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court-0f-dreamers · 6 years

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ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same?

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

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CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open.

SHIT! Feyre thought.

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit.

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

*** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

*** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying.

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them. She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left, smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.

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kashilascorner · 4 years

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@cukibola tagged me to post 10 books I want to read in 2020. I don't think I'll read all of these, but I had an original list of 13 books -not including ones I had already started reading in 2019- of which I've read 3 already lol

1. The goldfinch by Donna Tartt

2. Cassandra by Christa Wolf

3. The wrath and the dawn by Renee Ahdrieh

4. Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente

5. Werther by Goethe

6. Little women by Louisa May Alcott

7. Circe by Madeline Miller

8. Baccae by Euripides

9. The ocean at the end of the lane by Neil Gaiman

10. Any book by Ursula K. LeGuin

There are hundreds of other books I want to read but I wrote those down in my journal when the year started. I might drop off twatd since I tried reading it and only read like 5 pages before being like meh not right now

I tag @marwoood @levcosia @namelessismyprice @eine-krone and whoever feels like doing it!

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acostarsandwritings · 5 years

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Nightcrimes

Previous | Chapter 6 | Next Chapter Index

Summary: when Feyre Archeron, director of a major bank, is the victim of an attempted robbery, she is suddenly reintroduced to her old highschool sweetheart, Rhys. Rhys is exactly as she remembered, except darker than ever; and it seems that he is no stranger to crime. Feyre’s life is about to drastically change - and whenever Rhys is involved, that can’t be a very good thing.

@atya-malik133 @booklover242 @anythingsjmaas @i-love-territorial-illyrians @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @always-namelessismyprice @ice-queen-a @nightfaeri @highladyofherondale @cassiancalore @court-of-fandoms-and-art @queen-elain @reallyangryrn @kybaeza @always-namelessismyprice @readingismycopingmechanism @rory050 @susanablackbeauty @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag @acourtoffuckmylifeup

