Cassian’s gaze as he tried to get her attention. ‘Enjoy yourself. Has he eaten?’

‘He won’t eat anything,’ Feyre complained.

‘All he’s done is cry,’ Mor muttered.

Eris snorted. ‘I can’t blame him with this company. Shall we go, Nesta?’

A hand was on the small of her back, guiding them away before a swift rebuttal could come. Nyx still grizzled in her arms, tugging at a lock of her hair that he’d pulled out of her coronet even as they weaved their way out.

‘Why is he dressed like somebody’s uncle?’ Eris murmured as they exited the marquee.

Nyx had been stuffed into a tweed suit complete with a waistcoat and bowtie. The night air was cool, but his cheeks were red from teething and crying. Why hadn’t they hired a babysitter and kept him at home – or taken him home early?

Nesta sat on a bench – the same one they’d eaten together on – and began stripping him off. Eris folded each item she handed to him until Nyx was only in a vest and diaper. The relief was instant. He stopped grumbling and flopped his head against Nesta’s breasts. He was the only male allowed to do such a thing. She swept his sweaty black hair out of his face.  

Eris lifted Nyx’s foot, inspecting his wiggling toes for a moment then blew on them. The sensation must have tickled him because he tried to jerk away from Eris’ touch. It only spurred him on and soon Nyx was giggling in her lap and kicking his legs away from Eris.

‘First born. Lots of practise,’ he explained.

Nesta knew the feeling. Their father worked non-stop leaving Nesta in charge the majority of the time. He’d never once learned how to do their hair, leaving that to Nesta too. She was the one who pinned up the weekly plan on the fridge detailing when each child had which club after school though as soon as she got her license, Nesta was the one doing pick ups and drop offs. Her life hadn’t much changed after her father’s death. She was already self-sufficient, working and studying. Financially, Nesta did her best to support Elain and Feyre too, but their father’s money quickly ran out when they realised how many gambling debts that he’d racked up on his business trips. Feyre wouldn’t hear a bad word about him – and Nesta had to wonder if that’s why she married a wealthy older man so quickly.

‘I have the perfect remedy for a teething baby.’ 

Eris gestured for her to follow him. He weaved through the crowds easily, reaching his hand behind him to guide them all the way to his annexe. Every now and then he’d check over his shoulder and pause to pull them both a little closer.

In his freezer, Eris pulled out homemade ice lollies made of puréed fruit. 

‘You make these?’

He blushed slightly. ‘I try to be healthy but I have a major sweet tooth. Can he have one?’ 

Nyx was already reaching out his hand for it. Nesta had cemented her position as his favourite adult by being the fun one who gave him sugar, so an ice lolly before bed wouldn’t hurt. 

‘Berries or apple and kiwi?’ Eris asked. Nyx reached for the green one. ‘Would you like one?’

‘No, you can have it.’

Eris’ face lit up and he dragged his tongue up the length of it. 

They sat outside of his house where a couple of the dogs had come to greet them. Nyx watched them with curiosity as he dribbled cold juice down his chin. Eris didn’t hesitate to retrieve a tissue from Nesta’s handbag to clean him. Her heart almost exploded from her chest at the sight of it. A man who liked children and had a good job and was handsome and single. It didn’t seem possible. He was too good to be true.

He snapped a few pictures of Nesta and her nephew on his phone, smiling at them as he swiped through.

‘We don’t have to pretend here.’

‘Maybe I like pretending with you,’ he admitted. ‘Can I show him the dogs?’

Nyx went to him readily. Eris squatted down, balancing the baby on his knee as a hobbling chocolate Labrador with a grey muzzle greeted them. A small hand reached out.

‘Gently,’ Nesta encouraged. 

Eris held onto Nyx’s hand, guiding him as he stroked the various dogs that came over for a fuss. One with a face like it had ran into a wall kept licking Nesta’s bare calf until she was giggling and tugging her legs up out of the way. 

They stayed that way for a while, neither talking much as Nyx’s eyelids grew heavy. The sound of the band was faint, carrying to Eris’ garden on the breeze. The Vanserras were wealthy beyond belief but Lucien was a nice man - and Eris seemed to be the same way. 

‘Why are you single?’ She blurted out.

Eris cocked his head to the side. A light wind blew strands of his auburn hair. Nyx had his cheek pressed to Eris’ chest, blinking heavily at Nesta. A small hand wrapped around Eris’ index finger.

‘Several reasons. One – I tend not to go out as many women are interested in my surname or my family’s wealth. Two – I’m a bit of a workaholic. Three – A woman has to like all twelve of my dogs. Four – my father is an absolute bastard and I don’t want any woman exposed to that. Do you need any more?’

‘Five – your bone structure will make any woman envious,’ Nesta said, brushing her thumb against his chiselled cheek bone.

She considered what Eris had said. Her mind had leapt to Elain and what she was letting herself in for with a father-in-law who cared little for the damage left in his wake as long as he profited. Elain could be sensitive, taking comments to heart. She had to hope that Lucien would step between them if anything occurred. Nesta glanced sidelong at Eris. Twelve dogs wasn’t a dealbreaker. She was a workaholic. She also didn’t like meeting men or one-night stands. No, it was silly to think that way. Silly to consider what Eris had said. They were only pretending so that Cassian would leave her alone.

‘He’s asleep,’ Nesta whispered, smoothing Nyx’s black hair from his forehead. 

Eris had him cradled against his chest, so that a chubby arm dangled down. His mouth was open, deep in slumber. The sugar had the opposite effect, but at least her nephew was content now. 

‘Do you want children?’

Eris raised his chin, grinning slightly. ‘Are you offering? It might take a few tries but the practise is most of the fun.’

Her cheeks scorched and Nesta could not look him in the eye. What could she reply to that? Nothing. Her tongue was in a knot. Eris nudged her with his elbow, grinning again. 

‘You’re even more beautiful when you blush.’

‘Stop pretending.’

‘You think I’d lie? You wound me.’ His hand stroked the back of Nyx’s head softly, smoothing down the curling ends of it. 

Nesta shuffled closer to Eris then he draped his arm around her waist. She couldn’t say how long they stayed there for simply enjoying the quiet of a summer night. 

‘We can pretend again at the wedding if you like.’

‘I would like that,’ she confirmed. The thought of being a bridesmaid in a yellow dress on a hot beach and ensuring everything went smoothly for Elain’s day was already stressing Nesta – but if Cassian was leering at her or trying to cause an argument, her temper might go into overdrive.

‘I’d be happy to be your shield again.’

‘More than a shield, you’ve been my hero today.’ She stretched out her legs, making the too big shoes on her feet wobble. Eris had been wonderful. ‘Sprinting across your lawn chased by a pack of dogs and breaking into your house has got to be one of the best decisions I’ve made this year.’

‘In fairness to you, the door was unlocked.’ Eris leaned towards her and kissed her cheek. ‘You know that if you catch the bouquet at the wedding, my mother will ensure we get married.’

An ancient and wise voice whispered to keep going. One more mountain. Just one more. Nesta had proved to be stubborn. He wouldn’t have forced this hike on her if she could just face what she ran from, but she was too damn stubborn. Cassian’s instincts had been roaring at him to put a stop to it. He hated to see her hurting. But he knew what she needed. One more mountain.

In the days that they’d spent hiking through the foothills of the mountains that straddled Illyria and Velaris, Rhysand’s fury might have dulled slightly but he wasn’t about to risk Nesta with a high lord who had a pregnant mate. When Cassian returned Nesta to Velaris, she would no longer be in the firing line. Feyre might have forgiven her, but Nesta had gone against an order for no reason except to be malicious. It would take a long time for Rhys – or the others – to forgive Nesta. But she had to forgive herself first. The silence that had trailed them was evidence she was not yet willing to do so.  

