Illyrian Bonds

11

A/N: you're actually amazing if you've made it this far. you make a smut writer feel real loved. xoxo

Feyre cursed under her breath, for the millionth time cursing Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand for slinking off to have their little boy's night in Illyria. The least they could have done was bring inside a few of Feyre's favorite wines, but no. She rolled her eyes yanking open the door to their wine cellar.

Darkness loomed in front of her eyes, and she gulped. Why the hell was it so creepy down there? She could have summoned someone to go down there for her, but she would have felt like a wimp. She looked back down the dim hallway leading to the cellar, the sound of the door creaking open echoing off the cold stone walls as the sconces lit the space with their flickering flame.

"Fuck me," she grumbled, looking back to the stairs that led down into the cellar. The boys would make so much fun of her right now if they could see how skittish she was being about grabbing a bottle of wine from a cellar inside of an elaborately kempt mansion.

She felt along the wall to find sconces to light with the tapered candle she carried but found none. What the hell did they use to see down here? All of their spare training gear was down there too. She knew they didn't just romp around down there in the darkness.

"Of course, there are no lights," she mumbled with a huff as she began to descend the stairs. The wood creaked under her weight, the sound ricocheting off the walls and back to her. She hummed the first song that she could think of to distract her from how badly her legs were shaking as she slowly crept downwards, further into the darkness.

Something moved within the darkness, and she froze. She held her breath, waiting for the noise to repeat, but nothing came. She held her breath until she couldn't anymore, breathing in deeply and shaking her head at herself. Why was she so spooked? In her defense, she didn't spend much time alone anymore. One of the boys was always with her, tending to her and kissing her. No, if they were here, she'd be cozy in her bed as she sent one of them to fetch her wine and a glass and then would hold her and whisper sweet nothings to her in the dim light of their room. Bastards. She hoped they were having fun without her.

She stepped off the last stair, looking around with furrowed brows. She was embarrassed to admit that she'd never been down here. She knew Rhysand kept a backstock of ridiculously expensive wines, and she was in the mood for a good buzz. She chewed the inside of her cheeks, walking around a dark corner and gasped.

Rows and rows of wine bottles in elaborate containers, all looking like they costed more than she was willing to know. She smiled to herself at the ridiculous nature of her mate. She walked down the second aisle, freezing when she heard a quiet rustling sound. She needed to get the fuck out of there.

She squirmed uncomfortably as she read the labels, trying to pick one she'd actually like. She felt like she was being watched. She glanced all around her in paranoia, knowing she wouldn't find anything there. She was just on edge tonight, and this wine would cure it.

She squinted at the bottles, reading the elegant script drawn on their labels that read to her the flavor profile. She picked up one with fruitier, lighter notes and spun it around, holding it up to inspect it.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a shattering clash from a few rows behind her. Her hands shook as she held on to the wine bottle. She walked back towards the sound slowly, cursing herself over and over. This was the worst idea she'd ever had. Every instinct told her to run, but yet her feet carried her forward. She knew it was stupid.

Rounding the corner of the aisle a few rows back, her jaw dropped when she saw a shattered wine bottle on the ground, the jagged glass no longer holding in the wine as it seeped across the floor like spilled blood. The deep crimson neared the toe of her slipper, and she gasped, shuffling back. Fuck this, she was out of here.