His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her throat, a lethal threat tight with something sentimental, something that urges and presses and can’t surrender. He presses his thumb harder in the soft flesh until breathing gets harder.

“You see what you do to me?”
He whispers, eyes on fire, bright and daring against the endless void. Everything is dark, his features almost invisible in the dim Prussian blue of the night. He leans down and she lies perfectly still, not even a muscle twitches. His lips are dry on her ear.

“You bring out the beast in me.”

r.m | excerpt #53 (via ibuzoo)

sociapathic:

And before the crowd could begin murmuring, I felt it. Felt—him. The very rock beneath my feet seemed to tremble—a pulsing, steady beat. His footsteps. As if the mountain shuddered at each touch. Everyone in that room went still as death. As if petrified that their very breathing would draw the attention of the predator now strolling toward us. […] And then Rhysand appeared. He had released the damper on his power, on who he was. His power filled the throne room, the castle, the mountain. The world. It had no end and no beginning. No wings. No weapons. No sign of the warrior. Nothing but the elegant, cruel High Lord the world believed him to be. His hands were in his pockets, his black tunic seeming to gobble up the light. And on his head sat a crown of stars.

dancys:

Celaena found herself forced to admit that the Crown Prince of the DeHavilliard Empire was beyond handsome—he was beautiful. His dark hair made his stunningly blue eyes stand out, and his golden skin glowed from good health and grooming. From what she could tell, he had a slender, yet muscular build, which he seemed to take pains to display with his close-fitting silver and black vest and jacket, tight dark riding pants, and his swept-back shimmering cape.