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The Nightlife: New York ( The Nightlife #1) Silence (Hush, Hush #3)

The Hell-Bard commander returned from the jungle, movements imbalanced as he shuffled to Zander’s pack and rifled through. If he noticed Safi’s gaze boring into him, he gave no indication.

Stop. Stop playing me. What did you hope to achieve? That I’d kiss you? Fuck you? Come to care for you? That I’d fall in love with you. Jethro dropped his voice to a whisper. That I wouldn’t kill you? He shook his head. You’re still as clueless and naïve as the day I stole you.His nostrils flared. I will not.

The Killing of Worlds (Succession #2)

Cocking my chin, I anchored myself in as much courage as possible. Prove it, Jethro. Prove how cold you are by giving me something I desperately need.I need to see there is hope. Just a small shred of hope.What makes you think I can be manipulated? I don’t care about your needs or desires.

Dance With the Devil (Dark-Hunter #3)

Liar, I whispered. You do care. Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here. You wouldn’t be fighting this. I rested my hands on his chest, digging my fingernails into his t-shirt. You would’ve struck me and left if you were anything like you portray.I stood on my tiptoes, reaching for his mouth. I told you, you’re a hypocrite.

He paused, calculation dark in his eyes. One kiss?

Jethro's control broke. Just one fucking kiss? Don’t you know what you’re asking from me? I don’t want to fucking kiss you!To think, it had been only two weeks since all hell-fire had broken loose in Lejna. Since Iseult had lost Safi to the Marstoks, had rescued Merik from a collapsed building, and had decided she would go after her Threadsister no matter what.

Iseult had scoured the ghost city of Lejna after that, until she had found Mathew’s abandoned coffee shop. There’d been food in the kitchen, and clean water too. She’d even found a sack of silver coins in the cellar.When no one had come for her after eight days, though, Iseult had been forced to assume no one ever would. Dom Eron had likely heard of Safi’s kidnapping by the Empress of Marstok; Habim, Mathew, and Eron were likely headed after her now.

Forest Mage (Soldier Son #2)

Leaving Iseult with no choice but to set off at a steady pace northeast, sleeping by day, traveling by night. For there were only two types of people in the forests of the Witchlands: those who tried to kill you and those who got you killed. Both camps were best avoided.Yet in the darkness that Iseult traveled by, there were other things waiting. Shadows and breezes and memories she couldn’t lock away. She thought about Safi. She thought about her mother. She thought about Corlant and his cursed arrow that had almost taken her life. She thought of the Cleaved from Lejna and the teardrop-shaped scar they’d left behind.

And she thought of the Puppeteer, who tried endlessly to invade Iseult’s dreams. A Weaverwitch, she called herself, all while insisting Iseult was just like her. But the Puppeteer cleaved people and controlled their Threads. Iseult could—would—never do that.Mostly, Iseult thought about death. Her own. After all, she had only a single cutlass and she traveled toward a future that might not exist.

A future that could end very soon, if the Cleaved behind finally caught up. When they caught up, for Iseult was no good at this. It was why she relied so deeply on Safi—the one who could intuit with her bounding feet, escape with only instinct to drive her. Iseult was her own worst enemy in these breakneck situations, and she was letting fear drown out her Threadwitch reason.Until she caught sight of the morning glories. A carpet of them alongside the stream. Seemingly wild. Seemingly harmless.

Iseult was out of the stream in a heartbeat. Her numb feet tripped her as she scrambled up the stream’s side. She fell; her hands caught her, wrists snapping back.She didn’t notice, didn’t care, for there were morning glories everywhere she looked. Almost invisible in the mottled shadows, but unmissable if you knew how to look. Unmissable if you were a Nomatsi.

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