Heart, Haunt, Havoc (The Gideon Testaments, #1)

by Freydís Moon

Colin hadn’t earned his place yet, but he typically didn’t have to: haunted places never failed to recognize haunted people.

Hard to make magic sound less fairy tale and more spiritual.

What the hell do you say to the person who’s shared a house with you, built a whole goddamn life with you, and still managed to slip away?” “You say goodbye,” Colin whispered.

“Sometimes shame is a lesson. Most of the time, it’s just a way for us to hate ourselves for the things we want.”

faith was a hard, mean, vengeful thing at times,

Grief, and betrayal, and fine-tuned desperation were learned, lived, and endured. People got better from a burst cyst, from an undercooked pork chop, from an impromptu breakup. But no one fully recovered from loss like this. They simply adapted to the sound of it, calloused to the feel of it.

“I tend to appreciate distance, but somehow, I haven’t found the fortitude to stop wanting you. I think about you often: when I’m awake, when I’m asleep, when I’m alone. Do you know what that’s like?”

“To find yourself trapped in an unexpected orbit? To know someone’s power, to understand their pain, to get a glimpse of their heart?” He met their wide, tense eyes. “Before I slept with you, I daydreamed about you. Now that I’ve been with you, I’m consumed by you. How I feel about you, what I want from you . . . it’s thrilling; it’s excruciating. So, yes, you terrify me, Bishop.”

The truth ached in his chest. How badly he’d craved them, how his desire for them had suffocated his lonely heart. Wanting and being wanted had been unimaginable,

“Be scared of me,” they rasped, breathing hard against his chin. “But don’t be afraid to touch me.”

Colin knew what it was like to find safety in pain. He understood the narrow space people searched for when they needed to be hurt and held and outside themselves.

He gave them what they wanted: pain and pleasure, obedience and release. But he hopelessly, selfishly wanted more.