Crown Vic= Ford Crown Victoria
"No curious faces in windows, no twitching curtains. But 40 yards down the road, a 10 Crown Vic idle at the curb, engine running, a lone figure behind the wheel. Act natural, Reacher murmured."
They won but he is injured
“Diametric powers! Twisted. Wrong.” Thrust. “And they gave you an
Avalon. Steel. Torc. An abomination.”
Each of his words is punctuated by a vicious swing that pushes me
further back against the wall.
I parry a thrust, but he twists, sharp and sudden. My sword tears from
my grip and clatters to the stone.
I’m at the edge of the turret now, and terror deafens my thoughts.
Talan is moving toward me, carving his way through another knight,
and I can feel his terror and panic for me.
Slowly, Wrythe raises his sword until the blade kisses my throat. My
focus snaps back to him, my heart stuttering. I lean away, nearly toppling
over the edge of the parapet. Fear courses through my nerve endings.
Then Talan’s sword bursts through Wrythe’s chest from behind, ripping
through his heart, and Talan stands above him like a god of vengeance.
Wrythe gasps, his mouth slack. Blood spills down his chin as his wide,
pale eyes lock onto mine and fade.
Talan drags his sword from Wrythe’s back, and the Seneschal crumples
to the ground like a discarded rag doll. Lips curled, Talan stares down at
him.
I throw myself at Talan, and he pulls me close, crushing me against his
chest. He’s holding me like I’m a magical talisman, something sacred to
keep the nightmares away.
“You’re okay,” he breathes into my hair. “You’re okay.” It sounds like
he’s trying to convince himself.
But then he sucks in a sharp breath. His body tenses, and his hand goes
to his stomach. He winces, and I realize he’s bleeding.
The world tilts beneath me. “How deep is it?” My words are sharp,
panicked. When I look closer, I see how bad it looks, a slash right thorough
his abdomen.
“Iron,” he grunts. “Iron poisoning.”
0-30p: Kontrollü okuyucu 📖
40-70p: Hafif bağımlı 👀
80p+: Geçmiş olsun, kitaplar seni ele geçirmiş 😅
He knows Things
I turn to look at the darkening sky outside, and another bolt of lightning
spears the clouds.
Hugging myself, I remember what Darius said all those months ago. I’d
suspected it for a while, and I’d seen it when we’d fought the basilisk.
There are rumors that Talan can not only control dreams, but the weather.
I cock my head. “Tell me, Talan. Why would anyone keep a primal
power a secret? Everyone thinks they’re gone from the world, but you
control the weather, don’t you?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his features. “The weather responds to my
magic. I wouldn’t say I have much control, and if I did, I would most
certainly keep it a secret, just like you tried to hide yours from me.”
“Right, because we both know what happened when you discovered
mine. Now, I’m your plaything.”
His eyes glitter like dark jewels, and his gaze sweeps down my body,
then up again. The dark, velvety feel of his magic wraps around me, making
my pulse race. “Not nearly as much as I’d like you to be.”
I stare up at him. “You and I don’t exactly go together.”
“And yet here we are, the only two people in the world with primal
powers. And I think you like me more than you let on. Even if you know
I’m evil down to my bones, some part of you wants a taste of my poison.
Underneath your pretty little uptight farm girl exterior, you hunger for
chaos. You crave adventure. You want the freedom to make bad decisions.”
His voice drops low, and a dangerous edge slides through his words. “And
what’s a worse decision than me?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the resonance of his words. After years
of trying to balance my mom’s bank account and make enough rent money
for both of us, sometimes I wanted to break everything. Burn it all down.
“And what led you to that conclusion?”
“You always had to be the
Last stand of a bride who does not want to be married
“Right, then.” Griflet hands us each a hot, steaming mug of tea. “A
royal wedding. Customarily, the gods demand a sacrifice of a dozen wild
boars and the release of five hundred white pigeons. I don’t have any of
those on hand.” He drops down into a wooden chair across from us. Next to
him stands a rough-hewn table strewn with papers.
Talan leans back, utterly relaxed, and drapes one arm over the back of
the sofa. Even seated, his powerful presence dominates the room.
Sometimes, I get the sense that the whole world exists for his entertainment.
“We don’t have time for the boars and birds.” Talan’s deep voice thrums
over my skin. “My father means to arrange for my marriage tomorrow,
whether I’m there or not.”
I clear my throat. Here’s my chance for a delay. “On the other hand, we
can’t afford not to. If Auberon realizes we skipped the boars and the
pigeons, he could pronounce that we aren’t truly married. Surely we want to
follow the ancient traditions for members of the royal family.”
“Five hundred pigeons?” Talan narrows his eyes at me. “Do you have
any idea how long it would take to organize that?”
“Lady Nia is quite right,” Griflet says, gripping his little leather bag like
his life depends on it. “Of course, this is all quite symbolic. We could try to
perform the ritual with something symbolizing the pigeons and the wild
boars.”
“Like what?” Talan asks.
“Well, the intent is a sacrifice. We could, for example, sacrifice some
finely baked biscuits and release a chicken from my coop.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Griflet nods wildly. “Yes, yes. I’m always serious when it comes to the
gods. The ancient texts permit me some leeway. It’s about the intent, you
see.”
“Excellent.” Talan runs his tongue over one of his sharp canines. “Let’s
sacrifice the biscuits.”
Griflet
‘What do you think of that customer?’ I asked him.
Takeo thought about it for a moment and then finally, all he said was, ‘Doesn’t smell too bad.’
What do you mean, doesn’t smell? When I asked him, Takeo just dropped his gaze and fell silent. While he was watering down the area in front of the shop, I thought about what he meant by smell. I thought maybe I understood, but then again, it was entirely possible that Takeo’s idea of smell and my idea of smell were not at all similar.
Takeo finished watering and as he was carrying the empty bucket, on his way to the back, I heard him mutter, ‘’Cause only a total idiot like me smells that bad.’ But I really didn’t know what he meant by ‘an idiot like me.’
If someone hasn’t been reading for a while, should they start with a bestseller? Is it OK to put down a book midway if I’m struggling? Does reading give me answers to my worries or a boost of motivation on bad days? If I’m too busy to read, will setting a timer help me focus?
