A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses #4) by Sarah J. Maas

It had scared her more than anything else. That utter lack of feeling. How good it had felt, to be so removed.

Nesta swallowed. She hadn’t confessed it to any of them. She’d been contemplating the Mask when they’d found her in its room, contemplating that void. Wondering whether anyone had ever donned the Mask not to raise the dead, but to simply stop being inside their own minds.

She had been aware, yes. Had killed the kelpie because she wished it dead. But all the weight, the echoing thoughts, the hatred and guilt that sliced her like knives—they had vanished.

And it had been so seductive, so freeing and lovely, that she’d known the Mask had to be destroyed. If only to save herself from it.

But it could not be destroyed. And she was the sole person who might contain it.

Never mind that, for the same reason, she’d be the sole person with access to it. Everyone else would be safe from its temptation and power—except for her. The one who most needed to be barred from it.

A knock sounded on her door, and Nesta dropped below the dark surface of the pool, letting her long hair cover her breasts, before she said, “Yes?”

Cassian strode in, a tray of food in hand, and halted when he didn’t see her on the bed. His eyes shot to the sunken pool, and she could have sworn he almost dropped the tray onto the white carpet. “I … You.”

His loss of words was enough to pull her from her thoughts, to curve the corners of her mouth upward. “Me?”

He shook his head like a wet dog. “I brought some food. I assumed you’d want dinner.”

“There’s no dining room?”

“There is, but I thought you might need to unwind.”

She surveyed him, surprised that he knew her well enough to guess that the thought of speaking to everyone again, of dressing in suitable clothes, was draining—miserable. Knew her well enough to grasp that she’d rather eat in her room and piece herself together.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I’ll put it over there.” He jerked his chin to the desk next to the bathtub’s far edge, where the water tumbled off the mountain.

Nesta pivoted as he strode a shade stiffly to the desk and set down the tray.

“Right.” He cleared his throat again. “Enjoy your bath. And the meal.”

Seeing Cassian so flustered pushed away the shadows in her heart. Thoughts of the Mask became a distant rumble. “Do you want to get in?”

He sucked in a breath, but something like pain washed over his features. “You’re hurt.”

Nesta stood, water sluicing off her, her hair plastering to her breasts and doing nothing to hide her peaked nipples beneath. “Do I look injured to you?”

He nodded toward the scabbed cuts all over her body, her face. “Yes?”

She snorted. “It looks worse than it feels by now.”

Cassian didn’t reply, his chest rising and falling in a sharp rhythm. With each uneven lift, she began to throb between her legs, as if her body answered his own.

Yes, her body seemed to say. This—him. Life to drive away the Mask; life to drive away the horror of Oorid. The need to touch him, feel his warmth and strength, pounded through her.

If he wouldn’t climb into the bath, then she’d have to go to him.

Nesta waded toward the steps of the sunken tub, and Cassian went rigid.

He whispered, “I thought you were dead today.”

Nesta reached the stairs. “So did I.” She stepped upward, exposing her midriff. “I thought you were dead, too.”

“You must have been happy.”

She smiled, watching his gaze drop with every piece of her revealed. Another step upward had her sex bared to him. “It did not make me happy.” She reached the floor of the room.

Through what Nesta knew was five hundred years of will, Cassian lifted his focus to her face as she walked to him, water dripping off her body. “You want to do this?” he breathed.

“Yes.” She stopped a foot away, her wet hair draped along her torso, and stared up into his face. His eyes burned like hazel stars. Nesta gave him a smile that was pure Fae. “Just sex.”

The words seemed to spark something, because Cassian blinked. “Right. Just sex.” He didn’t say it as lightly as she did. And still didn’t reach for her.

So she said, “There can be nothing more than sex, Cassian.”

His jaw tightened, and he seemed to struggle with some internal battle before he said darkly, “Then I’ll take whatever you offer me.” He leaned in, his body still not touching hers, and said against her ear, “And I’ll take you however you wish me to.”

Her toes curled on the stones, her hair dripping. “And if I wish to take you?”

He smiled against her ear. “Then I’ll beg you to ride me into oblivion.”

She went molten, and from the way his wings tucked in, she knew he could scent the wetness building between her thighs.

Cassian gently pulled her wet hair from her breasts. Her breathing came in sharp pants as he traced the tip of a finger around her nipple. Then did it again.

Words eluded her. She couldn’t remember any of them, couldn’t remember anything except that one finger, circling her nipple, her entire body throbbing with need.

Cassian flicked her nipple, a hard, sharp bite that made her whimper.

Desperate for more of him, for all of him, Nesta said, “Do what you want.”