Chelsea ✨Arielle’s Nebular Ally and Team Acrux✨ > Books: favorites‎ (373)

Someday. For now, I still have today, and I will make it a lovely one.

My inability to forge deep, serious, lasting connections with the men I’ve dated throughout my twenties might stem from the fact that I am not, as is painfully obvious to my family and friends, all the way over Alex.
And I don’t like the effect he had on me when we were young, either, so I’m sore about that, too. When we started dating, I was a wild, self-centered, carefree young thing, and he stunted my development with his pretty, hypnotic eyes and slow, deep, “There’s my girl.” Now I weep at diaper commercials. I invent distinct personalities for each of my crocuses, I prefer the company of chickens to people, I chalk hopscotch boxes on the sidewalk for kids to play on. I am overly emotional when I watch videos of babies reacting to eating lemons. It is all his fault. He brought all of my nerve endings to the surface, when life would’ve been smoother if I’d remained feral.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate us for being such a pretty couple?” Trevor wheedles, and Alex laughs.
Laughs!
I hate him for it. Who does he think he is, pretending to be unbothered? He has to be bothered. I would be, if my ex were presumably sleeping with my soon-to-be stepsibling.
It is infuriating that he might not be bothered.

I had hoped that enough time had passed, that I had changed enough, that I had become unreadable to him. It never occurred to me that he’d figure me out all over again exactly like he did the first time.

This quiet pain is unbearably worse than cursing, shouting. There is nothing more awful than Alex rolling up his sleeves to show me all the wounds I left on him, and him reckoning with the ones he gave to me.

“Is it the same picture I uploaded to Instagram two years ago that you liked at four in the morning last week, then quickly unliked?” He’s gloating.
“I was hoping you didn’t notice that.”
“I notice everything.”
I glare. “Damn you, Alex King.”
He smiles at me, eyes molten.

“Chickens as pets,” he muses, getting up and wandering over to my cabinets. He starts opening them, poking around. “Is that allowed? You’d think there’d be codes about that. Livestock within city limits, etcetera.”
“My chickens aren’t livestock, they’re family. What are you doing? What are you looking for?”

Why was I acting this way? Why was I constantly having to remind myself of logic and consequences to the point I

Why was I acting this way? Why was I constantly having to remind myself of logic and consequences to the point I wanted to scream at myself? Why did I keep asking the same questions despite knowing the answers to all of them?

My family understood me. My friends understood me. But there were parts of me that they wanted to change, whereas Bjorn seemed to accept the way I was. Seemed to encourage the parts of my character that everyone else in my life had tried to quash.

“Don’t call me that.”
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not original—I shall think of something better. Perhaps Freya Onehand. Or Freya Axethief. Or Freya Scorchedpalm.”

"Next you’ll tell me that I’m pretty and I’ll lose all respect for your wit.”
“It is hard to keep one’s wits when faced with a woman as beautiful as the sight of shore to a man who has been lost at sea.”

He turned me in his arms, one hand rising to tangle in my mess of braids. “I used to dream only of fire and ash,” he whispered, running a thumb over my cheek as I lifted my face to meet his gaze. “Now when I close my eyes, all I see is your face.”

“The ships will be under guard. Gnut’s no fool—he’ll protect his line of retreat.”
My hands balled into fists. “Then help me.”
Tension thickened between us, and I could hardly breathe. Not because I thought Bjorn would try to stop me but because I wanted him to help me. Wanted him to be the sort of man who’d do what it took to save all those in the hall. The breath I was holding came out in a gust as Bjorn finally said, “Lead the way, Born-in-Fire.”

“You will not die today, Born-in-Fire, because I will slaughter anyone who comes near you. That is a promise.”

“You’re doing it again,” he says at last.
I look away quickly. “Doing what?”
“Romanticizing nightmares.”

“You’re doing it again,” he says at last.
I look away quickly. “Doing what?”
“Romanticizing nightmares.”

I already know the danger of their speed, their strength. I know the danger of their teeth.
What more could there possibly be?
What more could there be?