She had fainted that day. All bones and hatred towards herself. She’d collapsed in a heap near a boulder, sheltered from the wind. Cassian had fought his desire to wrap her up and tuck her safely into the tent. Nesta needed to draw herself out of this, not him.

As dawn filtered in, Cassian crawled from the tent, ready to light a small fire and cook.

His heart ruptured.

Nesta was gone.

The plate of dinner he had left for her was still there untouched. A quick search confirmed that she had not taken a single item, not even the canteen of water.

Blood roared in Cassian’s ears. There were no signs of a struggle. This area was relatively safe. He would not have slept through something. Unless that something was Nesta herself. He had seen that vacant look in her eyes too many times now, had thought that this hike might coax that spark in her heart back to life. Her scent was faint, but it faded uphill – away from the river at least. He couldn’t think straight.  

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ He broke a toe kicking one of the bags across the camp.

The more time he wasted here, the worse it could be for Nesta. Cassian swept the area, hoping to find a glimpse of her. If she had ran from him, she couldn’t have gone far despite her iron will. Fuck. She had fainted yesterday. Cassian had been fixated on the route, mulling over his own beginning in life, that he had not spared a single look behind until he had heard the clacking of stones as she fell.

There was no trace of Nesta. Not on the craggy face of the mountain, not in the shallow streams that they’d collected water from. He tracked back and forth, sweeping the area over and over.

With every beat of his wings back towards Velaris, bile rose in his throat. What had he done?

‘Is she here?’ His voice was raw from screaming her name over the mountains.

‘What?’

The group had been tucked together in Rhys’ study. Mor’s head had whipped up first at the sight of him. He knew he looked bedraggled, knew that his siphons were flaring dangerously. His heart was being torn from his chest.

‘Nesta.’

Amren’s face tightened at the mention of the female she had tried to befriend. Cassian didn’t miss the grit of Rhys’ jaw either.

‘I woke. She was gone. If she’s hurt…’

Rhys flickered his eyes using his daemati powers to hunt her.

His entire body was tense while Rhys worked. A silent prayer was said to the Mother that Rhys would have good news. Each second was a drawn-out ache. Mor’s hand linked with his, squeezing once in solidarity. Azriel saw it and turned his face from them.

‘I can’t find her.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It could mean a lot of things,’ Rhys said delicately. ‘That she has mental shields up, she’s too far from range, someone is shielding her.’

‘Or she’s dead,’ supplied Amren.

Cassian snapped. His body barrelled towards the creature that had once been the most terrifying being in Prythian. If he got his hands on her, Cassian would strangle her.

Rhys covered her with his body while Azriel and Mor fought to hold Cassian back from ripping her apart.

‘Stop,’ Rhys called, power seeping through the room, wrapping Cassian in a night-chilled mist. It tangled around his limbs, constricting them to his body. ‘Az, assemble a team of Illyrians to sweep the mountains. Have every cave checked – rivers too. Mor, check any arrivals into the city. Trade wagons, anything, in case Nesta has stowed onto one. Someone might have seen her and given her a ride in. I’ll go to Windhaven. It’s the closest camp. We don’t tell Feyre until we know Nesta is safe.’

‘Isn’t that how we’re in this situation?’

The glare that Rhys turned onto Azriel was lethal. Az turned his head away first, but not after holding the stare for a few heartbeats.

‘Cass, stay here with Amren.’

‘Stay here? I’m finding her.’

***

The warrior carved from stone snapped at her. ‘You should have been drinking water throughout the day.’

There had been no time to stop. No energy to call for it. If she had stopped, she would not have started again. Nesta had been marching for days. Stomach empty. Head ringing with insecurity. She had barely slept each night on the cold ground, stones digging into her thin body.

‘We’ll camp here tonight,’ Cassian barked, voice lacking any warmth.

He coaxed her another twenty foot up a riverbed to a flat expanse of ground, but it felt like climbing another mountain. Nesta was so tired. A tiredness that gnawed at her bones and drove away any motivation she had.

She couldn’t remember falling asleep. Couldn’t remember Cassian cooking or the crackle of the fire that she detested so much.

It was dark. A plate of food had been left near her. Something cold and wet snuffled at the back of her neck.

Her body stilled. Nesta wasn’t sure what creatures lingered in these mountain passes. They were camped close to a river and memories of the kelpie rose to the surface. If it killed her, she wouldn’t care this time. She was past saving.

Nesta shifted on her hip, raising her head slightly.

A dog sat beside her. Its tail thumped once on the ground as if it couldn’t help itself before reigning in its training. It pushed his nose towards her. That was what had buried against her neck while she slept. From the corner of her eye, Nesta caught a glimpse of fire sweeping through the air in an arc.

A male stood atop a stone, another dog at his heel. Eris Vanserra. He pressed a finger to his lips then pointed at Cassian who slumbered peacefully in his tent beside a dying fire.

Eris gestured for her to come forwards.

Nesta knew to tread lightly – as silently as she could manage on shaking legs. The dog followed behind as if escorting her to his master. Once she was close enough, the muffled feeling of a shield came around them, cutting off the wind.

Eris’ fingers flexed as he moved a hand almost to hold onto her arm then thought better of it. His amber eyes weighed every inch of Nesta; the too thin face, the shadows beneath her eyes, the dry, cracked lips. Her body was coated with a layer of grime that splashes of river water couldn’t scrub off, the leathers she’d been forced to wear had been on her body for days through hours and hours of sweaty hiking. Eris swallowed.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

His voice was tight. It wasn’t the cold, deep ripple that she’d encountered in Spring Court. This was full of leashed fire that begged to seek purchase.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

The joyless depths of his eyes flared with golden flame.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Nesta turned to face the camp Cassian had made. She thought of the fear that had rocked her entire body the moment the words had spilled out to Feyre. She would die. Her son would die. Rhys had made them keep it from her. Rhys would have killed Nesta. She likely would always be a target. Whatever tense link they had shared was now irreparably broken. The carefully built trust that had developed with Cassian had been shattered. Nesta knew this male would not protect her from Rhysand; she would always be second place to him. That was evidenced by days spent hiking until her body failed with fatigue.

‘Yes.’

The world fell away. Nesta tipped forwards until her head curled against Eris’ neck. His arm came around her as they winnowed from the Night Court.

There was vague awareness of Eris removing his cloak and draping it over her as he lifted her into his arms. A sturdy hand curved around the back of her legs, but the one around her shoulders, stroked her gently. It was the first gentle touch Nesta had felt in days.

He gave a low whistle and one of his dogs streaked past them. They waited. Nesta glanced up, cataloguing the tall canopy of oaks above their heads. If she cared, she might have asked where Eris Vanserra was taking her.

‘Stay quiet a moment,’ he murmured against her hair.

Then boots traipsed through the forest, careening after the dog who was far too quick to be caught. Eris seized his chance and made for the gates to a manor that was now without sentries guarding it. He managed a gentle jog with Nesta still near him as he moved to the back of the house. He rapped his knuckles hard on the door.

A female answered. Her dark, curling hair fell untidily past her shoulders. She’d drawn a cloak around herself too, but Nesta peeked the hem of her nightgown.

‘Eris, do you know what time it is? Who is that?’

‘Shh,’ he replied, pushing past her into the kitchen. ‘This is Nesta. I’ll be back in the morning. Keep her safe tonight.’

‘Is she in danger? What trouble are you getting me into now?’

Eris carefully lowered Nesta so she was standing without his support. ‘Sorry,’ he said, removing the cloak and pulling it back around himself. ‘She is not the danger. Orla, please. Just look after her. I will be here in the morning.’

Unusual for him to appear rattled. Nesta had only ever seen the heir to the Autumn throne calculating and calm. He gave Nesta a searching look then, ‘You’re safe here, Nesta.’