Alis was knocking on her door. She hadn’t noticed it, the knocks soft at first, but as Alis peeped her head into the office, Feyre realized she must have been knocking for a good minute. “Come in,” she motioned, and Alis slid through the door, closing it behind her as soft as she’d knocked. Feyre gave her a small smile, her desk littered with paperwork. Most things had gone back to normal a week after the board meeting. Including the paperwork. “What can I help you with?” Alis, to Feyre’s surprise, looked to her feet. “Alis?” A deep breath. “It’s been a week, Feyre.” Alis’ gaze settled on her like a net. It had been a week. More than a week, even. She had promised Alis to tell her why she went to visit Rhys, what he’d said to her, what he’d confessed. What she’d kept secret. And now she was asking for it, and Feyre didn’t know if she was ready to tell her. If she was ready to confess. “I don’t know if I can tell you all of it, Alis.” Alis just smiled that mother’s smile at her. “I can’t force you to tell me anything, Feyre. You don’t have to trust me with things like these. Tell me what you want to tell me. I’m not going to be mad at you for things you can’t tell.” Always logical, always kind. Alis had never been anything but understanding. Feyre wanted to tell her – she wanted to, wanted to have someone understand what she was going through, wanted for someone to listen to her. She’d been thinking about it the entire time, without anyone to confide in. Rhysand’s face kept haunting her dreams. She kept staring into the barrel of a gun, held by his hand, only for him to apologize when he shot her. It didn’t hurt, in her dream. What hurt was the look on his face after he shot her, time after time after time. “He didn’t mean to rob me,” she finally whispered. Alis moved to hold her hand. “I know it sounds stupid – ‘he didn’t mean to!’ – but he really didn’t. He didn’t know it was my bank. He called his men back, Alis, but I was so angry, so I went there and I yelled at him.” She let out a shuddering sob. “Gods, if I think about it now, it sounds so naïve, doesn’t it? And yet here I am, believing him when he said he didn’t mean it, that he wasn’t after me. I went there and yelled at him and I came back so surprised that it defeated me.” A huffed laugh escaped her lips. “He sent me flowers, even. A big, beautiful bunch of them.” Alis only squeezed her hand. “I guess I just want to forget… I want to pretend it never happened. But I keep thinking about it, Alis. I keep thinking about it, because I don’t understand, I don’t get why he would do that. I want to go there and force him to tell me, but I also want to forget him… do you get it?” Feyre sagged her head down onto the desk. “And now I’m in this mess. Gods, I just want this to never have happened…” Alis moved to cup Feyre’s cheek. “You can’t get it out of your head, can you?” Feyre shook her head, still lying on her desk. “I keep asking myself the same question. Why? Why was I important enough? I keep thinking of it as some act of kindness – only to imagine myself staring into the barrel of a gun moments later, thinking I would die. I can’t make up my mind about it.” Alis’ softly stroked her thumb across Feyre’s cheek, her hand warm against Feyre’s skin, but didn’t say anything. “I thought that maybe I should see a therapist. But then what? I’d only have to relive that moment over and over again, and a therapist isn’t going to solve the problem of a literal crime lord breathing in my neck. Plus, at this point, I don’t even know who I can trust.” Alis took Feyre’s chin in her hand and gently made their eyes meet. “Feyre, don’t let yourself be pulled under by this. I can see how this is eating you up, and if you excuse my honesty, I would say it’s a very good idea to look for someone who can help you work this out. I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I do know that you’re suffering. You’re practically wasting away in your office. Don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. Don’t let him win.” Feyre swallowed down a sob. “But how? How can I stop myself from losing? I keep thinking, what if he shows up again? Worse – what if I can’t handle it anymore and seek him out?” Alice straightened her spine, her small frame rising above Feyre behind her desk. “It’s no use to dwell on the what-ifs, Feyre. You are not like this. You are the woman who singlehandedly conquered the stock market when she was 28. You are the woman who got there by grim determination and ruthless ambition. You are a fighter, Feyre. You’re a huntress. If Rhysand decides that this story’s ending isn’t the way he liked, then he will find that you have teeth. And if you need help in sharpening those teeth, Feyre Archeron, then I will be there every step of the way. But you do not cower. You do not let him win.” Alis’ conviction washed over Feyre word for word, until she started to believe it too. “Good. Now raise that pretty head of yours, girl.” Feyre lifted her chin, until she felt like the huntress Alis said she was. “There you go,” Alis smiled. “You can do this, Feyre. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. And if you can’t find that strength, there are always people who can help you gather it.” Feyre smiled at her. “Thank you, Alis… I think I needed that more than I’d like to admit.” Alis grinned back at her. “Well, you can always give me a raise, I would say…” “Alis, don’t push it,” Feyre laughed. “I’m just glad to see you smile, Feyre.” With that, she moved to the door, ready to leave. “Don’t forget that I’ll always be here if you need me.” Feyre nodded. “I won’t. Thank you, Alis. I’ll think of that raise.” Alis winked at her before she left, closing the door behind her. Feyre could see her silhouette walk away through the opaque glass, distorting her features until she was a smudge of dark against the bright light of the hallway. Behind her, the city spread out underneath her office on the upper floor of the building they owned, which seemed to touch the blue-grey sky. Even with her back to the glass wall, Feyre swore she could feel the red brick building of Starfall Industries looming over her, swore that she could feel its owner staring up at her in her large skyscraper, his gaze crossing straight through the city and into her office. It was impossible, of course, and useless to think about it anyway – so Feyre gathered a new pile of papers, losing herself in the deskwork that had piled up throughout the last week.

And a few blocks away, a man tore violet eyes away from the glass-and-metal tower of Archeron Finance, hoping that he hadn’t made a wrong call when he let the woman with eyes like the sky walk away from him seven days ago.

#nightcrimes #feyre #rhysand #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #mor #morrigan #azriel #cassian #prythian #alis

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acostarsandwritings · 6 years

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Nightcrimes

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She couldn’t breathe. Ianthe knew, Tamlin knew, and she couldn’t breathe, there was no air, no oxygen, she couldn’t – “Feyre? Feyre, breathe.” Feyre could only wheeze. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do it. Breathe, Feyre, I’m right with you.” Alis was in kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “That’s it, deep inhale, long exhale. You’re okay, Feyre, it’s okay.” She was seated on the floor of her own office, fingernails digging into her palms. Gods, the mess she was in… All she could see was Tamlin’s ice-cold stare, Ianthe’s smug, sneering face somehow managing to look down on her even from where she was seated. After what felt like an hour, she could finally breathe again. A sob rose in her throat. “Gods, Alis, why did I ever think this was a good idea?” Alis looked at her with empathy in her eyes. “Because you’re the best thing about this company, Feyre. You’re honest and you work hard. We need you here, even those who don’t see it.” Feyre slumped back against the desk behind her. “They must think I’m an idiot.” “No.” Alis shook her head. “They probably think Tamlin’s a huge dick, though.” That got Feyre to laugh nervously. “Yeah..” Both of them stayed silent for a while, until Alis leveled her eyes with hers. “Will you ever tell me the truth? Of why you visited Rhysand?” Feyre turned her eyes towards the floor. “You know I can never keep secrets from you, Alis. You have a sense for these things. It’s why I hired you.” A grin from the woman opposite of her. “Maybe. But I also want the best for this company, and if you decide to get back to bad ex-boyfriends, I might have to stop you.” Another nervous laugh. “Trust me Alis, I don’t want him anywhere near me again.” And yet… Yet somehow, Feyre couldn’t help but think of Rhysand. Of the taunting messages he’d sent her. Of his face in his back office, all calm and collected. The high school bad boy who always got what he wanted. The jock who, secretly, had a heart made of gold. No, not gold, she forced to remind herself. Crime lords didn’t have clean hands.

