Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

“And you know how much that ass annoys me.” “Annoys you?” Tairn chuckles above me, the sound like a chuffing cat. “Is that what you call it when your heart rate—” “Don’t even start with me.”

“You’re all fucking dead.”

“I should have killed him slower.”

“I’m freakishly flexible. It’s part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing,”

“Maybe I sleep in my armor, too.” “Then you should pick more trustworthy bedmates.”

“Go away unless you have something useful to say.” “Move faster. You’ll be less likely to die. How’s that for useful?”

“Stop objectifying our wingleader,” Liam teases. “Is that what we’re doing?” Rhiannon asks, not bothering to look away. My mouth waters at the muscled expanse of his back and that sculpted ass. “Yeah, I think that’s what we’re doing.”

“Have you always been this tall?” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “No. I was a child at some point.”

“You turned oranges into a weapon, Violence?”

“Taking over what?” My eyes narrow. “Everything when it comes to you.”

“That’s actually a good point, so I’ll let you have it.” “Thank you for being so gracious.”

“Unless you don’t know how to handle an opponent on top of you, and if so, that’s a whole other issue.” “I know how to handle you on top of me,” I challenge quietly.

“I’m just wondering how long they can be separated.” “Turns out, about three days is their max.” Xaden steps out of the shadows.

“Now, now, you’ll give our little communication secret away if you can’t keep from being so…violent.”

“The first models were unacceptable, and you had the gall to pinch my chest scales when clumsily assembling it this morning.”

“You can ride me when the flesh rots off my bones, wingleader.”

He’s the worst kind of addiction, dangerous and impossible to sate.

“Should I get the wingleader?”

There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.”

“I’m over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, and you’re fucking me with your eyes. That’s not playing fair.”

“Gods help me, I’m only looking at you.”

“Did you know I can’t stand to hear his name on your lips while you’re leading the way to my room?”

“Which one are you calling out for?” he asks against my flesh. “Because it’s just you and me in this room, Vi, and I don’t share.”

“I appreciate the elevation to deity, but my name will do.”

“I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.”

“Someone better be dead if I get out of this bed, Garrick,” Xaden retorts. “I think there’re a lot of people dead, which is why they’re calling the full quadrant to formation, jackass!” Garrick growls.

“Love!” he shouts, stopping me in my tracks and earning us a glance from every rider within hearing distance. “You love me.”