A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

I was reading in bed, listening to the merry chatter of the toasty birch fire across the room, when I turned the page of my book and a piece of paper fell out. I took one look at the cream stationery and the handwriting and sat up straight. On it, Rhysand had written, I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I don’t have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. I’m bruised all over thanks to you. Something clicked against the nightstand, and a pen rolled across the polished mahogany. Hissing, I snatched it up and scribbled: Go lick your wounds and leave me be. The paper vanished. It was gone for a while—far longer than it should have taken to write the few words that appeared on the paper when it returned. I’d much rather you licked my wounds for me. My heart pounded, faster and faster, and a strange sort of rush went through my veins as I read the sentence again and again. A challenge. I clamped my lips shut to keep from smiling as I wrote, Lick you where, exactly? The paper vanished before I’d even completed the final mark. His reply was a long time coming. Then, Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I’d like to start with “Everywhere,” but I can choose, if necessary. I wrote back, Let’s hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain. Lie. He’d licked away my tears when I’d been a moment away from shattering. He’d done it to keep me distracted—keep me angry. Because anger was bet...

Rhysre in the lead again