It was already dark when she got home. She’d promised Alis that she would talk to her somewhere next week, when all of the dust had settled. Exhausted, Feyre closed the door behind her and turned on the lights. It took a few seconds for her to register the difference in the room – next to the door was a huge bouquet of wildflowers, assembled with great care. Feyre’s heart started beating in her chest. Oh, gods. With trembling hands, she reached for the flowers, finding a small card attached to a beautiful orange rose. Dear mrs. Archeron, I am terribly sorry for the harm my indolence may have caused you. Please accept these lovely flowers as reconciliation. I made sure to match them to your temper. Yours truly, A hot piece of ass P.S. No listening devices this time Stunned, she looked at the paper in her hands. First, he tried to have her killed, and now he sent her flowers? What the hell was wrong with him? “I’m not gonna fall for that, Rhysand!” Feyre’s voice briefly echoed through the apartment. Silence. She looked around suspiciously, half expecting him to walk out into the hall, half expecting her phone to buzz with an answer again. This time, however, she would be ready for him. But nothing came. “Guess you actually kept your promise this time,” she muttered, clutching the pressed paper in her hand. The damned asshole. For a second, she debated calling chief Vanserra about the break-in – but reporting it would mean explaining why there was a break-in in the first place, and usually burglars didn’t leave beautiful bouquets of flowers. In reply, the flowers just stood there in all their glory. Feyre eventually placed them on the coffee table, still holding the paper tight. She didn’t dare to throw it away. Staring at it, she wondered if she should burn it (they always burned it in movies), but after a while, she just hid it in a drawer of her desk, intending to never think of it again.

“How did your girlfriend like the flowers?” Rhysand still jumped the slightest bit when Azriel’s voice slid out from the shadows in his office. “I wouldn’t know, my friend,” he coolly replied. “I truly didn’t wire it this time.” Azriel let his eyes go over the desk. “If only you had a guy who had a knack for stalking, huh…” Carefully, he picked up a few papers scattered on the glass table. “Are these what I think they are?” Rhysand kept himself from snatching the papers away. “Would you ask if you didn’t already know the answer?” Azriel didn’t even look up from the papers. “Yes, they’re the financial reports from Archeron Finance. I had Mor get them for me a few weeks ago.” That got Azriel’s attention. “A few weeks ago?” Rhys only nodded. “So you knew, then.” Another nod. “I did know she owns the company, yes. But that’s where you come in, Azriel. Something is wrong with these reports. There is money missing. I ordered Cassian to get it back into decent hands, but he fucked up, as you might have noticed.“ Azriel huffed. “What if she’s just stealing it herself?” Rhysand casually shrugged. “I won’t pretend decent people can do stupid things, Az. But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t Feyre. That job is her life. I have no suspicions that she might have ambitions like my own.” Azriel flipped through the pages. “If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have noticed there was money missing.” “It’s well hidden,” Rhysand agreed. “But not well enough for our Amren.” “You got her to check them.” “I did. And she found where it’s going.” Azriel chuckled, a humorless sound. “Let me guess, Columbia?” Rhys clenched his jaw. “Venezuela. Same destination, however. Drugs. Weapons. The occasional political assassination.” “And you want me to find the guy who did it.” Rhys turned around to face him. “Yes.” Azriel folded the papers into a bag he seemingly materialized out of thin air. “Consider it done, then. What about miss Archeron?” Rhysand went back to looking out of the window, staring in the direction of the city center. “I want you to find out everything you can.”

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acostarsandwritings · 6 years

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Nightcrimes

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“Right. I don’t believe you.” Rhys could say whatever he liked. He’d always been good with words, and probably didn’t get to whatever his position was with being honest. He just smiled at her in reply, leaning back into his chair, waiting for her to continue talking. She was too stubborn to grant him the delight of seeing it happen. Instead, she just stared at him, trying to hold on to the anger she felt before she stepped inside with Rhys’ arm on her back. She didn’t manage for long. “Aaaargh!” If she could’ve thrown something at him, she would have. Rhys started laughing at that. “Don’t laugh at me!” She pouted. “Asshole…” His left eyebrow shot up. “You’re calling a fearsome crime lord an asshole?” “Yes.” “Always the fiery one, aren’t you. Would you believe me if I say I’m scared to rob you?” There was a playful light in his eyes. Feyre decided she would just rip his entire face off. “No.” “Good. I’m not.” Insolent piece of shit.

