Devourer of Men (Devourer, #1)

by Nikki St. Crowe

Now that I’m at rest, I can feel the echoing sway of the ocean waves in my legs.

My heart is racing in my ears and my stomach is see-sawing and I fucking love it.

And yet some days I am aware that I am driven mostly by fear. Fear of who I am. Fear of who I’m not. Fear of what happens when I face myself in the mirror. To be bold is to be truthful and I am built of lies.

“Why don’t you seem worried?” he asks. “Worrying is for nuns and rabbits.”

“The fact that you never concern yourself with consequences⁠—”` “Is impressive?” I cut in. “No.” His scowl deepens. “Worrisome.” “Ahh. That was going to be my seventh guess.”