“It was a present.” “Stick with jewelry and clothes.” She rose and glanced down at her suit. “Or useful things.” His eyes followed hers and lingered. “You fill it out better than you did at seventeen.”
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WITCH KILLER—
THE HUMAN IS STILL INSIDE HIM
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Rowan waited, knowing she was gathering the words, hating the pain and sorrow and guilt on every line of her body. He’d sell his soul to the dark god to never have her look like that again
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He was still weak enough that until now, he’d barely been able to stand long enough to piss. Having Aelin help him the first time had been awkward enough that he couldn’t even go until she started singing a bawdy tune at the top of her lungs and turned on the sink faucet, all the while helping him stand over the toilet.
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“But would you bleed red, or black?”
“I’ll bleed whatever color you tell me to.”
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Aelin lifted her chin, her mouth cutting a hard, unforgiving line as she surveyed the crowd filling the streets, people craning to see her, see the Fae ears and elongated canines, see the flames flickering around her fingers.
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They were infinite.
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Manon hoped they’d all survive it.
She hoped.
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It rolled to the side with a vulgar thud, and she smiled grimly at the corpse.
“Just to be sure,” was all she said.
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. “I’m going to enjoy having you back,” he purred.
Then, faster than she could react, he slid the Wyrdstone ring onto her finger.