Chapter Text
Elain was getting fed up of men declaring she was their wife.
Graysen, at least, wasn’t lying about it. But she certainly felt he lost points for saying it with a shard pressed threateningly to her chest and his hand wrapped around her throat. Her knife had scattered out of her hands from the attack, and she could see it laying out of reach in the dirt while she flailed helplessly against Graysen’s much larger body.
Lucien stayed where he was, his body tense and hunched. Fury coiled hot and wild in his eyes, staring at Graysen with the promise of death were he to do anything to hurt Elain.
The man above her laughed. “Look how well you have him trained. Did you have fun fucking that beast in my house?”
It was anger—possessive, jealous anger—that Graysen spat at her with his words. Elain was shocked it was something he cared about, given being locked in the cellar should have been the larger concern.
But he laughed, cruel as the glass dipping into her chest. “You think I couldn’t hear you from down there? Gods, did you really think it was human with the way it was shaking the house? Or did you spread your legs willing for a faerie bastar—“
Lucien cut him off with a furious growl, which only encouraged Graysen to tighten his grip on Elain’s throat. He used it to jerk her to her feet, his handling turning increasingly rough and impatient when she stumbled from the loss of balance.
“Here’s how this is going to work, fox .” Graysen jerked his chin back toward the cellar doors. “I have a nice little fox trap down there with your name on it. You’re going to get inside, and if you do anything else we’re both going to get to watch the light leave pretty Elain’s eyes.”
“You’re a bastard,” Elain hissed, disgusted that he spoke about her life as though it meant nothing to him at all.
And truly, what should he have expected? He was the one all of her initial hatred of Lucien was truly directed towards. He’d essentially bought her from the market like a pretty toy. It was him and his father who were famed for their cruelty.
“At least I’m not a whore,” he said back, pressing his fingers harder against her windpipe for emphasis.
Elain was beginning to feel lightheaded. Lucien was watching her intently, and he whimpered with concern when their eyes met.
She didn’t know what compelled her, but she found herself shaking her head. Run , she thought. Because Graysen would surely kill him, and despite everything Elain knew she would rather die than live to grieve Lucien. And how could she blame him for wanting this man dead?
Lucien, of course, ignored her. With fluffy ears pressed low, lips curled back in hatred, he skulked towards the cellar. Graysen followed, dragging Elain with him.
Her nose curled at the scent of the cellar. It stunk of excrement and urine—exactly as one might expect from a man who spent weeks locked down here, and so much worse. Blood and rot cling to the air, and she had a sense that many things had died in this cellar.
Mainly evidenced by the remains of a man collapsed in the corner—Lord Nolan, if she had to guess, though he was decomposed to the point where it would have been impossible to find a resemblance.
Elain started to gag and Graysen only held her tighter, hissing, “If I had to endure it, so do you.”
He grabbed for a fox trap, carved from the most peculiar blue stone. It was housed among several others, and Elain’s stomach twisted to see the evidence that Lucien was not the first. That fox in the foyer flashed back through her mind. She recalled the grief she had overheard from Lucien and Helion, and how the sickening trophy had disappeared after their trip to Velaris.
She wondered if targeting Lord Nolan and Graysen had been as much of a personal affair as it had been for her benefit.
The trap clattered as Graysen set it on the floor, raising an eye in challenge as he opened the front. Lucien complied with a flicking tail, ducking into the trap. It snapped shut behind him and Graysen released her the second it did.
Elain was certainly concerned for Lucien, but her stomach was heaving, demanding she get away from the sights and smells of the cellar. She darted up the steps so that she could fall to her knees outside and empty the contents of her stomach into a bush.
The sound of footsteps distracted her enough from her gagging that she was able to glance up, looking first to the eyes of Lucien. Trapped in the cage. His eyes were wide and sad, and Elain couldn’t help feeling he was trying to tell her something in his gaze.
I’m sorry , maybe. I love you. Whatever words poured out of a man who knew he was moments from dying.
