Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“Never be ashamed of the things that make you different. That’s where your true power lies.”

You never forget your first love. Especially when he’s also your worst nightmare.

It’s the Blackthorn way and has been for as long as anyone can remember: men are only tools, and love is only for fools.

His eyes are the color of pale arctic ice. They’re ringed in a thicket of dark lashes. His hair is thick and inky black, waving down from a widow’s peak nearly to his shoulders. His jaw is strong, his lips are full, his burning gaze promises both hell and redemption.

“Oh, those eyes. Those lovely, spellcasting eyes. How they’ve haunted me. If only you knew the power they’ve always held over me. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so cruel, little witch.”

“Everything. My whole life. This whole town. The entire fucking world if you asked me to. If you said you were mine and meant it, I’d light a match under anything that would keep us apart, then plant our fucking flag in the ashes.”

I have no idea when reality ended yesterday and the smut version of Alice in Wonderland began.