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October 4 - October 11, 2025
“You know what they say, Blackbird. ‘It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,’” I whisper. “And that’s when the real fun begins.”
He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh.
No boys allowed unless they have scales and a breeding kink.” “Of all the times to forget my dinosaur onesie at home.”
“You think I need your protection, pretty boy?” No. But also yes.
“That woman you were watching…?” My fingers tighten around his throat as he desperately nods. “She is mine.”
Sloane is calculating, methodical. She waits and weaves a web and nets her prey. And while I like to stage a scene from time to time, to display some theatrics, this kill right here? This mess of torn flesh and exposed bone? This is in my soul. I’m fucking feral at the core.
“I can’t lose you.” “Then you’d better kiss me,” I whisper back.
My obsessions push me to a cliff I’m bound to fall over, and there might not be an end to the drop once I do.
I think you’re beautiful. Like some kind of vicious, battle-hardened goddess of vengeance.”
“That color doesn’t remind me of eggplant, for what it’s worth. It reminds me of blackberries. The best berry if you ask me. It reminds me of irises. They have the best scent of any flower. It reminds me of night, just before dawn. The best time of day.”
“You’re all the best things to me, Sloane. No matter how many bruises are in your heart or on your skin.”
“You are the thing I most look forward to, Rowan.”
“I’m done running around this, Sloane. I’ve wanted you for four years. And you’re going to show me what I’ve been missing.”
“I would kill for you, and I have. I would do it again, every damn day. I’d turn myself inside out for you. I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.”
“First of all, Keanu—mantic is so not a word. Secondly, Keanu doesn’t cut people up in a red-flag romantic kind of way.” “He does in John Wick.” “Sure. For a dog.
“You have never been unlovable. You were just waiting for someone who will love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be. I can do that, if you’ll let me.”
“You might be psycho,” I say with a grin as her eyes narrow, “but you’re my psycho, and I’m yours. Got it?”
“Did you just propose on a napkin with a ring you stuffed in a guy’s eye hole?”
Maybe I was right. We’re not normal people. We are monsters. But if we’re monsters, we’ll thrive in the dark. Together.
This man. Sometimes it feels like he’ll never stop cracking my heart to fit more of himself inside.
