Isabelle Larken

“And what word do you have for me," she whispered.
He regarded her for a long moment before bringing a hand to his chest. Before tapping it against his sternum. Once. Twice. The sign for mine.
Her breath caught. Leaning in close, he pressed a kiss to the pulse beneath her ear. Her body arched instantly into his, like they were strung all together. Twin marionettes, their strings hopelessly twisted.
A creature who walked with the dead and a woman who drew them close. He would never not be caught in her orbit.
"Mine," he said aloud. The word came out serrated.
"Mine." It felt so good to finally say it. His hands slid around her back, and then she was flush against him, her hands twisting in the curls at the nape of his neck, her mouth seeking his in the dark.”
― Kelly Andrew, The Whispering Dark

“You left me a message,” he said. “You didn’t need to.” His veins traced through him in deep skeins of black. The snow dripped and dripped and dripped in radiant dazzles. “I will never not find you, Delaney. I can’t help it. I follow where you lead.”
― Kelly Andrew, The Whispering Dark