***

The trick in not being caught was to never deviate from routine. Never give anyone a reason to be suspicious. It was a mantra that Eris lived by. Take a stroll late in the evening, not returning until it’s dark once, and it rouses attention. Take that walk most nights, follow the same route, same times, become a creature of habit and none bat an eyelid. Ensure people overhear your conversations with guards that the youngest smokehounds needed training in the dark, insist to your mother that they needed to be able to track in the deepest parts of the forest, be resolute that only you can train them. Give them no reason to doubt your motives.

Eris followed his usual pattern, heading for the woods, making a show of calling the dogs to him. He had taken all twelve tonight. His father’s guards had to see him leave the Forest House. He walked on, always mindful of the eyes that might be on him.

The first few times, his father’s soldiers had followed him for the entire duration. They kept out of sight, so Eris made the walk as long and boring as possible. Then he repeated it, night after night, until Beron must have been irritated by the reports of the sentries that stated Eris merely walked and trained his dogs for hours. The soldiers dwindled in number, they followed him less, some remained at the odd outpost to confirm to Beron that his son was – yet again – training his damn dogs, until it was not worth Beron’s efforts to monitor him too closely. With three other sons in the Forest House, his attention was better spent on them. At least, that’s what Eris had convinced him. He was the organised, regimented child. He’d always been a stickler for routine so played into it. A word in the right servant’s ear about who Uther was spending time with or a bribed guard commenting that Phelan had been spotted speaking to a lesser fae female in a nearby village kept Beron’s eyes firmly away from Eris.

The sun scattered the forest in golden warmth as it drooped in the sky. One of his hounds had made for a cave. He called for it with no return. More evidence to any hidden sentries that the young pup needed firmer training.

‘Three hours?’

The trick to not being caught was to always be where you were supposed to be. The male waiting in the cave, Ashur, examined Eris’ clothes, ensuring his matched. They looked similar enough from a distance. Both the same height. Ashur was perhaps slightly more rakish in build, but it was hidden well-enough by the clothing for it not to be detected. They had long played this game. Ashur was his double whenever Eris needed a moment away – but also needed an alibi. Beron would never admit to having his son tailed by sentries, so they never came close enough to notice that it was not Eris walking through the woods. Eris had quirks, minimal enough that they did not cause issue or raised much attention. He liked to have the tailor make two of each garment. He was so fussy with his clothes, he said, and the same elderly fae had served long enough to not question Eris. A set always went to Ashur with strict instructions on when to wear them.

‘They’ll be on the northern crest, prior to the bridge. Just two sentries. Have Artyom thrash about in the shallows to give you pause. Tomorrow, their post is at the glen with the overhanging boulder.’

Ashur nodded, drawing his cloak up around his chin and melding into his role of heir to the Autumn Court throne as he departed the cave, dogs trailing him. Ten smokehounds moved far too quickly; sentries would count twelve of them. They were seamless in their transitions now. In the dim light, none would know the difference, not even Eris’ own father. Ashur would replace Eris for a number of hours, roaming through the forest, pausing at the places where they knew sentries would linger to confirm to Beron he remained in the woods. It gave him time and space to further his agendas.

The Night Court was his current agenda. An alliance was building between them, but Eris did not for one moment trust them. He could count on one hand the people he could trust; his mother, Orla, and Ashur.

The Night Court was tight-lipped on the subject of Ramiel. No books or scripture could give Eris any hint of what might lurk beneath the mountain. The monolith on top was sacred to Illyrians for some long-held, long-forgotten reason. There was a reason why Amarantha had built her court so close to it. There were always reasons, always patterns. That was the order of things.  

Eris had been exploring the land around Ramiel, journeying further south each night to an area that was unmarked on any map. He had even managed to obtain an Illyrian map, but the area that he approached was unmapped entirely. Something was there, heavily warded. The Night Court would not leave such an expanse that wasn’t craggy untouched. It could have been a secret camp for the Illyrians, but Eris doubted that.

On the rare occasion that Eris arrived slightly too early for their meetings at the Hewn City - by accident, of course - Keir or a sentry would let slip they were waiting for the high lord’s arrival. He didn’t reside in the Court of Nightmares, Eris had surmised as much, nor in Illyria. Mor wouldn’t stay in her father’s city either. Eris had not pushed it; that was another secret. Never seem too interested in something because that raised suspicion too.

He’d be punctual for a handful of meetings then arrive early to another to test his theory. None of them were ever there. No shadow singer or high lady. They all arrived together.

Currently, he was more curious about the seemingly empty area of the Night Court with such heavy wards than Ramiel, Eris could taste the magic on his tongue. It hurt his eyes to stare at the blank space for too long. They'd blur and sting.

A night earlier, he had been in the shadows of a cliff, when he had spotted an Illyrian. The hulking form of Cassian could not be missed. His gait was heavy but not labouring as he wended along the curve of the river. Behind him was Nesta Archeron. The brute had shown his cards in the Spring Court when he placed a hand on the small of her back. A pity for her to be aligned with that male. A waste, even. For putting Beron in his place in front of the other high lord’s and not backing down, Nesta Archeron would always hold a special place in Eris’ heart. He hadn’t been able to forget the sheer shock on his father’s face that a female had dared use such a tone on him – and with an audience.

Eris had kept his eyes on them. Cassian stormed ahead, not noticing each time Nesta fell behind and had to scurry her legs to catch up. He caught the slump of her back from the weight of the bag she bore. She looked exhausted. Eris barely knew her, but he hadn’t considered her the type to want a hike in the Illyrian countryside.

That night, he had followed them until the very last minute before he had to return to Autumn. His stomach had roiled at the way Nesta had fallen onto her knees and used the last of her strength to peel the bag from her body. It had taken all of his willpower not to snatch her away there and then after observing Cassian ignore her. The Illyrian had cooked, thrust a plate of food at her unmoving form then crawled into the comfort of his tent.

The entire day, his thoughts had been entwined with Nesta Archeron. He ran through every meeting he had with that female who was forged from iron. Plucked every memory, every story he knew of her. She wasn’t weak-willed, wasn’t cowardly by any means. The female that had trailed Cassian had been utterly broken. Eris had tried to reason it; maybe she was sick, maybe she had wanted to hike. All of it was ashes on his tongue. Sunset could not come quick enough to him. He had prayed to the Mother to bring the sun down earlier to give him that cover to escape the Forest House. He had said another prayer that he would not see Nesta again. That she’d have been returned to somewhere safe. Even as he thought of those words, Eris knew it to be false. He had seen that same look on Nesta’s face as he saw on his mother’s every day. Tread on her enough times and she will eventually stop fighting you. Break her so thoroughly that she believes she deserves it.

With two dogs accompanying him, he kept his vigil on the pair, biding his time until the oaf went to sleep. Eris would have to be fast. Swifter than he’d ever been. He couldn’t get too close or he’d be scented. That was if Nesta said yes. Hearing her say yes mattered to Eris. But he hoped it wasn’t too late. Nesta deserved more than whatever life she had here in the Night Court – and he hoped they hadn’t robbed her of that awareness.

When Nesta had fainted, a white-hot fury seized his limbs. He’d nearly shouted that she was falling, desperate for the brute to save her before she was hurt. He’d screwed his eyes shut before she’d hit the ground, unable to see it. There had been worry, yes, from Cassian, but not enough. He still forced her to walk, still made her carry the pack until they camped for the night.

Artur was sent, once the fire dimmed. The dog did a loop of the camp then another, closer to the tent. He made enough noise that if the Illyrian was awake, he’d have heard. If he was awake, surely he’d have checked on Nesta’s wellbeing with an animal near his tent. Nothing.

In a terse silence, Eris watched Artur nudge Nesta. The dog was gentle, mostly. The safest option not to cause her alarm. He nuzzled against her neck until there was movement.

