ACOTAR One~shots [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

Darkness Of Her Own Making

After months of being trapped in the Spring Court, Tamlin realises Feyre is not who she pretended to be.

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“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Slowly, like the time was moving differently, another drop of blood fell to the floor. It joined a steadily growing pool of red on the white marble floor.

"Now!" His voice thundered through the silence like a fist through glass, shattering it with viciousness and despair that once had been love. Maybe still was. Maybe that was the problem.

Without moving from her place on the ground, Feyre's eyes slowly slid up. She felt the next drop of blood falling from her nose more than she saw it as her eyes found his. The face of the male in front of her was the same mixture of rage and despair as his voice, his lips were curled back in a snarl. She could tell it wouldn't take much for him to shift. It was nothing short of a miracle he hadn't already. Hadn't torn those vicious claws into her flesh. His whole body screamed violence. For once, he wasn't apologising for losing his temper. It was the first time he'd ever had lain hand on her. It would be the last time. She'd make sure of it.

Her nose was still bleeding, so was her lip. Her face was throbbing from the impact. Feyre raised her gloved hand, wiping her face and smearing blood everywhere. His eyes were tracking her every movement, a soft panic flickering in his eyes as if some part of him understood what he'd just done. As if the part of him that loved her so much it was threatening to kill her and destroy the whole world in the progress, realised what had happened. And maybe what was about to happen.

As slowly as she'd wiped her face, Feyre began to stand up from the bloody marble floor. Her eyes were never leaving Tamlin's. Nobody was saying a word. She doubted anybody in the room was even breathing, it had gone so quiet. Not even Lucien was trying to interfere. Good.

"You want me to take it off?" Feyre asked, voice low and rough, like a fire crackling at midnight. "Very well."

Before Tamlin could say another word, Feyre raised her arm with the offending glove that had set Tamlin so on edge. Or maybe rather what he suspected was beneath it. Something he thought impossible, something she pretended was impossible for months. Something that usually was invisible and that had only come to the light of the day due to some unfortunate circumstances that had ended that dangerous game she'd played for months.

Knowing it was only aggravating him further, she pulled at one finger after the other, loosening the long dark purple glove that was covering her arm. Then, without any dramatics or flair, she pulled it off in one smooth motion.

Tamlin froze. Someone gasped. Feyre smirked. She lifted her hand to her face, looking at the delicate patterns and swirls like she was seeing them for the first time instead of having glanced at them every night in secret while she'd been trapped in the court of her enemy.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"What is that?" Tamlin snapped, thinking he already knew the answer.

"It was a gift." Darkness began to swirl around her outstretched fingers, flowing around them like a silken band of midnight.

"What has he done to you?" Tamlin's voice was nothing short but a growl.

Feyre's eyes were fixated on the living darkness between her fingers. It made her feel livelier than she had in weeks, months. It felt as natural as breathing.

Buried deep, deep inside of her, she could feel a careful, questioning tug. She caressed it lovingly before shoving it down again. Soon. Now wasn't the time. She couldn't get distracted, not while still being surrounded by Tamlin's court. Not one of them made a step towards her. Not one of them dared.