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“Well, I see it, Nesta Archeron. And all I see is a bored and spoiled girl—”

She moved with impressive swiftness for a human, but still too slow to prevent him from blocking her.

Cassian gripped her raised knee, a mere inch from his balls, and squeezed tight enough to make her hiss.

“Cheap shot,” he said with a half smile. “Come play with me, Nesta, and I’ll teach you far more interesting ways to bring a male to his knees.”

She tried to wrench herself free, but he didn’t let go. She swayed back, and he caught her by the waist, hauling her closer to keep her from falling through the window. He snickered at the skirts around him. “What are you hiding beneath all this, anyway?”

Nesta steadied herself enough to wrench her knee out of his grip. “Get out of my house.”

Cassian simply grinned at her.

She surged for him.

He thought she’d strangle him, which was precisely why he gripped her wrists, but—

Her hands, cool and steady, landed on either side of his face. Tugged his head down.

Cassian’s breathing turned jagged as her eyes flicked to his mouth, as her body came flush with his, those breasts so soft against him. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

He didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit as she rose up on her toes, her mouth nearing his—

Pain exploded between his legs, knocking the breath from his chest as that gods-damned knee of hers indeed found its mark.

Cassian staggered back, swearing viciously. She snorted, looking down at him as he fell on his ass into an armchair, clutching his stomach, trying to reorder his brain—

“You’re all the same,” she said, imperious as the night and cold as the dawn. “Perhaps being an immortal makes you predictable.”

“You,” he gasped out.

A low laugh broke from those lips, which he’d been fully prepared to taste, to devour—

“No, the queens did not send word,” Nesta said, drifting toward the door. “I haven’t heard from them at all.”

Cassian willed his legs to move, but the pain lingered, immobilizing his knees.

“I’ll mail the letter tomorrow morning.” Nesta paused with her hand on the knob and looked over a shoulder. “You know nothing about who I am, and what I’ve done, and what I want. And while we’re on the subject . . . Send someone else next time. If I see you on my doorstep, I’ll scream loud enough for the servants to come running.”

He gaped at her, the pain ebbing enough that he could stagger upright.

But Nesta was gone, slipping down the hall, where some servant called out to her and she murmured a response.

A minute later, he left. Not by the front door, but by squeezing through her gods-damned bedroom window like a thief in the night. He launched himself into the sky before anyone could wonder at the rustle and boom of wings.

Cassian did not circle over the house. But he could feel Nesta’s attention as he soared for the wall. Even shielded from sight, he could feel those blue-gray eyes on him.

The feeling chased him all the way back to Velaris.

Feyre & Rhys

Well, that went better than I thought,” Rhys admitted after everyone had departed, leaning his head back against the arm of the study’s large couch. Nesta and Cassian had returned to the House of Wind, where my sister had promised to find some way to begin looking for the Dread Trove. My mate added wryly, “Despite that disaster with Elain and Nesta.”

I’d returned from talking to my sister about the baby—the boy— to find Rhys lounging on the couch, an arm flung over his eyes, apparently needing a moment of peace after enduring Cassian and Azriel’s exuberant elation.

I plopped onto the sofa beside Rhys, lifting his muscular legs to wiggle beneath them. “Elain showed some teeth,” I observed. “I wasn’t expecting that.” Or what she’d said about her lingering trauma. I’d meant what I’d discussed with Nesta—how many times had I focused solely on my terror during Elain’s suffering?

Rhys watched me through half-lidded eyes, the portrait of idle grace. But he said carefully, “How do you feel about it?”