Do not scream, Eris thought, nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

He sliced a ribbon of fire through the air to catch her attention. Almost held his breath as she approached. Her steps were wobbly – and not due to the rough landscape.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

There was a bruise above her eyebrow where she’d hit the ground. The grey pockets beneath her eyes were haunting. He had never seen this female dishevelled. Nesta was always perfectly preened like a high-born female. This was degradation. Grinding her down until she was what the Night Court wanted her to be.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

He would kill them. All of them. He could not look into those eyes without seeing his mother staring back at him. If he could help Nesta, could take her away from her pain then there was hope for his mother.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Eris knew she had no reason to trust him. The reputation he had coveted had been built over five hundred years. It was an empire of cruelty. His only hope was that he was the better option than the male asleep yards from them.

‘Yes.’

Swift as a fox, he’d distracted the guards at Orla’s, deposited Nesta as if she was no more than a delivery of goods, and was back in the forest swapping places with Ashur. He had needed to sprint to make it in time. Ashur had given him a warning glare as they traded places; Eris stepping out from behind the boulder where he’d been waiting. Ashur would remain there until the forest fell silent once more.

‘Almost midnight,’ he said to one of the sentries on the main gates, glancing up at the moon. Even if it was past that time, a lowly sentry would still recall the heir of Beron strolling through unhurried prior to midnight. He didn’t need to be a daemati to implant memories.

The memory of Nesta’s face would trail him that night. Not the injuries, not the physical appearance, but the lack of terror, the lack of anything. He remembered that look in his mother when Lucien had been exiled. Remembered it when word came that same night that one of her sons and the high lord of Spring had murdered two of her children. She had wanted to give up so badly then. And Eris had been terrified to ever give her a moment alone in case she seized her chance. Like a phantom, he had stalked his mother for months until he was sure – certain – that she wanted to see another sunrise.

Nesta had been about to extinguish the little lamp beside her bed when the door had knocked. She wasn’t sure if she had heard it correctly, the brush of knuckles had been so gentle like the sweep of the wind.

A male was at her door, dark head bowed as she opened it. Azriel’s hazel eyes flickered to hers.

‘Have you been sent to kill me?’

A crease pressed between his brows. ‘Do you think I would knock if that was the case?’

‘Well, you are very polite.’

It struck Nesta that they had never really had a conversation, just the two of them before. They had spoken, sure, but usually as part of a group or if other people were present. He was tall in his own right; not as physically imposing as Cassian, but he reached as high as the door frame. A thick sweeping of hair fell across his forehead. She’d always thought him the prettiest.

They stood in a strange stalemate. Two of her neighbours were arguing in their apartment; it was a common occurrence she had found out, though only occurred late at night. It would go on and on. On the second night, she had knocked to see if the female shrieking needed help – only to be told by both of them to mind her damn business.

‘Are you here for a reason?’

Azriel swallowed. A shadow eclipsed him briefly. ‘I suppose I wanted to see if you were okay.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

That dinner had been downright awful. Right from the start where she had tipped mushroom soup over herself and ended up wearing a dress that was too risqué, from being told the wrong time, for being forgotten and overlooked, all the way to her little eruption at dessert. None of it made her too embarrassed – except perhaps asking Varian if he slept with Cresseida. That was maybe slightly too far.  

‘Can I stay here tonight?’

‘What?’ Nesta’s voice blurted, far too loudly. She tightened her dressing gown around her body then shifted back a step.

At her reaction, Azriel had grimaced slightly. ‘I continued what you started at the restaurant tonight. I don’t want to speak to them. And I know this is the last place they would expect me to be.’

Her apartment became a refuge for the shadow singer. When duty called, he returned to the inner circle. That wall of ice that surrounded him would not yield. He reported back to Rhys, winnowed wherever he had to for missions, but in his free time, he could be always found at Nesta’s apartment rather than spending another moment in their company. He didn’t share what happened at the restaurant. Nesta didn’t particularly care. She had said her piece and left the door open for him to swoop in

It was startingly easy to move around him. They orbited each other silently. Nesta might go out for a few hours, returning with a new book or Azriel would bring hot food with him from a café in Velaris. They never squabbled over using the bathroom, they ate the same food, had the same tastes, and were content to be in a reserved quiet. He didn’t get in her way, didn’t take up too much space. She only bothered him to offer him a drink or snack. Azriel always tidied the blankets on the couch each morning though Nesta doubted he slept much. Sometimes she could hear him, treading almost silently around the living room. It was only because she was still awake herself that she ever heard him.

One night when he’d knocked on late, she’d handed him a key, blinking at the bright lights in the corridor. ‘I’m sick of getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Let yourself in from now on.’

His eyes had passed over the key like Nesta had given him an heirloom. The pad of his thumb stroked along the collar and the bit. ‘Thank you.’

Another week passed with quiet conversations. She saw him only in the moments before she went to bed. A bat by looks and by nature, she had said, drawing a smile from him. Nesta liked those smiles because they were so rare. She had yet to see the shadow singer throw back his head in full-bellied laugher or to even show his teeth when he grinned. Azriel guarded himself carefully. It was a practise she knew very well.

Perhaps that was the reason why, that in such short space of time, they had warmed to each other. Nesta did not pry. Azriel did not either. He read reports. She read her books. She cooked. He cleaned. Sometimes he would disappear in the middle of the night, leaving the door on the latch, coming back before dawn, but Nesta didn’t interrogate.

‘Not that I want you gone, but I have to ask how long you do plan to be here for?’

A shadow danced near his ear, but Azriel swatted it away like a fly. How long will you remain angry with your family, she wondered. Would an equal measure of five hundred years dull the pain?

‘What I mean is, I feel terrible that you sleep on this dreadful couch. At your great age, it must play havoc with your back.’ A slight smirk from the shadow singer sent a wave of pride rushing over her. ‘If you planned on a long-term scenario… We could find another place with two bedrooms.’

‘You’d want to live with me?’

‘Why not? We already are.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, threading a hand through his ebony hair. ‘The others tell me to loosen up, to lighten up, to be louder.’

A cocoon of silence always followed him. He never rushed his words or said more than he needed to.

‘I like you as you are,’ Nesta admitted.  

Something charged passed through their gaze. Nesta felt it spike in her veins like a spark. Shadows blurred him from view so she took that as her cue to go to bed.

***

‘Why do you leave the room when I light a fire?’ Azriel couldn’t keep the question in. He had been staying there for almost three weeks now. With the arrival of colder weather, he’d fought against his revulsion for fire to keep the apartment warm for them. And every time that first tendril of flame had come to life, Nesta would depart to the bedroom. ‘Is it my hands?’

He kept his hands balled into fists, the scars taut over his bones. Nesta froze in the doorway to her bedroom, a book clutched to her chest. Instinct had her gaze darting to his hands then she shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘My hands,’ he repeated, the words unsure on his lips. He hated this. Hated drawing attention to them.

Nesta drew nearer hesitantly. She set the book down on the small table. ‘I don’t know what happened to your hands. I don’t have an issue with them, Azriel.’

Azriel tensed. He had thought all the sisters knew. The story had been given wings in secret as if it would spare Azriel’s feelings if they all knew without him having to share the story.

‘What happened to your hands?’ Her voice was gentle. It was the gentle tone Nesta only ever reserved for Elain. Firmly, she caught hold of each hand and pressed them both between her own. It was the first time that somebody hadn’t examined them, hadn’t tried to cast an inconspicuous look upon them when they were the topic of conversation. She had acknowledged them, but hadn’t given them value. He was more than his scars.

‘My father and his wife kept me imprisoned in darkness for years. My brothers poured oil on my hands then lit them.’

The words were rough. He’d told the story only once before – over five hundred years ago when he had finally trusted Rhys and Cassian enough to share it with them.

Azriel could not look at Nesta. Could not bear to see if she was about to inspect his hands. He braced himself for the words that so many said. They were words that ruined him, no matter how well intended they were – have you seen a healer? Can they not be glamoured away? Why don’t you wear gloves?

