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172 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2020
it is actually a HE.
, he's still being his baddie self, but you see he has an accomplice. And you see the self-loathing and sadness that give you the sense he's perhaps not as bad as he thinks he is, that there's something more to him. And then there's hints about a pair of star-crossed lovers' son and daughter, tho the son is presumed dead...
. That in a way prepared me for this book. In many ways, the H of book 6 is WORSE than the C. Because he HAS killed and hurt people directly, with his bare hands, in fact. Countless people. Including his own son! And yet, people never hated the H of book 6. Not one single person thought he was irredeemable, even when he was introduced in book 3. So... why do people hate the C?

























Don’t tell, but my guilty pleasure is historical romance. I inhale those things like chocolate bonbons.
He’s the only connection to the world that I have. He’s the only thing that will never be taken away from me.
Because he is my son.
The more I reflect on this, the more I believe he’s like a child. Playing with fire. Even when he burns down the house, you’re tempted not to blame him. Because he doesn’t know better. Because he’s never been taught better.
“Because you are mine to protect,” he says in that low, husky voice, his words sending me staggering, even though my physical self has not moved. “I was unable to do it in the past. I did not know about…you. I know now. I will protect you, Binu. I will always protect you.”
The kitten leaps onto one of the stools, then launches herself at the General’s chest. He catches her in his arms and tucks her against him as if he does this all the time, so natural is his reflex. Her purring grows louder as she licks his throat and jaw, rubbing her forehead and face wherever he has skin showing as if marking her territory.


I did. Bleed, that was. My blood was red like everyone else’s. I wasn’t that different. But no one saw things from my point of view.
The thing about pain is that your body gets inured to it after a while. Your mind becomes numb. Same with shame.
But the soul... The soul absorbs it all.
Beneath my breath I whisper: “Then why do I feel so ugly inside?”
The picture is waiting to be drawn, and you are the artist of your own destiny.
Benjamin doesn’t let me get away with anything. It’s like he sees right through me. Or into me. Like he can see straight into my black, ugly, twisted soul.
I don’t know why I ever thought the male less than resplendently magnificent. Yes, he has more scars than skin. Yes, he’s blind and stripped of his Gift. But he’s the fucking Tal-Telal! Lack of empathy doesn’t mean I can’t admire. That’s what people do with legends. He practically oozes confidence, strength, leadership, determination, and pure sexual maleness out of every pore. If I were an unrelated female between the age of sixteen and six hundred, I’d do him. And I don’t even like sex!
“Because you are mine to protect,” he says in that low, husky voice, his words sending me staggering, even though my physical self has not moved. “I was unable to do it in the past. I did not know about…you. I know now. I will protect you, Binu. I will always protect you.”
Over the years, Dalair and I grew unbearably close. Unbearably, because I didn’t know how I was ever to survive when this fantasy ended. When I lost my only friend and brother.
Since I’d been reborn as the Mistress’s Creature, I’d never met another living being who impressed me more than Dalair.
Please, almighty gods that be, don’t let anything happen to my heart and my light. I needed them in my life the way I needed air. It might have started in pretense, but the feelings I felt for Dalair and Kira were more real than anything else across the entirety of my existence. They made me feel alive. They gave my life meaning. I loved them, I loved them, I loved them!

"Because you are mine to protect, . . . I was unable to do it in the past. I did not know about . . . you. I know now. I will protect you, Binu. I will protect you."
"It's a story. And it's yours. Do you want a cuckoo to live with the vile viper forever? Do you want him to suffer?"
"Maybe he deserves to suffer," I pointed out.
"Well, I don't want him to. I like the cuckoo." . . .
I don't have the strength or wits to hold my ground. "Very well," I concede defeat, "the ungainly, ugly cuckoo mates with a beautiful, tall phoenix. The end."




