Heather

“I'm more dangerous than you think,' I flat-out bluster.

'So I see. I'm quaking in my boots.' The corner of his mouth rises in a mocking smile.

Fucking. Asshole.

I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the trunk of the tree behind him.

'You missed.' He doesn't even flinch.

'Did I?' I reach for my last two blades. 'Why don't you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?'

Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it's gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference.

Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don't slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears.

'Tell me again that I missed,' I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip.

'Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?' An appreciative smile curves his perfect lips as shadows dance up the trunk of the oak, taking the form of fingers. They pluck the daggers from the tree and bring them to Xaden's waiting hands.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing