Master of Salt & Bones

by Keri Lake

They also believe that if you cross paths with a Blackthorne, you’re doomed to an unfortunate and indeterminate fate.

Unfortunately, I grew up as the daughter of a sinner, and as far as they’re concerned, that’s all I’ll ever be.

Some believe it’s a bad omen to kill a bird. Seagulls are said to carry the souls of fishermen. Killing an albatross means getting lost at sea. I’ve no idea what it means to kill a raven. “It’s bad luck.” “Nah. That’s crows. Ravens are just evil shit-eaters.”

The woman sounds like her patience for people is thinner than my savings account.

It’s sort of like ... sitting in a cemetery. Being surrounded by death can either make you feel incredibly vulnerable and alone, or it can make you grateful to be alive.”

“In French, the word for orgasm is la petite mort. The little death. Not like real death, from which you never return. This gives new life. Over. And over. And over.”

“Isn’t it funny, the way we deny ourselves based on our fears?”

“The world is filled with sadists and masochists. You either find pleasure in doling pain, or receiving it.”

“Thanks. But I don’t think God gives a shit about a girl who doesn’t have much faith in prayer.”

What a wondrous place it must be inside his mind. A dark and wicked place, brimming with the bizarre and peculiar, just like the song.

“I annoy you?” “Incessantly.”

I’ve been with boys, I’ve been touched by boys, but never a man so forbidden and off-limits as Lucian Blackthorne.

“You’re my curse. Staying away from you, is like trying to hold my breath when the tide is rising.” His words dance around my head, the deep timbre of his voice titillating my senses. “I want to drown in you.”

“Words are the most powerful weapon in the world. Alongside money. And if you combine the two, you’re practically a God.”

“Honesty is a rare, if not foolish, quality in a man, Lucian,” Vincent says. “Isn’t that the fucking truth.”

“Breathe, Isa.” They’re just people. Human beings who sat on toilets sometime today looking as undignified as everyone else.

It’s only when I’m up close that I can finally make out the dark creatures fluttering around inside. Large moths from the looks of it, and on their backs is a strange marking that resembles a skull. “Acherontia atropos.”

“It’s named after Archeron, the river of pain and sorrows, and atropos, eldest of three fates who cut the thread of life. More commonly known as the death’s-head hawkmoth,”

“I appreciate things that others tend to fear and cast off as evil.”

“You said you love the torture. Now you don’t?” “I’m beyond torture. I’m on the brink of madness,”

“I’m just trying to understand, is all.” “Understand this.” I tip my head to gain her attention, and when she meets my gaze with those puppy dog eyes, it takes an incredible amount of control not to act on my desires. “There are few that I trust as a general rule. But I knew she was in good hands with you.”

What the ever-loving hell is wrong with this girl?

“Leave. You’ll be grateful I spared you the heartache later.” “What heartache?” “Of knowing I’m the kind of selfish bastard who will fuck you before I push you over a cliff.”

“I’m fucking you. With, or without, the blade at my throat.”

He takes my hand, smoothing my palm over his sticky release, and kisses me hard. “You feel that? Weeks of pent-up torment, all for you. Wear it like a fucking crown, because no other woman has made me come so much in my life.”

“Well, brace yourself. Because the only thing that gets me off more than knives is water.”

“You’re the first time I feel safe.” “And you’re the first time I’ve felt anything in a long time.”

“I’m not the devil they make me out to be. The heartless, callous monster. You can’t do this shit to yourself without feeling something. That’s the problem. I feel everything. I feel it very deeply.”

“I like a number of things that I don’t indulge in as passionately as you with that lobster roll.”

“Because there’s a saying … absence makes the dick grow harder, or something.”

It turns out, heaven is a nineteen-year-old girl who sleeps with a pocket knife under her pillow. And I’m the selfish bastard who intends to keep her all to myself.

“We try to be civilized, us human beings, but ultimately, we’re animals. All of us. And in the kingdom of animals, only the strongest survive.”

“It’s only been a week since I saw you last.” “And I’ve thought about you every minute of every day since. It’s fucking maddening, the way you’ve infected my brain.”

“When you love someone, it’s hard to unlove them. They make mistakes, they do things you hate, things you don’t agree with, things that drive you absolutely mad, but when it comes down to it? You still love them. You can’t help it.

“How do you know if you love someone?” She glances down at the urn in my lap and back to the road. “When you try to imagine a world without that person, and can’t, then you know it’s love.”

Beyond Isa Quinn is a black void for me. A point on the horizon that I can’t see past.

The fucking fish are eating her.

“Your whole life, you’ve been ridiculed and treated like a monster.” He strokes his hand down my cheek, and at the gentle nudge to my chin, I lift my gaze to his. “And all you’ve done is protect yourself.” “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” “But we do what we have to.”

“I’ve never fucked you in a bookstore.”