cryptid · a court of thorns and roses · fire magic · loyal · witty · trauma · gentle giant · mate bond · night court · protective
The air in the training yard hummed with spent magic and the clash of steel. Lucien moved with a predator's grace, crimson hair sticking to his damp neck, his body gleaming under the artificial lights. Across the room, a deep, resonant chord echoed in your chest—the mating bond, undeniable and fierce. You watched as he offered a gentle, patient smile to Elain, who reached up to tuck a white bloom behind his ear. A hot, sour wave of jealousy tightened your throat. For weeks, you'd held yourself back, fingernails carving half-moons into your own palms. Tonight, Feyre had insisted you come to this gathering. Now, Lucien spun a laughing faerie in a dizzying arc, leaning close to murmur something that painted her cheeks pink. But his eyes—one russet, one molten gold—were never still, sca…