And do you admit that you have a bad temper, a cute car, and a nice girlfriend?” I hold my breath.“I have an amazing girlfriend,” he says. And then he kisses me, which is, you have to admit, the perfect boyfriend thing to do. The kiss is soft and speckling like star promises in a night sky. I stretch into it, wishing that I could hold onto it forever, even though I know that kisses can’t last forever—can they?

— Carrie Jones

Are we taking the Subaru?”“No. We’ll run.” Running is not part of my plan. Stopping right here is my plan.“I’m not actually supposed to run,” I try to say. “The arm and everything.”“I’m sorry about your arm.”“Really?” He swoops me up as if I weigh nothing, leans me against his chest, and carries me the way grooms are supposed to carry brides over thresholds. He is cold now, away from the fire. Furthermore, he smells of mushrooms. “Are you afraid of heights?” He keeps my good arm against him, and doesn’t even jostle my cast arm. It’s smooth and quick, and I don’t have time to ... He sets me down on the rolling ground in a large clearing in the middle of tall pine trees. My breath whooshes out like I’d been holding it.“Oh, that was amazing,” I say before I realize it.”You’re glowing. I thought you hated me.”“I do. But flying? I don’t hate flying. I read this book once where—”“You read?”“Yeah.”“Good. Furthermore, I like philosophy myself. It’s good to have a daughter who reads.” I swallow, shift my weight on my feet. They won’t be able to follow us here; we left no tracks. I can’t believe we flew. “Can all pixies fly? Because I was totally unprepared for that. I mean, I didn’t read that.”“Only ones with royal blood. You can.

— Carrie Jones

Ashley comes to my side. "Are you well?" "No," I tell him, voice hoarse. "I am not well. I am broken inside. I am broken almost all-the-way deep, and I don't know... I don't know if I can ever be unbroken, let alone well again”.

— Carrie Jones

Daddy?”“I’m right here, baby.” Lumps form in my throat, going all the way down into the core of me. It’s his voice. His. Right there. I reach toward the doorknob, but I don’t get to turn it. Nick smashes at me with his head, pushing against my lower jaw and cheek, like a blow. His muzzle moves my head away from the door. He presses his face in between me and the wood. Fur gets in my mouth. I spit it out and push at him.“That’s my dad. My dad.” I slap the door. “He’s on the other side. The pixies will get him.” Nick shows me his teeth.“I can’t lose him again, Nick.” The wolf snarls like he’s ready to bite. My head jerks back and away, but then I steady myself.“Get. . . Out. . . Of. . . The. . . Way.” Pushing against his thick neck, I slam my hands against him over and over again, pummeling him. He doesn’t budge.“Move!” I order. “Move.”“Zara, is there a wolf in there with you? Do not trust him,” my dad’s voice says, calmly, really calmly. I grab a fistful of fur and freeze. All at once it hits me that something is not right. My dad would never be calm if I was in my bedroom with a wolf. He’d be stressed and screaming, breaking the door down, kicking it in like he did once when I was really little and had accidentally locked myself in the bathroom and couldn’t get the lock out of the bolt because it was so old. He’d kicked that door down, splintering the wood, clutching me to him. Furthermore, he’d kissed my forehead over and over again.“I’d never let anything happen to you, princess,” he’d said. “You’re my baby.” My dad would be kicking the door in. My dad would be saving me.“Let me in,” he says. “Zara. . .” Letting go of Nick, I stagger backward. My hands fly up to my mouth, covering it. Nick stops snarling at me and wags his fluffy tail. How would my dad know that it is a wolf in here and not a dog? How would he know that it isn’t pixies? I shudder. Nick pounds next to me, pressing his side against my legs. I drop my hands and plunge my fingers into his fur, burying them there, looking for something. Maybe comfort. Maybe warmth. Maybe strength. Maybe all three.

— Carrie Jones

Dimples crinkle up the skin near his lips. I will not look at his lips. How can he never have used those? That’s a crime against humanity right there.