She matched Graysen’s disgusted stare next. It wasn’t ladylike to vomit at the sight of decomposing bodies, clearly. Elain wiped her mouth, privately content with the idea that he found his prized wife off putting. “What are you going to do with him?” She asked, gaze flickering back to the fox.
He sneered. “Why, have you come to care for it?”
“I am asking my husband if he intends to kill something in our house,” she responded coldly, not missing the way Lucien winced when she called Graysen husband . “I think I have a right to know.”
“You are my wife,” he snapped. “You only have a right to what I deem worthy of you knowing.” She narrowed her eyes, staring at him expectantly until a muscle feathered in his jaw. He produced a pistol in his other hand, which told Elain enough about what he intended to do. “I’m going to avenge my father and my wife.”
Elain grit her teeth. He was not avenging his wife, he was avenging his pride. That his possession had been taken from him.
“Go inside, Elain,” Graysen snapped. He cocked the pistol. In warning or in preparation. Either way it made nausea turn in her stomach once more. “I’ll deal with you afterwards.”
“ Lucien ,” she choked, her throat becoming tight at the thought that this would be the last she’d ever seen of him. “I—“
“ Go.” Graysen jerked the cage to make his point, tossing Lucien’s small body against the metal bars. The fox made a hissing sound, from pain perhaps. Or more likely, swearing.
Stiffly, Elain scrambled to her feet. She didn’t let herself look at Lucien, only glared at Graysen with every ounce of surrendered hatred that he expected from a woman.
She walked as many steps toward the house as it took for Graysen to forget to ensure she obeyed him. Her knife still laid on the ground and, once he was out of earshot, she grabbed for it.
Could she sneak up on him, she wondered, and jam it into his back? Elain wasn’t certain she was strong enough to kill him that way, and with a loaded gun in his hand she thought it was risky even if she was certain she wouldn’t hesitate. And Elain did not feel certain. It wasn’t as though people just woke up one day prepared to kill the husband they thought their fake husband had already killed. She was still trying to wrap her head around it.
After a moment’s contemplation, Elain held her breath and dived back into the disgusting cellar. There was indeed all manner of weaponry inside. It seemed foolish that Lucien would lock someone in here, but the opened medicine kit and emergency rations splayed over the work table made her wonder if Graysen had been left for dead and simply survived despite the odds.
She grabbed for a pistol, despite being uncertain how to use one. She had seen Graysen cock it. Simply aim and pull the trigger, right? Elain prayed it had bullets, but there was no time to learn how to check. She was nearly out of breath and Graysen could be readying to shoot Lucien any second.
They’d gone in the direction of the woods on the far end of the property. Elain raced after them, wincing against the stones and wild grass that pressed into her bare feet.
It was dark once she descended into the trees. The sun wasn’t high enough to break through the canopy, and Elain needed to squint to navigate her surroundings. She tried her best to harness her own inner-fox as her feet touched the mossy carpet to smother the sound of her steps. She couldn’t let Graysen know she had followed.
“You should be thanking me,” she heard him say. Elain sank crouched behind a tree as she tried to get in range. How far could a pistol shoot? “This is a quicker death than you deserve.”
He pointed the gun barrel to the cage, fingers poised on the trigger. Elain acted in blind panic. Her fingers were shaking—her whole body, in fact. But all she could see was Lucien, trapped in a cage and snarling at the man about to take his life. Something tugged sharply in her chest, a cord bounding her to Lucien that was stronger than any empathy or fear.
Hot rage flooded her senses. And a ferocious instinct narrowed her world to one, singular thought. Mate .
A gunshot. Once.
Twice.
Elain had never been close to a firing gun before. She was not prepared for the way the explosions rang through her ears and reverberated through the trees. Graysen stumbled, and Elain dropped the hot metal from her hand in favor of launching herself at him.
All she could hear was that second gunshot. Fired after her own, likely in Graysen’s shock at being shot—not anywhere substantial.
It was his leg that he clutched, blood running between his fingers. And all Elain could think was that it was not enough. She shrieked as she tackled Graysen to the ground, finding he went down easy thanks to the injury in his leg.
