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September 13 - September 30, 2018
Rhys’s wing curved around me, herding me closer to where I could nearly feel the heat of his powerful body. “I promise I won’t let the wind destroy your hair.” He lifted a hand as if he might tug on one of those loose curls, then lowered it.
“I didn’t know you even had friends.” Yes—anger, sharpness … It felt good. Better than feeling nothing. A cold smile. “You didn’t ask.” Rhysand was close enough now that he slid a hand around my waist, both of his wings encircling me. My spine locked up. A cage— The wings swept back. But he tightened his arm. Bracing me for takeoff. Mother save me.
We swerved into an updraft, rising so fast it was instinct to clutch his black tunic as my stomach clenched. I scowled at the soft laugh that tickled my ear. “I expected more screaming from you. I must not be trying hard enough.” “Do not,” I hissed, focusing on the approaching tiara of lights in the eternal wall of the mountain.
“So I’m your huntress and thief?” His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”
“I do have more important things to do,” he purred. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.”
Rhys waved a lazy hand. “By all means, Tarquin, spend the day with my lady.” My lady. I ignored the two words. But I shut out my own marveling at what I’d accomplished, the slow-building horror at the invisible violation Tarquin would never know about.
I ate in silence, listening to the rustle of his clothes being donned, trying to think of ice baths, of infected wounds, of toe fungus—anything but his naked body, so close … and the bed I was sitting on. I poured myself a glass of wine—then filled his.
