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As if his off time from terrorizing people was spent lying in the grass, perhaps daintily drinking out of a teacup and reading poetry with his pinky raised.
for the first time since she had encountered him, she saw a truly wicked glint in his eyes. He belonged to this, the night, the darkness. It was his. And Evie…was still not afraid.
Shouldn’t he smell like death? Not faintly of cinnamon, whiskey, and cloves.
“Sir, I hate to belittle your successes, but there are people who go their entire lives without killing anyone.”
Trystan rubbed his chest, feeling everything she’d said break shards out of the walls he’d built. Feeling the cracks all the way to the blood roaring in his ears.
“No. I have a condition where my tear ducts produce an excess of warm, salty water when I’m tired or in distress.”
“If life was built on regrets, we’d have monuments the size of giants.”
She steadied him like an anchor to a wayward ship, and he couldn’t resist bringing her near so that he would not drift too far into his hatred.
Benedict had been the first person to look upon Trystan’s face and call him a monster, and it was to be his life’s greatest pleasure to remind the king exactly what that meant.
“You meant her harm,” Trystan bit out, his power surging around him. “And that is enough for me.”
He was in love with her. Of all the foolish, horrific things he’d ever accomplished, falling in love with a woman he so completely didn’t deserve made the top of his list. But he did love her. It wasn’t a question or even a sudden realization.
From the moment he’d met her, he thought of her like the sun. Bright and vibrant, untouchable. But he was wrong. She wasn’t light; she was color. Every single one, dancing otherworldly and bright over his unworthy eyes. She was the explosion of the vivid gleams and glows of the world around him, like a constant rainbow, shining not after the rain but during. She was everything he never deserved but longed for anyway.
