Stalked by Seduction and Shadows (Eternal Obsession, #1)

by Maggie Sunseri

Her wounds would linger, opening and closing and oozing trauma without her conscious awareness. They would affect her ability to love and open and bloom. The pain a living parent could inflict was much more excruciating than that of a dead one.

Whelp. Looks like it’s gonna be one of *those* origin stories.

“Right, because Scarlett’s so damn innocent,” Phillip said with a snort. “If she’s so abused and mistreated, she sure does put on a very convincing act that says otherwise.”

I hope something terrible happens to Phillip. Something that takes several hours and a gallon of bleach to clean up.

I should’ve cowered under the weight of his fury, but I was stunned. The vampire lord of Aristelle, a cruel, merciless, infamous immortal with a kill list in the thousands, directed every ounce of his attention on me. And I had not a single clue why.

This is fine so far but it would be better with only one POV. Kinda ruins the MMC's scary vampire vibe when you've already been in his teddy bear of a head.

A soulless monster couldn’t believe in love written in the stars. I’d seen what had happened when mortals planned for the future, when they romanticized their own existence despite all the evidence that it was just meaningless chaos and cycles of violence and greed.

He's not wrong.

“I love food,” I said contentedly.

Make a character likeable with just one sentence.

My dagger was strapped to my leg under my bulky black sweater dress. I would unfortunately need to drop my ice cream to reach it, which had me considerably annoyed.

The stupidity of this depends on what kind of ice cream she's holding.

The key is convincing the body that it’s no longer in danger, that the past is no longer happening to us. Then the mind can reattach to its physical form. Grounding yourself to your surroundings helps with that.”

The millennial author urge to provide their readers with free therapy.

“There is no competition in trauma. None of it is ever better or worse than any other.

Everyone in this town has a PhD in psychotherapy.

“Lillian’s daughter, born of a human lover. Heraphane, the first succubus.”

A succubus you say? Ohhhhhh. ok. Noted.

“I like bugs,” she said simply, offering no further explanation.

Arrowe!

“Don’t leave, okay?” She said, cocking her head and letting some of her inner crazy ooze into her soft brown irises. She stared, unblinking, showing the tips of her fangs. “I’m faster than you.”

Arrowe!

She scrunched her face up, as if thinking hard about whether or not I was employing satire. “I’m bored of this conversation. Goodbye.”

Arrowe omfg how the fuck does this character never make another appearance?

Family is the stage upon which generational pain is reenacted over and over again, the same story with different characters.”

Sometimes when I think about how I will never have children of my own, this fact about generational trauma gives me a modicum of comfort.

She frowned at this. “You don’t think children can be better than their parents?” “They can be, yes. Most try, but few succeed. It’s difficult for mortals to recognize patterns from their own limited perspective. They can’t see the way their great grandparents passed wounds to their grandparents, their grandparents to their parents. They can’t hear the echoes of the eons, fathom the trauma they absorbed from something that happened centuries ago, spread through words and actions here in the present.”

Oof

But what I did not understand was the impoverished mortal population who’d been won over in the born districts, devoting themselves to a new world order that would only crush them and bleed them dry.

I appreciate that at times this is an anti-populism book hiding under a veil of romantasy

It was a stack of papers with a wooden clip holding them together. I recognized his elegant, only slightly messy, handwriting slanting across the top page.

*sob*

A powerful, well-trained succubus isn’t only capable of provoking and feeding off sexual compulsion. They’re able to pinpoint deeper desires, perhaps even ones that contradict a person’s duties and loyalties. The little urges we repress, a succubus can locate and coax out, make so much grander than they ever would’ve been on their own.

Wait, this sounds a lot like Scar— ah, nevermind.

At the mention of Mason, my stomach sunk. She really didn’t like me. Perhaps she thought I was an evil succubus too.

I guess i now know how this ends. do i bother to keep going or...

Isabella would’ve thought the same, if she hadn’t known I was her sister born to human parents. She always said my powers were evil, from somewhere dark and cursed by Helia. That sinking feeling in my gut multiplied in a way I couldn’t easily ignore.

Yeah well maybe she was on to something. something she wrote down. like in a diary. a diary you have in your possession.

“Why haven’t you left? You defended me, even knowing what I was.” You let me cry in your arms, I thought, but didn’t vocalize. “Because I love you!” she said, shaking her head at me. “You are my friend. I don’t give a fuck who your parents are, Scarlett. I care about you because you are my friend. I will repeat myself as long as it takes to penetrate your stubborn skull.”

The real love story here is between best friends who choose each other over and over again.

My tired limbs that had always reached for the cosmos fell back down to my sides, the stars blinking out one by one.

:(

All my life, love was something I reached for. It was a scarcity, an unknown. Sometimes it was there, and other times it wasn’t. Sometimes it felt in my control—like if I behaved a certain way, it would be given. Other times it was unpredictable, doled out in a system of intermittent reinforcement. The love that Snow showed me wasn’t choppy, with tumultuous ebbs and flows. It was steady and reliable, a gentle river that went on and on.

I don’t not read these books to be reminded of my past failed relationships my god.

Today she sobbed in my arms and begged me to cut her powers out of her. She hates who she is, and I fucking hate you for not only allowing it but demanding that level of self-hatred.”

Snow exhibits the kind of love we should all strive to give, and graciously and fearlessly receive.