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Death isn’t the escape I was hoping for, but it will do. At least I’ll go hugging the sky and kissing the wind, knowing the others are safe. Protected. Knowing I didn’t break.
“Spark the flames, Ever.” “Ignite the infernos,” I answer automatically. “Ash the embers,” we both say at the same time, a small chuckle escaping us as we finish the chant we’ve exchanged back and forth since we were kids.
“I’m Ever Tenebrae, daughter of the slaughtered King Merik Tenebrae, and the last surviving Syphon of my massacred line. Trust me, Spare, I’m not safe anywhere, least of all with you.”
IN A LIFETIME, THERE ARE an endless number of rights and wrongs that can stack up for or against you. The tallies on either side can haunt your memories, bolster your greatest accomplishments, or leave you standing in an uncomfortable puddle of ambivalence.
I don’t know if Aeson Noctis is breathing. But what’s bothering me even more than not knowing is why I care at all.
I look beautiful, filthy rich, and snooty, but in a you don’t want to fuck with me kind of way.
Aeson Noctis likes ’em feisty. I can do feisty.
What if the key to breaking the curse isn’t based on blood and bloodlines like we thought? Maybe the solution is of the fairy-tale variety—only it isn’t true love’s kiss that sets us free, it’s dragon dick.
Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never go all the way.
“Spark the flames you need to see by, dragoness,” Nixy says evenly.
All I do is pay attention. I overanalyze every-fucking-thing, and then I plot and plan accordingly.

