Lightlark

It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made, Hearteater. Knowing that succeeding meant you beguiling someone else. Making you forget our story. Our love.”

“One day,” he said, “I’ll show you.”

“I might just give it to you.”

“I’m not sure what I enjoy more. Seeing the way you grip a sword . . . or the way your dress grips you.”

That was the moment I knew I loved you, he had said. When that arrow went through your heart, and it might as well have gone through mine.

“Late at night, I ache for you. I ache for you all the time,”

“You have invaded my mind. I have questioned my sanity. I think about you all the time.”

“I’m not sure what I enjoy more. Seeing the way you grip a sword . . . or the way your dress grips you.”

Grim reached toward her again, all restraint gone, and trailed his knuckles down her cheek, the necklace, her collarbones. Down the center of her chest. “Hearteater,” he said gently. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” he finally answered. Her body tensed in anticipation, taut like an arrow a moment away from careening through the air.

Grim had returned to Nightshade, scathed. Betrayed.