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“You said it. They demand sacrifices. Take them without permission.” I could feel the little smile on his lips, something between a grimace and a smirk. “Is it really a sacrifice if it’s taken instead of offered?”
“You’re lucky,” he said, “that I have a soft spot for caged birds.”
It’s the ocean. No, it is paper.
It felt like having your chin tipped up with the point of a dagger. Not an overt threat, but never losing the potential to become one with the most minute movement.
Excitement and terror, thrill and fear, all dancing right on the blade’s edge between life and death.
A suppressed smile tugged at the corners of Atrius’s mouth. Like a cat that was secretly hiding a canary in its teeth.
My heart was pounding, like a trapped rabbit. My skin burned. Weaver, what was he doing to me? I wanted more of it. All of it.
“Death is what happens when you stand still,” I said. “Don’t stand still. Not for anything.”
The last thing I remembered before sleep took me was my hand curling around his—a mindless impulse, like a compass drifting north.
“Do vampires drink pineapple juice?”
