The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys, #4)

by Nikki St. Crowe

Where the fuck do you start when there is so much to say?

I’m afraid they’re just sand in my hands and that eventually the grains will sift through my fingers, no matter how hard I grip them.

“Your love,” he says. “In my chest.” He kisses my cheek, lingering close. “I can feel your love like a million golden stars in the endless abyss that is me.”

Apparently us Darlings have a thing for morally grey assholes with rock-hard abs and cunning good looks.

He smells like rich tobacco and something else, like crushed velvet and gilded sin.

There is something about a collective act, when dozens of people are connected in one moment of shared joy that feels otherworldly.

I know what it is to want love and never find it from the one person who should love you, no questions asked.

He plants a chaste kiss on the rise of my knuckles and says, “As the queen commands it.”