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April 12 - April 13, 2025
All stories are made of both truths and lies, she used to say. What matters is the way that we believe in them.
It was supposed to smell like a person’s greatest heartbreak. But as Evangeline entered the cool cathedral, the air did not remind her of Luc—there were no hints of suede or vetiver. The dim mouth of the church was slightly sweet and metallic: apples and blood.
According to the myths, the Prince of Hearts was not capable of love because his heart had stopped beating long ago. Only one person could make it work again: his one true love. They said his kiss was fatal to all but her—his only weakness—and as he’d sought her, he’d left a trail of corpses.
He gave her a real smile, revealing a pair of dimples that briefly made him look more angel than devil. But she imagined even angels would need to beware of him. She could picture him flashing those deceptive dimples as he tricked an angel into losing its wings just so he could play with the feathers.
“I believe there are far more possibilities than happily ever after or tragedy. Every story has the potential for infinite endings.”
A drop of blood fell from the corner of his mouth, and something godforsaken washed over his expression. “Hurt is what made me.”
“It wasn’t that long ago that I saw you in my church, willing to promise me almost anything to make the pain stop. Was that a lie? Or have you already forgotten the way heartbreak rips apart the soul piece by piece, how it turns you into a masochist, making you long for the thing that just eviscerated you until there’s nothing left of you to be destroyed?”
Or have you already forgotten the way heartbreak rips apart the soul piece by piece, how it turns you into a masochist, making you long for the thing that just eviscerated you until there’s nothing left of you to be destroyed?”
He held on to her as if she were a grudge, his body rigid and tense, as if he really didn’t want her there, and yet his arms were tight around her waist as though he had no intention of ever letting her go.
After I got mauled by the wolf, my scars weren’t sexy scars—” “He just said sexy scars,” Jacks drawled. “Are you really listening to this?”
“For most people, I’m the worst thing that can happen to them. But not you. It’s as if you want that boy to destroy you, and he’s only human—or he was until you helped him change.”
His skin was flushed with color, and his eyes were brighter as well, a radiant sapphire blue. He looked part angel, part fallen star, and completely devastating. “Evangeline—stop looking at me like that. You’re making this much more difficult.” Jacks spoke between clenched teeth, but she still caught a glimpse of his sharpened incisors, which now looked startlingly like fangs.
“You won’t want this later…” “Not really thinking about later.” He licked her, one languorous stroke up the column of her neck. She gasped, “You don’t even like me.” “I like you right now. I like you a lot.” He gently sucked her skin. “In fact, I can’t think of anything I like more.”
“I wanted you here, Little Fox. Who do you think asked Poison to save you and suggest to his empress that she send you to Nocte Neverending?”
Evangeline wasn’t ready to say they were friends, but after last night, she no longer felt as if they were enemies.
