A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood, #1)

by S.T. Gibson

This is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. I suppose both are a sort of gentle violence, putting down in ink what scorches the air when spoken aloud.

The people only call me cruel because it is easier to think of a woman as cruel than competent.

“It would be easier if he hated us,” she said. “But he loves us all terribly. And if we go on letting him love us, that love is going to kill us. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”