He didn’t say anything again after that. Feyre couldn’t decide whether she wanted to storm out of the room, kill him right where he sat, or burst out in tears. They’d split for a reason. Rhys was a decent enough guy – well, before he apparently became a major mafia boss – but his ability to get under her skin had been infuriating enough when she was a teenager; now it was literally setting her blood on fire. The worst part was that he’d never actually done something harmful: he’d just been very, very annoying. And Rhys, suddenly that same 18-year old cocky teenager again – Rhys grinned at her. “So,” he started, casually plucking at his nails. “Do you have anything else you want to yell at me? I have a very busy schedule, you know.” The undiluted dismissal in his tone sent all her composure down the drain. “Listen up, Rhysand. I don’t know what you’re planning at. I don’t know what kind of fucked up game it is you think you’re playing but I have no interest in joining you. So I would appreciate if you leave me alone, and leave my employees alone, and just don’t fucking rob my bank again. Are we clear?” It probably wasn’t the best idea to snarl at an international criminal, but she couldn’t help it. Plus, she figured that it must have meant something that Rhys stopped robbing her, so she took her chances. “You were already an ass when we dated. A hot one –“ Rhys’ grin spread at that “– but an ass nonetheless. And now it turns out that you’re a mess as well, and I don’t want that near my investments and life’s work. That stupid ass robbery scared the shit out of me today and I can’t imagine what the customers must think now. My entire life, Rhysand, I have spent my entire –“ “You’re on my No Harm list, you know,” he interrupted. “– life on this stupid ass bank and I – what?” He shrugged. “You’re not to be harmed. Anyone who tries will find themselves missing a limb.” It took all of her willpower not to gawk at the words. And her brain, her good-for-nothing brain couldn’t manage any other reply than a small, high-pitched “you’d cut of their limbs…?” Rhysand lost it. His laughter should’ve been a relief, but instead it made her blood freeze over. All the anger left her, slowly giving way to fear. It really wasn’t smart to snarl at a criminal, and Feyre only realized exactly how dangerous Rhysand was when she remembered that it had been his men storming her bank with automatic rifles. His men, responsible for destruction and death in so many other heists. And she was in a locked room with him. Alone. Rhysand seemed to note her abrupt fear, because he stopped laughing just as fast. That left eyebrow quirked upwards again. “Are you scared of me?” She refused to look at him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” A surprising softness settled into his tone. “Look, Feyre, I know I was an asshole to you all those years ago. But I like you. You have always been a strong person, and kind, and so I told my people that if harm would become you, someone would have to pay for it. It’s common knowledge, actually. You’re probably the safest person in this entire country.” She huffed at that. “You don’t have to believe me. But I am sorry about the bank. I really am. The person who made the plan is going to have a hearty chat with me.” Feyre squinted her eyes at him. “Why are you even telling me this? Who says I’m not gonna run right back to the police? Who says I didn’t record it?” Another shrug. “You were angry.” “And here I was, thinking you’d fall to your knees to ask me to be your sidekick.” Rhys laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “No, like I said, you were angry. And you do stupid things when you’re angry.” Feyre made a noise that sounded most like choking. “I don’t – you can’t just – RHYS.“ Rhys just got up, unlocked the door, and turned back to her. “I sent someone to the police station, Feyre. I had you followed. I’ll send her to escort you home.”

She was fuming. God, she was fuming. She wanted to run after him, make a scene in the foyer, but it wouldn’t do her any good. The director of the state’s biggest financial corporation, yelling at a shady businessman after her bank just got attacked? Not the image she was after. Unfortunately for Rhys, however, there were a few very breakable vases in the room. “Well, you’re in a mood.” A too-cheerful police officer stepped over the shards. No, not a police officer – Rhysand’s guy. Or, rather, Rhysand’s woman. The same woman she’d seen reporting a statement to officer Vanserra right before it was her turn. You have got to be kidding me. “I have a car out front, Miss Archeron. I will escort you home.” The fake police officer held out her arm. Feyre contemplated breaking it. Rhysand was so going to pay for this.

#nightcrimes #feysand #feyre #rhys #rhysand #acotar #acowar #acomaf #fanfiction #fanfic #feyre archeron #lucien #lucien vanserra

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