Angry God (All Saints High, #3)

by L.J. Shen

“We never heard the devil’s side of the story. God wrote all the book.” —Anatole France

Ars Longa, Vita Brevis. Art is long, life is short.

But if we were silver, Vaughn Spencer was gold. If we were good, he was brilliant. And when we shone? He gleamed with the force of a thousand suns, charring everything around him. It was like God had carved him differently, paid extra attention to detail while creating him. His cheekbones were sharper than scalpel blades, his eyes the palest shade of blue in nature, his hair the inkiest black. He was so white I could see the veins under his skin, but his mouth was red as fresh blood—warm, alive, and deceiving.

Vaughn was never uncomfortable. He wore his skin with arrogance, like a crown.

“Because my dad told me good girls like bad boys, and I’m bad. Really bad.”

Thing was, the new Lenny didn’t turn a blind eye to Vaughn Spencer. I was no longer fearful. I’d suffered the greatest loss and survived it. Nothing scared me anymore. Not even an angry god.

If you want to look at your fiercest protector, at the one person you can always count on, take a good look in the mirror.

She made ugly things beautiful. I was going to show her my soul was marred beyond repair.

“I am hell bound, and you are heaven sent. You’re the first girl I ever looked at and thought…I want to kiss her. I want to own her. I wanted you to look at me the way you look at your fantasy book—with a mixture of awe, anticipation, and warmth. I gave you a brownie, hoping you’d remember me sweetly, praying the sugar rush would spin a positive feel around that vacation. I remember how you looked at me when you saw me killing jellyfish. I never wanted you to look at me like that ever again.”

“You,” he whispered, kissing my cheek, “are so effortlessly yourself.”

there’s no superb beauty without some sort of strangeness in the proportions.