DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of Sarah J. Maas or her A Court of Thorns and Roses trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.

CHAPTER 2

Eris gulped for air, for more of the willow and amber and bergamot. He was drowning in it but could not get enough. She must have been thrown backward into the pool upon impact. How she deflected the blow, he wasn't sure— but he couldn't think about that while looking at her face, let alone breathe.

His eyes narrowed in recognition of what this sharp feeling was. He had heard from other mates males what the snap is like. But while his mind was racing, telling him nonono she can't be, his body propelled him to walk toward her, to be closer.

She was long of body and of leg, but small and compact. Perfect for stealth. Half her face was breathing in the earth of the forest floor. Her wet black hair had probably been bound at some point, but his blast had freed it from its constraint. It was very long and spilled everywhere like wavy rivers of ink. Eris kneeled to observe her, marvel at her wild beauty as he carefully peeled a wet lock from her cheek and tucked it behind the small white shell of her ear.

A round-edged ear. His mate was human.

Shit. Eris swore under his breath. He was knee-deep in utter shit.

But thinking of that wouldn't do much; he had to get the girl to safety. His personal lodge was the closest roof in their current proximity, and it was the only place he knew was safe for her to remain away from the prying eyes of his fickle Court.

He picked the girl up off the ground and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. She was light in his arms. Bits of forest soil dropped and her legs dripped water as she as lifted up. Her head lolled against his chest, and some earth was smudged onto his shirt from it.

Eris tried very hard not to look at her— much of her simple leathers and white tunic had burned away, leaving little to the imagination as the wet white rags of her shirt clung to her breasts. He glimpsed a rosy peak as her chest rose and fell in her lack of consciousness. It had hardened from the cool breeze of fall whistling around them in the forest, and the tantalizing sensuality threatened to break him. Eris tried to unsee the petal of delicate pink surrounding the duskier point of her nipple, and the thought of pleasing her there with his mouth nearly overtook him for the longest second of his life.

Instead, he wrapped his jacket and carefully folded its front over so that she was no longer exposed. She was so desirable, with her long black hair, pale skin and long limbs. How could she be his?

He had seen also seen something else: scars. As a firebringer, and as the most powerful fire-handling Far alive, he knew the lasting marks of burns when he saw them. The pebbled texture along the right side of her ribs and between those rose-tipped breasts did nothing to diminish her beauty; they rather branded her as is, a foreshadowing of the male who would find her. She was perfect, for all she had suffered, and he would not let anyone hurt her further in her lifetime. A primal instinct to protect, to seek vengeance, strengthened his resolve as he took in the marks of ropes long healed snaking around her wrists like warrior's bracelets. His breathing, already uneven, became more so with the wrath he felt at that moment, thinking of his mate's tormentors and how she must have suffered.

"Never again," he whispered into her hair.

Soft waves of her scent— the willow, amber and gentle touch of bergamot— wafted up to his nose and locked arrested his senses. Shit. Ignoring the roaring in his ears, in his blood, he looked ahead to where the House of Embers was and winnowed into its premises.

Eris landed gracefully at the front of a large wooden cabin of polished pine. Tall windows stretched between the first and second floors and reflected the surrounding foliage with architectural grace. The burgundy door, ever inviting with its gold handle, was the only luxurious component to the outside of the lodge. Trees and bushes surrounded the structure, and birds chirped in the depths of their leaves.

The House of Embers was his own private lodge away from the complexities of the Forest House. When he had built it two centuries ago, he had warded it against his father and brothers and concealed it so that it would not be discovered; it would appear and be available only to him. He had never brought anyone else into the House of Embers besides his mother, who he had once brought in to recuperate from the blows of Beron's fists.

He'd been whipped for that for three weeks straight. His Lady mother had tearfully extracted a promise from him to never hide her again in fear of Beron discovering his eldest son's one and only safe haven.
Eris entered with the girl in his arms.

The domestic magic of the cabin already had a fire crackling at the fireplace and hot food— rabbit stew accompanied by collard greens and seasonal roots— waiting on the refurbished wood that made the dining table. Everything was as he had left it three weeks ago. His unfinished novel still lay, cracked open where he'd left off reading, on one arm of two great leather armchairs.

He made for the bedroom upstairs— there was only one bedroom, and the other room on the second floor was a small study, with a washroom in between— but paused, looking down at the girl's face. So young. He sniffed. And dirty. On top of her alluring personal scent, she smelled of soil and ash.

At his silent command, the large basin in the washroom filled with hot water and a very thick layer of bubbles smelling of sage and cedarwood. He went about doing his work.

Eris had almost reached the final chapter of his novel when felt her awareness shift and smelled her instant fear. He slowly lowered the book, listening. His heart thundered in his chest. She had awoken.

She seemed to sit upright in his bed in a stupor, but soon leapt out from under the covers and spent some time rummaging through the bedroom for anything she might find useful, and had decided on wrenching a window curtain rod down to use it as a makeshift weapon. He heard her creeping down the stairs, the wood groaning softly under her step, and he felt her flinch at the sound.

