A Fire in the Flesh (Flesh and Fire, #3)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who sacrificed everything—their life, body, autonomy, and godsdamn soul—for everyone else.

But it was still a cage, no matter the luxuries provided inside it.

I’d seen enough abuse to know there were two types of those who hurt others: ones who felt remorse for their actions, and those who simply did not. I thought I knew which category Kolis fell into, but in the end, it rarely mattered if the apology and remorse were genuine or not because nothing justified the violence, and the abuser almost never changed.

There were many choices. To do nothing and let fate determine what happened to you. Or to face reality and make it hard for the Fates to dictate your path.

“Love me,” I ordered—begged, really. “Love me.” “Always,” he rasped.

“I’m nothing without you, liessa,” he whispered as he started to slip away, and the embers hummed in my chest. “And there will be nothing without you.”

“There is no shame in needing help.”

“And there is only strength in accepting aid.”

Darkness always gave way to the light if given time, and while some heartbreaks may never completely heal, living allowed there to be space for new sources of happiness and pleasure.

Life was worth living even when it was full of unfairness and injustice. When the heart felt light and when the chest was too tight to breathe. Because death was final. The absence of choice. And life was a collection of new beginnings. Full of unending choices.

“I am yours. All of me. My body. My blood. My soul.” His voice roughened. “My heart.” Mine.