Midnight Sun (Twilight, #5)

by Stephenie Meyer

Her scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe.

For a half second I was distracted by the idea, the impossibility, of what it would be like to try to kiss Bella. My lips to her lips, cold stone to warm, yielding silk.… And then she dies.

She valued humanity so lightly. She didn’t realize the depths of what its loss would mean.

I didn’t pray to my God. I’d always instinctively known that there was no deity for my kind. It made no sense for immortals to have a god; we had taken ourselves out of any god’s power. We created our lives, and the only power strong enough to take them away again was another like us. Earthquakes couldn’t crush us, floods couldn’t drown us, fires were too slow to catch us. Sulfur and brimstone were irrelevant. We were the gods of our own alternate universe. Inside the mortal world but over it, never slaves to its laws, only our own.