Vicious (Villains, #1)

by V.E. Schwab

If he were in need of self-help, he would search for a thin, simple book, one whose shape mimicked its promise.

All Eli had to do was smile. All Victor had to do was lie. Both proved frighteningly effective.

Distressed by the fact that the class relied on laptops, and since striking through words on a screen hardly gave him the same satisfaction, Victor had taken to watching the other students sleep, doodle, stress out, listen, and pass digital notes.

(he couldn’t wait to escape the company of his parents, who had first insisted on a Christmas together, and then on reminding him daily of the sacrifice they were making, since holidays were their most popular tour slots)

Victor was the first to speak, and when he did, it was with an eloquence and composure perfectly befitting the situation. “Holy shit.”

Eli was like a thorn beneath Victor’s skin, and it hurt. He could turn off every nerve in his body, but Victor couldn’t do a damned thing about the twinge he felt when he thought of Cardale. The worst part of going numb was that it took away everything but this, the smothering need to hurt, to break, to kill, pouring over him like a thick blanket of syrup until he panicked and brought the physical sensations back.

rivals to lovers?

He was amazed at how myriad the options for a suicide were, and yet how limited the options for one with any certitude of survival.

Victor Vale was not a fucking sidekick.

HES SO BADASS MARRY ME

The absence of pain led to an absence of fear, and the absence of fear led to a disregard for consequence.

She pulled away enough to hold him with her cold blue eyes. He could see the devil in them, silver-tongued and cunning, and Eli thought, not for the first time, that he should have killed her when he had the chance.

Someone could call themselves a hero and still walk around killing dozens. Someone else could be labeled a villain for trying to stop them. Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.

EOs were weapons, yes, but weapons with minds and wills and bodies, things that could be bent and twisted and broken and used.

“You’re going to come back, right?” she asked when they reached the door. Victor looked over his shoulder. “Of course I will,” he said. “That’s my favorite lighter.”

There were some people you had to stay away from, people who poisoned everything in reach. Then there were people you wanted to stick with, the ones with silver tongues and golden touches. And then, there were people you stood beside, because it meant you weren’t in their way.

And over the course of the last week, safe had ceased to be a place for Sydney, and had become a person. Specifically, safe had become Victor.