Nesta merely squeezed his hands tighter with her own and said, ‘I cannot be near a fire because when it cracks, I am back on that field. I am watching the King of Hybern break my father’s neck. When I hear the logs split, I am waiting to die at the hands of the king.’

Not all scars could be seen. What his blood had done to him had ruptured a part so deep that it would never heal. What Nesta had been exposed to in the war festered in her chest too.

They had showed their insecurity to the other. It was strange to let her in – strange to let anybody in, least of all the cold and imperious Nesta Archeron.

On the couch, they sat in silence. He allowed Nesta to look at his hands without hiding them away. Her fingers found patterns in the brutal scarring rather than being repulsed by it. Azriel was sure that there wasn’t a scar that she hadn’t touched. If she was faking it, hiding her disgust, she was a good actress. Even Mor had always faltered slightly before touching them as if they might catch and her unblemished hands would be ruined.

Every time the fire spat, Nesta’s body would tense. She’d grip onto his hands until she had coasted through the wave of anguish. They were each other’s anchor that night.

The following morning, they did not acknowledge the moment they had shared. Azriel wasn’t even sure if he had dreamt it. A mutual trust had grown between them without realising. He found himself watching her butter toast with an expression that anybody else might read as severe. Nesta always looked as if she was scrutinising something even if she wasn’t. Her smiles were there, but locked away. On the rare occasion that Azriel had prised a genuine laugh from her, it bathed him with warmth. She would tip back her head and screw her eyes shut. Her laughs were beautiful.

He postponed his trip to Illyria slightly. Nesta had made them both breakfast, unexpectedly, and he was too guilty to leave it untouched. They had sat together at the narrow table tucked by the kitchen, eating in a peaceful silence.

‘I’ll be back before dinner today. If that’s alright?’

‘I won’t complain,’ she said.

There was a note in her voice that gave Azriel pause, gave him a reason to drink her in a minute longer. He thought of the way that she had cradled his hands last night. The gentle side of her that so rarely saw the light of day. How she had leaned on him for support – and he’d been happy to steady her.

‘Then I’ll come back as soon as I can.’

‘Good.’

In one syllable, Azriel’s mind raced. One syllable had him postulating over a thousand different outcomes.

Shadows enveloped him, prising him away to Illyria. The prickles that covered his body whenever he reached his homeland seemed softer today, wrapped in silk rather than iron. He glanced down at his hands as if remembering the feel of Nesta’s fingers there like she was following rivers on a map.

‘I’ve seen that look before,’ a low voice murmured.

Azriel snapped his head up, jerking away slightly.

‘No,’ Rhys breathed in awe. ‘I caught you by surprise. Five hundred years and I have finally made you jump.’

Azriel rolled his eyes. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘So, who is she? What beguiling female has put that dreamy look in your eyes?’

His shadows curled around him, whispering that they would strike if he wanted them to. They had always protected him.

‘Where’s Devlon? Let’s get this over with.’

Rhys did not drop the subject as they marched across the windy paths of Windhaven, pausing occasionally to inspect the sparring rings they passed. ‘One day, you will finally bring a female home for us to meet.’

‘Keep waiting.’

Cassian dropped out of the sky with a heavy thud. At the sight of him, Azriel felt hot and sick all at once. He kept his face trained on the young male nearest them who was examining weapons.

After their rooftop argument, Cassian had given him the space that he knew he needed. When the time was right, he had sought him out at the River House, likely after arranging with Rhys to summon him there. Cassian had been genuine with his apology. Whenever their paths had crossed since, his brother always begged him to come back home. To the House of Wind. To the River House. Just to come home.

Yet, when Azriel had asked Nesta if Cassian had apologised to her for hurting her feelings – for letting Mor come between whatever had been budding there - she’d folded her arms across her chest and said no.

‘I don’t want an apology from him. I don’t want anything from him.’

That memory diverted his guilt into righteousness. Nesta had held his hands only – and she had every right to do that. She was not promised to Cassian. Azriel was not tangled with anyone. They were friends. Friends doing nothing wrong. Still, he couldn’t manage to look into Cassian’s eyes for very long.

The day was busy examining new recruits. Their days would follow a similar pattern until the worst of the winter came, Az knew the schedule well. They’d visit each camp to see what lecherous males each camp lord had recruited that autumn then they would assess the likelihood of any of them making the Blood Rite the following year.

‘Come for dinner,’ said Rhys. It was an order rather than an invitation.

Cass slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘We can make a night of it. Mor’s not there. She’s in the Continent still.’

The reproachful look from Rhys hadn’t faded quick enough for Azriel to miss. Mor had cried on the roof, apologised, said she wanted to be his friend. Like a bucket of water had been thrown on hot coals, any lingering feelings for her had been extinguished. More than anything, Azriel was a fool.

For years, he had nurtured a hope of them. He thought perhaps she still needed time. Needed time to meet new people after a youth spent in captivity, after what her family had done to her. Time to explore the world, time to have fun. It had not mattered to him how many lovers she had taken to bed. On the occasions that she blew hot and cold towards him, he was always unable to figure Mor out. She would invite him close then push back. He blamed it on her past, blamed it on her mother and father. Often, he blamed himself too. She would not see him as anything more than a lesser fae savage so Azriel held back. Once, he had tried to confess how he felt.

The memory of that day was scarred into his mind; of confessing that he knew he was unsuitable for her, but he still wanted her. Without a word, Mor had walked away. A bastard lesser fae savage whose father hated him enough to lock him up. The shame had burnt him. That shame of daring to believe that Mor might have given him a chance – that any female would risk sullying themselves with a male like him.  

Each time that Mor flirted with his brother, those feelings wilted more and more. Cassian was like him – and that was what he could never understand. They were both Illyrians. Both bastards. Yet Azriel was somehow less worthy of her touch. He'd blamed it on his hands, blamed it on the shadows that made others uncomfortable. Then he’d even thought that maybe he had imagined the soft smiles and loving touches that she gave to him; that he was so desperate for Mor that he was creating a love story that didn’t exist.

‘I didn’t want things to change,’ she’d wept on the roof, gripping the buttons of his shirt. ‘I like how things are between us.’

Those words had cracked the ice. She liked him to be her shield against her family, against Eris. Azriel had been her knife too. But she did not want him. She would use Cassian to put him off regardless of the strain it put on the brothers. That was what she liked, because the alternative was facing up to the fact that for five hundred years, she had let him believe he was not worthy of her rather than being honest. She would strike out at Nesta because she realised that Nesta would take away the one barrier that stopped the truth from leaking out.

‘I have places to be,’ he said coldly.

***

Azriel was one the most difficult people to read that Nesta had ever encountered. When he had arrived home that evening, tension had bracketed his body. It wasn’t unusual. It didn’t offer anything to his mood.

She was learning to observe his shadows. Sometimes they were excitable, moving quickly without restraint when Azriel was in a more playful mood. Other times, they stayed close by to comfort or to protect. Tonight, they were gone. Nesta didn’t know what that meant.

They ate quietly. Azriel did not divulge on his day, but he had thanked her for cooking and asked how her own day had been. Nesta had been into the city. The male had insisted on providing coin for his opulent lodging of the broken couch, so she had spent some money on wooden children’s games to occupy the time with the approach of winter. Nesta was happy to find that many were similar to mortal games she had played with servants.

‘You don’t want to play cards with me,’ said Azriel after his shower. His dark hair was damp and curled around his face. ‘I cheat.’

‘You’re a very honest cheat,’ she acknowledged, shuffling the cards. ‘Since I have no other company, you will have to do.’

