When the Moon Hatched (Moonfall, #1)

by Sarah A. Parker

The harder you care, the more fragile everything seems. Easier to just . . . Not.

There’s not much that’s wet and squishy left in my chest. It’s all hard and hostile, impervious to things like caring for the likes of Tarik Relaken. In fact, even if he were a pile of shit on the pavement, I’d still go out of my way to stomp on him. Perhaps that makes me a monster, too.

You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd. It still stinks.

He wants to ease my suffering as I’m hailed into death. And there I was ordering a handsaw to make disassembling him easier.

“Screw you,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow. “You wanted to kill me a moment ago. I can’t keep up.” I snort-laugh. “Don’t worry. Few can.” “Is that a challenge?” he asks,

Shit—fuck—dragon balls!

When has following somebody into a dark tunnel to the words of “it’s just down here” ever been a good idea?

“Chase death, Moonbeam. And I pray your bloodlust brings you the same sense of peace I feel just knowing you exist.”

“Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.”