Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot.

Lingering on what could have been isn’t going to help me survive to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.

My heart jolts into my throat and the room falls pin-drop quiet.

Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.”

You are not attracted to toxic men, I remind myself, and yet, here I am, getting all attracted.

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.

I sigh, facing forward. “I miss sex.” I really do, and it’s not just the physical gratification, either. There’s a sense of connection in those moments that I crave, a momentary banishment of loneliness.

“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” I ask, just to keep the conversation going. “Alive.” He shrugs.

My stupid, foolish heart feels like there’s a fist around it, squeezing tight.

I squeeze my eyes shut just so I can escape his gorgeous face as a jolt of heat flashes through me, making every inch of my skin tingle and burn.

“But keeping me safe is keeping me from growing, too.”