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Jacks had always considered himself more of a sadist than a masochist. He enjoyed inflicting pain, not receiving it. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave the shadows of Evangeline’s bedroom.
Apollo wasn’t a murderer—he didn’t kill unless it was absolutely necessary.
“What is the point of having friends if they’re not there to support your bad decisions?”
“When Aurora was younger, she wanted people to think that she left a trail of flowers wherever she went, so she would often carry baskets of petals and toss them when she walked.
“I already told you. You are the love of my life. You are mine, Jacks of the Hollow. And you’re not going to be the end of me.” “But you were dying.” “No,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I just forgot to breathe.”
“You told me it would take the life of the person I love the most.” “It is,” Wolfric replied. “It’s taking you.”
“Splendid!” Her mouth turned up into a sweet smile. “Tell me about the apples.” “Next question.”
