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But for whatever reason, I can’t imagine not being able to open my eyes each aurora rise, look out past the ever-vibrant clouds in this part of the world, and see that little wonky moon with the malformed wing.
“Remember my brain’s not as big as yours. If you start talking about biophysics, I’ll perish.”
I know it wasn’t her. That it’s impossible. That I’m going mad—and have been for phases.
“I . . . can hear him.”
“Feed me to the fire where I’ll never be cold again.” “Stop talking like you’re going anywhere,”
“I’m going to take away the cold, okay?”
He would beg for mercy before the end—of that, she was certain.
She rips the iron ring off her finger, opening herself to the Creators.
A fierce, powerful monster who should have two beads hanging from her lobe rather than the null clip in the tip of her tapered ear.
“H—” His stare blazes back and forth across my face, tracing the slopes of me with devastating precision. “H-how?”
A scar that can be seen by dragonflame—the only substance in existence that can ignite a trail of long-ago runes and unearth their glowing ghosts.
“Wanna tussle?”
“Not much point anymore, since I’ve found the most important piece.”
“Twenty-five,”
He’s still watching, arms crossed over his broad chest.
I love living, painful as it’s been at times.
“Die in a ditch.
“This better be a threesome,”
“I’m not one to share,”
Please don’t. Please don’t make me go back to that place—
“Not to me,”
Without somebody else tightening their grip on my hands every time I flinch, wiping the sweat from my brow, rubbing tracks across my blanched knuckles as if to calm my rioting heart.
At least it seemed to finally quench the King’s strange, almost compulsive desire to take my pain away.
“Probably not.”
“Kaan, no. I did not agree to this!” His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again . . .” “What?” “My name, Moonbeam. Say it again.”
“You know what I hate?” “Being told what to do?”
tracing the outline of that small, misshapen wing.
“Your hips are sharp,” he grumbles, and I bash my fists against his back, knowing there’s next to no point. Doing it anyway. “I’ll show you something sharp.”
“I’m half dead already, bleeding out at your feet. Can’t you see?”
poke my tongue out at him instead. He returns the gesture, and the corner of my mouth threatens to lift.
“You really do say the sweetest things, Moonbeam.” “Thanks. I try my hardest.”
He’s a warrior, and the biggest male I’ve ever seen in every way, shape, and form. He’s probably looked death in the eye more times than I have.
“There is only one thing that could take me back to that dark place,”
“Because I was mourning someone I loved very much. I discovered my pah had done something unforgivable, and I took her revenge because I thought she no longer could. Now I have regrets.”
“Like you,” Kaan mutters, waving the shiny black bug at me, “Rygun is allergic to help.”
“I’m not family.” Kaan’s coarse growl fills the space so abruptly I jolt,
“You’re very stubborn,” he says, moving around to crouch by the stool. “So nice of you to say. I sharpen that weapon daily.” “I can tell,”
The urge to tangle with his thick beard and tug at the strands, then drag across the broad expanse of his shoulders, smoothing across his bouldered chest.
Of all the things I’ve seen in my life, he’s one of the most magnificent.
His nostrils flare, gaze flicking to my injured arm, back to my eyes while breaths saw in and out of me. While I poke at my crippled resolve, trying to work out why my desire to kill him just melted into a puddle of desperation to be closer. Not just closer . . . As close as we can be.
so jarringly familiar.
“Cut me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, his thumb sliding across my cheekbone. “I’ll gladly bleed beneath you, so don’t be shy.”
“I need you,” I groan, tossing the scale aside, hearing it clatter across the ground. “Now.” “You fucking have me.”
He’s so beautiful, poured over me like molten lava. So, so fucking beautiful that it’s tempting to let him fall into the illusion I think he’s woven over me.
I’m wearing a shackle, for shit’s sake. And there’s vomit in my hair.
How much clearer do I need to be? There is no reality where I lift this silk and let that male into my body. No reality where I step a single fucking foot in his impressive tent. No reality where I bare my throat to him—the tilt of deep, primal respect. I’d rather him slit it from ear to ear.
“My body is mine, and I will do with it as I please. Nothing more.”
his beautiful face ripped with the wrath of a million maddened men.
Relief that he’s here. With me.
“while they’re occupied, howww ’bout I pretend to be dead and yyyou two throw me back in the river?”
