In Love and War (8)
Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)
Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence
Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)
Chapter 7/Masterlist
---------------
I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it. I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.
I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.
And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did.
And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?
I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am.
I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-
Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”
I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”
He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”
“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.
“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again.
I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.
Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.
But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.
That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it!
I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.
My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…
I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?
Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.
I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.
Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do.
------
He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before, trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.
I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.
“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this.
“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”
“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him.
He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”
Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.
He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand.
Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!
“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him.
I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?
Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.
“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”
Fan-fucking-tastic!
“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.
He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”
I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.
“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.”
It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.
“Is that going to keep happening?”
Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”
“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.
“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter.
He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.”
He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that.
“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”
Cauldron boil me!
“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”
He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”
I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing.
“This is going to be fun!” He declares.
I am not at all inclined to agree.
----
I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.
“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.
My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.
The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.
“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.
The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string. The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.
“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?
He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.
“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”
I draw a shaky breath, then another.
“Good girl.”
A shiver works its way up my spine at that.
“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!
“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”
“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater.
His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”
I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat.
“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”
This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us.
“Breathe for me.”
It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach.
“Again.”
I manage to do what I am told, just barely.
“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”
“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?
“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists.
I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.
And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.
A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest.
“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”
“I can’t!” I choke out.
He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him.
“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”
I choke on each breath.
“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.
“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.
“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”
There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.
“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.
The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”
When have I ever truly had a say in anything?
“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister.
“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”
He has far more faith in me than he should.
----
Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.
Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.
I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together.
We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon.
“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.
I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody.
“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”
My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.
“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”
The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!
There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…
Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.
Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”
His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.
“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”
He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch. “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”
Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of.
As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.
“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”
I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?
“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.
The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave.
I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in.
The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.
Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.
“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”
That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.
He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky.
Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.
I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back.
“Let’s play a game.”
The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again.
“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do!
“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.
He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”
I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.
“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.”
Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent.
I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.
Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.
So much for powerful.
He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.”
He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”
I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement.
He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”
I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench.
Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now.
I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out.
“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.
Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly.
Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?
“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there.
“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.
“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.”
That sounds exhausting!
I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon.
I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”
I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.
I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?
I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.
I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”
He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”
Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”
He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.”
“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”
I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.
“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”
“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.
He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare.
“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”
“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.
“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose.
I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”
Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.
It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.
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5. You Broke Me First
Broken Hearts Club Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
You enjoy your time with Steve.
Life without Patty was nice. Even if it had just been a few weeks. Two to be exact. Fourteen days with no drama, no petty arguments or feeling like you had to prove yourself to be something. It was nice, refreshing.
The realizations made you feel guilty, but your grandma had said it was probably for the best. You were allowed to feel thankful for Patty’s kindness at one time, but also able to move on from that point. You didn’t have to owe her for the rest of your life.
Every single day was spent with Steve. You drove to work with him in the mornings, shared breaks with him, rode home with him at night. Usually you snuck over to his, as you were too afraid to have him over after the last conversation with your grandmother. But you feared she knew about your sneaking out as well.
You felt comfortable, more relaxed than you had been in a long time. You had never felt so spoiled, so desirable. It was intense, but in the best sort of way.
But now you were stuck. Technically you were still a part of Patty’s stupid idea despite her going silent on you some time ago. You had no way of confirming if she still wanted to do this. But most of all, you had no way of really telling her that this was off. That you weren’t sure if you wanted to do it.
You didn’t.
You supposed you could come clean, but the very thought of hurting Steve made you sick to your stomach. It was even worse when you looked at you with those big brown eyes, full of adoration and joy. You couldn’t be the one to break his heart. There was no way.
“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked, breaking you from your thoughts of watching the water ripple against your fingers that were dipped into his pool water. His floaty was next to yours, bouncing against you gently with the drift of the wind.
You turned towards him, breathing in the soft look in his eyes. You loved to stare at them, loved how big and gentle they were. You traced your eyes over the curve of his nose, then over his freshly tanned skin. You were close enough that you could see a few freckles across his skin.
“Nothing.” You replied a second later, gulping harshly as you weren’t able to come up with an answer. You didn’t know what to tell him, how to explain the web that you had tangled yourself into.
“Right,” He chuckled as he brought his thumb between your eyebrows, “You just had this intense look in your eyes for nothing.” He pointed out, as if he could see you behind your sunglasses.
“My car,” You lied, swallowing roughly once again, “Just trying to think about how much more I need to save up.” You nodded your head quickly, not wanting to spoil the moment between the two of you.
“Patty should pay for it.” He said as he turned away, pressing his sunglasses over his face once again. You blinked at him in surprise.