They knew similar games and established rules. It had been a long time since Nesta had played games. She thought of the elderly servant who had seemingly always been a part of the household staff when she was little. Somehow, he had learnt sleight of hand tricks. Nesta had believed it to be faerie magic and would watch in wonder as he’d always guess what her card had been or how he’d transform her card into a toffee for her to gobble. He’d had a hacking cough, veiny hands, and grew thinner each time Nesta sought him out in the gardens. One day, he never came to the manor again. When she’d asked her father, he’d simply said the servant was gone.

‘Why do you keep glancing over your shoulder?’ Azriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you expecting somebody?’

She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I’m trying to work out how you cheat. I keep thinking there will be a shadow behind me, spying on my cards.’

‘They don’t make you uncomfortable?’

They were a part of him. ‘Of course not.’

Once games became tiresome, Nesta asked the male about the Blood Rite. She had purchased books about Illyria to better understand that part of the land. Their training was brutal, lives were short for many. She couldn’t fathom dumping a child in a war camp. It reminded her of baby birds that were pushed out of the nest and forced to fly. Many more didn’t.

‘These ones,’ Azriel said, gesturing to the whorls of black ink running over his bare arms, ‘are standard for most warriors. They’re associated with luck and glory. After the Blood Rite, males receive more in a ceremony. Bodies are flagging but you have to stand up for one more night of drinking and tattoos. That’s the final test.’

‘You have those?’

Azriel nodded, eyes searching her face. ‘You receive more depending on your status. The three of us touched Ramiel so we received the highest honours.’

‘Show me them.’

***

Obliging, Azriel pulled off his shirt. Nesta’s eyes canvassed his chest, tracking the details in the ink. Wrong. So wrong. Their conversation was minimal as she committed the hard planes of his body to memory. Both of them knew they were crossing a boundary tonight. From Nesta’s fervour, as she touched his skin, Azriel surmised she didn’t care.

Fingers traced the whorls with an intensity that a scholar might brush the letters of an ancient text, seeking answers. Her knuckles tracked up Azriel’s neck and he lifted his chin as she reached his jaw.

‘What do you want?’ His voice was a quiet warning in the dark.

A muted smile was his response. ‘You’ll make me beg for it?’

Azriel followed the pattern his thumb drew on Nesta’s collar bone, the daring sweep of it below the cut of her gown. His eyes flickered back to her. ‘I want to hear it from your lips.’

Wanted to hear if she was brave enough to voice it. Wanted confirmation that it was not just him getting lost down a path they never should have wandered down. Wanted to know that he wasn’t wasting his feelings once more on someone who didn’t value him.

Nesta brushed his hand aside. She appraised him with the same steel look that she had given to every high lord in the Dawn Court meeting.

In a swift motion, she straddled his lap. Now, she was the one pushing him to his limit. Seeing how brave he would be. A hand stroked against his hair then it was holding him in place.

‘I want you to kiss me.’

So, he’d obliged. Nesta had leant forwards and everything had felt as if it was moving at a different pace. The fire’s movements were slow and sluggish. The world even stopped turning on its axis.

They had moved too fast. Azriel’s lips crushing against Nesta. A flush spreading up her cheeks as he kissed down to her neck in a fevered motion. Her hand had raked through his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers.

Her hips had circled his lap. His hands curved around to grip her waist, to help the motion that was undoing him. Nesta’s soft moans were a beacon to him, calling for more.

It was a mistake. Every kiss, every tantalising touch was a mistake. He should have stopped.

She’d been confident, tugging him to the bedroom, hands gliding up his bare back. She hadn’t said stop when he lifted her against the wall, kissing so deeply time halted. Hadn’t protested when he’d roughly pulled her dress off, not when he’d run his scarred hands over her beautiful body.

He hadn’t known. Hadn’t realised she was a maiden until he had given the first thrust, felt her body shudder around him, the sharp spike of her breath against his ear. He’d seen the blood after and nearly vomited. He should have been softer. Shouldn’t have rushed straight into bedding her. Shouldn’t have pressed his body so tightly to Nesta’s that her hips ground into his skin. He’d crossed a line. His mind buzzed with a thousand feelings, a thousand scenarios.

Revenge. Was that what Cassian would think? Some sick payback for him sleeping with Mor all those years ago?

Nesta leaned over the bed, fumbling for anything to regain her modesty. He couldn’t let her think she was a pawn in a game of vengeance. Azriel rushed to the bathroom, found a cloth to soak with tepid water. He hesitated from cleaning her himself and instead pressed it into her hands.

 ‘I didn’t know you were a maiden.’

Why was it worse that she was? Because Azriel knew how the others would view it when it came to light. Knew that for a once-mortal female, this should have been special and he had been rough with passion.

‘Not anymore,’ she muttered.

Azriel faced the wall, allowing Nesta the privacy she deserved. He heard the slide of a drawer then a night gown being pulled over her head. He fixed her with a look. ‘Did I hurt you?’

For a fraction of a second, her face faltered. ‘Just at the start.’

His chest tightened at the admission. ‘Sorry.’

Azriel knew he should leave. Knew he should not have ever come to her apartment. It had been a dangerous game, right from the start. Night after night, they’d edged further down a path that there was no returning from with their growing companionship. But if he left and never came back then Nesta would think she’d been used. That had not been his intention. Never would be his intention.

When Nesta tugged the sheets from the bed, balling them up to hide the blood, Azriel started on the pillow cases too. It was a way of atoning. Remove all traces of the illicit night they had shared.

‘You don’t need to do that.’

‘I want to,’ he murmured.

Silently, they stripped the bed then placed fresh sheets onto it. Nesta didn’t ask him to stay in her bed and he didn’t want her to.

He flew as far as he could, to the furthest reach of Illyria. He had well and truly fucked up everything.

***

Any soreness did not linger. Nesta found herself unable to concentrate without memories of her night spent with Azriel pulsing to the surface. Heat flooded her body when she remembered the way he had moaned against her skin as he entered her. Her breath shuddered each time she recalled the flicker of his tongue against her ear.

When she imagined her first time with a male, it ought to have been a wedding night to a bland mortal man her parents had arranged for her. As a fae, the vision had shifted to a fantasy of a dreamy male who loved and cherished Nesta. He’d have lit candles around the room, proposed maybe, scattered petals and moved his hips a few times until he found release while she had lay beneath him like a plank of wood.

Her imagination had disappointed her. It hadn’t been able to conjure the thrill that Azriel’s hands had. Hadn’t crafted the same pounding excitement when Nesta had taken control and climbed onto his lap. It was more intimate than anything she could have dared to dream. The shadow singer had caressed all of her, unable to settle on one place he wanted to touch. Desire had been the tinder and want the flame. They’d moved together in waves finding pleasure in each other’s bodies. There had been no reluctance or shyness, only lust.

She supposed she would not see him again. The white horror sheeting his face when he had realised that she had been a maiden was enough to deter him. It would be a secret warded in the dark whenever they were in shared spaces.

From the kitchen, Gwyn snickered.

Nesta sucked in a breath. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. I went on that terrible double date because you were too scared to go alone. I suffered for your benefit.’

And it had been terrible, truly terrible. Gwyn had been trapped in an endless loop of excitedly chatting to men she’d met on dating apps then being too scared to actually meet them so Nesta had taken pity when she’d found one who was happy to go along with a double date. He’d seemed lovely, quiet and brooding, but well-mannered and good company. Gwyn had already lined up a second date with him. It was his swaggering, loud friend that Nesta had been stuck with for the evening. Cassian had puffed himself up like a peacock, called her sweetheart repeatedly then asked if she wanted to split the bill at the end of the night after talking over her at every opportunity. Gwyn’s date, Azriel had rolled his eyes and ended up paying for everyone’s meal.

Gwyn sidled onto the arm of the couch and slunk an arm around Nesta’s shoulders. ‘And I will be forever grateful for that.’

‘Nesta’s not. If you keep seeing him, she’ll have to keep interacting with his stupid friend.’

