2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

stalked to the stream ahead, contemplating where I might indeed try to play with Beron’s
fire. My fire.
Every step away, I could feel Rhys’s stare devouring me. Or maybe that was through the
bond, brushing against my mental shields—flashes of hunger so insatiable that it was an
effort to focus on the task ahead and not on the feeling of what his hands had been like,
stroking my thighs, pushing me against him.
I could have sworn I felt a trickle of amusement on the other side of my mental shield,
too. I hissed and made a vulgar gesture over my shoulder, even as I let my shield drop, just
a bit.
That amusement turned into full delight—and then a lick of pleasure that went straight
down my spine. Lower.
My face heated, and a twig cracked under my boot, as loud as lightning. I gritted my
teeth. The ground sloped toward a gray, gushing stream, fast enough that it had to be fed
by the towering snow-blasted mountains in the distance.
Good—this spot was good. An extra supply of water to drown any flames that might
escape, plenty of open space. The wind blew away from me, tugging my scent southward,
deeper into the forest as I opened my mouth to tell Rhys to stay back.
With that wind, and the roaring stream, it was no surprise that I didn’t hear them until
they had surrounded me.
“Feyre.”
I whirled, arrow nocked and aimed at the source of the voice—
Four Spring Court sentinels stalked from the trees behind me like wraiths, armed to the
teeth and wide-eyed. Two, I knew: Bron and Hart.
And between them stood Lucien.