Where There's a Will (Lost Boys, #1)

by Jessie Walker

Art is a lot like a parasite. An invasion of undeniable need to share your soul with the world. To try and make the world a little better than how you found it. It consumes you to the point of desperation. Begging you to just let it out;

Because we are both drunk and held captive by nostalgia’s web. And with every second that passes that his hand remains pressed to mine, that web tightens. Pulls and pulls and pulls until I have no choice but to cut myself free. Because this storm will end like all storms end. And without the eye’s protective cocoon, we don’t stand a chance against the damage left in its wake come morning.