The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games, #1)

by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

“things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core.”

“Grayson is in training for the Insufferable Olympics, and we really think he can go all the way if he can just jam that stick a little farther up his—”

laughed out loud

Jameson, Better the devil you know than the one you don’t—or is it? Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. All that glitters is not gold. Nothing is certain but death and taxes. There but for the grace of God go I. Don’t judge. —Tobias Tattersall Hawthorne

“You’re talking to a future actuarial science major, Hawthorne. Show me your graphs.”

Grayson finished, my head was spinning with numbers and projections. I could see exactly how his mind worked—and it was disturbingly like my own.

Everyone had things they found inexplicably attractive. Apparently, for me it was suit-wearing, silver-eyed guys using the word empirically and taking for granted that I knew what it meant.

“’Course not, darlin’,” Nash said, from his spot leaning against the fridge. “You …” Libby looked at him, a spark of annoyance lighting up her eyes. “You shut up.”

complex. “Shutting up now.” Nash picked up a cupcake and took a bite out of it like it was an apple. “For what it’s worth, I vote for red velvet next.” Libby turned back to me. “Salted caramel it is.”

Jameson lifted the washcloth to my face. “You’re a horrible liar.” He ran the cloth over my cheek, working his way down toward the scratch. A breath caught in my throat. He rinsed the washcloth, blood and dirt coloring the sink, as he lifted the cloth back to my skin.

Kissing him felt like fire. He wasn’t soft and sweet, the way he had been while washing away the blood and dirt. I didn’t need soft or sweet. This was exactly what I needed.

Just because she doesn’t feel like a threat doesn’t mean she isn’t one.

“Are people being uncouth without me again?” Xander asked, popping up between Thea and me and breaking Thea’s hold. “How rude.”

“You’re injured.” Grayson didn’t phrase that as a question. “You will tell me what happened.” “Oh, I will, will I?” I gave him a look.

“I’d take the braid out if I could,” I murmured. “But I can’t do it myself.” His head tilted down slightly, his eyes closing, just for a moment. “I know.” I was overcome then by the mental image of Grayson helping Emily take down her hair, his fingers working the braid out, bit by bit.