When Jada tossed her the spear, Barrons watched it fly end over end through the air, measured Jada a long moment and nodded. "So it's ours again," Enyo said, catching and sheathing it in her waistband in a fluid movement. "Does that mean we've lost Mac?" "No," Barrons said, dangerously soft. "I've lost many things. Mac will never be one of them."
What no one tells you is that when someone you love dies, you lose them twice. Once to death, the second time to acceptance, and you don't walk that long, dark passage between the two alone. Grief takes every shuffling, unwilling step with you, offering a seductive bouquet of memories that can only blossom south of sanity. You can stay there, nose buried in the petals of the past. Spend enough time with ghosts, you become one.
Barrons, well, it goes without saying but I'll say it: he's the best of the best. The strong, silent, dangerously attractive type that harbors a private, vast, brilliant inner landscape of knowledge, wisdom, and experience, and watches, always watches, learns, adapts, evolves. A woman takes one look at the dark, carnal complexity that is Barrons and thinks: Damn, if the man chose me, took me into his inner circle, I'd never stray, never betray him. Beastly and brutal? Sure. Merciful when the situation demands it? Absolutely. Demanding? None more so. Exciting? Holy shit, yes. Respectful of my needs to make my own decisions? Most of the time.
I know a funny thing about eyes.Where
you let them look is where they take you.Look back and you stay stuck in a lost,
forever unattainable past.Look forward and you love. Feversong, Karen Marie Moning
Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your LOVE. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost.
Keep the light shining in your heart; death is a hungry darkness. It wants to swallow it. You're different and will always be misunderstood--never let that touch you. You're a terribly real thing in a terribly false world. The world is fucked up, not you.
Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You don't lose your love. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost. Grief is all about not being able to touch anymore. Not being able to use your senses to experience them on a physical level. They've moved beyond an impenetrable veil, beyond your hands and mouth and eyes.High Voltage by Karen Marie Moning.
He ran his thumb over the screen as if he might
somehow touch Mac through it. And I thought, holly hell, Jericho Barrons has a…not
vulnerability but yes, that. A weakness, a need. High Voltage, Karen Marie Moning
High Voltage by Karen Marie Moning. Readers, it's here. A part of our world, in our hands. High Voltage was finally released to the desperate masses this month! And can I just say, wow. What a ride it was!
In case you need to refresh your memory a bit, you can find my Feversong review here, and our SUPER spoilery Feversong discussion here. And if you still haven't caught up, what the hell are you waiting for?! Hop to it.
Click through to read more!
(There will be no major spoilers in this review, but there might be quotes and some vague references to things that happened.)
I kissed him with devotion, with raw sexual reverence, starved to cut loose like this. I offered him my prayer, my challenge, the one that had gone eternally unanswered: Are you there? Are you as painfully alive and aware as me? Can you feel how much I’m giving you when I touch you like this? Are you worth me?
In other words, to my complete and utter horror, I kissed Ryodan with my whole heart. And that fuck so did not deserve it.
"Ah, Dani." Ryodan touched my cheek brushing a stray curl back and tucking it behind my ear. "Men can be bloody bastards . But not all of them. Don't let it shut you down. Be fearless. Don't be afraid to fall. Taste it all."
I'm not a woman who often looks back. I measure actions by results, and peering into the past rarely yields any. Reflecting on something that hurts you only prolongs your pain, and when death is involved, the pain is often compounded by a relentless sense of guilt that attacks the moment you start to heal, as if duration of grief somehow proves the depth of your love for the person you lost. High Voltage ~~Karen Marie Moning
Once, I’d kissed him, felt those fangs graze my teeth as pure
high voltage had arched between us. Once, I’d offered him my virginity.
He rejected me and I’d vowed he’d never get another chance. High Voltage, Karen Marie Moning
"I'm not afraid of Hell. I lived there once. And if I have to go back again, I'll swagger through those gates with fire in my blood and war in my heart. And. I'll. Take. No. Prisoners."