ACOTAR bot

tweeting lines from acotar series by @sjmaas

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She’d been sweating herself when they’d finished, wondering what it’d be like to be between those two male bodies, letting them turn all that lethal attention on worshipping her.

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Seeing them spar had been overwhelming. Their beautiful forms, tattooed and scarred and carved with muscle, gleaming with sweat as they fought with a viciousness and intelligence she’d never seen…

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I get to do as I wish, since apparently no one here has any regard for rules or manners or our traditions. Perhaps I should thank you for dragging me into this.”

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A low, bitter laugh. But she turned to Cassian, looked him over as if she were a queen on a throne, and then declared to all of us, “What do I care? I get to be young and beautiful forever, and I never have to go back to those sycophantic fools over the wall.

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That alone, Cassian realized, kept Lanthys from realizing what she was. Being interested, as the Bone Carver had been. But it revealed another dangerous truth: where to strike first.

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“But you do not smell of Oorid’s heaviness, its despair.” An inhale, still behind them, blocking the way out. “Your scent…” He sighed. “A pity you’ve marred such a scent with Cassian’s stink. I can barely distinguish anything on you besides his essence.”

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“Stop scratching,” Rhys said without looking at him as they strode through a blooming apple orchard. No wings to be seen today.

Cassian lowered his hand from his chest. “I can’t help it if this place makes my skin crawl.”

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“Don't forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one's hands dirty along the way."

“And torn up by thorns,"

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"Sometimes, Nesta isn't wrong."

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain's boring?"

“I think she's kind, and I'll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven't yet seen all she has to offer.”

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Her heart thundered as he held her stare. “Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, his voice so low she could barely understand him. But her blood heated, and an ache that had nothing to do with how hard he’d just taken her began to build between her legs once more.

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“I…” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I meant to give it to you earlier.”

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face.

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Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our down fall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared—beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally.

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I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn’t stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory…

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Cassian was sleeping in a chair beside her bed.

His head was at an awkward angle, and his wings drooped onto the stone—and he was wearing only his undershorts and a blanket that looked as if someone had draped it over his lap.

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His hazel eyes were bright with pleading in the morning sun, the wind dancing in his dark hair. Like he was made from these mountains, crafted from wind and stone. He was so beautiful. Not in the way that Azriel and Rhys were beautiful, but in an uncut way. Savage and unrelenting

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Saw him hauled in unconscious, his guts hanging out. Saw him in the sky, death racing at him until she screamed for him, saved him. Saw him on the ground, broken and bleeding, the King of Hybern about to kill them both—

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They just gawked at him. Then Gwyn asked, “You know the technique?”

“Of course I do. I fought beside the Valkyries in the War.”

Stunned silence rippled. Nesta had forgotten how old these Fae were, how much Cassian had seen and lived through.

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“And I’ll remember precisely where my hands have been. But if anyone else touches you—let’s say a certain High Lord who enjoys springtime—I’ll know.” He flicked my nose. “And, Feyre,” he added, his voice a caressing murmur, “I don’t like my belongings tampered with.”

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Gwyn retied her shining hair at the nape of her neck. “Do you like to read?”

Emerie’s mouth curled upward. (...) “I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.”

Nesta grunted her agreement.

[ACOTAR bot @acotarquotes]

Rhys threw him a grateful glance, and then must have lifted his shield on his mate because Feyre’s scent—that wonderful, lovely scent—filled the air. Helion’s eyes widened, going right to her middle, where her hand now rested against the small swelling.