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“Where the hell are you? I scanned around me, and found nothing but shadow and merry flame and books. Two levels below. And why are you two levels below? I shoved out of my chair, back aching in protest as I stormed for the walkway and rail beyond, then peered down into the gloom. Sure enough, in a reading area two levels below, I could spy his dark hair and wings- could spy him leaning back in his chair before an identical desk, an ankle crossed over a knee. Smirking up at me. Because I can't work with you distracting me. I scowled at him. I'm distracting you? If you're sitting next to me, the last thing on my mind is reading dusty old books. Especially when you're in all that tight leather. Pig. His chuckle echoed up through the library amid the fluttering papers and scratching pens of the priestesses working throughout. ... Two hours of work, he promised me, turning back to the table and flaring his wings- a veritable screen to block my view of him. And his view of me. Then we can play. I gave him a vulgar gesture. I saw that. I did it again, and his laugh floated to me as I faced the books stacked before me and began to read.” — Sarah J. Maas