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“Fight like a gods-damned Bellator.”
“I would have walked into the flaming heart of the sun itself,” he shot back. “If you are suffering, nothing will keep me from coming to your aid. Least of all something as trivial as death.”
“Who will come for them if they dare to come for you.” Then his lips were on mine.
The kiss was a warning to the crowd, but this was a threat to the gods themselves: If you take her from me, I will come for you, too.
“You are fearless. You are strong. You do not cower in the faces of gods nor kings. You are fated for greater battles than this, so you do whatever it takes, and you fight like hell.”
Luther gazed at me like I was the embodiment of hope fulfilled. Like I was the answer to every question he had ever asked, the harmony to every song he’d ever sung. He looked at me like I was the sun and the moon and the stars, all the light in the world, shining a path for him out of the lonely dark.
