His wings tucked in tight as he came, and each spurt of his cock shuddered through his pants, echoing along her hand as she stroked and stroked him.

When Cassian had stilled, when he was shaking—only then did Nesta remove her face from his neck. His hazel eyes were wide enough that the whites shone around them. A blush stained his golden cheeks, so enticing that she nearly leaned forward to lick that, too.

But he remained gaping. Like he’d realized what he’d done and regretted it.

Every bit of desire, of blessed distraction within her winked out.

Nesta shoved at his chest, and he immediately let go, almost dropping her to the floor as their bodies pulled apart.

She didn’t wait to hear his words of regret, that this had been a mistake. She wouldn’t let him hold that power over her. So Nesta curled her lips in a cold, cruel smile and said as she left, “Someone’s quick off the mark.”

Cassian couldn’t look Azriel in the face at breakfast the next morning.

His brother had returned late last night, refused to say anything about what he’d found regarding Briallyn, and only insisted that today they’d all meet at the river house and learn of it together. Cassian hadn’t cared. He’d barely listened to Azriel asking about training.

He’d come in his pants after a few touches from Nesta, soaking himself like he was no better than he’d been in his youth.

But the moment she had kissed him in the hall, he’d lost all semblance of sanity. He’d turned into something just short of an animal, licking and biting at her neck, unable to think clearly beyond the base instinct to claim.

The taste of her had been like fire and steel and a winter sunrise. That had just been her mouth, her neck. If he got his tongue between her legs … He shifted in his seat.

“Did something happen that I, as your chaperone, should know about?” Azriel’s dry question dragged Cassian from his rising arousal. From the amusement on his brother’s face, he knew Az could not only scent that arousal but see it on his face.

“No,” Cassian grumbled. He’d never hear the end of it if he admitted what he’d done.

He’d found his pleasure, and Nesta had not. He’d never allowed such a thing to happen.

But he’d come hard enough to see stars, and only then realized she had not. That he’d embarrassed himself, that he’d left her unsatisfied, and if it was the only taste of her he’d ever get, he’d monumentally fucked it all to hell.

And then there’d been her parting shot, blasting what was left of his pride into shards.

Quick off the mark, she’d purred, like what they’d done hadn’t meant anything.

He knew it was bullshit. He’d felt her frantic need, heard her moans and wanted to devour them whole. But that kernel of doubt took root.

He had to make it even, somehow. Had to get the upper hand again.

Azriel cleared his throat, and Cassian blinked. “What?”

“I said, are you two ready to head down to the river house?”

“Two?” He blinked through the cloud of arousal.

Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?”

“No.”

“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.”

“It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.”

“It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?”

His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.

Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up.

So he said, “All right. We’ll meet you there.”

CHAPTER

20

Nesta could barely stand to be near Cassian as they flew over Velaris. Every glance, every scent of him, every touch while he carried her down to the river house grated along her skin, threatening to bring her back to last night, when she’d been starved for any taste of him.

Thankfully, Cassian didn’t speak to her. Barely looked at her. And by the time the sprawling manor along the river appeared, she’d forgotten to be annoyed by his silence. Two weeks up at the House, and the city suddenly loomed large, too loud, too full of people.

“This meeting will be fast,” Cassian promised as they landed on the front lawn, as if he’d read the tension in her body.

Nesta said nothing, unable to speak with the churning in her stomach. Who would be here? Which of them would she have to face, to endure them judging her so-called progress? They’d probably all heard of her fight with Elain—gods, would Elain be present?

She followed Cassian into the beautiful house, barely noting the round table in the heart of the entry, crowned with a massive vase full of freshly cut flowers. Barely noting the silence of the house, not a servant to be seen.

But Cassian paused before a landscape painting of a towering, barren mountain, void of life yet somehow thrumming with presence. Snow and pines crusted the smaller peaks around it, but this strange, bald mountain … Only a black stone jutted from its top. A monolith, Nesta realized, stepping closer.

Cassian murmured, “I didn’t realize Feyre had painted Ramiel.”

The sacred mountain from the Blood Rite. Indeed, three stars faintly glowed in the twilight skies above the peak. It was a near-perfect, real-life rendering of the Night Court’s insignia.

“I wonder when she saw it,” Cassian mused, smiling faintly.

Nesta didn’t bother to suggest Feyre might have simply peered into Rhysand’s mind. Cassian continued onward, leading her down the hall without another word.

Nesta steeled herself as he stopped before the study doors—the same room where she’d sat and received a public lashing—and then flung one open.

Rhys and Feyre sat on the sapphire couch before the window. Azriel leaned against the mantel. Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a gray fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter. No Elain, no Morrigan.

Feyre’s gaze was wary. Cold. But it warmed as she smiled at Cassian, who strode to her and kissed her cheek—or tried to. He said to Rhys, “Really? She’s shielded even in here?”

Rhys stretched out his long legs, crossing one ankle over the other. “Even in here.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and plopped into the armchair beside Amren’s, surveying her fur coat and saying, “It’s barely cold today.”

Amren’s teeth flashed. “Keep talking like that and it’ll be your pelt I wear tomorrow.”

Nesta might have smiled had Amren not turned toward her.

Tension, thick and painful, stretched between them. Nesta refused to look away.

Amren’s red lips curled, her bob of black hair gleaming.

Feyre cleared her throat. “All right, Az. Let’s hear it.”