Illyrian Bonds

5

The music thrummed in her ears, overwhelming her senses and muddling reality. Rita's was packed tonight. Fae of all kinds ground their bodies to the beat, dripping in sweat and glitter. The disco ball in the middle of the dance floor reflected specs of revolving light that threatened to make Feyre dizzy. Or perhaps it was all the faerie wine. She was at the bottom of her third glass by now.

When Rhysand had said he was taking her out for a few drinks with friends, this most certainly wasn't what she had in mind. She sat tucked in the back corner booth with him, the area reserved for the High Lord and his friends and only slightly visible to the rest of the room. Rhysand's friends had yet to arrive. If she wasn't careful, she was bound to be slurring before they even showed up. What a wonderful way to meet your friend's Bond.

"Rhys!!" A blonde woman screeches, careening towards the booth with obvious familiarity. Feyre stiffened. Rhys flicked her an amused look as if he'd felt the rush of jealousy, just hearing his name on another female's tongue.

She was followed by a short woman with shoulder-length black hair. She eyed the crowd with distaste, crossing her arms as she followed the blonde to Rhysand's booth. The blonde beamed brightly, wrapping Rhys in a bear hug before immediately turning her attention to Feyre.

"Hi, Feyre! I'm Morrigan," she grinned, obviously a few shots in already. Feyre smiled back shyly with a small wave, unsure of how she should be behaving right now.

"And this is Amren," Rhysand said, rolling his eyes at her lack of introduction. She looked Feyre up and down like she was her next meal. And not in a sexy way. Feyre shivered at the molten silver shifting inside of her haunting eyes.

"Sick dress, Feyre," Morrigan gasped at the black skin-tight cocktail dress with a swooping, low back that didn't leave much to the imagination. "You'll have to convince the prick to tell me where he got it." Surprisingly, it didn't bother her at all when Morrigan called Rhys that. Had it been anyone else, it would have set her off, but she wasn't sure why she thought it was funny.

"You can borrow it," Feyre suggested with a shrug. Mor looked at her as if genuinely touched that she'd offer. She gave her a small look of appreciation before scrunching her nose and whispering a thank you.

"I need a drink," Morrigan sighed. She extended a hand to Feyre. "Wanna come grab one with me, Feyre? I'd love the chance to talk to you away from the chaperone." Morrigan threw a glare at Rhysand and his obvious irritation had the corner of Feyre's mouth twitching upwards.

"Sure," Feyre said, standing and taking Morrigan's hand. Rhys' eyes blew wide as if he had expected her to turn down the offer as she had all of his offers. Then, just on the principle of pissing him off, she gave him a beaming grin before turning to strut away with Morrigan.

"Morrigan," Rhysand called after her, tone full of warning. Mor lifted a hand over her shoulder and gave Rhys the middle finger, pulling Feyre up beside her as she leaned against the slightly sticky bar. Morrigan ordered them two of a drink Feyre had never heard of, charging it to Rhysand's account. She winked, handing the cup to Feyre.

It smelled divine. Even better than the faerie wine she's been pounding all night. She took a sip through the thin straw and moaned. It was tropical and light, sweet without being overbearing, and overall perfect. Her ideal drink.

Instead of heading back to the booth, Mor drug Feyre out onto the dance floor. She giggled, grabbing Feyre's hand to spin her around. Feyre did, laughing at the way it made her head feel. The colorful lights oozed into one another as the thumping music rattled her chest. She felt free, alive.

"I've needed another girl in the group so badly, Feyre," Morrigan gushed the confession. "I am so happy the boys have you. They need someone to whip them into shape." Feyre beamed, cheeks blushing at the idea of being so welcomed. She chewed her bottom lip, dancing to the rhythm and squeezing her eyes shut.