‘As payment, you’ll have to help me hide a body.’

Gwyn took Nesta’s phone and swiped through the man’s pictures then gave a nod of approval. ‘So, where’s he taking you?’

‘On a hike.’

Emerie snorted loudly. ‘You? Hiking? Since when?’

‘Since I bought hiking clothes today. It could be romantic,’ she protested. ‘Nice views, I could trip over a root and fall into his arms, a little kiss on top of a mountain with a picnic.’

Emerie pursed her lips to stop her laughter, but Gwyn just sighed in dreamy awe.

The man, Eris, had been easy to text with. Conversation had never felt awkward. Both of them had terrible relationships with their fathers. He’d moved to the city a few months earlier and had only just got settled. They’d called a couple of times too in the evening when he was driving so she knew at least he was real.

‘What time are you going?’

Nesta glanced at Emerie, bracing herself for what was to come. ‘Six. AM.’

‘No,’ Emerie gasped, chortling with laughter. ‘You’re not. Nesta, honey, no! You’re going for a hike at six in the morning for a guy?’

‘Aww, she’s in love,’ Gwyn chided, stroking Nesta’s face. ‘It’s red hair. Nobody can resist.’

‘Ha, ha. He suggested it. I might have said that I liked the outdoors.’

‘Where are you going?’

In truth, Nesta wasn’t sure. It was a forty-minute drive that Eris had offered to pick her up for, but she’d volunteered to drive herself in case he didn’t look like his pictures and she needed to escape quickly. He’d sent her rough instructions to a narrow, dirt road and explained there was a place to pull in that led to a quiet hiking trail that nobody else seemed to know.

‘He’s going to murder you.’

‘He’s not,’ Nesta said, waving a hand. ‘If he was going to murder me, he’d… he is going to murder me, isn’t he?’

Even Gwyn laughed with Emerie this time. Nesta wasn’t naïve. She always informed Emerie and Gwyn where she was going, passed along every scrap of contact information – and never went home with the guy.

‘Text him and ask him to send you a picture with a spoon on his head.’

‘Did you do that to Azriel?’

‘Yes and it confirmed he was real.’

‘Yeah, real,’ Emerie said, ‘but doesn’t disprove him being a serial killer, Gwyneth.’

‘If Eris reads that message and sends me a picture with a spoon on his head, quite frankly he’s earned the right to murder me. Do I cancel? What would you do?’

‘I simply would not drive to a dead-end road in the middle of nowhere in the morning to meet a stranger.’

Gwyn shook her head. ‘Why don’t you set off a bit early to get there before him and then you can have the emergency service ready to dial just in case?’

‘Take pepper spray.’

Nesta had taken Gwyn’s advice and left early. Which meant a wake up at four-thirty to be in the car by five. Her eyes stung. She hadn’t worn any make-up, knowing she’d sweat it off anyway. She had memorised Eris’ instructions but only on the drive did she start wondering how a man who had only recently moved to the city had discovered a secret hiking trail. Definitely about to be a statistic on the news.

She only had a couple of minutes to compose herself when another car was parking beside her. He was early too. Of course, he was early. He needed to dig the hole he’d throw her body in. She sent a quick text to Gwyn, who’d promised to stay awake, letting her know she had parked – and so had Eris. A quick glance in the mirror made her grimace. Early mornings didn’t suit Nesta.

Eris gave a wave from his car – it was a massive jeep that dwarfed her little beetle. Nesta forced her legs out of the car, suddenly feeling overcome with nerves. Well, he was handsome – and looked like his pictures – at least.

‘Hi, Nesta,’ he said, voice deep and smooth. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you.’ He leant across to the passenger seat. ‘Hold on,’ he murmured to someone. ‘Wait a second.’

Nesta’s eyes widened. He’d brought an accomplice.

Eris produced a bunch of flowers and moved to her, bending slightly to kiss her on the cheek in greeting. ‘I brought a bottle of water to keep them in so they don’t die in the car.’

If he killed her, he was quite thoughtful, she decided.

‘I hope you don’t mind dogs. Sorry, I should I have asked.’

Nesta blinked, unsure what was happening as Eris’ hand clamped around the handle of the boot. He raised the door and a blur of orange swept towards her.

She was on her backside before she even registered how many dogs were launching themselves at her. Eris was there instantly, sweeping them away with sharp commands and helping her rise.

‘I am so sorry. They are never normally like that. Sit.’ All five sat at his feet. One struggled to sit for long, the smallest one, and was torn between shuffling forwards and sitting, tail wagging sheepishly. ‘You’re the first new person they’ve met since we moved. They must like you.’

‘Five.’ That was the only thing Nesta could think to say. Four were full grown Vizslas with floppy ears and long legs, their heads reaching as high as her waist. The fifth was still a puppy, one that hadn’t quite gotten the hang of commands yet.

‘Five,’ Eris repeated. ‘My mother breeds them. I can’t help but keep them.’

Nesta had a feeling that if she did not like dogs, it would be a deal breaker for him. Each dog had the same collar in a different shade, the tag with their name and address on was polished until it gleamed. Their nails were clipped, fur brushed.

‘Shall we go? If we set a good pace we should get to the top and back just after lunch.’

Lunch? That was hours and hours away. She’d only packed a handful of granola bars and a bottle of water.

‘What’s a good pace?’

‘Aim for about eleven minutes a mile? It’s steeper in some parts.’

Nesta’s throat dried up. The leisurely hike that she would have to slog through had switched to a run by the sound of it. ‘Fantastic, let’s go.’

Eris had barely broken a sweat, leading the way through the trail. His short red hair was cut and styled with a parting running along one side, the longer hair swept to the right The running gear was expensive and all pristine, right down to the shoes. She imagined he liked cycling too. He liked wearing the full lycra outfit and blocking up the road on sunny days in pursuit of fitness.

The dogs had started out alongside them then dispersed, running up and down, coming back to Eris when he called them.

He’d asked Nesta a number of questions – some they’d already covered over text – and she’d huffed and panted through an answer, barely able to form her own questions in return.

Every now and then, Eris would tank off ahead, not realising how quick he was going. Nesta would find herself watching his bare legs, admiring the size of his calf muscles as the gap grew. Then he’d slow and wait for her to catch up so she’d feel the pressure to hurry her lumbering run to meet him.

She’d played sports. She had a gym membership that the three of them would go to once a month to sit on the bikes and chat while they pedalled at a snail’s pace. She thought she could manage a hike. She probably could have managed an actual hike. Not this torture.

‘You do this often?’ Nesta managed.

Eris nodded, not a single hair on his handsome head out of place. ‘I do trail running to help with marathon running. I’m training for another ultra.’

‘Another what?’

‘Ultra. A centurion to be exact. One hundred miles. I’ve done a couple of fifty milers, so I decided it was time for a challenge.’

Nesta tried not to grimace. ‘And how long is this trail?’

‘This one’s an easy twelve miles.’

‘Practically a warm up,’ she grunted.

‘Exactly.’ Eris said brightly.

At this point, she’d take Cassian goading her and cutting into her speech every thirty seconds rather than running another minute. She glanced down at her watch. They had only been running for twenty minutes. Twenty of the longest minutes of her life.

On and on they went, through streams and up paths that had barely been trodden. Twice, she’d nearly rolled her ankle on loose pebbles. Dappled sunlight pierced through the thick canopy.

The puppy yelped up ahead then tried not to put weight on one foot.

‘We’ll have to stop a moment. I hope that’s alright.’

‘Not a problem.’

While Eris busied himself checking the puppy’s paws, Nesta took the chance to inhale as much air as she possibly could, trying to stop herself from vomiting.

‘Do you have asthma?’ Eris asked over his shoulder. ‘You sound quite wheezy.’

‘Allergies.’

