V.E. Schwab

He suffered," added Athos softly. "But not like you." He brought his mouth closer. "No one suffers as beautifully as you.

She sank her teeth into his bottom lip, drawing blood, and gave a wicked laugh, and still he kissed her. Not out of desperation or hope or for luck, but simply because he wanted to. Saints, he wanted to. He kissed her until the cold night fell away and his whole body sang with heat. He kissed her until the fire burned up the panic and the anger and the weight in his chest, until he could breathe again, and until they were both breathless.

Crime isn't that complicated. People steal because taking something gives them something. If they're not in it for the money, they're in it for the control. The act of taking, breaking the rules, makes them feel powerful. They're in it for the sheer defiance.

Crime isn't that complicated. People steal because taking something gives them something. If they're not in it for the money, they're in it for control. The act of taking, of breaking the rules, makes them feel powerful. They're in it for the sheer defiance. Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive.

Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive. Simple as that.

And Athos had. He__ broken Holland one bone, one day, one order at a time. Until all Holland wanted, more than the ability to save his world, more than the strength to bring the magic back, more than anything, was for it to end.It was cowardice, he knew, but cowardice came so much easier than hope.

She handed back the cigar and dug the silver watch out of her vest pocket. It was warm and smooth, and she didn't know why she liked it so much, but she did. Maybe because it was a choice. Taking it had been a choice. Keeping it had been one, too. And maybe the choice started as a random one, but there was something to it.

Myths do not happen all at once. They do not spring forth whole into the world. They form slowly, rolled between the hands of time until their edges smooth, until the saying of the story gives enough weight to the words__o the memories__o keep them rolling on their own. But all stories start somewhere, and that night, as Rhy Maresh walked through the streets of London, a new myth was taking shape.

Sydney, look at me.' He rested his hands on the car roof and leaned in. 'No one is going to hurt you. Do you know why?' She shook her head, and Victor smiled. 'Because I'll hurt them first.

Lila backed away toward the curtain. "Do you just... stand here until I need you?"The woman smiled and dug a volume from a pocket. "I have a book.""Let me guess, a religious text?""Actually," said Ister, perching on the low couch, "it's about pirates."Lila smiled.

A wiry crewman named Kobis sat at the end of a couch, reading a book in the low light, clearly relishing the closest thing he ever found to peace and quiet

After all, if you run far enough, no one can catch you.

Lila cringed at the ghost of Barron's words, a memory with edges still too sharp to touch.

Because Rhy didn__ need his protection, not anymore, and he__ only told a partial truth when he said they both needed this.The whole truth was, Rhy needed it more.Because Kell had given him a gift he did not want, could never repay.He__ always envied his brother __ strength.And now, in a horrible way, it was his.He was immortal.And he hated it.And he hated that he hated it. Hated that he__ become the thing he never wanted to be, a burden to his brother, a source of pain and suffering, a prison. Hated that if he__ had a choice, he would have said no. Hated that he was grateful he hadn__ had a choice, because he wanted to live, even if he didn__ deserve to.But most of all, Rhy hated the way his living changed how Kell lived, the way his brother moved through life as if it were suddenly fragile. The black stone, and whatever lived inside it, and for a time in Kell, had changed his brother, woken something restless, something reckless. Rhy wanted to shout, to shake Kell and tell him not to shy away from danger on his account, but charge toward it, even if it meant getting hurt.Because Rhy deserved that pain.He could see his brother suffocating beneath the weight of it. Of him.And he hated it.And this gesture__his foolish, mad, dangerous gesture__as the best he could do.The most he could do.