There was no hesitation. That knife was still in her hands and it was no longer only for protection. It was for vengeance. She stabbed it down blindly, not even paying attention to where she lodged it into his chest. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop until he was dead.
Over and over, until her mind was numb to the sensation of blade sliding through skin, until she no longer registered the blood splattering her clothes and seeping into her red cape, until Graysen had stopped scrambling and gone limp beneath her, until Lucien whimpered where he sat in the cage.
Until Lucien whimpered where he sat in the cage.
Unti—
The knife clambered to the forest floor, splashing where it hit the puddle of blood. Elain practically tripped over Graysen’s body in her scramble to get to the cage, paying no attention to the pool she sat in.
There was only Lucien. Only Lucien—Alive, alive, alive .
A fox, and a liar, and a killer, but alive.
She found she could forgive the rest as she opened the cage. The fox slid out, and light shattered through the trees, so bright Elain needed to look away. She blinked the spots from her vision, staring blankly at the fox that was no longer a fox. He was a naked man, with golden brown skin and worried eyes. Her husband that was no longer her husband.
She had two of those now.
“Elain.” It was the first time she’d heard his voice in over a day. Rasped from disuse but rich and lovely all the same.
She couldn’t fathom why, but hearing it made her cry.
Lucien wasted no time in gathering her into his lap, and she pressed her face into his bare chest as sobs wracked through her body, pushing the air out of her lungs on trembling breath.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, rocking her gently. “It’s okay.”
“You’re not my husband,” she whispered. Like it was the most pressing issue, despite the dead body that laid beside them.
“I don’t care what a piece of paper says.” He held her tighter. “ You are my wife and… and so much more.”
“Mate,” she said through a sniffle, and Lucien went stiff. She glanced up at his ruinously beautiful face, noting the way his eyes had gone wide. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re equals.” Something tugged in her chest again, like a string tied around her rib. It seemed to pull her towards Lucien, a beautiful golden thread that bound their souls together. His eyes were so soft as he stared at her. Blood covered and splotched cheeked as she was, he still looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.“It means you’re my wife in every way that matters.”
“And you killed people,” she whispered.
“ We killed people,” he clarified, with a kiss to her forehead. There was pride glimmering in his voice, like it was an accomplishment and not something she would need to live with.
Elain searched his face, thinking of all the servants that had disappeared. “How many?”
“Only the Lord,” he said darkly. “Though the son was supposed to be dead as well. I thought they both were when I tossed their bodies into the cellar.”
“The servants?”
“Were glamoured to believe their master had dismissed them.”
Elain did not know what a glamour was, but she understood enough to breathe a sigh of relief. Still, she searched his face, so many questions still swimming in her mind. Most prominently: “Why kill Lord Nolan and Graysen?”
His eyes glinted. “He was going to marry my ma—”
“But there was something else,” Elain prompted, fixing him with a look that warned not to lie to her. She had a feeling he would be getting used to it. “Wasn’t there?”
Lucien swallowed, eyes flickering to where Graysen lay bloodied on the forest floor. Slowly, he nodded. “They killed my mother.”
Once again, Elain put the pieces together too slowly. The funeral she had overheard, the woman they had been mourning… “The fox,” she whispered, horrified to think of what they had done to her. “The fox in the entryway?”
His jaw clenched. “I was already on my way to kill them when I ran into you.”
Elain had too young when her mother died. But if it had been any one of her sisters… She understood the bloodlust. They were still sitting in the result of that very same brand of vengeance. To think, after the days these secrets had hung over her and yet they all unraveled in the space of a morning. And with it, her anger.
“And you already knew…” She thought of that adorable face that watched her through the blackberry brambles. “You already knew I was your mate then?”
“From the first moment I laid eyes on you.” His finger stroked through her blood streaked hair. The touch shocked through her, electrifying every nerve. She had missed touching him in his human form, and she might have pressed to touch him more if she couldn’t tell he was considering something. After a long moment, he sighed. “There is something else you should know.”
Elain wasn’t certain she could handle knowing anything else. Certainly not when he introduced it with such dread in his voice. She slumped into his chest and shut her eyes, voice small as she asked, “What is it?”
“Mating bonds can be accepted or rejected.” Oh . Elain relaxed, having expected far worse news. Perhaps Lucien feared her rejection.
She opened her eyes to see that he was staring at her so cautiously, gauging her reaction. Feeling suddenly timid, she asked, “Is it like being married?”
That made him laugh, softly. “In a way, yes.”
“Then I accept,” she answered. It was fascinating, the way his eyes immediately softened, his mouth parted open with gentle shock. It was clear he couldn’t believe it was that easy.
“You do?”
“Of course.” She frowned, his reaction suddenly making her doubt her resolve. “Why? Is there something awful I have to do to accept?”
“No.” He looked sheepish. “You have… already accepted. The day we met in the woods. A mating bond is accepted when a male is fed by his female.”
Fed by his…
Would you like some berries?
Elain sat up, smacking at the hard muscle of his chest with her open palm. “You ate the blackberries knowing it would accept the bond!?”
“You said you accept!” Lucien protested, gently deterring each of her attacks with his forearm. She had laid in bed with him enough times to know he was likely enjoying her being rough with him, and that made her want to smack him harder.
“Not then !”
“But now ,” he said, snatching her wrist. Elain was hapless to the way he tugged her closer until she was straddling his still very naked lap, her soaked cape and skirts likely smearing blood over his skin. If Lucien cared, he made no indication. He was far too busy fixing those ridiculously adoring eyes over her face. “You accept it now?”
Elain gave up fighting him. With a sigh, she gave in to the pull of her body that demanded she touch him, comfort him. There was no use denying she had strayed too far from the path to ever turn back. “I accept.”
The sun had come up enough, now, that it filtered through the trees, illuminating Lucien’s brilliant smile. She could have sworn he was the happiest man in the world at that very moment, the way he beamed brightly at her before warm hands framed her face and his soft lips were on hers.
He tasted like the wind on a crisp Autumn day, rich and wild and haunting. Elain had run freely through that wind as a little girl, and now it embraced her, drew her in and pulled her close until she became a part of it, too. Elain’s mouth opened beneath his, and she swore a piece of her soul heaved a sigh of relief as the final notch finally fell into place.
It felt like becoming, like surrendering, like finally letting her soul break loose.
And letting the wild in.
Elain had killed Lord Graysen before the sun had finished rising off the horizon that morning, and she and Lucien had fled the manor before it had finished its path across the sky. Neither of them had very many items of sentimental value hidden away in the manor, and their servants would be discreetly coming with them in separate carriages.
She wondered how long it would take the authorities to discover Lord Nolan and Graysen were dead. When they did, would they think her a victim or an instigator? Not that it mattered, when they were fleeing to one of the most influential Lords on the continent.
Helion. Her father -in-law. Of sorts.
He was nothing short of delighted when their carriage rolled up, unannounced.
“Miss me already?” He teased, light dancing in his eyes as he watched his son step off the carriage. He bowed to Elain when she emerged. “Your beauty remains astounding, Lady. Has your husband calmed enough that I may give you a hug?”
Elain laughed at Lucien’s disgruntled expression. “My mate has learned how to behave himself much better,” she said, feeling a warmth bubbling in her chest at being able to contribute to their affectionate teasing. “I promise we will be well mannered guests.”
“We won’t be guests at all,” Lucien interjected, gliding between them to accept a hug on Elain’s behalf. Because, despite her words, he was still horribly territorial.
“You never were,” Helion said earnestly to Elain from over Lucien’s shoulder. “You have always been family, which means that this is your home.”
Home . This beautiful palace, headed by the warm, wonderful Lord Helion and his charming son. The girl who had ventured down the path from her sister’s cottage would never have believed it, the warmth and love that existed in the place she would be calling home .
