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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

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Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood

A/N: So, we're told in ACOMAF and ACOWAR that mating instincts ride the males hard and that you should never come between a male and his mate, but one of my biggest gripes with ACOSF is that we never really see that from Cassian. Like come on, SJM! I want to see the Lord of Bloodshed go into Mate Mode(tm)! And so, I decided to write this. I recognize it may not be everyone's cup of tea, so remember that the back button is free, but for everyone else, enjoy! :)

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The tug between Cassian’s ribs is so sudden, so harsh, that he almost drops to his knees right then and there. That golden thread securely tucked there squeezes tight enough that it steals the breath straight from his lungs, twisting and writhing in his chest until he can do nothing except press a palm against his side in hopes of alleviating the pain, until he's sure that he must be bruised. He’s half aware of Devlon watching him curiously, of the other camp lords still sitting around the table, but all Cassian can focus on is the way his blood has run cold, on the ringing that’s taken up home in his ears all from that one tug.

Tentatively, he reaches for the golden thread within himself, sending his confusion and concern down the bond. He skates a finger along it, keeping his touch featherlight, before he plucks, a small, urging question. And then, with bated breath, he waits. Waits for the tug in response. Waits for the soothing feeling that’s not his own to rush through him and calm his worry.

But it never comes.

In fact, there’s almost nothing on the other end of the bond. Just silence. Just an empty, yawning void that has the hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck standing up, that has the pounding in his ears turning into a deafening roar. Genuine fear sparks through his veins, ice cold where it digs its claws into his mind and sends his heart stuttering. He reaches for that golden thread again, tugging more urgently this time, but still nothing.

Something’s wrong.

Cassian knows that Rhys had sent Nesta and Mor to the human lands on some sort of reconnaissance mission. Azriel’s network had gotten some concerning information through the vine, so the High Lord sent Nesta and Mor to blend in with the women of some village and see if they could get more details. It was supposed to be an easy in, easy out mission. He’d even arranged this war meeting in Illyria for when she was gone so he’d be back in time to welcome her home, even had tickets ready for them for the Velaris ballet.

But now, all he has is a silent bond, that single moment of fear twined in that hard tug that festers and burns with his own.

Without a backward glance, Cassian storms out of the room, ignoring Devlon calling after him. As soon as he steps outside into the biting snow of Illyria, Cassian unfurls his wings wide behind his back and takes to the skies. He keeps a hard and fast pace as he tears through the clouds, pushing himself and pushing himself and pushing himself. His back and wings ache with the exertion, but it’s nothing compared to the ache that throbs in his chest like an open wound. Nothing compared to the bloodied and bruised shreds of his heart at the thought of something happening to Nesta.

His mind keeps playing an endless loop of possibilities, each one worse than the last. He tries to imagine a scenario where it’s all a big misunderstanding, where he arrives back in Velaris and Nesta is there with that softness that takes over her stormy blue eyes when she sees him, with that sweet smile meant only for him, and they’ll laugh about this whole thing. But there’s no denying that niggling doubt, those whispers in the back of his mind. They fuel his fear, taunt him, and soon all Cassian can see each time he blinks is the sight of Nesta’s eyes open but unseeing, the color completely leached from her face, seared on the back of his eyelids.

It drives Cassian to push himself even harder, to fly even faster. Each beat of his wings, each thunderous hammer of his heart, it all pounds in time with that twisting thread between his ribs, in time with that call that blazes through his soul.

Nesta Nesta Nesta

He lands hard enough that his knees groan and ache, but he doesn’t care. He presses his hand against the wards, an incessant flash of red sparking in front of him, and steps inside the River House. Rhys steps into the view at the top of the stairs almost as soon as he’s through the front door, as though he was expecting him. The wariness pinching the corner of his brother’s eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, it confirms all of Cassian’s worst fears. Bile claws up the back of his throat, tangling with the lump already lodged firmly there.

“Where’s Nesta?” Cassian forces out.

“Cass…” Rhys starts slowly, holding his hands up placatingly. Cassian doesn’t miss the way his brother shifts his feet, resetting his stance like he’s expecting a fight.

Cassian is about to ask his question again when Madja comes bustling into the River House behind him, rushing up the stairs and past Rhys. The sight of the healer jolts Cassian into action, and he follows hot on her heels down the hall and into one of the bedrooms, but his steps stutter to a stop when he realizes it’s Mor sprawled across the blankets, holding her hand against a wound in her side.

Cassian whirls back around, ready to check every other bedroom until he finds his mate, but he comes face to face with Rhys again. His brother is still wearing that cautious expression, face still pinched and body still tense like Cassian is some sort of wounded animal he needs to treat with care.

“Where is Nesta?” Cassian demands again.

Rhys holds his ground and raises his chin, his eyes glancing over Cassian’s shoulder only briefly before landing back on Cassian’s face. “There was an ambush. I don’t know how the mortals knew we’d be there, knew who Mor and Nesta were, but there were two dozen of them… with ash arrows.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Where is she?”

“When I got there, Mor was already badly injured. She was going to bleed out if I didn’t get her out of there and to a healer.”

Cassian can feel his patience hanging on by a thread, stepping closer to Rhy and growling out, “where is my mate?”

Cassian feels the press of Rhys’s magic against him, the darkness that begins to creep and rumble from the corners of the room, as Cassian stares his brother down, but Rhys is unmoving, undeterred. He continues to meet Cassian’s blazing gaze, his face and voice an even calm that grates against the last shreds of Cassian’s nerve endings, the last of his sanity.

“I had to make a choice, and I made it.”

