Feyre knew she should've called Nesta to come pick her up from work when she awoke in a dark basement that reeked of mold.

She blinked her eyes open, her sight adjusting to the dimly lit room, the only source of light being a small lamp that emitted a soft orange glow near her feet. Her head ached, and as she tried to rub her eyes she became aware of the handcuffs locked around her wrists, securing her to a thick metal pole.

"What the hell?" she muttered.

"Ah, so the Sleeping Beauty awakes," a male velvet voice snickered in the darkness. Her head whipped around to try and locate who had spoken. "Who said that?"

"Me. Who else?" She squinted into the shadows, and saw a silhouette of a figure slouched against the wall. "You know, unless you see any other unfortunate souls locked up down here," the figure continued.

"Who are you?" she asked. There was a sound of shuffling feet and clinking as the figure moved towards the light. She made out a mess of black hair and a winding chain.

"Rhysand. You?"

"Feyre. Where are we?"

"Excellent question. I'd hazard a guess at someone's basement."

"Aren't you helpful," she said dryly.

"I try, darling."

She nudged the lamp towards him, trying to get a better look at her pseudo-cellmate-

Well. She hadn't expected that. To be clearer, she wasn't expecting her comrade-in-capture to be as attractive as he was.

He was tall and visibly fit. Even in the dark she could see the way his biceps strained against his own restraints. His teeth were straight and glowing white in the dark, his cheekbones strong and nose regal, like that of a prince or lord from a fairy tale. However, none of these features could compare to the dark violet of his eyes. They shone at her through the dark, speckled with starlight, gleaming like the night sky. Now that she thought about it, they almost exactly resembled a clear midnight, the kind of dark that did not frighten but instead calmed. She wanted to paint those eyes, began to think of all the colors she would need, planning, until-

A smile played at the corners of his lips. "You're staring," he drawled, his violet eyes dancing with amusement.

She hoped it was dim enough that he couldn't see her blush. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked. "It's alright; I'm quite used to it."

And he was an arrogant prick. Fantastic. "Do you know why we're here?"

"I know why I'm here."

She waited for him to elaborate, but when the next few minutes passed by in silence, she broke the quiet by saying irritatedly, "Please, feel free to enlighten me."

"I pissed someone off," he said nonchalantly.

"Hm, I can't imagine that," she responded sarcastically. "What were you doing, existing?"

He grinned. "What about you?"

"How should I know? I was just walking home, minding my business, when something slammed into the side of my head and I blacked out," she snapped.

Rhysand raised a hand, his fingers grazing her hairline, chains clinking. She winced as his fingers touched a particularly sensitive part that sent a pang through her skull. He pulled his hand back, blood shining on his fingertips. "I can see that,' he mused. "You should probably see someone about that."

"What a fantastic idea. If you could just point me to the nearest hospital, I'd appreciate it."

"You've got quite the temper," Rhysand remarked. "I think you and Tamlin will get along spectacularly."

"Who the hell is Tamlin-"

A door banged open. She jumped, startled, as footsteps rumbled down what sounded like stairs. There was a click, and she and Rhysand both flinched at the blinding light that seared their eyes.

A man stood in the doorway, his face half hidden in shadows. His golden hair seemed to create an angelic halo around his head. However, from what she could see of his features, angelic was not the word to use to describe him. His jaw was sharp, his brow bones almost pushing through his skin, distinctly animalistic. His bulking frame, the very way he stood, his overall aura, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, almost like a hidden instinct had awoken, one to warn prey a predator was near.

"Tamlin, my good man, how are you?' Rhysand greeted him cheerfully. A low growl sounded from the other man, who Feyre assumed was this "Tamlin." He seemed more beast than human. A nauseous feeling grew in her stomach as she quickly realized just how screwed she was. Rhysand had distracted her from understanding the full magnitude of the situation.

Tamlin's green eyes focused on her, and she couldn't help but feel terrified.

"Ah, yes, my new roommate," Rhysand said. "She's a bit dull. All she ever does is ask questions and demand answers. Quite tiring."

Feyre stared at him in disbelief. Was he trying to get them both killed? "Shut up," she hissed.

"Come now, darling, you're ruining all the fun."

A massive fist came hurtling at him, and Feyre choked back a gasp as Rhysand hit the ground, mumbling curses as he pushed himself into a sitting position. A brilliantly purple shiner started to form around his eye, matching the violet irises within.

"She told you to be quiet," Tamlin growled.

Rhysand gingerly touched the bruise. "I see you've been working on that right hook of yours."

Another swing, and Rhysand was spitting blood on the stone floor. "And the left, it seems," he muttered thickly.

Tamlin raised his hand again, but Feyre shouted, "Stop!" He turned towards her, and fear rose like bile in the back of her throat, choking her. Something flickered in his eyes. There was a few moments of awful, stifling silence that even Rhysand didn't dare to break, and then Tamlin turned away from the two of them, his shoulders filling the doorway as he left.

Feyre was still too shaken to speak. Rhysand, on the other hand, had no such difficulty. "Hm, I thought he'd do or say more. He always had such a flair for dramatics."

Feyre found it highly ironic that Rhysand was scoffing at the other man for dramatics, but his rib at Tamlin broke the spell on her vocal cords. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm splendid," he said dryly, bringing up a hand to his lip, which still leaked blood. "At least I know why you're here."

"Care to tell me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said snobbishly.

Frustrated, she kicked out at him.

"Alright, alright," Rhysand said. "You're to be his new plaything."

"What?" she shrieked.

"I don't think he'd do anything forcefully. He'll probably just wait for you to develop Stockholm Syndrome or something. Then again, it hasn't worked on me yet…"

"I don't- I can't-" she sputtered.

"Play our cards right, and you'll have nothing to fear," Rhysand said smoothly. "We'll be out of here before he can try anything."

"How?"

He grinned toothily at her. "Let's just say I'm very fortunate that you arrived."

Before she could ask what he meant, he held up a bobby pin.

"How-" She remembered him running his fingers through her hair. "You are brilliant."

He preened at her awed compliment. "I know, darling. I know."

Prick.

Review, please!

A friend helped with the descriptions for Rhys and Tamlin, so kudos to her as well!