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The world tilted, and when it righted itself again, she was on her back, and he was above her, wings blotting out the faelights, his face inches from her own. “I love you,” he said, withdrawing almost entirely. He plunged back in hard enough that she slid a few inches along the bed.

He gripped her knees, widening her for him as he thrust harder, deeper.

Oh gods, she was going to explode. She needed more, needed him inside her forever because nothing would ever feel this good—

Cassian hooked her leg around his middle, and did something with his hips as he stroked into her again. At the cry that burst out of her throat, he purred, “Good, Nesta. Good.”

And the male satisfaction in his voice, knowing that she was his and he was hers, and that he and he alone could wring this kind of pleasure from her—

Release smashed through her, and she was distantly aware of her nails digging into his shoulders, of everything in her universe reorienting toward him. He pumped into her again, deep, steady strokes, and she knew he was close, knew he was dying to spill in her, but he’d keep going if she wanted another climax, he’d keep going forever if it’d please her.

That thought alone had her reaching between them, cupping the silken sac brushing against her sex with every thrust. She squeezed, looking up at him as she did. And had the pleasure of watching his throat work before a cry of pure release broke from him and he spilled everything he had in her.

The sight of it had her clenching around him, had her frantically meeting him thrust for thrust as he spent himself, and then she was crying out again, too, holding him against her so that their hearts beat together, a push-pull of a rhythm that would exist even when this world ended.

And when they had both stilled, when only their breathing filled the room, Nesta still held him there inside her. Cassian lifted himself on his elbows high enough to scan her face.

She smiled at him, in a way she rarely smiled at anyone. Kissed him once, twice, on the mouth. And whispered, “If I’d known giving away the Mask would get me sex like that, I’d have offered Bryce the Harp and the Crown as well.”

He smirked and rose from the bed, lifting her easily in his arms. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Nes,” he murmured in her ear as he carried her toward the couch.

Feyre

“He’s still asleep,” Rhys said softly, walking on cat-soft feet toward where I sat in the armchair before the fireplace in our bedroom. “From what I could sense, Madja was right earlier: His mind already reorganized itself to consider today to be some sort of nightmare. He won’t remember it. The fear won’t even leave a mark.”

I watched the flames lapping at the fragrant logs. “I should go to the House of Wind and drag Bryaxis out of that library. Bring her right to the Prison and throw away the key.”

I’d pieced myself together this afternoon, and during dinner, yet that simmering, clarifying rage lingered. Only now, alone with my mate, could it come out.

Rhys sank into the armchair across from mine. Watched the fire as well. “I’d help.”

“It’s like Bryaxis knew the library was the one place she could hunker down where we couldn’t get to her.”

“She spent enough time with the priestesses, Clotho especially, to understand them. Perhaps she counted on their compassion.”

I slid my eyes toward my mate at last. Didn’t bother to look anything close to civilized as I said, “I will find a way to kill Bryaxis. I don’t even care how or why she came today. I’ll kill her.”

“Of course—but consider what happened. She targeted us today. Did someone send her? She seemed . . . different than when she escaped after the war. Darker.” His violet eyes were starless. “I’m willing to bet Koschei’s growing influence in the world had something to do with that.”

Another mark in favor of re-creating the wall. Making multiple walls. Our enemies were growing, adapting—worsening. And speaking of those enemies . . .

I asked, “But what about Hybern? They could have played some role in sending her today.”

“They could have,” he admitted. “They ask for a meeting about an alliance, we get nowhere with Tarquin and the Summer Court—so our own list of allies drops by one—then suddenly Bryaxis appears to terrorize us . . . Why? To drive home the urgent need for allies and lead us closer to agreeing to meet with Hybern?”

“If they’re responsible for it, I’ll turn that island into rubble,” I promised darkly.

“Again, I’ll join you. But let’s wait until we know for certain. Maybe send Az or his spies to see what’s going on in Hybern. The timing is too neat to ignore.”

“I don’t know if I can even stomach sitting at the same table with whoever’s ruling Hybern these days.”

“I don’t think I can, either,” Rhys confessed. “Certainly not after what I . . .” He trailed off, and my heart strained for him. But he pivoted. “Bryaxis wields her gift with alarming dexterity.”

I could make a few guesses about what Rhys might have been presented with, but I asked, “What did you see today?”

His throat bobbed. “I need . . . a few days before I can talk about it.”

I nodded, though horror curdled in my gut. Given what I had seen, I could only imagine my mate’s nightmares.