Lucien pulled away so that he could offer Elain a sly smile over his shoulder. “I promised my mate she would want for nothing.”
Helion nodded enthusiastically. It seemed he was just as doting as his son as he agreed, “Anything you want and it is yours, Elain.”
She understood, at least, where her husband's devotion came from. Elain’s heart wept with sorrow to think of the relationship Helion must have had with Lucien’s mother—his mate, Lucien had explained in the carriage. The two days trip had been devoid of the fucking they had done last time. Which had been a result of a frenzy brought on by the mating bond.
Elain wanted to scream at all of the things she had been blissfully oblivious to. It was why she felt no shame in asking this of Helion. He had been well aware of the secrets his son kept, and she would be reminding them both of it for a long while to come.
“Do you think you could get a letter to my sisters in the village?” Hope squeezed in her chest. “It would need to be done discreetly.”
At Helion’s searching glance, Lucien elaborated, “Elain murdered her husband. The authorities will likely be searching for her.” He clicked his tongue. “Such a vicious killer, my mate.”
Helion’s laughter interrupted the biting remark she had prepared. His eyes were sparkling with that same mischief that lived in Lucien. “I have a friend who owes me a favor. Consider it done, Lady.”
It was the final thing plaguing her. Feyre had last seen Elain fighting back tears on her doorstep, promising to return the next day. Its possible no one had discovered Graysen and Nolan’s bodies yet, but regardless her sisters would be worried that she had never turned up or sent word. And if the authorities ever did show up, her sisters would probably assume that she had been the culprit—and that Graysen had deserved it.
She wondered what they would think of the fae. Elain supposed she couldn’t force them to come live with them in Velaris, but she hoped they would at least consider it.
“Come inside, then,” Helion hailed, grabbing them both by the arms. “We have a mating and a first kill to celebrate!”
“Do you think she’ll ever write?”
It had been two weeks since the day the authorities showed up at their cottage door to ask after Elain. Feyre had been honest when she said she hadn’t seen her sister in over a month, though she would have given the same answer even if it weren’t true.
Their final parting played over endlessly in her mind. Elain had looked terrified when they’d hugged each other goodbye. Whatever Graysen had done that had driven her to murder, Feyre hoped the bastard rotted in his grave. Just like his abusive father.
It was a conversation Feyre and Nesta entertained frequently with each other. Puzzling out how sweet, gentle Elain could have become a killer, and where she might have fled. Feyre only hoped that wherever she was, she was safe. Happy, hopefully.
Nesta sighed. The conversation was always painful to her. Unlike Feyre, she didn’t get a last goodbye, and Feyre was certain that troubled her. “Not if she’s smart. The authorities will be intercepting all our mail. I hope she’ll stay wherever she’s hidden and forget about us.”
It was the same answer she always gave. Feyre wondered if she truly felt that way. Perhaps it was unwise, but Feyre hoped that one day Elain would find a means to provide them with answers. At the very least, to let them know she was okay.
A movement in the brush caught her eye. They had been sitting outside their cottage to enjoy the sunset. The shadows of the forest were elongated at this time of day, which meant she had trouble spotting the creature at first.
But there, black as night as it slunk through the bush, was a cat that watched them with such human intelligence it made her skin crawl. Their eyes met, and Feyre felt herself relax as she held its gaze.
“Look, Nesta.”
Nesta turned her head, following Feyre’s stare until she, too, was studying the odd cat. She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t encourage it, Feyre. It’s probably a stray.”
Its expression hardly changed, yet Feyre had the distinct impression that it was smirking at them. Come play , its eyes said. Come see . She studied it carefully, wondering why she felt such a pull. Some force was demanding she look closer.
Eventually, her eyes caught at the ribbon tied around its neck.
Her eyes widened. “No, look. It has something tied around its neck.” Feyre stood up, approaching the cat carefully. “Here, kitty.”
