I heard you scream,” he said as he examined the blade in my hands. I’d never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced. “And I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited.” He jerked his chin at the knife. “It’s yours. Don’t bury it in my back, please.
It took me a long while to realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.
I’d hate for you to waste away into nothing. It’d be a shame to lose the most beautiful woman in the world so soon into her immortal, wicked life.
What did Aelin promise you?” Hasar smiled to herself. “A better world.
This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world. And if they picked it, picked them, it might very well cause the end of it.
I hope they all burn in hell.
Love – love was a balm as much as it was a poison.
Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.
Rhysand yelled my name again – yelled it as though he cared. I blacked out, but she brought me back, ensuring that I felt everything ensuring that I screamed every time a bone broke.
But they held tighter to each other, past and present and future; flickering between an ancient hall in a mountain castle perched above Orynth, a bridge suspended between glass towers, and another place, perfect and strange, where they had been crafted from stardust and light. A wall of night knocked them back. But they could not be contained. The darkness paused for breath. They erupted.
I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.
But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.
The world began and ended in fire.
He’d loved her so much that she still felt the echoes of it, even now.
There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives.
Maybe I’d always been broken and dark inside.
Why should I bother defending myself,” Nesta said with lethal cold, “to a male who is so puffed up on his own sense of importance there’s barely enough space in the room for his enormous head?
To the blessed darkness from which we are born, and to which we return.
You’re the person I don’t need to explain myself to – not when it matters. You see everything I am, and you don’t run away from it.
You think I don’t know how stories get written- how this story will be written?” Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I’d seen it. “I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince- the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance.