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“Please,” he said, his eyes wide. Desperate. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry. Hate me,” he pleaded. “Hate me all you want. Hate me forever. Just—just don’t leave.” He took a step toward her. “I love you, Isla. I need you.”
“Only my wife would come to her own wedding armed to the teeth.”
“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.”
It was almost easy to pretend that there weren’t a million problems waiting beyond, like distant arrows aimed at this glass house, ready to shatter it.
All that is buried eventually rises.
She was so proud of him. So proud that when the beast lurched forward, he did not falter.
WRAIIIIIITH
The Nightshade’s voice seemed to shake the world as he said, very slowly, “What prophecy?”
All the people she had killed, all the death, all the blood, all the dreks, all the things that made her a villain, instead of burying it down, she took hold of it and let it consume her. Lark was powerful. But so was she.
