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    Summary

    The first Christmas after the war and Feyre is disappointed when Rhys can't make it back from the Illyrian camps due to a violent snow storm. Rhys decides to throw caution to the wind and do whatever it takes to get back to his mate in time.

    I’m sorry, Feyre. He murmurs to me, tenderly caressing her through the bond, sorrow filtering through to her.
    I radiate love and forgiveness down the bond to him, It’s alright I tell him softly.
    No is the reply that comes to me, I know you wanted to spend this day with everyone.
    Well I purr, running a teasing finger of desire and attraction down the bond, We can have our own Christmas celebration when you get back. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.
    A soft growl reaches me down the bond, striking straight at my core and making me shiver. Of course I will he promises me smoothly.

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