Part Four of The Daughters of the Blood Moon. Home has always been where her parents where. When they died in a car crash that she survived ten years ago, her home has been wherever she makes it.
Part Three of The Daughters of the Blood Moon. Fate, after all, requires choices.
Part Two of The Daughters of the Blood Moon. That was her duty. She'd known since she was a little girl. But, by the goddess, it hurts. She hadn't known just how much until she watched her sisters fall one by one. Until she had to recount how each of her sisters tried to vanquish the evil that threatened their island.
Part One of The Daughters of the Blood Moon. Choking, trying to buck off the weight, she clawed at the fingers wrapped around her throat. It can't be, she thought wildly. Her vision grayed and the last thought on her mind before it went to black was that she should have brought a flashlight.
A movement to his right caught his attention. His grip tightened around his rifle, the only outward appearance of concern he showed. Years of training gave him the control to stop the natural instinct to whirl toward the movement and to slowly face it instead.
It is not that he does not love her, no. In fact, he loved her so desperately. He loved her as faithfully as the sun rises, with the passion of the strength of a million tempests, but words? There are no words yet created that would allow him to tell her how much he loves her.
He knows her. Better than she thought he did. Better than anyone. Better than she does herself.
Callaghan lifted his mug and gestured at Raina. "The world needs more storytellers. How else is she to pass on the knowledge of the ages without someone telling it? Your feet and your heart took you here, and rightly so, I believe. Haven't you been able to think more clearly, to write more, and to feel like you are yourself when you arrived here?"
That voice. Deep, gravely, somewhat raspy. And suddenly the quietly confident man in a suit disappeared. Bradley was eight years old again, cowering behind the couch.
The soldier's roar of grief as he held his dead lover touched the hearts of the gods and, repenting their actions, decreed that the lovers live a thousand lifetimes more. A thousand lifetimes when they can be together.
It's called being bored, he said. When the only exciting thing people talked about was when the Mayor's wife ran away with the artist commissioned to paint the town hall mural twenty years ago, people are bored. They need another artist to run off with the current mayor's wife. Or the mayor.
"Like I said, Alexi, I am only the external support. History shows that nature weeds out the weak. But now, there are just too many people and too little plagues to handle them." Eric smiled winningly. "So, I helped out."
Her heart stopped for a solid six minutes before the weary doctors zapped it into beating again.
He didn't understand it, this connection. But he understood that there are many things about the world - and about her - that he was not meant to understand.
He closed his eyes as pain arrowed through him. When he opened them again, she was looking at him, her long fingers wrapped around the newspaper. He can see the paper start to crumple as her hand tightened around it. "You know I can't stop."