2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“I get it.”
Rhys snorted. “Try to read it, Feyre.”
Prick. I snatched the paper to me, nearly ripping it in half in the process. I looked at the
first word, sounding it out in my head. “Y-you … ” The next I figured out with a
combination of my silent pronunciation and logic. “Look … ”
“Good,” he murmured.
“I didn’t ask for your approval.”
Rhys chuckled.
“Ab … Absolutely.” It took me longer than I wanted to admit to figure that out. The
next word was even worse. “De … Del … ”
I deigned to glance at him, brows raised.
“Delicious,” he purred.
My brows now knotted. I read the next two words, then whipped my face toward him.
“You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?! That’s what you wrote?”
He leaned back in his seat. As our eyes met, sharp claws caressed my mind and his
voice whispered inside my head: It’s true, isn’t it?
I jolted back, my chair groaning. “Stop that!”
But those claws now dug in—and my entire body, my heart, my lungs, my blood
yielded to his grip, utterly at his command as he said, The fashion of the Night Court suits
you.
I couldn’t move in my seat, couldn’t even blink.
This is what happens when you leave your mental shields down. Someone with my sort
of powers could slip inside, see what they want, and take your mind for themselves. Or
they could shatter it. I’m currently standing on the threshold of your mind … but if I were
to go deeper, all it would take would be half a thought from me and who you are, your very
self, would be wiped away.
Distantly, sweat slid down my temple.
You should be afraid. You should be afraid of this, and you should be thanking the godsdamned
Cauldron that in the past three months, no one with my sorts of gifts has run into
you. Now shove me out.
I couldn’t. Those claws were everywhere—digging into every thought, every piece of
self. He pushed a little harder.
Shove. Me. Out.
I didn’t know where to begin. I blindly pushed and slammed myself into him, into those
claws that were everywhere, as if I were a top loosed in a circle of mirrors.
His laughter, low and soft, filled my mind, my ears. That way, Feyre.