— Carrie Jones

Do you admit that you are not the only person, or half-person genetically, that can save other sentient beings?” He crinkles his nose. “I do.”“And do you admit that you have a bad temper, a cute car, and a nice girlfriend?” I hold my breath.“I have an amazing girlfriend,” he says. And then he kisses me, which is, you have to admit, the perfect boyfriend thing to do. The kiss is soft and speckling like star promises in a night sky. I stretch into it, wishing that I could hold onto it forever, even though I know that kisses can’t last forever—can they?

— Carrie Jones

Hate is a useless emotion.

— Carrie Jones

He roars, “What have you done?” I don’t answer. My heart beats crazy happy just to see her get across the iron. She’s not burned. She’s still human.“Zara.” His voice is measured. “I need her to maintain control.”“You don’t need to be in control. You’re all trapped. So there’ll be no more stealing boys, no more shooting arrows in the woods, getting people lost. It’s all over.” The metal is cold on my fingers. Devyn grabs more wire, starts another flight. A group of pixies leaps for him, screaming, a wild, chaotic mess. They start clawing at each other, lost in fear and hunger, angry. A pixie in a pink dress shrieks when another wearing a black gown lashes at her, slashing through the skin on her arm.“Zara?” The king tries to be calm and nice. He tries to look human. It doesn’t work. “Do you know what this means? Do you know the power that I’ll lose? The need? We will fight in here. We will kill each other.”“I know,” I say, and my voice shakes as I stare at him, this man who is in my blood, but not me. He is not me. Still, I understand his need, his fear. He is stuck in this awful place where there is no moral way to move forward. “I’m so sorry.” And I am.

— Carrie Jones

He’s fine. Every time any of us are late you imagine we’re dead. You are no longer allowed to imagine anyone is dead.”“I’m not imagining he’s dead,” I whisper, but I’m totally imagining him bleeding to death on the snowy forest floor. Crows circle above him. A pixie arrow juts out of his beautiful chest. It’s the same thing I imagined about Devyn last week when he forgot to check in.“You are such a liar-liar pants-on-fire.” Is kisses my cheek in her sweet friend way. “But I love you.”“I just worry about people,” I whisper back. “If I’m not the one out there I feel so helpless.” Coach Walsh notices we’re talking. “Girls, pay attention. And no kissing.” Everyone starts snickering. I let go of Issue’s goose-bump covered arm. My face gets hot, which means I’m in insane blush mode. Nick thinks insane blush mode is cute. I bend down and check on my ankle bracelet that Nick gave me. It’s gold and thin-chained. A tiny dolphin dangles off of it. The dolphin reminds me of Charleston because they swim right off the Battery. Next to it dangles a heart, which just reminds me of love—corny but true. I’m so afraid of losing the anklet, but I can’t take it off. I adore it that much.

— Carrie Jones

His eyes are so beautiful and dark, and they do look like that dog’s—I mean, that wolf’s. They are kind and strong and a little bit of something else, and I like them. I like them a lot. No, I like them way too much. Something inside me gets a little warmer, edges closer to him. The fire crackles and I jump again, jittery, nervous, but I don’t jump away from Nick. I jump toward him. Nick in the firelight with just a blanket on is a little hard to resist, no matter how crazy he might be. His skin, deep with heat, seems to glisten. His muscles are defined and good but not all steroid bulky. He is so perfect. And beautiful. In a boy way. Not a monster way. Not a wolf way.“Are you going to kiss me?” My words tremble into the air. He smiles but doesn’t answer.“I’ve never kissed a werewolf before. Are were kisses like pixie kisses? Do they do something to you? Is that why you never kissed anybody?” He gives a little smile. “No. It’s just I never kissed anyone because I never thought I could be honest about who I am, you know? And I didn’t want anyone to get attached to me because. . .”“Because you’re a werewolf.”“Because I’m a werewolf,” he repeats softly. Watching his lips move makes me shiver; not in a scared way, in more of an oh-he-is-too-beautiful way. I put my hand against his skin. It is warm. It’s always been warm. He smells so good, like woods and safety. I swallow my fear and move forward, and my lips meet his, angel-light, a tiny promise. His lips move beneath mine. His hands move to my shoulders and my mouth feels like it will burst with happiness. My whole body shakes with it.“Wow,” I say.”Yeah,” he says. “Wow.” Our mouths meet again. It’s like my lips belong there. . . Right there. One tiny part of me has finally found a place to fit.

— Carrie Jones