Eldritch (The Eating Woods, #2)

by Keri Lake

beastly creature with bark-like skin and antlers staring back at her.

“Not the boy.” Her wrinkled and mutilated hands flattened on the table. “The boy stays with me.” “The king has placed the boy under arrest.” “No!” The cloaked woman growled

then Aleysia remains in slumber until we find out who, or what, she’s bound to.” “Essentially, yes.”

Sleeping beauty vibes.

“Clearly, you have no idea how irresistible you are if you imagine I can lie next to you even one night without the longing to touch you.” He rolled onto his back and tucked his bent arm beneath his head again. “How can I convince you that the only thing that could possibly force me away from you is death? And even then, I’d find a way to get back to you.”

This seems so out of left field since there was no romance in the first book st all. Maybe some light flortivjng via bickering and a single kiss, but that was all.

As I recalled the scars—the marks of abuse he’d suffered—I couldn’t think of a single reason a man as apathetic and cold as Zevander would’ve reacted otherwise.

My words had troubled him. Perhaps triggered a memory of his past.

do not imagine that I harbor any regret for earlier. I may lack experience, but I don’t lack the capacity to choose for myself.

His words to her had been true regardless—he had no intention of returning to Aethyria, if she chose to stay in Mortasia. She was his mate. His destiny. The more time he spent with her, the stronger the pull in his blood, like gravity shifting the tides. An unbreakable thread tied to his chest. And the fiercer his need to protect her. Leaving her to fend for herself against this world would be no less painful than cracking open his own ribs and tossing half his heart away.

He longed to tell her the truth of their bond, but he was selfish enough not to risk her rejecting it out of resentment.

two meters in height,

That’s about 6 feet, why are we calling it a crawl space?

“To be fair, your chivalry, however dark and morbid and brimming with lunacy it may have been, warmed my heart. No one has ever offered to destroy the world for me.”

An acidic taste lingered at the back of his throat, the acrid scent of rot and decay filling his nose. What in seven hells is this?

Sound like heartburn. lol

Did you know sablefyre is the only element that can hatch a dragon’s egg?

for a brief moment, he wanted to run to him, just as he had as a child whenever he was uncertain or afraid. He didn’t, though. After having learned that his father had murdered a woman, Zevander wanted nothing to do with him.

sadists.”

This term comes from the name of a very specific person, this person was a person on Earth in our history.this term should not exist in Zevander’s world. The author made up plenty of other terms, she could have made one up to describe this type of person in this realm.

He’d heard of Caligorya before—a place in the deepest part of the mind where healers sometimes sent those who’d been gravely injured. The Shadow Realm.

“Yours is not derived from the sun or moon. It lives in the heart of Aethyria. It is the molten blackness that pumps through the veins of our world. Few gods take physical form, but this one lives within you.” Zevander puzzled his words. “Who?” “Deimos. The god of sablefyre and destruction.”

“Let go of the empathy. It can be incredibly distracting.”

Not loving that, especially in this current political climate.

to keep from visualizing his sweat-slicked muscles, hard and gleaming.

This just seems ewe in this book. I love a good steamy book but the sex or sexual tension has to add to the story, and I feel here it’s taking away from it.

It seemed we’d only distanced ourselves sexually, but as our friendship continued to bloom, the more time I spent with him, the harder it was to ignore all the things that made him so magnetically attractive.

“Unfortunately, yes. Like your grandfather, I was raised to admire the beauty of an intelligent woman.” “Rykaia reads, as well?” “Rykaia reads, but she prefers fairytales of princes and maidens falling in love.” “And you find that silly,” I said flatly.

“You don’t believe in love,” I countered. “I’m skeptical of enduring love. It seems fleeting and fickle, which makes me question the point.”

“You don’t trust love. Which must also mean you shun the Aethyrian idea of fated mates.”

even if love itself is fleeting. Its worth isn’t diminished

maybe somewhere deep in the pitch blackness of your jaded heart, you actually believe in fairytales, after all.

Nearly five days had passed since we’d pulled her out of that pantry, and she lay as motionless as ever,

“Just over twenty furlongs.”

So about 2.5 miles each way. About 5 miles round trip.