The cat came closer and Feyre outstretched her hand so it could sniff. She’d heard that was how one should greet strange animals, yet the cat ignored it entirely in favor of stroking itself against Feyre’s leg. “What a sweet thing you are,” she cooed, scratching it around the ears. It purred, craning its neck into her touch, which gave her the opportunity to slip the note away from the ribbon.
She unraveled it, still absently scratching at the cat’s neck while she peered over the scrawled note. Nesta came over, her curiosity finally winning over her distaste for the animal.
The note was in Elain’s handwriting:
Dear sisters,
I hope my friend has managed to deliver this message to you. As the authorities have likely discovered, Lord Graysen is dead. I am safe in Velaris and I encourage you both to come to the city at once. I will see you both suitably looked after once you get here.
With the most heartfelt affection,
Your sister,
Elain
P.s. You will both be aunties by the end of summer.
“She’s pregnant,” Feyre marveled, uncertain whether to be overjoyed or horrified. “Do you think it’s Lord Graysen’s?”
Feyre secretly hoped her sister had found a lover to run away with, and that she had a fantastically scandalous love story to tell when they next saw each other.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nesta snapped. “Of course it’s Graysen’s. She must be terrified.”
That hung in the air for a moment. Both of them mourning what Elain had to endure. Watching her leave down that iron dusted path the day she was to be married was the hardest day of Feyre’s life. That helplessness… It made her sick to think how Elain must have felt. And now to be a mother, widowed.
It made Feyre want to cry. She did not know how they would get to Velaris, since they hardly had the money to hire a carriage. But Feyre knew they would get there by any means necessary, to be with their sister through her pregnancy.
“I’m burning this letter,” Nesta said from where she’d been reading over her shoulder. Feyre huffed as the paper was sntached from her hands, not bothering to turn as Nesta’s footsteps retreated inside the cottage.
She was still absently stroking the cat. With the letter gone, she turned its attention back to running her fingers through its soft blue-black fur. It was most peculiar color she had ever seen. She longed to paint it, wondering exactly what colors she’d use to achieve such a unique shade. The cat had rolled onto its side, eyes half-lidded as it pressed its head closer into her touch.
“What a clever thing,” she praised, thinking of the journey it must have had to get here all the way from Velaris. “I wonder how Elain was able to get you here. Did you stowaway in someone’s carriage?”
It was hardly listening to her, far too preoccupied with the attention she was providing it with her fingers. She laughed, strangely endeared to the creature despite never being too fond of cats.
“ Nesta ,” Feyre called. “Will you bring out some of that cooked chicken?”
“You shouldn’t feed it,” Nesta grumbled, carrying out a piece of chicken despite her words. Nesta would never admit it, but she had always had a soft heart for animals. Feyre still remembered the way she had puked the first time they’d gone hunting together. “It will never leave if you do.”
The cat cracked open one eye, looking very much as though it found that prospect appealing.
Feyre accepted the piece of chicken, studying the sleek creature. There was an awareness to it that was unlike any cat she had ever encountered. Objectively, she knew that should make her wary. But Elain had been the one to send the thing, after all. “I suppose we should take it back to Elain, shouldn’t we?”
She turned, enough to see how put out Nesta looked at the suggestion. Feyre laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said to the cat. “I’m sure she’ll warm up to you eventually.”
The cat made a face as though it didn’t believe her. Judging by Nesta’s huff of breath, and the way she stormed back inside, Nesta didn’t believe her either. Stubborn creatures, all around. Feyre thought her heart must have a unique affection for them.
She placed the chicken in her palm and held it out carefully. “Eat, sweet little thing. You must be hungry from your long journey.”
The cat sat up, studying the food in her palm curiously. It looked up at her, expression oddly contemplative. For a moment, Feyre swore its eyes had been the most vivid amethyst.
A trick of the light, surely.
Having made up its mind, the cat stretched forward and sniffed curiously at the chicken in her hand. Then, careful of its sharp teeth, it opened its mouth against her flat palm. She felt the scrape of its tongue as it ate the piece of chicken right out of her hand.
And once the chicken was gone, and any remnants on her hand licked clean, she could have sworn the cat smiled at her.