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I'm not bloodthirsty, but...seriously, she killed you. She needs to be dead.

Melissa Marr

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Melissa Marr
Age: 52
Born: 1972
Born: July 25
Author
Fantasy Author
Novelist
Teacher
Writer
Pennsylvania
United States
M. A. Marr
Melissa A Marr
Killed
Seriously
Dead
Needs
Bloodthirsty

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As if fixing the little errors would made the big stuff manageable.
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Maybe the girl would get strong enough to withstand an ink exchange with one of the chosen faeries. If not, he could always give her to one of the weaker fey. It seemed a shame to waste a lovely broken toy.
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Not Expecting, but hoping. Always hoping
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And he smiled at her, truely smiled- wicked and lovely.
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I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,” he whispered. “Lucky them.
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You're not weak at all. Wounded, but that's nothing to be ashamed of.
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As a lifelong romance reader, its always satisfying to get to talk to other romance readers!
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The Summer King stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Can you offer me your fidelity? Your heart and your body and your companionship for eternity? Do you want my fidelity? Either love me or kiss me goodbye, my Summer Queen.
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I need to check in with Seth before I-- he burrowed his face into the side of her neck, his breath almost painfully warm on her throat--give in to my unconscionable desire to put my hands on you properly.
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Not 'Don' in that I-m-sorry-and-now-you'll-forgive-me-like-you-always-do-way. Not this time, Keenan. (Donya)
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Faeries are equally loyal and deceitful.
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Like chaos in a glass cage.
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Some mortals--like you--are already half in love with death. It is who you are, and I'll not make it harder on you by telling you things you don't need to know. Ask me again when you die. Then I'll tell you everything, anything, nothing.
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I don't know what I am, but this isn't happiness.
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I am Devlin, brother and advisor to the High Queen, assassin, and keeper of order.
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You say potato I say potahto... I say integrity you say deceit.
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She stepped closer to one of the statues. It looked wide-eyed, almost afraid as she reached out her hand. One of the women reached out and snatched Aislinn's still uplifted hand. No. The women spoke all at once, not to her or to Keenan, but softly-as if to themselves-in a sibilant whisper. He's ours. Fair exchange. Not yours to interfere.
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Love makes you foolish. It makes you throw every bit of logic away, do stupid things, dangerous things.
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Discord says it's a good idea. That's comforting.
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