More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
September 10 - September 13, 2023
For all the misfits who love to bend the rules. And live to break them.
Tristan was a Ghostwalker, a rare breed of Windrider who could hide in plain sight thanks to wings lined with camouflaging feathers.
Exposing her pale wrist to the moonlight, he swept his thumb over the black tattoo, and she sucked in a sharp breath. The two stacked, wavy lines inked just beneath the base of her palm symbolized Letha, the Stranger, Goddess of Oblivion and namesake of the four Temples scattered throughout the mortal colonies.
She pulled her long, chocolate braid over her shoulder and exhaled a lengthy sigh, never breaking his gaze.
“Open your eyes, tiny thief,”
In order to save their species from outright slavery or worse, extinction, the humans had abandoned their continental lands and agreed to sell their memories, the raw materials for Delirium.
“You’ll remember this night, tiny thief. When we see each other again, you choose whether to remind me or not.”
“I need to know what to call you when you haunt my dreams,” he said, flashing her his widest, most charming smile yet.
“With that tiny thing? Feels like you’re jamming a baby carrot into my hip. The only emotion you’re likely to draw from me is disappointment.”
Cassandra knew the abbess couldn’t scent masturbation. If she could, Mother Superior would’ve already punished Cassandra for the Tristan-inspired session she’d indulged in earlier today.
“High Gods, Cass. You are going to get kicked out of the order. And it’s going to be worth it.”
She dug her fingers into his silky knot of hair and yanked his head back. His eyes snapped shut and he clenched his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. It was not a sound of pain. Tristan’s throat bobbed in a dark chuckle as he wrenched his hair from her grip. “A Shrouded Sister who likes it rough, huh? Naughty girl.” Cassandra couldn’t help the moan that slipped past her parted lips. “Fuck me, please make that noise again,” he begged, grunting softly.
His body went rigid, eyes cold and pledging violent death. “Who did this to you?” “It doesn’t matter, it’s over.” “Who did this?” A strained whisper through grinding teeth.
“He didn’t carry me over like that,” Cael quipped. “You’ll always be my first love, Cael, no need for jealous hysterics,” Tristan answered, blowing his friend a kiss.
