To Bleed a Crystal Bloom (Crystal Bloom, #1)

by Sarah A. Parker

But this world is not merciful, and neither am I. Not anymore.

Light will bloom from sky and soil, Skin tarnished by the brand of death …

He just looks so comfortable in his skin ... I wish I knew how that felt.

Because lies are pretty little masks we place on our words to tint the truth into something palatable.

He’s chillingly beautiful, otherworldly in stature. Just the sight of him has a crippling effect on my ability to function properly, and I hate it. I hate it so damn much.

“Live, Orlaith. All I’m asking is that you live.”

My fear is a wild thing pointed in other directions.

It’s said that if a krah shits on you, your days are numbered—your death-date staked in the soil.

I’m more concerned that I’m soon to close my lids on my first full day without pricking my skin. Dripping into a goblet. Giving myself to him. To me, that’s far more damning than a smattering of poo. I thought Rhordyn needed me ... Now, I’m not so sure.

Perhaps because of the late hour and my body’s internal clock surging with anticipation, but I think of those lilac eyes glaring at me with unguarded rancor ... I hate you. Oh, precious. You don’t even know the meaning of the word. Better her hate than those heated looks she’s been blindsiding me with recently.

Guilt has a taste I’m far too familiar with—bitter and biting.

Everything weighs too much. My feet, body, mind ... Heart.

Of course I’m sheltered, but I built the walls of my own prison.

Truth is, withdrawals have nothing on the extra weight tucked in my knapsack. A weapon that may or may not carry the weight of many lives taken. Slain. Destroyed. The weight of families torn to bits and feasted upon, scattered across the soil. And now it’s mine ...

Death is gripping my insides with hands so cold they burn, but there’s a comfort in it. A safety that feels eternal.

I lean into his touch like it’s the only thing tethering me to this world.

I’m still broken. Still splitting at the seams.

Because I’m tired. So, so tired, and I’m not okay with this—with that female standing amongst my roses, luring smiles from a man usually as apathetic as a gravestone.

It’s as if something deep inside—that still, silent part that’s painfully aware—knows I’m standing on the edge of a different sort of chasm than the one that haunts my nightmares. One that has the potential to ruin me.

“Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale. A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy. If you believe everything you read, you’ll be disappointed when you finally step into the real world.”

literally a dick and for what

Things are changing. And I don’t like change. I’m not comfortable with change.

Do I want to leave my safety circle? Never. But I’m suddenly wondering how much of that has to do with me bleeding into this goblet every day for the past nineteen years, giving little pieces of myself to a man who was never mine. A man who’s given nothing of himself in return. Nothing

My tutor used to say eyes are windows to the soul, but no matter how much I’ve searched mine, I’ve never found myself. Eventually, I stopped looking.

as if controlling my body meant I could control everything else. My entire life.

You can’t control a crowd. Can’t control the way they look and whisper and unravel you with their words.

He’s all hard angles and bitter resolve—a beautiful nightmare made flesh. There’s death in those silver eyes.

“Consider this your religious lesson for the day. Believe me when I tell you, any Gods worth worshiping would take more pride in their position, and they certainly wouldn’t leave it to someone else to clean up their mess.”

I need something normal to cling to or I’m going to fall apart. Maybe not straight away, but eventually the noose of anxiety will slither in and steal my breath, just like it always does when I feel like I’ve lost control.

I’d give him my soul. The breath in my lungs. I’d lump my heart on a silver platter and let him drink straight from the source.

At this moment, I couldn’t care less. All that matters is this. Us.

I miss the sun; the way it fills me up. I feel like my soul is dripping away—like I’m wilting.

He’d never admit to it if I asked, but he relies on her just as much as I do.

I give too much away, what with how I shiver every time his voice cuts through the air. With the way his closeness snags my breath, and how he makes me feel like I’m safe and protected in the boundary of his castle grounds. It has nothing to do with the castle, and everything to do with him.

“I’m okay now,” I rasp, though the words taste like the lie they are. I’m not okay. I haven’t been for years. I’ve just been hiding; keeping myself occupied.

this might be a fucked up story but this is so real of her to say

I blink a few times, severing my sight of him in a gentle way. Because I deserve gentle. I deserve gentle when this man is so boldly destroying me.

I’m in love with a man who’ll never be mine—who’s unavailable in every way, shape, and form—and I’m certain it’s going to ruin me.

Perhaps I’m cursed to be surrounded by intense men who make very little sense.

I’m going to have to lie to myself. Deceive myself. Force myself into doing something I’d hoped I could avoid for the rest of my life. I’m going to have to become somebody different. Someone bold and heartless. Fearless.

Hating the indifference in his eyes when all I need is a hug—for someone to tell me everything’s going to be okay.

“I know every glimmer in your eye, every rapture that makes your soul sing. I know that right now, your spine is locked not by your own accord, but because my fingers have you wound like a puppet on a string,”

“I know that your cheeks are flushed because you’re embarrassed by the dull ache between your legs. By the wetness you can feel smeared between your thighs. You’re worried I can smell it. I can.”

“I know you’re fighting some internal battle, because although I can smell your arousal ... I can feel your anger licking at my skin like a flame.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone at the wall, crushed against it by his parting words. A terse reminder that I may be his, but he’ll never be mine.

A tear darts down my cheek, and I bat it away with a swift hand, as if it doesn’t hold the weight of my fractured heart in that one tiny bead. Another swiftly follows.

“Do you, though? How far are you willing to go to spite your wounded heart?” Strong, composed ... Resilient. “As far as it takes,” I bite out with all the conviction I can muster. As far as it takes to secure those ships; to save more little girls from living the same nightmares that ruined me.

What I want, what I need, and what is right are three entirely different things ...

So I stab again and again and again, only stopping once all ten of my trembling fingers have given to the goblet, adding to the little red puddle of undiluted me. I hate that color—the color of secrets. The color of my past, my present, but no longer my future. But I also love it.

My life is changing. The more I fight it, the more it’s going to tear at my seams.

I’ll be releasing him, something I have to do before I can release myself from this cage of my own creation. Rhordyn was right ... I’m better than this. Stronger than this. It’s time I grew up.

Rhordyn doesn’t speak like that—like part of him is just as broken as I am.