Prince of the Arena (Beasts of the Briar, #1.5)

by Elizabeth Helen

Daytonales is a hideous toad.

Stagnation is the burden of civilization. For peace and prosperity, we must be growing, learning.

“I wouldn’t call myself an artist,” I say, creating a sun on his chest, “but you make the most striking canvas.”

I could have touched him for a thousand years, memorized every muscle, every dip of hard flesh.

I’m painted in the gold of his light, and I never want to leave.

He is like a precious rose, blooming toward the sun. And I’m the typhoon that will come in and uproot it.

“Let’s go get our treasure,” Farron says. I don’t respond, only capable of nodding. Because damn if I haven’t already found mine.

He doesn’t know that he could ask me to crawl behind him and I would consider it a privilege.

Forever isn’t long enough if I’m with you.

I’m in love with you, Daytonales, Prince of Summer. All the stars and the sun and the moon could vanish from the sky, and you would be all the light I’ll ever need.