Nesta tried to quieten her panting with her back facing him, but she still sounded like Darth Vader. Every muscle in her body was cramping. They’d travelled quite a way up the trail through pine forests now. If Eris pushed her from here, she might die – but it was appealing. Nesta glanced upwards at how far they still had to go. And then once they reached the top, they’d have to go all the way back down again. Perhaps should could hitch a ride on one of the dogs. That seemed the only way she would make it to the top.

‘Pine needle,’ he explained, brandishing one to Nesta. He scooped up the dog into his arms to carry a while and asked if she was ready to continue.

There had been bad dates. Awful dates. Terrible dates. This one had stolen the lead of worst date in history. Emerie would be insufferable. Eris, himself, was fine. Polite, engaging, but why a run for hours uphill? Most men just wanted to get her into bed.

Nesta kept one foot in front of the other, focusing on the blur of her once-pink-now-brown trainers to keep her going. The stitch in her stomach was not relenting. Her lungs were ready to burst and she wasn’t even sure how her heart was still beating.

She risked a look ahead to Eris who ran on with the dog in his arms, flanked by the other four, as if he was out for a leisurely jaunt.

The ground slipped beneath her feet. Her legs split open, but everything was spinning. Eris was yelling her name, but Nesta continued tumbling down a slope. She knocked against stones and her hands scrambled at undergrowth until she ploughed into a tree, stopping her fall.

A sharp pain stabbed at her lungs with each rasping inhale. The taste of blood was on her tongue.

Nesta forced her hands flat onto the ground to push herself up. She yelped at the agony lancing through her left leg.

A streak of orange pressed forwards, pushing her wet nose into Nesta’s face until she flopped face first back onto the forest floor.

‘Nesta. Nesta. Fucking hell. Nesta. Are you alright? Can you move?’

Eris’ face was stark white. She groaned and winced, forcing herself in a sitting position against the tree.

‘I think I slipped.’

‘I think so,’ Eris agreed, shaking his head in dismay. His hands trembled unzipping his rucksack. ‘I’ve got a first aid kit in here. Where’s the worst pain?’

‘My ankle. Knee. Ribs. Face.’

Eris helped her to take off her trainer through the swearing and gasping. Her ankle was already swelling with a blue bruise spreading from half-way up her foot.

‘Well, I think you look beautiful, but,’ Eris switched his phone to the front-facing camera.

There was a gash in her chin leaking blood down her neck. A bruise was coming up over her eyebrow and her lip was bloodied where she’d bitten down on it. Not to mention the leaves and twigs in her hair and the bright red face from running.

Eris was pressing his water bottle to her lips with one hand then rummaging for food with the other. He pulled out a banana – of course in a plastic guard – and peeled it for her.

‘Eat. You’re shaking.’

‘So are you.’

Still, she forced herself to eat while Eris cleaned her face. In the golden sun, his eyes appeared amber. It felt natural to be touched by him. She continued eating while he tilted her head up to clean her chin and put a large plaster over the top with pursed lips. His fingers picked the detritus from her hair then he was feeling her head for bumps. Once satisfied, she hadn’t hit her head, Eris was smoothing her hair into a ponytail.

She broke one of her granola bars in half and held a piece out for him.

‘Oh, no, thanks. I don’t tend to eat processed sugar.’

‘Of course, you don’t,’ she muttered.

Eris squatted in front of her, shame and disappointment washing over him. The puppy had settled itself in Nesta’s lap.

‘I suppose there won’t be a second date?’

‘If I knew this was the first date, I probably wouldn’t have shown up.’

‘But you told me that you’d done a trail run last week so I presumed you liked them.’

‘I did not,’ she scoffed.

Eris pulled out his phone, brows furrowed as he scrolled upwards through their conversation. ‘Here, you put “I’ve just done a trail run. It was perfect!”.’

Nesta clutched her hands over her face. ‘Typo. It was supposed to say trial. I’m an engineer. I’d built a product with my team and it had worked.’ She had to laugh or she’d cry.

‘You don’t run?’

‘Eris, I rarely do a brisk walk let alone a run uphill through the woods on a Saturday morning.’

A look of sheer mortification struck Eris’ face. ‘Why didn’t you say? Why have you ran all this way? We could have gone for a walk or to the cinema.’

‘Because I’m an idiot. My friends thought you’d be a serial killer and I think I would have preferred that to this.’

‘Nesta,’ he sighed, and her heart leapt at how gentle his voice was saying her name as if it were a secret he had to protect. He touched her face, his thumb lingering for a while. ‘Can you stand? I’ll carry you on my back down to the cars.’

‘You’ll carry me? All that way?’

‘I think you actually fell down a good third of it so I can manage the rest.’

‘Show off.’

Eris winked, eyes alighting with mischief to take the guilt from his expression. ‘Only for a beautiful woman.’

As gently as he could, Eris hoisted Nesta onto his back. His own bag was strapped to his front, and she wore hers on her back. She avoided sex on the first date, sometimes not even a kiss, so this was the most intimate she’d been on a first date in forever. Her legs straddling a man’s back and her arms wrapping around his neck for miles and miles.

‘If there was to be a second date, where would you like to go?’

‘I'd like a second date. I’d rather watch a sports game than exercise again.’

Eris nodded. ‘What sport?’

‘I used to play ice hockey. I like watching it still.’ She caught the surprised noise that passed between his lips. ‘I danced too then swapped to figure skating then my parents split up and they decided I needed a better outlet to channel my rage, so ice hockey practises on top.’

‘Are you full of rage?’

‘I used to be,’ she admitted regretfully. She had only mentioned to Eris that she had no contact with her father when he’d mentioned he didn’t get on with his own father. ‘My mom was a doctor and dad’s a business man. Both had affairs for years then finally decided to divorce. I stayed with her, we were always closer, and my two sisters wanted to stay with dad because they were his favourites. All was fine, I guess. Less arguments. Then my mum got sick. She had to stop working and all her savings went on health care. When she died, I had to move in with my dad and we just didn’t have anything in common. I was so angry I’d lost my mom and my home. I worked flat out, took part-time jobs on top of my studies, earned as many scholarships as I could. Went to college, supported myself with three jobs and worked myself to the bone because I didn’t want any of his money. I left and never looked back.’

‘Your sisters?’

‘We don’t have much in common. If I saw them then I’d speak to them, but we have different lives.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. What sort of engineer are you?’

It was much easier to talk when she was clinging to his back like a baby orangutan rather than panting behind him.

‘Aerospace. My team has a lot of computer programmers there too because we’re developing new technologies. You never said what you did.’

‘I didn’t, did I?’ He said cryptically.

‘Serial killer?’

Eris laughed, the sound vibrating against her body. ‘Can you reach my phone for me?’

Nesta leaned forwards, scrambling through his bag as if plunging her hand into a kangaroo’s pouch until she found it. He told her his passcode and asked her to call someone then hold the phone to his ear. Despite his demands, she supposed he was carrying her down a steep trail.

‘Hi, I’m driving Nesta home. She’s hurt her ankle. I’ve got the dogs with me. Can you take my car back? Great. Thirty minutes or so.’

Nesta waited a while for Eris to explain the phone call then when none came, she pressed him.

‘I have a driver. Just a few staff. I’ll drive your car home because you need to rest that ankle.’

Nesta spluttered. ‘A driver? What is it you do?’

‘I run a tech start-up,’ he explained, voice bordering on shy. ‘But my family are… They are in property, I suppose.’

‘All of them?’

‘Sure.’

‘You never said your surname.’

‘No. I guess I didn’t. It’s Vanserra.’

Nesta jailed her gasp. It was an old family whose name was known across the country. The Vanserra family had gained its substantial wealth through shipping and the railroads then expanding to luxury properties and palatial homes all around the country. And the heir to all that money was carrying her down a mountain ready to get into her beaten-up old car full of coffee cups and drive her home like the perfect gentleman.