Skyshade (Lightlark, #3)

by Alex Aster

“You flew across the world to make sure I was okay?”

“Kill anyone you want, heart, especially these bastards. Kill me, if it will make you feel better.”

Grim didn’t so much as look at the blade. He only looked at her. Eyes never leaving hers, he reached up and slowly dragged her dagger down his chest, cutting through fabric and skin, until it reached his heart. Then, he patted her hand and said, “Go ahead. It’s yours anyway.”

“You see, I used to have nightmares too, heart.” He did? She must have looked surprised, because he said, “You wouldn’t know. They all stopped when I met you.”

“And I love chocolate in a way that is probably concerning.

“I’m not sure of much in this world, Isla, but I am sure of this. My love for you doesn’t know reason. It doesn’t know limit. It doesn’t know death. In every universe, every timeline, I am yours . . . and you are mine.”

“I go to that cliff, that beach, every single morning because the sea is the green of your eyes, and it’s the closest I get to waking up next to you.”

if marrying his enemy, if telling him about all the worst things she had ever done wasn’t going to stop him from loving her, from putting himself in danger, maybe the truth would.

I still want you, even though you’re a traitor. I still want you, even though you’re my enemy. I still want you, even though you might kill me. I want you, I want you, I want you, and it is the most selfish thing I have ever felt.”

Each day before I left your mother, I would take one of her favorite flowers or fruits from her garden. It would annoy her endlessly. She thought I was doing it to be cruel, but I was planting it here. On this island. So that it would be made up of all her favorite things. Every fruit, every flower, every animal, every insect on this island was loved by your mother, Isla. And she was loved,

You might be wondering how I can be so cavalier about my own imminent death. The truth is, my regard for my own life is nothing compared to my regard for your mother’s.

He looked down at her, expectantly, still not over the fact that she, for a fleeting moment, had felt disappointment.

“And this isn’t my home,” he said. “Not anymore. My home is wherever you are.”