Vicious (Villains, #1)

by V.E. Schwab

“You must make time for that which matters,” he recited, “for that which defines you: your passion, your progress, your pen. Take it up, and write your own story.”

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

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

Then he met his own eyes—the new calm had made them a fraction paler—and his reflection smiled. It was a cold smile, a slightly foreign one, bordering on arrogant, but Victor didn’t mind. He rather liked that smile. It looked like something Eli would wear.

He had never believed in fate, in destiny. Those things lurked too close to divinity for Victor’s taste, higher powers and the dispensation of agency. No, he chose to see the world in terms of probability, acknowledging the role of chance while taking control wherever it was possible.

“What’s his power?” “Self-righteousness,” Victor said.

She was an English major. He knew that much. And it was fitting, he thought. One devil to lure another.

“Well, then, I feel special.” “You are.” It came out in a whisper. And it was true. Special. Different. Fascinating. Dangerous.

the fact that they’d underestimated her, assumed she was dead, and most of all the fact that she wasn’t, made her smile.

Fate, it seemed, was smiling on Victor again.

safe had ceased to be a place for Sydney, and had become a person. Specifically, safe had become Victor.

“When no one understands, that’s usually a good sign that you’re wrong.”

VICTOR smiled. He was having a fabulous time killing Eli.

A moment later, the cold ran up her arms, and caught her breath, and beneath her hands a heartbeat fluttered, as Victor Vale opened his eyes, and smiled.