She hesitated when she saw the table of food— he felt her hunger— but she didn't let temptation get in her way as she quietly tried the doorknob. She swore softly.

And she whipped back around, quick and alert with the curtain rod raised high, as the High Lord of Autumn descended with one hand on the stairway's wooden rail, the glowing embers of his russet eyes a death promise on his beautiful face.

"Welcome to the House of Embers," Eris said, his voice deep and dark like darkness surrounding licks of flame.

Her dark eyes widened and the rod she held began to shake, but the girl raised it higher and checked her stance as she rasped, "Is this your shirt I'm wearing?"

Eris blinked. That was unexpected. "Yes, it is."

"Why am I not wearing my own clothes?" She gulped as he stepped closer. She raised her bar, poised to strike—

"There wasn't much left of them. And I don't keep female clothing in my personal lodge." The curtain rod grew hot in her hands and she dropped it, biting back a yelp as the metal glowed red with the heat of his power.

"Who changed me out? Bathed me?"

"I did. You're welcome."

"You— you touched me?" Her hands— slender white hands with palms blistered from his heat on the curtain rod she'd held seconds before — bunched the V of his shirt closed at her front as she backed away with every step he drew nearer. Her bare legs, which were long and lovely and spotted with scars, looked like they were going to give out under her at any moment. The scent of her fear was more potent at that moment than the willow and amber of her very being. She was terrified of him, and perhaps had been violated before. She was clearly no stranger to capture and torture, and from he'd seen of her body she had a Fae friend somewhere who healed her and trained her in basic combat. She was terrified, and she had feared for her life before.

Yet she did not break eye contact with him, not even once. She was so achingly young, and so vulnerable as a human female, Eris thought, but her eyes spoke of lifetimes of suffering and hope. Her dark eyes held a certain kind of energy in them, a fire, despite the wariness that she had honed in the Fae realm.

She reminded him of Feyre, Eris realized. Reminded him of the stories others told about her when Rhys had spirited her away to the Night Court— and she reminded him of Morrigan. Of the female his family—he himself— had acted against in such vile ways.

Eris cleared his throat. "Your name." He was being a prick, he knew, by using a command rather than a question. But, the fool that he was, he was going to self-combust if he didn't know what her name was.

The girl neither moved nor answered him. He didn't answer her, so he supposed she didn't feel obligated to answer him. The space between them was taut, the atmosphere electrifying, for what might have been quite a few minutes. The tension dissolved when her stomach let out a rumble so loud she flushed and put a hand on her belly as if to quiet it. Eris felt one corner of his mouth quirk upward.

She clenched her jaw. "Briar," she said. "My name is Briar." And her gorgeous dark eyes were suddenly cast down, and some hurt glimmered there. As if submitting herself to her inferiority as a human to a High Fae. The stark blackness of her long lashes lay in contrast to her skin, which now bore the faintest blush on her high, delicate cheekbones.

Briar. The name crashed into him, through him, like a bell. The name of his mate. Only she didn't know how beautiful she was, or that she was his mate and that he had already been struggling with his new inexplicable magnetism to her, but knew that she was alone with a strange Fae male who maybe had had his way with her.

Briar. Damn him. His legs had been walking toward her, slowly and silently, this whole time. He couldn't keep away. And now he was directly in front of her, and could smell the willow and amber and bergamot mixed in with her fear and— what was that other scent? It called to him differently than the willow and amber did, and played more on the bergamot, with something else, something mustier—

He snarled softly when it hit him, lush and sweet: the beginnings of female arousal.

Eris knew Briar's arousal was instinctive, purely due to his beauty, his presence, his power. He knew it wasn't a result of her direct desire for him. But this logic was becoming increasingly clouded by his need for her, his need to sweep her up in his arms and take her back to the bed upstairs to taste those coral-colored lips she was now licking out of a mixture of fear and anticipation. She looked ravishing right then, breathing shallowly, distrust simmering in all her fine features, his shirt seemingly huge as it cloaked over her much smaller frame. He could smell himself on her as the fabric of the shirt shifted over her pearly skin; he could smell himself on her body right now, over those narrow collarbones and in the earthy dampness under her small breasts. Her hands still held the V of his shirt front together for modesty, and they trembled. He could see in those dark eyes with their ridiculous lashes that she had marked her own body's reaction to him and was confused and embarrassed by it. He wished she wasn't. Her maidenly shame was more enticing than she realized.

Briar's stomach insisted on sustenance once more. Eris gave himself one split second to collect his wits and lace his mental trousers back up, he felt like such a goddamn fool. He schooled his features into a mask of cool indifference. This was the mask of the bored, condescending male everyone outside this Court thought he was. Eris the snake. He looked down his nose at her. "Eat something now," he snarled in her face. "I'll give you an hour to do so, and to come up with an explanation as to what you are doing in my Court and why."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before he swept out the door, leaving orange sparks cracking and fading after him.

Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris and Briar! - ACOTARIST