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353 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2012
"Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he’d felt [Amanda's] gaze on him. It was an odd sensation […] to feel the fragile magic of attraction spin out from her and reach for him, seeking a connection he doubted she even knew she was making and he wasn’t sure he wanted. For half a second he considered pushing the threads away, but he was curious."
"He held his hand up and let his vision slip. The damage was worse than he’d thought. This was no tentative connection; instead a silken thread of sunlight passed through his hand, wove through the door and out. He knew where it ended. Amanda. Could he pull it out like a splinter? It didn’t hurt. He turned his hand over and examined it closer. It pulsed and glowed with a life of its own. Dai gave the thread a tug, but it remained enmeshed in the weave of his body."
"He wanted to see [Amanda's] light run through his veins. To see if it felt better than the bitter blood that had fueled him for so long. He wanted his heart to be in her hands, not the grip of the eagle. He sank to his knees and held his head in his hands. Her words chased his thought. He had to free himself or [X] would always control him. The whisper in his soul echoed in his skull. Let it go. Just let it go. Dai reached over his shoulder. He knew the wings were there and that the talons lodged in his chest were preventing him from healing. His fingers closed around air, but he tried again. In his mind, he held the glimpse of what he’d seen. His fingers touched a silken feather with no more substance than a sigh. He pulled and it came free. So he used both hands to rip out more, tearing at the ghost that wouldn’t let him sleep. The more feathers he ripped out the more substantial they became. Blood welled. His blood since they fed off him. He didn’t stop until the floor was coated in crimson blood and black plumage. It wasn’t enough. His hands closed over the bones of the skeletal wings that still hung from his back, their roots in his heart. He tightened his grip ready to pull them free. The muscle of his heart gave a twinge. A stab of pain. Every tug would do him damage. Ripping them out would kill him. [X] and Rome would win. […] How did he forgive the man who took first blood? Tears formed but never fell. His vision wavered and the feathers vanished, invisible to the average human eye. His breathing rasped in his throat, pain burned in his chest as he fought with himself. He couldn’t let go."
"[S]he’d walked away and he’d let her take the threads that linked them together. They’d trailed after her, shortening with each step. That way would hurt less. […] But he felt the loss of each one. The tear as it left his body and the raw, gaping hole that remained in him once she was gone.[...]And he had no one to blame but himself. His shoulders hunched as he battled the agony crushing him. The talons of his past had never cut so cruelly and made breathing seem like such hard work. He fisted his hand. He’d kept one golden ribbon, the first one that had moved through his hand when she’d touched him."