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I’m not the girl who gets the prince. I’m the girl he bangs because he can.
Damaged souls have their own beauty. A dark, terrifying beauty. The same type of beauty I recognize in Ronan.
I like to follow her. To watch her when she doesn’t know it.
It’s amazing how you can find solace in the smallest of things when your world is so dark and unsettled.
“What sort of dog is that?” He tilts his head to the side to examine her. “Is there something wrong with its wee legs?”
He does fucking own me. He’s polluted my mind, so I can only ever think of him. Only ever want him.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s something wild and three long years in the making. A kiss that purges the memory of all other kisses before him.
“I want them to see that ye’re mine,”
“I think about ye all the time.”
“Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye’re claimed.”
His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that’s left to do is burn for him.
He’s my anchor in the stormy sea.
The one that keeps me from being pulled away into the chaos.
I need to know just how much his dark obsession burns for me. Because I don’t think I could ever let anyone else have him. He’s mine already. But the words… the words make it real.
“Good.” My voice is hoarse, drunk on the knowledge of my claim. “Because if you ever touch anyone else, I’ll murder them.”
He is the very thing they created him to be. A killer. A machine. But he’s also a protector.
“Come back to me,” I tell him as I smooth my fingers over his face. “Always come back to me. We can slay those demons together.”
just caught the boss and the underboss of the Irish mob blushing over a baby.
“My anam cara,” we both repeat together. They are the same words carved into our wedding rings in Ogham script. The words that mean, quite simply, his soul is mated to mine.
My life, my love, my breath. May we always have each other in this life and the next.
