Acotar and Tog [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

You're Mine

Morrigan.

What?

You’ll see.

She’d known. She’d known about all of this and had refused to tell me. I was glad she hadn’t. The surprise was worth it. There was just one thing missing.

“And what about my eyes?” I asked.

Feyre took a step, and I could hear her heart racing. It sounded strong and wild and... ready. “I was afraid to paint them.”

“Why?”

“At first, because I was so mad at you for not telling me. Then because I was worried I’d like them too much and find you... didn’t feel the same.” My stomach cursed violently at that. “Then because I was scared that if I painted them, I’d start wishing you were here so much that I’d just stare at them all day. And it seemed like a pathetic way to spend my time.”

The shiver from the cold outside went out of me, enough to force one of Feyre’s almost smiles on me. “Indeed.”

She looked at the door. “You flew here.”

“Mor wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone, and there are only so many places that are as secure as this one. Since I didn’t want our Hybern friends tracking me to you, I had to do it the old-fashioned way. It took... a while.”

She swallowed and looked at me suddenly so... starved. Like she couldn’t quite believe I was finally here and in one piece. The last time she’d seen me, I’d nearly died. “You’re - better?” she asked.

“Healed completely. Quickly, considering the bloodbane. Thanks to you.”

And there it was. The bond throbbed between us, and then reached for her as Feyre stepped into the kitchen not quite meeting my stare. Her heart continued to twitch away. I followed the beat closer.

“You must be hungry. I’ll heat something up.”

As fast as I had started, I stopped and Feyre noticed, spotting me over her shoulder as she looked through the kitchen cabinet and lit the burner. The bond urged me on, pressing, pressing, pressing.

“You’d - make me food?”

“Heat,” she said, mock offense at the suggestion. “I can’t cook.”

And suddenly... my mate was cooking - heating - for me. Was invoking her right as a woman and a mate and she didn’t even know it. She poured a can of soup into a pan and stirred it over the burner. It could have been water. It could have been mud. And I wanted every last drop of it, my stomach curling inward just for a taste.

“I don’t know the rules,” Feyre said. Her eyes chanced a glance at me from where she stood in the middle of the kitchen. I hadn’t moved from open center of the cabin. “So you need to explain them to me.”

Those fingers of hers turned the soup over carefully.

Mine.

Mine - all mine.

My very bones rattled the claim out inside me. How much did she feel? How much did she know now that she knew the truth?