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Theia couldn't think straight. Rage fueled her every move, every thought. The last time she had felt this level of anger rise was when she had cursed her mother at her own grave. Blindly, Theia left Rhysand's office and marched down the corridor. Her eyes narrowed on the staircase- Nyx wasn't there. Her teeth were gritted so hard, she thought they'd snap.

Feet stomping up the stairs, every feral glimpse of her genetics had Theia's body and mind begging to tear something apart. She didn't want to scream and cry like she had at Maia's grave. She wanted to slaughter. Theia reached her bedroom, swinging the door open and slamming it behind herself. Picture frames rattled against the wall, a small figurine falling from the shelf. Theia swung, her fist colliding with the wood.

It burned, yet she did it again- and again, and again. Her knuckles were split, blood splattering against the cracking wood of the door. In a fit of rage, Theia let out a strangled scream. Angry tears filled her eyes as she punched the door again. She'd gone through too much in the past year to let this slide. Having the High Lord disregard her and kick her from his home simply because she is young and pointed out his flaws; Theia was infuriated.

She pulled her arm back, ready to send another fist to the door, but it swung open. She stumbled back, glaring at whomever interrupted her tantrum. Nyx was there, dark hair dripping water over his face and shoulders. He was only in his lounging pants, fresh from bathing.

Theia gritted her teeth, feeling her tears collect at the curve of her jaw. She didn't feel the split skin of her knuckles, only the urge to release her anger. Nyx seemed to notice, being a trained warrior. Before her muscles could flex, Nyx was on her. He took her hands into his, not tight enough to hurt but stopping her from sending another fist into the door.

"What happened, Theia?" He asked, slowly and calm. She stared at him, face twitching as she tried to think of any way to get out of this. Her eyes darted to the door behind him, and Nyx kicked his foot out to close it. Theia stared at the smear of her blood, and then the way his eyes glanced between hers.

"I'm leaving. He's sending me out of the house. I demanded that the rest of the Inner Circle meets with me to listen to what I have to say but I'm being kicked out," she snapped, trying to pull her hands from his grip. Nyx tightened his grasp, jaw ticking.

"He's kicking you out? What did he say?"

"He will not stand for a child berating him in his own home. That I don't understand the politics. I told him I want to meet with everyone first. I just- I'm so angry, Nyx." Theia practically sobbed her last words, tugging against his grasp again. Never had she wished so much pain towards another being, but she wanted to make Rhysand hurt like she had been. Theia knew well enough that she needed to calm her frustrations before the only male on her side was torn down by her words.

"Theia, stop. I will speak with him, you won't be kicked out. If you are, then I'll go buy a damned house for the both of us. I'm not letting him tear you from my life," Nyx spoke. He studied her face, watched her tears fall. Theia felt another sob bubble in her throat and she did what she could only fathom to smother the burning rage within her.

Theia used Nyx's grip on her hands to tug him down. She met his mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands loosened and she tore her own from his touch, instead bringing them to his hair and pulling him against her. She bit at his lip, earning a grunt of approval. Nyx's hands fumbled at her waist, climbing the fabric of her shirt until he was beneath her shoulders. Theia gasped against his mouth as Nyx collected the silken fabric in his fists and tore it down her back.

She pulled away, chest heaving. Nyx's swollen lips were parted as he ripped the fabric down her front, leaving her chest bare. He dropped to his knees, pulling her closer by her waist and taking her breast in his mouth. Theia's head dropped back with a moan when the heat of his tongue flicked against her nipple, his teeth biting against the soft flesh.

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