The Lost and the Chosen (The Lost Sentinel, #1)

by Ivy Asher

For the ones who believed I could, so I did.

Caster lesson number one: don’t give your blood to any fucker for a spell.

“Do you know how to use all of those weapons?” Lachlan probes with feigned nonchalance. “Yes.” “Who trained you?” he presses. “YouTube.”

“Why is there a hot chick raging in your gym?”

If he comes near me again right now, I’m done for. I will climb him like a tree, with no hesitation or apology.

“Come on, Bruiser, wake up. We’re all waiting for you to go out and play.” “What are you, seven? I’m not interested in babysitting today. Thanks anyway.”

Casters make the females sound like fragile broodmares. Professional baby maker is not exactly what I envision for my future.

Sabin’s attitude is starting to get old. At first, it felt protective, but right now it feels controlling, and I’ve had enough.

I’m so tired of people trying to convince me that I’m not good enough, or trying to make me feel wrong or less than simply because I exist. “I’ll stay the fuck away from all of you; now get the fuck out of my room.”

I stop a couple of feet away, and Torrez’s nostrils flare. His eyes narrow slightly, and he scoffs. “Lost, little witch?” he asks.

“Oh, come on now, Torrez, you know it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.” “True, but you’re confusing your witch for bitch, you’re no shifter. Why do you want to make me mess up that perfect face?” His shit talking game is on point, and I can’t help but appreciate it. I smirk, and he scents the air again.

I’m pretty sure these shifters expect me to have a problem with their use of the word witch, but I couldn’t care less: caster, witch, freak, it’s all the same to me.

“Captain Cockblock to the rescue,”

“There are five of you and one of me, which is a great start to a romance novel or a wet dream, but in reality, it’s all so much more complicated than that.”