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So that’s what happened to Raphael Launcelot, the beautiful demi-Fey who broke my heart.
“Because I wanted to kiss you, and I’m not supposed to. And you make it hard for me to stay in control of myself. You
destroy my self-control, Nia.”
Raphael slashes the mage’s throat. My vision blurs as he kneels by my side and curls his powerful arms around me. “I’ve got you, love. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“You’ve proven yourself to be the same self-obsessed twat you always were. You don’t have to be wealthy to think you’re better than everyone else, do you? To some people, arrogance comes just
as naturally as breathing. And in reality, Raphael, I saved your ass more than once, you egomaniacal, solipsistic, stuck-up prick. Do not speak to me again unless it’s an order. Unless it’s life or death. You’re not good enough to speak to me, and you never were.”
“I’m going to need to kiss you.” “For realism,” I whisper. He brushes his thumb over my lower lip. “For the mission.” “For England.”
I’m desperate for you. Desperate the way a starving man craves fruit. I’ve dreamt of this for years, and I want to taste every inch of your skin.
