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Quote by Rebecca Yarros

“What is wrong with me?' I shake my head, my hands clenching into fists. 'Any other rider would be thrilled.' Even now, I feel the power simmering just beneath my skin. 'You've never been like any other rider.' He moves closer but doesn't touch me.”

Quote by Rebecca Yarros

Book:Fourth Wing
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Fourth Wing

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Rebecca Yarros

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“Here's the thing, Sorrengail. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs- on the probabilities.' 'So I'm supposed to what? Not hope that I live? Just plan for death?' 'You're supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways not to die.”

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“I'm more dangerous than you think,' I flat-out bluster. 'So I see. I'm quaking in my boots.' The corner of his mouth rises in a mocking smile. Fucking. Asshole. I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the trunk of the tree behind him. 'You missed.' He doesn't even flinch. 'Did I?' I reach for my last two blades. 'Why don't you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?' Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it's gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference. Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don't slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears. 'Tell me again that I missed,' I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. 'Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?' An appreciative smile curves his perfect lips as shadows dance up the trunk of the oak, taking the form of fingers. They pluck the daggers from the tree and bring them to Xaden's waiting hands.”

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“I like to imagine that Adam's tongue, his palate and his lips were always on fire, that the air he breathed was kindled to incandescence each time he cried out in sorrow or delight. If fiction can be said to have a function, it is to release that primary fury of which language, even now, is miraculously capable - from the dry mud of daily use. So that furred, spotted and striped, it may - as it did in Eden - scrawl under every tree as revelation.”

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“I don't think I'll bother sleep again.' I shoot a look sideways at his irritatingly gorgeous profile. 'And if you even think about suggesting that you sleep with me for safety from now on-' He scoffs. 'Hardly. I don't fuck first years- even when I was one- let alone... you.' 'Who said anything about fucking?' I fire back, cursing myself as the ache in my ribs only intensifies. 'I'd have to be a masochist to sleep with you, and I can assure you, I'm not.' Fantasising about it doesn't count. 'Masochist, huh?' A corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. 'You hardly give off snuggly morning-after vibes.' A smile of my own curves my lips. 'Unless you're worried about me killing you while we sleep.”

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“You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe,' Xaden says, turning his palms upward and offering me my daggers. 'I'm sorry?' This is a trick. It has to be a trick. He moves closer, and I lift my blade. My heart stumbles, the beat irregular as fear floods my system. 'The neck-snapping first-year who's very publicly vowed to slaughter you,' Xaden clarifies as my blade presses against his cloak at the level of his abdomen. He reaches under my cloak and slides one blade into the sheath at my thigh, then pulls back the side of my cloak and pauses. His gazes locks onto the length of my braid where it falls over my shoulder, and I could swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he slides the remaining dagger into one of the sheaths at my ribs. 'He'd probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”

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Book:Fourth Wing
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