Powerful (The Powerless Trilogy, #1.5)

by Lauren Roberts

If there is a God, this man is certainly proof that He has His favorites.

There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful—a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.

She smells of honey, of happiness incarnate. And it’s entirely too distracting.

It’s only then that I take my first deep breath since meeting her. She is an intoxicating sort of exhausting, like running until you’ve lost your breath but enjoying the feeling all the while. And I feel as though I’ve been sprinting for days.

“Shh.” I run a hand down the length of her curls, feeling a hiccup jostle her body. “You did the right thing. Run to me. Always run to me.”

“No,” I blurt defensively, “there are plenty of men who walk around Loot without a shirt on.…” “Right.” He nods slowly. “And do you always stare at them this intensely?”

I had never known happiness before her. But if there is to be an after in which she doesn’t exist, I know I never will again.

“But you… you’re the embodiment of everything I am not. And yet, here I am, crawling back to you as though I’ve left a piece of myself behind.” He

“I regret not buying that blue shirt from you, if only so I had your attention long enough to convince you that red suits you better. I regret not telling you how much I like it when you blow those bangs out of your eyes, or the way you clap after finishing a row of stitches. I regret smothering every smile you made me want to give you. And I regret not telling you the truth. But most of all, not saying goodbye.”

The presence of her is hypnotizing.

Tilting my head in a sort of shrug, I say, “This may come as a shock to you, but I can be a bit… blunt at times.” She smiles encouragingly. “Self-awareness is the first step to change.” “Oh, I’m not planning on changing. I was just ensuring that you knew this was a recurring thing.

As if I can stop myself from admiring how easily a laugh parts her soft lips. The way the sun warms her skin, as though she was meant to be cloaked in light. It’s how joy bubbles out of her in the form of clapping hands and endearing rambles. It’s the way my thoughts never cease to wander toward her, my heart falling senselessly after.

And I fear that I’ve admired every inch of her.

Her smile is sad. “I’m sorry that I’m the first to give you a gift.” “I’m not.” The words fall quickly from my lips. “I would have waited another nineteen years if it meant you were the first good memory I was gifted.”

“But you deserve more than one good memory.” “Then it’s a good thing I’m planning on keeping you around.”

always wondered how something could shine so bright, even while being swallowed in darkness.” My eyes run over the shadowed outline of her face. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

“I’m quite sure that even the stars are envious of you.”

“You make even the stars envious,” I repeat softly, leaning toward her. “Because one day—far from now—you will be up there beside them, outshining every single one.”

“You are the sweetest thing I have never tasted.” Another brush of his knuckles. “And I doubt I’ve craved anything more.”

I’ve spent my whole life wishing to be wanted. And here he is, begging me to let him.

He does something then. Something far more intimate than any kiss or touch so far. No, he pulls back far enough to let me see him smile. It’s big and bright and beautifully his. “For me?” I ask breathlessly, staring at his smile. “Every single one,” he murmurs.

The needle will never have the pleasure of being held by her. And neither will I. Not ever again.