“I was talking to Lucy and Ian last night about it; she’s not thinking in that moment, she’s just doing. You can see how much she loves him now. That you can’t deny, and she won’t be able to deny that moving forward. She’s not immediately going to jump back into the sack with him, but she has to be aware of the fact that she almost lost him. That means something.”
Some times she was so tired that all she did was sleep in the Bentley as Skulduggery drove her home, that all she knew was the warmth of her bed and the stillness of her room in the dark.
Some times she didn’t want to get up and save the world for the eighty-seventh time. Some times it was just too much, hearing Darquesse whisper when she was alone, with her family, holding Alice in her arms.
But this was her choice, her life. And she would not look back. She would not be a coward and run.
So she buckled on a brave smile each time, the light in her eyes brighter than any fire she could conjure. She was going to raise cain and screw whoever tried to bring her down.
Golden eyes and a heart so black you could see it beating through his skin, he was one of the worst bastards you could ever meet. Of course, that never stopped anyone from dancing to his irresistible tune.
He’d been a cowboy before, a honest-to-God cowboy, what with the hat and the spurs and the horse. It had been fun: Shoot some people, get the dame, ride off into the sunset. Picture perfect as you please.
Only it wasn’t as fun as expected.
Sure, the dames kissed good. Sure, the whiskey ever flowed. Sure, the land moved to his will and let him know its secrets.
But something was missing.
He carved out his eyes, one night. The knife had been sharp, but the darkness had welcomed him, had put him at ease.
He slit a dame’s throat one night. The way she wriggled and squealed made his heart thump in a way no sweetheart could ever achieve.
Sanguine rode into the sunset and knew he’d found it: The true path, the path of blood and sand and everything that wasn’t righteousness.