Hatred tastes like poison, like the charred wick of a candle the second before it ignites—and it always ignites.

Perspective is a wonderful thing.

“Have you partaken of the apple before?” I ask with a note of accusation.
“Many times.” As before, his lips twist into a not-quite smile. “For example, our pythoness once predicted that I would take a bride—a mortal woman with hair of onyx and eyes of emerald, not unlike yourself.”
My cheeks blaze instantly at the ridiculous image—at the two of us, together, bound forever in holy matrimony—before he reaches out without warning, tucking a strand of hair almost affectionately behind my ear.
His black eyes glitter with malice. “She also predicted that I’d kill her.”

I have never been a violent person. Indeed, I usually abhor the sight of blood, but when a porcelain doll breaks, she is nothing but sharp edges.

Lou has found her place in life—she’s found her family, her home—and I just . . . Haven’t. It’s a sobering realization.

“I thought vampires didn’t crave human blood.”
…
Michal’s smile widens as if he knows. “There are exceptions to every rule, Célie.”

Sighing heavily, Michal drags me toward the shop anyway. I dig in my heels. “What are you—?”Before I can finish the question, however, he breaks the lock on the door with a quick flick of his wrist. I gape after him as he sweeps inside and reappears seconds later with a toothbrush and mint paste.
He thrusts them both at me, closing the door firmly behind him. “Happy?” he asks.
“I—” My hands close around the items. “Well, yes—that was very—very—”
He rolls his eyes and paces several feet away. Giving me privacy, I realize with another start.
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “Did you, er—did you happen to pay for these?”
Slowly, he turns to look at me.

He speaks the words coldly, absolutely, as only a king could, and my chest pinches unexpectedly as his cruel mask slips back into place. As his eyes flatten to terrifying black, as his face hardens into that of the vampire I met aboard the ship and in the aviary. Gone is the spark of interest, the reluctant amusement. This is the Michal I know. No—this is the Michal he is.

“I’m angry at everyone.”
“But you’re angrier at me,” Lou says shrewdly.
“No,” I lie.
She crosses her arms. “You’ve always been a shit liar, Célie.”
“How did you find me?”
“Are you trying to deflect the master of deflection?”
When I say nothing, her lips twitch, and I probably imagine the subtle glint of approval in her eyes.

“You must look like the innocent flower, Célie Tremblay, but be the serpent under it.”
“Be the serpent,” another ghost echoes.
“Leave now,” another snarls.
“I”—forcing deep breaths, I choke down my panic—“Michal, p-please, we really need to—”

If you had to change yourself to be accepted, you didn’t need that person in your life in the first place. Because it wasn’t you they wanted to be with. It was their version of you.

“My meeting is cancelled.”
Cara scurried after me. “Mr. Costa-“
“The answer is no.”
“What should I tell Mr. Reynolds?”
“That something urgent came up. Family-related.” This wasn’t a fabrication. Something had come up. My blood pressure.

“I’m sure there is logic behind your words, though for the life of me, I cannot find it.”

I wondered what kind of heinous crimes I’d committed against the human race in a previous life to deserve these two nutjobs as my love interests.

“We don’t choose our traits. We merely endure them.”

“You’re going to be a headache, aren’t you?”
“A headache?” I cocked my head.
“You kidnapped me, you psycho. I’m not gonna be a headache. I’m going to be, at the very least, a deadly brain tumor.”

“Sometimes, when I read, I realized I was happiest in a world that wasn’t mine.”

Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.

Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around. Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.

Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

I learned a long time ago that you don’t need to reveal everything inside of you to the people around you. They like to judge, and I’m happier when they don’t. Some things stay hidden.

I know him very little, but after every encounter, I feel like I know him less.

Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.

Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around. Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.

Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

I learned a long time ago that you don’t need to reveal everything inside of you to the people around you. They like to judge, and I’m happier when they don’t. Some things stay hidden.

I know him very little, but after every encounter, I feel like I know him less.

He’d just told her goodbye. He’d said he wished their story could have had a different ending, as if they’d already reached the final page.
But Evangeline wanted more pages.