“I let her in the driver’s seat.” You replied as you furrowed your eyebrows together, feeling like you’d been through this conversation many times.
“So?” He asked you seriously, leaving you a little surprised. Apparently he was the only one who didn’t think it was entirely your fault.
“It’s my responsibility,” You grinned, mimicking your grandparents speech, “It’s fine. I just need one before you leave.” You teased him, dragging your foot off of your floaty to nudge your toe against his warm skin.
He was quiet for a moment, not at all phased at your antics as you stared at him in confusion. He hadn’t said a lot about college, but you figured he’d at least be gone by the beginning of the new year.
“I think I’m going to quit my job. Family Video is hiring.” He said at last, making you blink in confusion. You tilted your head, not understanding where that was coming from. But perhaps he’d had enough of what his dad had said.
“What do you mean?” You asked him, shifting on the rubber beneath you so you could look at him better. He exhaled roughly as he linked his fingers over his stomach.
“Summer’s ending,” He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t think ice cream sells very well in the winter. Plus, I can finally get out of that stupid uniform.” He grumbled, racing his fingers through his hair as you thought about it.
“I like the uniform.” You admitted, pulling a smile to your lips as he snapped his head towards you. You thought it was geeky, but it looked very good on him. You especially liked the tuft of hair that stuck out from his shirt.
“You do?” He looked at you stunned, lips parted as you felt an amused grin forming on your lips. It felt wrong to admit that he looked attractive, but you weren’t going to think about that at the moment.
“It’s very sexy,” You teased, “I enjoy it quite a lot.” You grinned, reaching across to press your fingers gently against his shoulder. His skin felt warm against yours.
“Oh.” He flushed for a moment before his lips curled into a grin, smiling brightly like you had just made his whole year.
“But if you want to sell movies, I won’t mind that either. You can pick out the best ones for us to watch.” You added as you thought about it, tilting your head as you tried to remember all of the new movies you had missed recently.
“I can do that,” He grinned, looking flattered by the suggestion, “What’s your favorite movie?” He asked you curiously, gripping the arm of your floaty and pulling you closer to him. You wrinkled your nose at the sound of plastic rubbing together.
“Hm,” You thought about it for a moment, racing through your options, “What was the one we saw together? You know, when you got all frisky at the movie theater?” You grinned mischievously as you thought about it, not missing his little gasp.
“Ha,” He chuckled, cheeks burning as he looked at you, “You’re funny.” He shook his head, his laughter mixing with yours as electricity settled over your body as you thought about that event. He hadn’t failed to make you feel fiery since then.
You both settled into a comfortable silence after that, your fingers linking with his over the water as your floaties continued to bump against one another. You crossed your ankles, the area between your thighs still sore from earlier today.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” You asked him suddenly, turning to face him as he snapped his head towards you so quickly that his sunglasses nearly toppled off.
“Tonight?” He asked you for clarity, making you press your lips into a smile as you nodded. You figured it was about time. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to sneak around as much.
“My grandma always makes something,” You told him, “And your fridge is bare.” You reminded him, thinking of the very bare sandwich the two of you had shared earlier. You were getting hungry and you figured he must be too as he was always snacking.
“I need to go shopping,” He admitted, nodding his head in agreement. He hadn’t once mentioned where his parents had been since you’d been coming over, “Sure. That sounds like fun.” You wiggled your way out of the floaty, gasping as the cold water hit your skin before you made your way to the ladder. He followed closely behind.
“Just don’t let them be weird,” You told him quickly, “Because they like to embarrass everyone.” You pouted as you thought about it, hoping they wouldn’t pull any embarrassing stories out. Although Steve probably knew them all.
“Or you just don’t like being teased.” He told you, passing you a towel as you began to dry yourself off. You stared at your pile of dry clothes, hoping they’d feel good from where the sun had been roasting them.
“That too,” You agreed with him, “I’ve never brought a boy over before.” You told him playfully, taking a quick glance around before you shifted your swimsuit off your body. You no longer felt embarrassed about being naked in front of him.
“I’ve been the only one?” He asked, grinning at the subtle way you nodded your head, “I’m flattered.” He told you, eyes lingering against your body for a second too long before you shoved your wet swimming suit at him.
You headed down the familiar path once you were both dried and dressed, trying not to fall to your knees as Steve linked his fingers with yours. You liked the feeling of his skin against yours, how large his hand was in comparison to your own.
“Steve,” Your grandpa nodded at him once you had made your way inside, “Good to see your face. I’m used to seeing your back as you leave.” He grumbled, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the TV.
“Grandpa.” You hissed, eyes wide in fear as you felt your insides warming in embarrassment. You wished they could just act casual for once.
