More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The tears of a fairy from a wood so deep. The fig of a vorgrath from his mate’s keep. The scale of a selkie burnished gold. The bone of a wood witch a century old. The midnight sliver of a Shade Queen’s horn. The sacrifice of two lovers torn.
Haven Ashwood had a horrible habit of flirting with death.
Death by falling. Not how she envisioned going out, but also not terribly surprising when one insisted on climbing dead trees.
Haven was different, and in mortal Penryth, there was nothing more terrifying than that.
“He’s pretty,” Bell said, shattering her thoughts. Haven turned up her chin. “All Solis are pretty and equally worthless. I’d rather have his horse.”
“I wonder,” mused Bell, “what it’d be like to be so gorgeous that everyone was half in love with you.” “Annoying, that’s what.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’d settle for one person to love me, you know, the way they do in the books.
“You know,” Archeron purred in his honey-sweet voice, “staring isn’t polite, Mortal.” She bit her cheek to keep from taking the bait. She would stare all she wanted. Besides, he had to be used to it by now. You couldn’t look that different, that . . . pretty without people staring.
“Obviously, I couldn’t command you,” the king gritted through clenched teeth, “because I was under that evil monster’s spell.” Now it was Haven’s turn to roll her eyes. More like you were pissing your royal britches. “Ah.” Archeron blinked lazily at the king. “That is . . . unfortunate.”
“Yes, hello. It’s the mortal greeting, and after all these years, I’m finally giving it a try.” “Damn you to the Netherworld,” she hissed. “How’s that for a greeting?” “Better. More lively.” “You’re a bastard!” A grin split his face. “Most likely.”
“Oh, I like her,” Surai purred behind Haven. “We should definitely keep her.”
If Haven could have killed with her thoughts, the smug Sun Lord would’ve died a thousand deaths by now.
In that moment, Haven felt as if she were witnessing another type of magick. The rare, elusive kind that everyone wanted and few ever possessed. Love—this was love in its most unapologetic form.
“Because your question depends on your actions. There are things inside these walls best left unseen, mortal.” Haven rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the cryptic answer, Seer. As always, your helpfulness knows no bounds.”
Two feet—Haven made it two whole Nether-frigging-feet before Archeron caught her from behind.
Knocked from her trance, she tore her gaze from Damius. Archeron was off his horse and standing between her and the Devourer. Whether meant to be protective or not, the act worked to calm her.
After—the word sickened Surai. There was no after without Rook. No future and no hope. “Surai.” Even near death, Rook managed to sound chiding. “I can feel you already mourning me. But I’m not dead just yet, darling.”
“What’s the matter?” Stolas growled, obviously alarmed that instead of smiling, she was close to tears. “Nothing you would understand,” she said, gathering up her clothes. She kept her face angled away from him to hide her anguish. She could feel him watching her, and there was something different in his gaze now. But she didn’t dare delude herself into thinking there was concern there, or the slightest sliver of empathy for her sadness. Everyone knew monsters like Stolas weren't capable of such human emotions.
Haven wasn’t like any mortal she’d ever met. Nor any Solis for that matter. She was something else entirely. Brave beyond reason. Kind when it mattered. Fierce and loyal and deceptively strong. But it was the inner light practically bursting from Haven that Surai clung to. The one that had broken through Archeron’s wounded exterior—not that he’d ever admit as much—and made Rook trust her, even after what mortals did to them. The one that made Surai call Haven a friend.
As he took in the curve of her neck, the frailness of her human body contrasted against the jut of determination in her jaw, something inside him stirred. Not protectiveness, exactly, nor affection—but certainly an emotion too human for his liking.
