A Court of Fire and Shadows.

chapter fifteen.

And then Elena realizes, without any small amount of panic, that she couldn't move too. No matter how bad she tried, her limbs refused to obey, although her eyes swivelled around so quickly that it wouldn't be a surprise if they did a 360 right in their sockets. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think— hazel eyes on hers. Calm, deep, hazel eyes that begged her to calm down, to actually look, to smell, to listen.

So she did. She heard a set of footsteps, graceful and sure. She smelt the pine trees of the woods around her, and the sweet smell of flowers. And then she heard slow clapping, as a rather beautiful man strolled into her view, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight, sharp canines looking ready to draw blood. Tanned, scarred hands connected to tanned, scarred forearms. Everything about him lean and unruffled, including the dark suit he wore. He tsks as he flicks a piece of invisible lint from his shoulder, moving to stand in front of Rhysand, who seemed to be straining against whatever was holding them in place. "The great and mighty High Lord of the Night Court, at my mercy. How fitting. How easy. How disappointing," he drawled, his voice lilting and deep and somewhat familiar in the gruffness of which he said some sounds. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of skin hitting skin, and she realised he was standing right in front of Azriel, and he'd just slapped him, the red mark already forming.

Anger boiled inside her, red and hot and ugly and she tried to step forward, to do anything, but all she managed was to twitch her finger. Rubbing it against the skin of Azriel's hand gently, realizing she was the only one out of the four who could move at all. Her finger continues moving as the other man moves closer to her, one of his hands reaching forward to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger, breathing deep, his eyes lighting up with something she couldn't quite place.

"I've been alive over two hundred years, and I have yet to meet someone like you, little girl," he says, his face close to hers, his green eyes staring into hers. And then he took a step face, an emotion passing over his face before it's wiped away, carefully replaced with a calm mask. "Enough of this. I'm getting rather tired,' he says, before simply raising a hand and clicking his fingers.

Two large, winged creatures land in front of them, their skin such a dark blue it almost looked black, long, lightly muscled limbs and massive, flesh-shredding claws at the end of their five fingered hands. Each one grabbing a hold under Rhysand's shoulder, the strange man stepping forward to cut a thin slice on his cheek, before using the blood to draw a strange mark on his Rhysand's forehead. And then he stepped back and tipped an invisible hat, turning to walk into the woods before turning around and saying, "Oh, by the way, I'm Alec. Trust you'll be seeing a lot more of me, very soon."

And then he walks into the forest, and simply disappears.

Elena drags her eyes to Rhysand, to the panic in his eyes he's trying so desperately to hide, and she feels her toes curl. Then her fist clench at her sides, and by the time the winged creature begin to flap their wings and carry Rhysand away, away from his court, away from his mate, away from his family, Elena realizes what she has to do.

She may not be able to move, but she can do something else. Clenching her teeth and finally, finally, letting out the beast she'd pushed down for years, letting it come out and stretch it's wings, just for a little while. She felt a flash of pain before her hands elongated into claws, and her body grew and grew and grew, and her skin hardened into scales, and she roared.