“Just saying,” He held his hands up innocently, “I hope you like meatloaf.” He replied, grinning as he sent him a little wave.
“I do,” Steve nodded his head along, cheeks still flushed, “Thank you.” He nodded as he glanced around, brown eyes breathing in the new decorations within the house. Nothing special, just the occasional item your gran found at garage sales.
“Hi,” Your gran piped up, moving forward to give him a big squeeze as you tried not to hide your face in embarrassment, “It’s been so long.” She rocked him back and forth for a minute, leaving you with a smile on your lips.
“Yeah, it’s been a few years since I’ve been here.” He said seriously, lips curling into a polite smile once she released him. She gave his cheek a little pat, making you roll your eyes at the way she doted on him.
“Well, since you’ve been in this kitchen,” She clarified, making the two of you gape in horror at her casual revelation, “But you can tell me how well you like the touch ups.” She said in a sing-song way before she shouted at your grandfather to join them at the table.
“They’re great,” He squeaked out, “Really nice.” He ran his hands through his damp hair a few times, eyes flittering towards you for a brief second.
“Food looks amazing,” You said next, trying not to die as you sat down across from him, “Thank you.” You told her honestly, glad there was no tension despite their teasings.
“We should pray,” Your grandpa muttered as he held his hands out, one for you to grab and the other for Steve to take. It was the same routine every night. You clasped your gran’s hand next, nodding your head toward Steve, “Any requests? Maybe no early pregnancies?”
“Grandpa!”
Dinner was surprisingly well, despite the little digs they kept making at the two of you. You huffed underneath your breath the entire time, wondering why they wanted to torture you in such a way.
“I was so upset you stopped being friends in high school,” Your gran started as she scooped another plate out for Steve. His eyes widened, apparently not planning on three servings, “But people do grow apart. And then back together.” She added, smiling sweetly at you.
“Yep,” You agreed, feeling the embarrassment sinking into your bones, “That happened.” You weren’t sure why you invited him here in the first place, but it wasn’t so they could act like you were going to marry him. You weren’t even really dating. The whole thought process made your stomach twist and churn.
“She’s pretty special,” Steve spoke up, making you jerk your gaze towards him once again, “I was dumb to let her go before.” He added, eyes locking onto yours as your throat suddenly felt too dry to speak. You didn’t know what to say, or what to do. You forced a smile, suddenly filled with guilt all over again.
You both took the role of cleaning the dishes while your grandparents retreated towards the living room after dinner, discussing something that one of the church leaders had said today. Their gossip was something you didn’t care to hear about at the moment.
“Why are you still friends with Patty?” He asked you suddenly, eyebrows furrowing together as soap leaked off of his fingertips. You blinked in confusion, unsure of where that had come from.
“She’s not that bad,” You said softly, “She took me in at school.” You shrugged your shoulders, supposing that a bad friend was better than none at all. She knew all of your secrets too, so she couldn’t be that bad. Maybe just whiny, but you still cared about her.
“Yeah for her own selfish reasons,” He shook his head, “She’s kind of a bitch.” He mumbled underneath his breath, leaving you stunned. You hadn’t heard him ever say that before.
“You weren’t the nicest either.” You reminded him gently, not trying to start an argument but wanting him to understand where you were coming from. He jolted at your response.
“I’ve changed,” He defended himself, cheeks reddening, “She’s still the same. I don’t want her to hurt you.” He mumbled, fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a plate to dry. You felt a bit better suddenly, getting down to what he was upset about. But he didn’t need to worry about her hurting you. He needed to care for himself.
“I haven’t spoken to her in a while anyways,” You told him honestly, “Why did you break up with her?” You asked softly, even though you had heard the story a hundred different times.
“What did she tell you?” He asked suddenly, making you pause your motions for a second. You chewed on your bottom lip.
“That you had gotten tired of her,” You started, trying to word it as carefully as you could, “Basically you dumped her for someone else.” Nancy Wheeler to be exact. And that was the nicest way you could explain it.
“Yeah,” He laughed, “I caught her in between fourth period with her hand down Carl Johnson’s pants. It wasn’t working out anyways.” He said with a little shrug, smiling at you as you thought about her story once again. Perhaps a few pieces were off.
“Oh,” You blinked slowly, “She never told me that.” You muttered, furrowing your eyebrows together as you wondered what else she had lied about. Hopefully not anything. But it didn’t make you feel very ecstatic about your situation.
“Why would she?” He asked as he brushed his fingers across your palm, “It doesn’t make her sound very appealing.” You nodded your head in agreement, figuring that you owed her a call.
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