More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Because death is only a reprieve for the dead, Mr. Thorly. It cares little for those it leaves behind.”
Whoever designed this place was an odd soul. A soul, Signa decided, that had been begging for this house to be haunted. They’d certainly gotten their wish.
“Am I amusing to you, sir?” She clenched her teeth as the shadows danced among the trees. “At times.” His voice was little more than a whisper in the roaring wind, though she heard it as clear as though it came from her own thoughts. “And other times you are an endless annoyance. Always, though, you are a fascination.”
With him, there was no pretending. Perhaps this was simply who she was.
And then she averted her eyes like the proper young lady she was and pretended he didn’t make her skin hot while simultaneously making her want to pummel him.
She pulled the cloak closer as she followed behind Sylas, who seemed at ease beneath the starry night. He didn’t shiver as she did but tipped his head back to face the sky. His black hair blew wild, as untamed and free as the way he rode.
“All those I touch,” Death whispered, “die.” His other hand pressed against her cheek suddenly, and he breathed out a wondrous sigh so heavy that Signa’s entire body warmed. “Except for you, Signa Farrow. When I touch you, I feel you. On you, my influence is temporary.”
Do not change the parts of yourself that you like to make others comfortable. Do not try to mold yourself to fit the standards someone else has set for us.
“It’s exhausting,” Signa said as she looked down to her lap, “to pretend you are something—someone—you’re not.”
There was nothing she hated more than people, and nothing she loved more than attention. A true conundrum.”
He was the fire of the stars. The dazzle of the moon. The darkness of the shadows, and the caress of wind against her skin as that darkness drank her in like she was the finest wine.
“You are not married, Byron, because you put too much of yourself into a job that means nothing, just as I did.
