Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)

by Ilona Andrews

“Did it feel something like that?” Mad Rogan asked. She gasped again, drawing her breath in sharply. Her cheeks flushed. Something was clearly happening. I had no idea what, but she seemed to enjoy it. The braids crisscrossing on her shoulders slid, moving against each other on their own. They unwound, turned, left, right . . . Harper swallowed and her eyes opened wide, her pupils growing larger. “Touch me again,” she breathed.

Mommy im scared

“It would be easier if I showed you. Do I have permission?” Yes. “No.” Being touched by Mad Rogan wasn’t a good idea. We kept walking. What would it be like? “Does it hurt?” “No.” How would it feel? Would it feel . . . oh hell. “Okay.” I stopped. We

Ahahahaahaahaa my kind of resolve

Bern’s black Civic pulled into the parking lot and swerved to avoid the bus. Mad Rogan looked down at my chalk lines. “This is the lousiest circlework I’ve ever seen. Were you drawing with your eyes closed?” That was it. I threw the chalk at him, got up, marched to the Civic, and got inside. “Drive, Bern. Please.” To my cousin’s credit, he said nothing about the blood, the bus, or Mad Rogan. He stepped on the gas and drove straight home.

If this artifact falls into the wrong hands—and really there are no right hands for it—the casualties will be catastrophic.” He slid the photograph toward me. “You have discovered something potentially devastating and you can’t just walk away now. You have a moral obligation to them, to me, and to your own family. By virtue of possessing this dangerous knowledge, you are now partially responsible for our survival. Please keep that in mind.”

Did she just become a favorite author? Edit: 5/7/24 and several days after reading book 2.... no she did not

The other 50 percent of me would be livid. That jerk. No “Thanks for saving my life.” No “Are you okay?” No acknowledgment of a near-death experience. Oh no, no, he decided to critique my chalk drawing while I sat there on the pavement, bleeding and trying to catch my breath. I’d had it with all of them. I’d had it with their fires and their flying buses and exploding buildings. Had it.

“Perhaps they should’ve considered that possibility when they discovered Adam was a Prime. If they hadn’t raised a spoiled, immature egoist, they wouldn’t be in this mess.” “Ms. Baylor.” Someone pounded on the front door. “One moment,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I marched over to the door and checked the monitor. Mad Rogan. I swung the door open. Mad Rogan stood at my doorstep, holding a bouquet of carnations. The ones in the store had been frilly and delicate pink blossoms. These were huge, heavy blooms, crimson, glossy, so dark toward the base of their petals that they were almost black, with a border of bright scarlet at the edges. They looked dipped in blood. He might as well have brought me a fistful of rubies. His eyes looked smug. I looked at the flowers, looked at his face, and shut the door. No, wait. I opened the door, took the carnations from him, shut the door, and locked it. There. I’d had a near-death experience, and confiscating the carnations would make me feel better. I marched back into my office and pushed the button on the phone. “I’m back.” “You put me on hold.” His voice could’ve frozen the Gulf of Mexico solid.

I led them both to my office. Augustine saw the flowers, blinked, and turned to Mad Rogan. “So you decided to involve yourself in this because of Gavin? Why the sudden concern for your relatives? So unlike you, Connor.” Mad Rogan peered at him. “Why are you wearing glasses? I know for a fact that you have perfect vision.” Here we go. This would end in them unzipping themselves to see who was bigger.

Maybe it was an apology. I had no idea, but I was sure that no matter how long I lived, no man would ever give me five thousand carnations again. This was a magical thing that could happen only once, so I stood there, breathed in the scent, and let myself dream.