When the Moon Hatched (Moonfall, #1)

by Sarah A. Parker

Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move.

“I’m just so sick of looking at your ugly face that death is starting to sound rather cushy.”

I love living, painful as it’s been at times. I

“Mentally strangling you as we speak,”

and I consider whether it’s prudent to ask this male if he’d like to fuck before I slit his throat . . .

“And if you die there, will you have any regrets?” “Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But I’d be dead.”

In the future, I intend to make much better decisions.

Either way, there’s no one else I’d willingly serve my heart on a platter to—over and over and over again—like a hopeless, lovesick stray begging for a treat.

He’s fire and brimstone. I’m shattered ice. Our collision is steam and destruction, destined to dissipate, but I’ll gladly burn beneath him until the world comes crumbling down.

“I don’t understand how you still look at me like you want me.” Silence prevails, tension thickens, his eyes burning embers when he finally says, “Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.”

The only beam of light I’ll ever need or want in this world, my love for her sitting like a moon in my chest.

Here I am again, looking at her like she crafted the world with a few whispered words, every sweep of her eyes twisting that jagged weapon lodged in my chest.

“Your hands know me,” she whispers. “Yes,” I murmur against her hair. “Know you, crave you, worship you.”