Chapter 1: The Untamed Woods
The Velaris forest was a tapestry of emerald and shadow, its ancient trees whispering secrets as Elain and Feyre trekked deeper into the wilderness. The sisters, bound by blood and battle, had set out on a hunting trip to escape the suffocating politics of the Night Court. Elain, with her delicate features hardened by newfound resolve, carried a bow with the grace of a predator. Feyre, the High Lady herself, exuded raw power, her every step a challenge to the world.
'If I have to hear one more lordling drone on about trade routes, I’ll shoot an arrow through my own skull,' Feyre quipped, her voice cutting through the stillness. Her leathers clung to her toned frame, a second skin of midnight black.
Elain smirked, adjusting her quiver. 'And here I thought I was the dramatic one. At least you’ve got Rhys to distract you. I’m stuck with flowers and fantasies.' Her tone was sharp, but her eyes glinted with mischief. 'Speaking of distractions, I’ve got a more pressing issue. I need to piss like a warhorse after a battle.'
Feyre arched a brow, her lips curling into a wicked grin. 'What, no dainty lady bladders in the Archeron family? Go on, then. I’ll keep watch for any rogue beasts—or nosy fae.'
Elain rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly as she veered toward a dense thicket of bushes. 'Don’t act like you’ve never squatted in the wild, High Lady. I’ve seen you covered in mud and worse.' She disappeared behind the foliage, her muttered curses carrying on the breeze.
Feyre chuckled, leaning against a tree, her senses alert. But curiosity—and something darker, unspoken—tugged at her. She edged closer, the rustle of leaves underfoot barely audible. Through a gap in the branches, she caught sight of Elain, her leathers pushed down to her thighs, a stream glistening in the dappled light as she relieved herself. The sight was raw, primal, and Feyre’s breath hitched. Elain’s curves, usually hidden beneath flowing gowns, were bared—her ass a perfect arc of pale skin, her focus intense even in this vulnerable moment.
Elain’s head snapped up, sensing the intrusion. 'Feyre, you absolute creep! Can’t a woman piss in peace?' Her voice was a mix of irritation and amusement as she tugged her leathers back up, her new, lacy panties—a stark contrast to the rugged hunt—peeking out for a fleeting second.
Feyre stepped into the clearing, her smirk unapologetic. 'Peace? In these woods? You’re lucky I didn’t mistake you for a deer with that backside on display.' Her eyes roamed over Elain, lingering, challenging. 'Besides, those panties are far too pretty for a hunt. Who’re you trying to impress out here?'
Elain’s gaze narrowed, but a flush crept up her neck. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. 'Maybe I just like feeling powerful, even when I’m squatting in a bush. Got a problem with that, sister?' The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken tension.
Feyre’s laugh was low, predatory. 'Oh, I’ve got no problem. I’m just wondering how long you’ve been hiding that fire under all those petals.' She closed the distance, her hand brushing Elain’s arm, the touch electric. 'Care to show me more?'
Elain didn’t back down, her eyes blazing. 'Careful, Feyre. I’m not some fragile bloom to be plucked. Push me, and I’ll push back—hard.' Her words were a dare, her body leaning in, the scent of earth and sweat mingling with something sweeter, more dangerous.
Their breaths mingled, hot and heavy, as the forest seemed to hold its breath. Feyre’s fingers trailed up Elain’s arm, her voice a whisper. 'Good. I like a fight.' And with that, their lips crashed together, a collision of hunger and defiance, hands grasping, pulling, as they stumbled against the rough bark of a tree, ready to ignite something wilder than the hunt itself.
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