More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
What’s the point of magic if you don’t get to use it for silly shit anyway.
“I’m proud of you, baby boy.”
“What if I want to talk about it,” he repeats, “because I can’t stop thinking about it?”
Kissing Elethior Tourael should be as catastrophic as the worst thing I’ve done. And it is. But it’s not a bad catastrophe, and I never knew, never fucking knew that calamities could be wondrous, too.
“Same,” Elethior says. “Another of mine is that I don’t share. Even if this is only physical, I won’t be fooling around with anyone else. And I don’t want you to either. For safety reasons, and because I’m a possessive fucking bastard.”
All the sharp lines of his features, all his harsh edges become cliffs I want to bungee jump off, see how far down I can fall before the rebound snaps me back up. He’s the plummet and the catch and the rise again all in one, and kneeling at his feet, the world orients around him.
I’ve seen him smile so many times. So many different flavors of it, I could write a thesis on the dozens of ways Elethior Tourael’s lips move.
He kisses me to silence. Eats the last few garbled words. “Oh, I’ll ruin you,” he tells me. “But you’re mine, so I’ll always put you back together again, too.”
But right now, I’m choking, and he’s turning into air for me.
Powerlessness was my driving force behind studying magic. Because we have all this potential literally at the tips of our fingers, so there should never, ever be situations where we’re small and weak and acquiescent.
First of all, we can’t afford that; second, over my dead body is he going to propose like I’m the prize in this relationship. He’s the prize. He’s the whole damn jackpot, and I’m going to get down on one knee and proclaim how much I love this man and put my ring on his finger.
