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Crescent City, 15035 V.E.
“You can’t keep beating the shit out of people just because they don’t like me, Cassian.”
He growled something unintelligible in response, but pressed the ice pack more firmly to her bruised eye, taking care not to hurt her.
“I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but it’s just not socially sustainable,” Nesta went on.
“That fae bastard called you a cunt,” Cassian insisted, arm tightening around her shoulder. “If you weren’t going to kick his ass, someone had to.”
“Yet I’m the one with the black eye.” Nesta didn’t say it scornfully, but Cassian’s face twisted in guilt anyway.
Nesta hadn’t been trying to break up the fight earlier at the gala dinner; rather, watching her angel boyfriend beat up her sister’s ex had been the highlight of her night. Still, a sizable crowd had formed around Cassian and the Spring Lord, and somewhere along the way, Nesta was jostled forward just as Cassian was shoved back. Her face had went right into his elbow, and that was enough for Cassian to drop everything and demand they go straight home.
Which led them to the second highlight of Nesta’s night: Cassian curled up on the couch beside her in their Old Quarter apartment, his left arm curled around her shoulder so he could press the ice pack to her left eye. Their faces were so close together she could press her lips to his neck without moving.
“I baited Tamlin first,” Nesta said, because what kind of sister would she be if she didn’t antagonize Feyre’s flower-fucking ex every chance she got? “I don’t exactly need you to finish fights I start on purpose.” She rolled her eyes.
“Of course you don’t.” Cassian’s feathered wing rustled as it drew closer around Nesta. “But frankly, I don’t care if you killed his dog in front of his own eyes—”
“You should care a little bit,” Nesta interrupted.
“He crossed a line when he opened his mouth to talk shit about you,” Cassian finished.
Nesta didn’t argue that if Cassian tried to punch every person that called her a cunt or a bitch, he wouldn’t have time left to be her boyfriend. Instead, she chewed on her lip and stared out the windows at Crescent City beneath them, bright and alive even at this hour. “That fight did fulfill a lot of my fantasies tonight,” she admitted.
Cassian put the ice pack aside before pulling Nesta impossibly closer. “Oh? Which ones?”
“Seeing Tamlin be physically hurt. Seeing you stand up for me, and in a way, for Feyre.”
“I didn’t do it for her.”
Nesta didn’t need to be told. Cassian didn’t know the fae side of her family very well, to the point where he was mostly unaware of the full extent of the mental and emotional abuse her sister had suffered during her relationship with the Spring Lord. After seeing how Cassian had reacted to a simple word, however, Nesta was glad he didn’t know. Tamlin would’ve suffered a lot worse than a rearranged face.
“I’m sure Feyre would love to hear about it anyway,” Nesta said. “Though I hate it when your pretty hands get all bloody.” She reached for a bandaged hand, mostly because she just wanted to hold his hand.
Before Cassian could make an innuendo about his hands, a sharp rap came from the door.
“I’ll get it.” Cassian untangled himself from Nesta with a groan. She immediately missed his warmth, but watched him walk to the door and unlock it. A moment later, Azriel walked in, still dressed in his all-black suit from the gala. Massive black wings took up a ridiculous amount of space in their living room, but Cassian’s brother-in-arms had a way of making himself seem smaller than he actually was so others would be comfortable around him.
Nesta instantly perked up at his presence. She didn’t like many people, but Azriel had never been many people. Even though he was a malakim who served in the 33rd Imperial Legion alongside Cassian, a world away from Nesta’s childhood home in FiRo, sometimes she felt as if she’d known Azriel her entire life.
“You two didn’t waste any time getting changed,” he said as a greeting, eyeing Cassian’s sweats and Nesta’s oversized tee. He held up a small glass bottle and tossed it to Nesta. “This should help with your eye,” he said.
She caught the bottle and inspected it. “What is it?”
“Vodka.”
Cassian laughed his booming laugh, and Nesta only raised a wry eyebrow before opening the bottle.
“Tamlin wants your head on a stick for what you pulled tonight,” Az said to Cassian. “The Governor probably already knows by now.”
Nesta’s stomach churned, and she put the drink down without taking a sip. Cassian had been at the gala representing the legion, and he’d made the 33rd look bad. That was the problem with striking at entitled males: they were prone to strike back ten times harder. Tamlin wouldn’t just come after Cassian, but Nesta and Feyre too if he had the chance. Which he wouldn’t.
“I don’t know what kind of sick punitive measures you guys implement for assaulting fae lords at the legion, and I don’t want to know,” Nesta interrupted. “I want Tamlin taken care of before anything else can happen.”
Azriel and Cassian shared a look, and Cassian looked as if he’d already accepted his fate. That look nearly broke her heart. “It’s not that simple, Nes,” he began slowly. “Az and I can get away with a lot of things, but if the Governor already knows…”
“That’s not your problem,” she said. Her mother’s shrewd lawyer mind was already turning, coming up with lists of contacts and unpaid favors.
Nesta had been born rich, but not necessarily powerful. She hadn’t realized what a dangerous flaw that was until her first boyfriend, followed by a failed assault trial. After that, she learned to collect power through others who had too much of it. Before Cassian, she’d strictly only gotten in bed with Crescent City’s wealthiest and seediest. To this day, she had their numbers saved in her little black book.
Despite her collection of males and females who could have easily handled this situation, Nesta’s mind snagged on something Feyre had told her last week. There was a new guy she was seeing…
“I’ll find someone to take care of it by tomorrow,” she promised.
***
“Hello?” a smooth voice drawled much later that night, long after Cassian had fallen asleep. Nesta held the phone close to her ear. “Rhysand Nox?” she said.
“It’s pronounced Rees-and,” the male corrected. Nesta didn’t exactly care. “Who is this?” he demanded.
“It’s Nesta Archeron, Feyre’s sister.” She could feel his attention perk over the line.
“Given how Feyre talks about you, I’m assuming you care for her,” Nesta continued, “and that we have a common enemy.”