It takes a moment for the words to really sink in, to understand exactly what Rhys is telling him, and when it does, it’s a bucket of ice water over his head. He stumbles back a step in his shock. His stomach roils and drops all the way to his shoes, his blood crystalizing into ice, as he chokes out, “what?”

Rhys looks away then, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I used too much of my magic winnowing there already, and Nesta was too far away. I couldn’t get to her without risking Mor, without risking both of us, so I did what I had to do and winnowed us out of there.”

Cassian doesn’t think he’s breathing. He’s sure that his heart isn’t beating because it’s lost somewhere in the human lands, lost with Nesta. “You…” Cassian swallows hard, finding his voice again. “You left her there? In the middle of an ambush?”

“I’m sorry, Cass. I really am.”

“No, you’re not.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Cassian has always known that Rhys isn’t exactly Nesta’s biggest fan. From the moment they met the sisters, from that first meeting at the manor in the mortal lands, Rhys has always held a certain animosity for the eldest Archeron. He’s always held onto that cool resentment on Feyre’s behalf for what happened when the sisters were young. And despite what happened with the human queens, despite what Nesta did during the War, despite what she did for Feyre and Nyx, that tension has never quite dissipated, that contempt is still there.

“If you were really sorry, why didn’t you go back for her?” Cassian continues, shaking his head in disbelief. “After you got Mor back to Velaris, why didn’t you go back?”

Rhys sighs as if this whole conversation is exhausting. “I just told you. My magic was depleted by winnowing that far, and they had ash arrows. I couldn’t risk it.”

“But you could risk Nesta, right?”

Cassian can feel his disbelief at this whole situation quickly morphing into anger. He can feel the heat of it just beneath his skin where it blazes through his veins. The beast deep within his soul thrashes against its restraints, hackles raised at the idea of any harm coming to Nesta. That rage burns and roars as it twists in dark, crackling tendrils in his chest. It urges him to fight, to raze the whole world to the ground until the debt is paid, until all of Prythian understands the mistake of risking the Lord of Bloodshed’s mate.

“It’s what she would have wanted,” Rhys continues, still using that too calm voice. “You know that. Nesta understood the mission, the importance.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cassian snaps, stepping forward again until he and Rhys are toe to toe, glowering down at him. “Don’t you dare speak of her when you left her to die.”

“Calm down,” Rhys speaks slowly, violet eyes flickering in warning.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What if it was Feyre? What if I left Feyre in the middle of an ambush surrounded by ash arrows? What if I left your mate for dead?”

“Don’t.”

The low tone of Rhys’s voice lets Cassian know he’s hit his mark. That magic and darkness presses a little bit harder, those violet eyes turning cold, clearly unimpressed with the underlying threat toward his mate. Cassian almost wants to laugh hysterically, seeing his own feelings mirrored back to him. It’s a sickening type of vindication.

“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” Cassian continues to drawl, not backing down, the red of his siphons flickering in time with Rhys’s own magic. “I would risk it for Feyre. I would go back for her because I know how much she means to you, but you don’t care. You’ve never forgiven Nesta, not really, and now, you finally got the chance to wash your hands clean of her.”

“Cassian—”

“Where?” Cassian interrupts, taking a step back finally and adjusting the straps of his leathers and preparing for a long flight. “Give me the coordinates. I’ll go get Nesta myself.”

Cassian side-steps around Rhys and heads for the stairs, but Rhys is hot on his heels. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you fly all the way to the mortal lands and potentially walk head first into an attack.”

“Try and stop me,” Cassian dares, whirling around with a snarl of warning. “Being mated and a father has made you soft, Rhysand. Do you really think you could take me?”

The temperature in the room starts to drop, Cassian’s siphons flaring brighter in response as magic scrapes along his spine. He’s been itching for a fight since the moment he stepped through the doors, instincts gnawing at his every nerve ending and riding him hard until his hands are clenching into fists, his fingers twitching with the urge to drive into Rhys’s face.

But he doesn’t have time for this.

Nesta is gods know where in the mortal lands, in the Mother knows what state, and he needs to get to her. He waited five hundred years for her. Five hundred years to hold her. Five hundred years to love her. And he’ll be damned if he loses her now. Damned if he fails her again. Damned if he doesn’t save her when he wasn’t there to protect her in the first place.

He turns back around and storms down the stairs, striding toward the door without looking back. His blood has already started to thunder again, that same beat of Nesta Nesta Nesta as he stretches his wings to warm them up.

“Cassian, stop,” Rhys calls after him, but Cassian merely rolls his eyes. “I am ordering you as your High Lord.”

Cassian can feel the magic of the order as it slinks across his skin, taste it on the back of his tongue, but he’s quick to shake it off with a scoff, yanking open the front door. “Fuck off.”

“You step out that door, you won’t be welcome back in this Court.”

Cassian turns over his shoulder, settling Rhys with a deathly cold look. “Good luck finding a new General then.”

Rhys looks genuinely taken aback by that, blinking a few times in surprise. “You’d really throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for? Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“Nesta is everything I’ve ever wanted. And you knew that. And you still—” Cassian can’t choke the word out, can’t fathom a world where Nesta, his Nesta, his beautiful, smart, amazing mate is gone.

A world where Rhys killed her.

With one last shake of his head, Cassian steps out of the River House and onto the streets of Velaris, the door slamming behind him. It feels strange and wrong to step onto these streets knowing Nesta isn’t here. Knowing that her quiet steps won’t fill the bookshop in the Rainbow. Knowing that her soft laughter won’t fill her favorite bakery by the river. That fear from before grips Cassian tight enough that his steps almost stumble, but he stretches his wings out wide behind him nonetheless, siphons flaring in anticipation.

He’s going to get her back. Even if it’s the last thing he does.

—

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