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Rhysand lands on the roof of the apartment building, tucking his wings in behind him. The city is dying down, midnight stars peeking through the sky, and making the world glitter. His favourite time of the night, and to think once he gets his butt moving he'll be seeing his favourite person. With a final glance he descends the stairs and to his apartment. The hallways are quiet, not unusual for this time of the night, but something about the silence pierces at his senses.
He stops outside the door, the number 892 steely in the cold light of the corridor.
Something is wrong.
His skin grows tight, power already welling in a tidal wave of anger, fear.
Something is wrong.
The darkness within him surges forward, splintering the wooden barrier before him. He is inside the room in a heartbeat. And the sight he is greeted with turns the heat in his blood to poison.
"Rhysand," His husband gasps, "Please leave."
There, contorted into a brutal, merciless statue, is Dorian Havilliard. His beautiful face twisted in pain, blood as red as the velvet carpet running like rivers down his bared skin. He is frozen in time.
Standing over him is a woman, as stunning as she is deadly, and the smile on her face makes Rhysand want to fall to his knees and beg.
"Hello Highlord," Her voice is chaos incarnate.
He looks to his husband. Everything in him hardens to diamond. He will be worse. He will be destruction itself.
"Leave him be."
"You do not even know why I am here."
"Forgive me for not caring when my husband looks like that."
"He is fine, Highlord." He wants to carve the grin off her face.
"Leave him be!" The darkness closes in, black and power swirling around the room.
"I have hardly known power like yours in all the centuries I've been alive." The dress that pools at her feet turns to mist, smoke as dark as her eyes. "But that does not mean I have never known. And since I am here telling this tale, you should understand I have also bested them."
"If it is my power you want, then leave him be and do what you will with me."
"Rhysand," Dorian chokes, "NO!"
Another slice appears on his torso, jagged and stretching from one side of his ribs down to the opposite hip. He gurgles, coughs up blood.
"LET HIM GO!" The darkness explodes, and they are encased in fire. It is black, like charred earth, and hot like agony.
The lady just smiles, watching curiously as the waves of power touch her skin and bounce off. Touch him and multiply. Touch the barrier he'd placed around Dorian and recoil.
"My, my you are powerful."
His husband is still bowed over, blood pouring from the incisions smattered across his skin, and whoever this lady is seems to be immune to him.
"Please," He chokes on the fear. "Please let him go.
"Why should I?" She tilts her head. A predator and it's prey. "What will you give me in return?"
He looks to Dorian, to the man he has loved for decades, the man he will love for centuries to come. Those blue eyes are pleading, wide with pain and heartbreak.
"Everything." He whispers. "I will give you everything."
Her grin slaughters the gods. "Are you sure Highlord?"
"RHYSAND NO!" It is a King's voice that commands him.
He doesn't listen. "I need him." He looks at the Lady of Death, "I cannot lose him."
"Rhysand, please." His husband is sobbing and it breaks every thread holding his heart together.
"I cannot lose you, my Karalis."
"And what do you think—" He is cut off by the dark wisp of power circling his throat.
"You promised you'd let him go!"
"I'll be back to collect what is owed to me Rhysand Havilliard." She smiles her smile of violence, and the world goes quiet.
Rhys looks around the room, as pristine as when he'd left it this morning. He searches frantically for his husband, and nearly hurls in relief when he finds him lying on the bed, eyes closed. Sleeping. Peacefully. Not a scar on his body.
He goes to him, sits down gently. He cannot resist brushing a hand across the soft skin of his cheeks. They are warm with life. It soothes every terrified bone in his body.
Dorian flutters back into the world, ice blue peaking up from underneath dark eyelashes. "Rhysand," His voice is groggy, but it is his and he is alive and Rhys feels like he can breathe again.
"Oh angel," He presses their foreheads together. "You're okay."
"What did you do Highlord?" He sits up in bed, threading his hands through black hair.
"I could not let her kill you." He shakes his head, cupping a pale cheek gently.
"She would not have." Dorian shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. "It was an illusion."
The sound Rhys lets out is not human.
"I had already promised her I would do what she wanted if she didn't hurt you."
He chokes on his own disbelief. "Oh gods."
"She tricked us." Dorian's tears run freely and the Highlord cannot swipe them away fast enough.
"What does she want?" He whispers.
"Power."
"We won't give it to her. I will not be taken from you." He is determined. He is furious. He is malicious. "You will not be taken from me."
"Kiss me Highlord," His King whispers, "And we will worry about this tomorrow."
And so he does, and it is as familiar and sweet as his favourite dessert. Lips soft and pliable and already waiting for his. Their hands are every all at once, in reassurance.
It is most like coming home. Because tomorrow may never arrive.