Jacks’s back hit the ground as Evangeline flung herself at him. “You monster!” she cried, and cursed.
He’d never heard her curse properly before. She wasn’t very good at it, but she was trying furiously.

She was truly elsewhere, and it seemed she had been for long enough to meet heroes and villains, and to find herself in a battle between them.

But the problem with wanting something you can’t have, or shouldn’t have, is that the second it seems possible, all reason flees. Reason and wanting go well together only when the reason encourages a person to get what they want. Any reason opposed to this want becomes the enemy.

Maybe it merely meant she was a fool, or maybe it meant that her heart remembered things her mind did not.

Evangeline knew that Jacks had told her heroes didn’t get happy endings. But that didn’t mean they were supposed to give them to the villains.

Once a bit of hope had come to life, it was difficult to kill.

She tried to pull away, but Jacks held tight, knotting her hair in his fist and keeping his forehead pressed to hers.
“Please, Little Fox, remember."

“I know I seem naive,” Evangeline pressed on. “I know my faith in love might appear foolish. I also know it might not be enough. But I’m not doing this because I believe I’ll win. I’m actually a little afraid I’m going to lose. I no longer think love is a guarantee of victory or of happily ever after. But I think it’s a reason to fight for those things. I know my attempt to save Jacks could end in a fiery explosion, but I’d rather go up in flames with him than watch while he burns.”

“I just saved your life,” he said, but the words came out with a bit of a growl. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I feel as if that’s what people always say just before they hurt you.”

“Yes, I am a murderer. I enjoy hurting people. I like blood. I like pain. I am a monster, but whether you remember it or not, I’m your monster, Evangeline.”

But the blood left behind looked something awful—she probably looked awful as well.
“You could never look awful,” he said faintly.

Two simple words. Only they did not feel simple at all. They felt like falling. They felt like hope. They felt like the most important words in the world. The words made her blood rush and her head spin until once again it was only her and Jacks. Nothing existed except for the press of his cool forehead, the feel of his strong hand tangling in her hair, and the pleading, broken look in his quicksilver blue eyes.

Her heart still hurt, as if it had been broken and only jagged bits remained.

Green eyes peering into my soul and the brush of lips against mine so hot and powerful that I could taste that kiss right down to my core. A name in the dark which sounded like a plea or a promise and words which hung in my mind like they'd been spoken from the stars themselves.
Choose wisely, Dragon born. The greatest treasure is the hardest won.

How much easier my life would be if this really was just the end of me.

I slid a hand up her spine, moving it towards the back of her neck as I watched her mouth and prepared to claim it. Claim her. Claim everything that went with that choice, because it didn't even feel like a choice at all, more like an urgent need which demanded to be answered.

“Maybe you should have picked an easier House to join,” I warned in a low tone, pushing her a little more. “I don’t get the feeling you’re cut out for the trials of this one.”
“Well you made it in,” she said with a shrug, her gaze flicking over me dismissively and making my blood heat. “So it can’t be that hard.”

There was a question hanging between me and her. A want which we both felt and ached to satisfy. But there was a whole chasm full of reasons for us to deny that need too. Not that I gave a shit. Because every fibre of my being was screaming for me to claim her and make her mine with an urgency that made my head spin.

I swear I could practically hear the universe holding its breath like there was so much hanging on the choice we made now.

"You made a mistake picking my House. You won't be able to escape me now."

She had been a pretty dream for a foolish moment, but now I was waking up to my reality and the bruises staining my flesh were a stark reminder of what that was.
The Vegas had to go.
And I had to make that happen.

I raised my eyes to look at Roxy Vega, finding her wary attention still very much fixed on me and liking that a little too much. What was going on beyond those big green eyes? What thoughts filled that pretty head of hers when she set her gaze on me?

That girl was my downfall in the making. I just had to make sure she never reached that potential.

And for some strange reason, her calling me an asshole was the highlight of my damn week.

My head snapped up and I glared at my reflection again, drinking in the similarities between the man in the mirror and the one who had haunted my nightmares for too fucking long. He'd wanted me to become a monster? Fine. I'd be his monster.