My mate.
Those words swam through Hope's mind over and over. She'd woken only a few minutes ago but hadn't yet found the energy to move her limbs. Every bit of her was sore, her throat the worst of it.
Slowly, Hope pulled herself up straighter in the bed that wasn't hers.
It hadn't been a dream.
Frowning, she scanned the room to find it was probably the finest place she'd ever woken up in. Memories slowly filtered in as she took in her new surroundings.
The high ceilings and intricate details on the furniture felt like a five-star hotel. Though, this wasn't a random one-night stand in Paris or LA.
Hope had no idea where she was.
Low voices rose from somewhere in the place through the slow pounding against her temples. She winced, pulling herself further from under the covers, and looked down at herself. She wore a thin but nicely made white gown. It wasn't sheer enough to see through but had enough airflow to be comfortable.
There was a knock at the door as something soft touched her mind; it was one of the strangest feelings she'd ever had.
Hope glanced up, cringing at the noise. Everything was too overstimulating- the sounds, the scents. She needed blood; just the thought of it made her gums ache. She didn't have time to dwell on the thoughts as the door creaked open.
"Hello." A woman carefully poked her head through the crack in the door. She recognized that voice. It was the one she'd heard on the beach before she saw…him.
Who was he?
The woman stepped through. She was gorgeous- fair and sleek, with dark hair and pointed ears. Hope frowned, staring at her.
Where was she?
Middle Earth?
"My name is Feyre," the woman offered with a soft, encouraging smile, "how are you feeling?"
Hope shifted on the edge of the bed and looked around. She slowly shook her head.
"I don't know where I am." Her voice sounded as horrible as her throat felt. She cringed just as Feyre crossed to the other side of the room, taking up a pitcher on a dresser and pouring a glass of water. Bringing it to her, she nodded.
"We worried you wouldn't make it through the night," Feyre bit her lip as Hope hesitantly took the glass of water, "you proved us wrong."
Hope took the first sip, which was torture, but she didn't stop until the glass was empty. She could still feel the grime of the salt on her skin from the ocean.
"You're on an island by the sea," Feyre murmured, and Hope glanced at her.
Hope's voice was much smoother now that she'd had a drink, "I need to know where I am so I can get back."
Feyre nodded slowly as she pulled up a seat on the side of the bed. "Where are you from?"
"You're avoiding my question."
"Just as you avoided mine."
The corner of Hope's mouth quirked up, and she nodded slowly. "Louisiana."
Feyre's frown deepened as she slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that territory."
Before Hope could ask another question, Feyre stood to her feet. "Get dressed," she nodded to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, "come down when you're ready, and we can discuss it in detail."
Hope opened her mouth to speak, but Feyre opened the door and left before she could. The murmuring of voices came soon after.
It took a little longer to dress than usual. Hope wasn't familiar with the type of attire—where were her clothes? Eventually, she was dressed in a dark blue tunic and black pants that most resembled her jeans, though they were made of a much thicker material.
Hope glanced in the mirror and pulled a face- it wasn't too bad. She tied the laces to her boots and stretched her glutes. She'd never been as sore as she was now. It took even more time to cross the room and open the door.
The voices she'd heard while dressing stopped abruptly.
Hope rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't go quiet on my account."
"You think she can hear us? She certainly isn't Fae." Feyre whispered, and Hope smirked as she started for where she sensed the gathering was
Hope paused on the threshold, looking out into what seemed the main sitting room. The place was massive, but now it would have made sense if so many people lived here. Her eyes searched the room.
"He's not here," one woman said, and Hope's eyes flashed to her. She was sat on a chaise, a book in her lap and a scowl on her features. "You'll have to whore around somewhere else I'm afraid."
Hope blinked in surprise, but before she could take in what she'd said, Feyre stepped forward holding a chalice.
"Here," she offered with a soft smile, "I told you we can discuss things down here and we will, but first you need some of your strength back."
Hope peered down into the contents of the chalice and raised a brow, glancing up at Feyre. The crimson liquid smelled divine, but how had she known?
Had she read her mind?
Well, either way, she was starved and the blood didn't seem tainted. She carefully took it in her hands.
"Thank you?" Hope frowned just as one of the men snickered.
"Watch out, Amren, you're not the only one with a bloody sweet-tooth." It was a male, also with pointed ears. He was tall, very tall. Broad with long hair that was tucked half-way up into a neat bun.
He was not the man on the beach who had called her…nevermind.
The one who must be Amren, rolled her eyes, but didn't take her lingering gaze off Hope.
"Alright, enough." It was another man, again, not the one from the beach. He offered a smile. His violet eyes somehow seemed warm and electric at the same time. "I'm Rhysand," he gestured around the room, "Cassian. Mor. You've met Feyre, my wife. Amren, and Nesta has made herself known to you as well."
Rhysand gave a grim smile. "Welcome to Velaris."