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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Sarah Hawley
Read between
October 28 - November 5, 2024
“I’m thirty-eight and single and haven’t dated in nearly a decade. My business takes up all my time, and I like to knit, and I’m not even a properly rowdy werewolf, and who could ever love someone who feels this anxious most of the time? I should like all the howling and biting things, but I just feel out of control, and no one else likes sweater vests even though they’re wrong about that, and what if nothing about me is attractive and I die alone in a ditch?”
Ben was a business proprietor? Eleonore filed that away in the mental encyclopedia entry she was building. Ben Rosewood: Werewolf, possesses stabbing implements, owns a coffee shop, either bashful or using a façade of shyness to cover up his dark nature, tastes good.
Would she ever be able to look at a person and think: I am safe with you?
“It’s more that…Most people end up in the ground anyway. Pretending otherwise doesn’t change that, and there’s freedom in knowing that and fighting anyway. Choosing to face the truth beneath life, no matter how bloody or strange, is always better than fooling yourself into thinking the sparkles on the surface are what’s real.”
“When pride is that fragile, it’s just aggression papered over insecurity or cruelty. It becomes a liability.”
Odd things thrived here. Eleonore liked that. One of those odd things was standing next to her, blowing softly into his cup of hot chocolate. The body of a berserker, the glasses and general demeanor of a librarian. Eleonore couldn’t help but smile looking at him.
She didn’t like waiting for her pleasures. They were to be seized, because the good things in life could be fleeting.
Ben had always been a crier. At sad movies, when his family and friends were upset, when he was overwhelmed…He’d been bullied for it at school, but he didn’t mind so much now. This was who he was, and he’d rather love deeply and cry than feel anything less for his family.
“Good God,” he choked out. “How much ground coffee did you use?” Eleonore thought back to her calculations. With eight cups of water she ought to use…“Twenty-four scoops,” she said proudly. Ben was running the faucet and cupping water in his palm to rinse out his mouth. “Too much,” he said. “Way too much.” “Was it?” Eleonore frowned. “It tasted like horrible brown sludge, but isn’t that the point?”
Coffee tasted bad and felt good, and right now Eleonore felt like she could single-handedly fight an entire army so long as her heart didn’t explode first.
And really, every good couple should have a soft one and a stabby one.”
“I often think I’m a fraud or a failure,” he said through a tight throat. “Like everyone hates me or there’s no point to my existence. Or that I’m not enough of a man or a werewolf, that there’s something wrong with me for not enjoying brawling or hunting or one-night stands.” Intrusive thoughts that played like a song on repeat, and the frustrating part was that even though he knew they weren’t true—well, sort of knew, most of the time—that didn’t stop them from ringing through his head.
I think true strength is in breaking from the stereotype to be a complex, thoughtful man.”
“The world is too large for everyone to be the same.”
“So this time I’ll bite you and drink your blood until you’re happy, and then you can fall asleep easily.” She nodded decisively. A brilliant idea. Way better than self-loathing combined with melatonin and whale noises. “Absolutely,” he said.
He drove silently, though he kept a hand on her knee. A big hand, but one capable of tending to the most delicate orchids. Eleonore wasn’t delicate, but it was nice to feel like it every once in a while. Or not delicate, but…protected. Like she could put down her weapons and rest and someone would be there, keeping watch.
“My Great-Great-Uncle Dragoslav claimed he introduced the Romans to anal plugs.” Ben made a choking sound. “Oh, I’m sure anal play predates that,” Alzapraz said. “I’d estimate it happened around the time humanity discovered fermented fruit. If there’s one constant across the years, it’s that people love getting drunk and stuffing inappropriate objects up their bums.” Ben cleared his throat. “Can we return to the topic at hand?” “Yes, let’s,” Eleonore said. There would be time to tease her proper werewolf about anal play later.
She was the one with everything to lose. Well, he had his heart to lose, but that was already gone, wasn’t it? She held it in her hands.
“You,” he said, words rumbling against her, “are delicious.” She tipped her head back, staring blindly at the ceiling. This was the passion she’d always known was inside him, the one she’d tasted in his blood that first day. Ben Rosewood was a gentleman, but he fucked.
“You make a lot of dramatic threats. I wasn’t sure if you meant the thing about, you know, intestine knitting.” “I didn’t mean that one,” she said. He exhaled, looking relieved, so she clarified. “Only because it would be logistically difficult. There are easier things to do with intestines.” “Easier things—Jesus. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“You made me kill your enemies.” “Destroying enemies can be a lovely bonding experience.” “Only if you destroy them together and everyone involved in the murdering wants to be doing it.
“Lili,” Kai said from the passenger seat, “remember that thing we talked about? It starts with an e.” Her forehead furrowed. “Erotic asphyxiation?” “Jesus Christ,” Avram said. Kai looked over his shoulder. “Empathy, Lili. Empathy.” “Oh. Right.” Lilith frowned and a look of concentration came over her face. “I’m supposed to listen to people who are unhappy and not demean or threaten them unless they deserve it.”
He’d never been the type to attend concerts, and that was before he’d hit his thirties and discovered many of the things that had been theoretically fun in his twenties were actually noisy and exhausting, including live music and social gatherings that began after eight p.m.
“Wait, you got pulled over? Did you get a ticket?” “A ticket? For a show or something?” The officer had been rather dramatic. “No, a speeding ticket. Something that costs money and possibly requires a court date.” “Oh, nothing like that.” Eleonore smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Lilith knocked him unconscious and I left him at the side of the road. He won’t bother us.” Ben did not seem comforted by that news. He gaped at her. “She did what? And you did—” He paused, then shook his head sharply. “You know what? That’s not important right now. What’s important is that you’re safe. And
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It didn’t matter how much an abuser said they loved someone—or even if they truly believed they loved that person. An abuser would always consider themselves the hero or heroine of their own story. But their love was a broken facsimile of the real thing, not worth having, and it wasn’t worth wasting time feeling sympathy for someone like that.
