I've finally returned to the TOG world! YAY!

"Aelin, calm down."

Fae females were far more aggressive than males. That much, Rowan knew. Sure, males had the added effects of testosterone and instinct strong enough to require personal training, but as Aelin liked to say that was all "showy shit." Females didn't have shoulders big as melons, or arms they could swing (unintentionally) and wreck a door with. Their strength lay beneath the surface, in some strange concentrated form, as he knew from countless experiences in the sparring room, flying through the air and landing flat on his ass. Just because they were smaller didn't mean they were any less vicious, far more so since idiot men, enraptured by their beauty, were so keen on underestimating just how far that muscle went. Rowan had always liked to think of females as dogs — you know, the little rabid kinds that yip and bark at your heels before sinking a mouth chock-full of needles into the fleshy bits around your calf. Unfortunately for him, Aelin was a dog with one hell of a bite.

"I will not calm down!" She snapped her teeth, seemingly beyond words.

Rowan fought the urge to take a step back and forced his voice into a semblance of calm. "You're being unreasonable."

Aelin snarled and began pacing at a furious rate. The way she was at it, she'd set fire to their bedroom floor, or at least render it hot enough for cooking. The sunlight had squeezed in through the fabric draped across the broad planes of their windows, a weak thing so late in the evening. Even still, the fury was quite clear on his wife's face.

Another growl echoed through the room, louder and with frustration coloring every note.

He gave a little sigh. They'd been married for ten years now, and even now he was wary of her rage.

Aelin halted on the purple carpet, half-turned away from him, fists clenched. "I hate that man."

"Aelin, he —"

She whirled on him, eyes flashing. "He insulted my family," she spat.

A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He knew it wasn't his place to be upset, but he was just so tired of her temper. "Aelin," he massaged his temples, "I think I'm going to have to leave until you're out of this mood. I can't talk to you when you're like this —"

She was on him before he could finish his sentence, hands gripping his neck and abdomen caging him in against the wall. His lips parted at the sheer fury radiating off of her body. It was in the wild spark to her eye, the way her fangs hovered half an inch above his neck, her muscles trembling, as if she could barely keep her instincts at bay.

Rowan.

Her voice was a whisper in his mind.

Stop talking.

His mouth snapped shut.

In the following silence, he was acutely aware of the sharpness of her breaths, his own lungs straining for air, the unrelenting grip of her fingers on his neck. An abrupt thought left him dizzy and slightly nauseous. She could kill me, if she wanted to.

But just as he'd thought it, a jolt went through her and suddenly she was halfway across the room. Her eyes were wide, breaths short — in other words, the perfect expression of horror.

Rowan pushed himself off the wall, still a bit shaky. He drew his tongue across his teeth, tasting for blood. There was none, but... His hand tentatively brushed the skin of his neck, and he pulled back, hissing. So she hadn't let up at all, then.

"Rowan," she murmured and took a half-step towards him.

He glanced up at her, noticed that her face was still aghast, and then his own anger was bubbling to the surface. What right did she have to be worried when she'd damn near killed him? He was about to snap out those very words, but he hadn't lived three centuries only to let his mouth run ahead of him. So he bit down on his tongue and waited.

Aelin had not moved closer, had instead seated herself against the wall, knees drawn to chest, watching him. Her anger seemed to have abated, at least for the time being, so he felt safe in approaching. Silence was what he offered as he sat beside her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Again, he was silent.

"I didn't mean to —" She took a shuddering breath. "I don't know what happened."

He was struck by a memory, of centuries ago, when the land had been greener and mankind lesser. Then, there had been more fae, and more fae meant more fae children. He had been one of them, and growing up had been...hard, to say the least. Instinct ran deep in his veins, just as it did in any other of his kind, and self-discipline was taught rather than expected. He'd been, oh, seventeen summers when he'd first killed someone out of pure, blind rage. He'd been having a bad day, the unfortunate lad had taunted him one too many times, and then he'd been dead. That was it. Magic aside, Rowan had been quite normal for a male: no malicious intent, no homicidal tendencies.

But even still, that had been cold-blooded murder.

Rowan brushed Aelin's hand with his own, willing her to continue.

At his touch, she seemed to find the strength to look at him. Her eyes tracked the lines of his face, the slope of his brow, his nose, lips, a pause...and then they slipped to just above his collarbone. Rowan suppressed a snarl when her fingers brushed that same sore spot.

"I left marks," she breathed. She retracted her hand. "Shit. Shit."

"Why are you so angry?" Rowan asked.

She swore again. "I don't know, Rowan. Maybe because I almost killed you."

He gave a half-smile. "You know I would've killed you right back."

Aelin opened her mouth, closed it. An incredulous laugh burst out of her. "You would say that."

"I meant why were you angry before," he clarified

She sobered. "He insulted my family."

"You've said that twice now, but he never once mentioned your parents." Rowan said this, ignoring the fact that it sounded crass because he was sure that Aelin would be aware that he knew.

"I..." A grimace. "I've never told anyone this. But my parents..." She sighed, faced him fully, and stated, "Well, I didn't know them."

"No shit."

She shoved him. "I'm trying to be serious, here!"

"Go on, then."

"So I didn't know them. Because of that, I think, the word "family" has always been a title designated only to those that really matter. From all the hundreds of people I've met, I could only call you, Aedion, Lysandra, and Dorian my family." The gold in her eyes gleamed when she said, "Not two dead people."

Rowan looked at her.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she ducked her head and stifled an affronted giggle. "Shit. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

Rowan squinted. "It kind of did, though."

She snapped her gaze to his, relaxed when she realized he was joking. "Rowan, I almost just killed you, bared my soul to you, and the most you've done is lay your obnoxious "I'm-too-stupid-to-understand-you-so-I'm-going-to-play-it-off-as-if-I'm-better-than-you" act on me."

He raised a brow. "I must be a remarkable actor. Didn't even practice that one."

Aelin let out a disgusted snort and stood up. "Ugh. I don't know why I even bother."