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Her blue-gray eyes flicked over him in a sweep that might have cut off a lesser male’s balls. “All of them?”

“The important ones.”

A snort, and she looked toward the fire. As sure a dismissal and belittling as he’d ever encountered.

Cassian stiffened. “And what, exactly, do you do that’s of importance?”

Her head snapped up. Oh, that had hit its mark.

“Why should I bother defending myself,” Nesta said with lethal cold, “to a male who is so puffed up on his own sense of importance there’s barely enough space in the room for his enormous head?”

It was his turn to blink.

Then he was stalking toward her, his long stride eating up the ornate carpet between them. She did not recoil, did not yield one step back. Only lifted her chin to meet his stare as he towered over her, spreading his wings slightly, and said through his teeth, “Do you have news from the queens?”

Her brows flattened. “Leader of the High Lord’s armies, and yet the brute remains. You cannot cow me with words, so you seek to intimidate me through your hulking size.”

“Hulking—”

“You need me far more than I need you. So I’d suggest you merely agree, tuck in those bat wings, and ask nicely.”

He did no such thing.

But he did take a step closer, bracing a hand on the mantel, and leaned in close enough to breathe in that scent of hers.

It hit him in the gut so hard he could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back into his head, to keep himself poised there instead of burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, to keep from moving closer, from . . . touching.

No blush stained her cheek as he held the distance between them, hardly more than a hand’s span between their faces.

She was young—twenty-two, twenty-three at most. But had she been with a man? He shouldn’t have cared, or wondered, and it made no difference to him, but . . . normally, he could tell. She . . . Cassian couldn’t read her at all. So he moved his head closer, his dark hair sliding over his brow, and purred, “There are other ways I could play nice, Nesta Archeron.”

The Fae male—Cassian—was dangerous.

Of course, he was dangerous in the expected ways: tall, muscled, skilled in weaponry and war. Then there were those enormous wings, and the little fact that he was a deadly Fae warrior who served at the feet of the most powerful High Lord in history. A High Lord her sister was now entangled with—falling in love with, if she’d read it right. The High Lord already loved her wildly, that much was clear.

But Cassian was dangerous for another reason entirely. Not the handsome face, but those hazel eyes . . . They had a way of assessing everything and everyone.

Standing flush against the mantel, the snapping fire was blazingly hot against her left side as Cassian towered over her, close enough to share air. Nesta counted her breaths. Held that gaze, willing him not to see too far, too deep. Better to keep him distracted with the barbed words, the utter dismissal.

Or—this. The offer he’d thrown her way, the test.

No doubt to find another weakness. Was there a way past her defenses in that regard?

Play nice. A small smile curved her lips.

“If I wanted a male pawing at me,” Nesta said, refusing to let her chin lower, “I’d sooner ask one of the hounds.”

That insufferable smile remained. And Cassian went right for the throat as he said, “Have you ever been with a male, Nesta?”

To lie or tell the truth—where did the advantage lie? So she merely said, “Have you?”

Cassian snorted, the breath of it caressing her lips. “I asked first, sweetheart.” He angled his head, that night-dark hair sliding over his brow like silk. “Unless you prefer females?”

It was by no means an insult if she did, but there was taunt enough in it that she placed a brazen hand on his chest. Sculpted muscle lay beneath the tight fighting leathers, the warmth of him leaking into her palm. Fire—he reminded her of fire made flesh. She pushed gently on his chest, her hand somehow seeming smaller against the broadness of his torso.

Trained killer—predator by birth and training.

Arrogant by nature.