Tusk Love

by Thea Guanzon

And what was grief, but a memory of love?

From now on, Guinevere, quit apologizing for every little thing that’s not your fault.” “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. Then she realized that she’d apologized for always apologizing, and something in her went cold.

“I cannot create anything. I can only destroy.

For as long as there is breath in my body, you will not face this world alone, Guinevere. Do you understand?”

I don’t know why I do half the things I do, Oskar. You should ignore me.” “I damn well wish I could,” he shot back. And then he kissed her.

“I guess I’m a typical man in this regard.” “Nothing about you is typical,” she told him softly, and his heart might have skipped a beat right then and there, but he’d be damned if he would admit it.

He laughed. He wasn’t the sort of man who just…laughed—but she brought that out in him.

He wanted to tell her once again to quit trusting people so quickly, but not as much as he wanted to fold her trust into a pocket in his heart and spend the rest of his life proving himself worthy of it.

perhaps one day I can be of as much aid to you as you have been to me.”

“Your magic is not an abomination, despite what your folks say. I would love for you to wield it without shame. But it has to be on your terms. If you don’t feel ready, then don’t force yourself. Just believe in my ability to keep you safe, because I won’t ever let you down in that regard.”

“Whatever you decide, everything’s going to be fine, and you’re going to be brilliant, Gwen. You always are.”

There was nothing stopping her but her own fears.

tears were no source of shame. Tears meant that you had lived in the world, that you had been a part of it. Tears meant that you had loved someone. Tears could even be a victory in their own way, a sign that you hadn’t let all the daily struggles—the myriad little uncaring cruelties—get the best of you.

Some things were gifts, some things were to be learned, and some things were both.

There were some for whom magic was a gift, and the only thing left to do was understand how to control it. And there were some for whom magic was the product of years of careful study to produce a single flame. Fear was a natural state, neither gift nor curse. But everyone possessed the ability to overcome it. It was just a matter of when and how.

To live in this world is to change,

Give me your fury. Make me the instrument of your vengeance.

I wanted one more night around you. I would have done anything for even just one more second.

Tears, laughter, joy, sorrow—there would be all of that and more with Guinevere in the years to come.

He grinned up at her. At this woman who had so daintily thrown a wrench into all his plans and made a home of his heart.

she had to stop asking people for more than what they were willing to give.