Lover

Family First

Bella:

By the end of the night, I was fully prepared to rip Azriel's clothes off and throw him on the bed. But I restrained myself, because I knew it wasn't the right time, hell we hadn't even kissed and I was so prepared to allow him to take me against the damned wall of the hallway in the House of Wind. He'd dropped me off late last night, and the memories still flashed fresh in my mind.

It didn't come unnoticed to me how he had sucked in a large breath when I held his large, beautifully scarred hand in my tiny one, compared to his. It didn't come unnoticed to me how his startling hazel eyes, almost like golden melt, had softened and he seemed to drop his shield, if not the tiniest bit. Enough for me to see that other women who touched his skin, or had skin touch by his hands, had flinched away. I could read it in his eyes that were suddenly so clear to the world. He was scarred and broken in so many more ways than just his beautiful exterior.

And I found myself laying in my bed early in the morning, hardly past five a.m., wanting to know every secret beyond those scars. I wanted to know every secret of his being, every story of those many scars that marred his golden tanned skin. I wanted to find who did it and tear them apart with my bare hands. If they were alive, that was.

Azriel was said to have a cold temper, it was rumored to explode from deep within him if someone disrespected or hurt someone he cared about. Rhys had described it as something you didn't want to see, something that would haunt you. He shared a story of how when the war with Hybern was at its peak, they had a meeting with the High Lord's. Eris, Mor's betrothed and one of the many sons of Autumn, had insulted her. Called her out for dressing like a "whore". Azriel had pounced and strangled him almost to death.

I didn't have the heart to tell Rhys that I had read about it, I also found his voice to be very soothing and could lull me to sleep. How Feyre survived him, it was a mystery. Turning onto my stomach, I closed my eyes and tried not to dream about how distressed my family was, what lengths they were going to to find their baby girl that had disappeared into the night without a trace. A young girl of eighteen who had shown no signs of a mental health problem, no signs of wanting to run away. A young girl of eighteen who had just gotten the night she went missing a letter of acceptance into a Creative Writing course in RMIT University, located the city of Melbourne, Australia. A young girl of just eighteen who had cried because it was her dream course and dream University.

I tried not to think about walking home alone, after many months of convincing my over-protective dad that I was old enough. I tried not to think about walking up the unbearable flights of stairs after a long walk, opening the security gate door, the detailed flywire door that had metal swirls on the fabric so it was almost impossible to break in, and finally, the large wood door where the warm air from inside the narrow hallway would blow across my face. And I would almost moan aloud at the smell of my mums cooking. Or my yia-yia's cooking, most likely Börek or Dolmathes or, my favourite, meatball soup.

On a good day, my dad would greet me with a kiss on the cheek, on a bad day he would straight away ask for a Frappé. On a really good day, which was always, my older sister by three years's nine month old puppy Mia, who was a beagle cross cocker spaniel, would gallop to me with her long legs. And she would jump up and stretch, scratching at my stomach and crying in relief that now I was home. And she wanted attention. I would stroke her caramel brown head, her black body, her while legs, her adorably big floppy caramel and black ears. I would kiss her wet nose. Or on an amazing day, I would open the door to see my one year old niece, sired by my oldest sister, stumbling down the hall to me-her tiny chubby arms outstretched to me, and a grin on her face. I would swoop her into my arms and smother her in kisses.

I found my eyes stinging, and I sniffed, I gulped. I missed home, I missed my family. I missed my three dogs who were also my family. I missed mum's home cooking and my oldest sister who would rarely come down from Sydney with my niece and husband. I missed my friends dammit did I miss staring at my bookshelf. But quickly, Velaris was becoming home, too. These people were becoming my friends. But I still wished I had the option to go home for even an hour. Well, I did but so I didn't rouse any questions and worry, I couldn't. Because I was not returning home without Sylas.