#elnabu

“Leave me alone,” she said. Though she had every intention of snapping at him, it was the weakness of her voice that surprised them both into silence.

“I wasn’t finished talking,” he said, more gently this time. “Why did you just leave?”

She looked up at Cassian, with his sharp jawline and shining eyes and beautiful hair. His wings were out on either side of them, keeping them pressed to the wall, but his arms were also braced on either side of her shoulders. He wasn’t going to let her fall. She was stunned that he cared so much about her.

But if she was to tell him about the bond…surely he wouldn’t want her. She knew she wasn’t lovable like Elain or a warrior like Feyre. She wasn’t a queen like Mor. She was a rather plain elder sister, who let her youngest do the work to keep them all alive. And, she remembered, Cassian knew that. He’d known the day they went to Spring to rescue Lucien — practically told her she was at fault. It wasn’t an easy burden to bear, but it was easier knowing the bond aligned them.

As soon as she didn’t have that…as soon as he found out and rejected her…

“Nesta,” he said again. “What’s going on?”

“You scared me,” she offered, not even sure where she was going with the thought but trying, for the sake of her heart, to tell as much truth as possible to her mate.

He looked stung. She didn’t know why. She could barely remember what he was saying in the moment she panicked.

“They make me feel like I’ll be alone forever.”

Cassian’s eyes turned so unbelievably sad that Nesta wrapped her fingers around one of his wrists beside her head.

“I felt like that,” he said, “before I met Rhys and Azriel. Mor did, too, before she had us. I promise it gets better.”

She instantly felt bad; her life had been so short in comparison. He’d likely been alone longer than she’d been alive. And she even had happy memories from her childhood, to a point.

“And, you know, Feyre and Rhys are the exception. You know how much I want what they have? They’re everything for each other. I’ve never seen him so whole — does that even make sense?”

She nodded, and though his eyes never left her face he barely paused for her to agree.

“They talk down the bond and spend weeks in the cabin and there is no doubt, none, in their minds that they want each other. Can you imagine trusting someone that much? Loving someone that much?”

Nesta thought she might combust. He wanted trust and love and a mate, and all he had was her.

“Someone would always want you,” he said, his voice so sincere it made her heart hurt. “But, Nes, not everyone gets that. And you can still love someone just as much, even if you don’t have a mate —”

“I do,” she said, the words jumping from her mouth of their own accord, her face whitening before she even realized what she’d said.

They stared at each other.

“Already?”

She nodded once, her eyes welling inexplicably. And he would ask who, now. He would have to know. And she would lose him.

He only looked bewildered. “Then what are you so afraid of? You won’t be alone forever! The Cauldron assigned someone to you.”

Now she was shaking her head, eyes closed, trying desperately to keep herself from crying.

“Sweetheart…”

“He doesn’t want me,” she said. “He couldn’t love me.”

“You’ve told him? He said that?” Cassian’s forearm flexed under her hand. “Who was it? Someone in our court? Azriel? Oh Gods, was it Tamlin?”

She shook her head harder. “I haven’t.”

“Then how do you know?” he asked, his tone exasperated.

“Because it’s you,” she snapped, opening her eyes and pressing her palms against his shoulders to move his face away from hers. Two tears dropped onto her cheeks as if he’d already rejected her.

“Nesta,” he said again, inching toward her as if she wouldn’t notice. “Why did you say I wouldn’t want you?”

There were about a thousand reasons, obviously, so she just went with the first. “Look at me.”

She felt a brief wave of bafflement down the bond for a second before it cut off sharply, like he’d tried to block it. “I mean, you were attractive as a human. But now…”

Nesta’s hands reached up to her ears unconsciously.

“Now,” he continued firmly, “you’re strong from training. You’re capable of flying and winnowing. And you’re immortal, which is a plus. Why is this a negative?”

She barreled on. “You don’t like that Rhys is making you train me. You act like I’m dumb every time you talk about Feyre and Rhys’s bond. You—”

“Nes, come on. I don’t think you’re dumb.”

“You always say I won’t understand!”

“Well I didn’t know you had a mate,” he said, clearly exasperated even without the bond sending her his every emotion. He was only a few feet from her now — why wasn’t he getting tired?

“And,” she said, scrambling for more negatives. She didn’t have any. She loved him. What could she possibly say? If only she could convince him to give her some time. If only he had liked he just a little more when she’d spilled the truth. Then she wouldn’t have to talk him out of it at all.

“And?” He asked impatiently. “Does Rhys know? He must. He can’t not know.”

“You don’t like me,” she said, going with the truth out of desperation. If he felt forced to love her, especially after what happened with Mor, he’d never want her. Never. At least if he refused her now he’d save her future pain. “You couldn’t love me.”

He didn’t bother blocking the despair on the bond; he rather flung it at her, forcing her to feel how totally unwanted her words made him feel. Her body actually hurt with the force of his pain. She never wanted him to feel like this again, ever, she —

That’s when his wings gave out.

She rocketed after his falling form, the idiot, who had stayed with her rather than landing like he was supposed to. As she flew, she grew her wings out to their original size. She remembered Mor mocking her wingspan that first day, and stretched them even wider than that.

Any emotion she felt was blocked by utter panic.

When she caught him around the waist, latching on with every muscle, all she could do was press her face into his neck and let her wings act as a parachute.

They slowed.

She exhaled shakily against his shoulder, not looking up until she felt him bump gently against the ground. He was on his back. She was on his chest. She vanished her wings to remove their weight.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes searching his. “I’m so sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to push you, I —”

Feyre guides her broom to the lawn, settling down beside Mor. “Only one summer left with me anyway, princess, so you don’t have to suffer much longer.”

“Hey,” Mor says, tossing the quaffle at Feyre, who catches it. “No nostalgia until next summer.”

“And not even then,” Feyre says. It’s become a mantra over the past few months as they’ve tried not to think about how everything is almost over.

Yesterday at Diagon Alley, Mor had almost cried while Feyre was buying her sixth pet toad. When Feyre asked why, she could barely explain that if the toad actually lived past Christmas this time, they’d never buy another one together ever again. She was so offended that Feyre laughed at her that she didn’t speak to her again until they reached the quidditch shop for their annual Five Minutes Staring At The Winnower.

Feyre looks down at her Ash Arrow, feeling guilty for wanting something better. She’d earned her place as captain with this broom.

“Come on,” Mor says, taking the quaffle back from Feyre. “My cousin will be here any minute.”

Feyre groans dramatically, following her inside.

“Fey. He’s not that bad.”

“Not bad? He’s my arch nemesis. He’s won the Cup for Slytherin every year we’ve been playing!”

Mor mouth quirks up. “He’s a pretty nice guy.”

“Tamlin always said he wasn’t.”

“And what do we always say about Tamlin?”

Feyre sighs. “He’s a tool.”

“Right. Now go shower. Rhys will be here in, like, three minutes. You want to make a good impression now that you’re on the market,” Mor says, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“He’s only ever seen me playing quidditch,” Feyre says, leaning her broom against the kitchen wall and starting up the stairs. “He already knows how not cute I can be.”

“Luckily for you,” Mor says, heading toward the door, “he’s into athletes.”