C.N. Crawford

“There are bonfires, music. We sacrifice sixteen prisoners in a bonfire, and we eat things made with apples, like pies—”

“Wait,” I held up a hand. “Did you just slip in a bit about burning people to death?”

“The prisoners, yes. In the bonfire. Then we have pies made from—”

“I understand how pies work. That part doesn’t need that much explaining. I’m stuck on the burning people to death part.”

“Oh?”
― C.N. Crawford, Court of Night

“You stabbed me to protect Ciara.”

"I still think stabbed is a bit much. It didn’t kill you. It was more like a…you know, like a setback, I’d call it.”

"You setbacked me in the chest, with a knife”
― C.N. Crawford, Court of Darkness

“I frowned. “I didn’t know Clovians were allowed to have more than one wife.”
“We aren’t typical Clovians,” said the count.
You don’t say. “Care to elaborate?” I asked.
“No.” Silver light glinted in his eyes. Despite everything else I knew about him, his eyes were a marvel—large, mournful, pale light framed by darkness.
“Is Sourial married?” I asked.
“Why are you asking about him?” A blade of steel undercut in his tone.
“Just making conversation.”
“Sourial and I are unusual among our kind. We have no wives.”
“Will he be at the party, too?”
“Making conversation again, are you?” He murmured.
“Oh yes. My people call it chit-chatting.”
“It’s a terrible habit.”
“Some day, Count Saklas, you are going to have fun. And it is going to blow your mind.”
“I’d rather keep my mind intact.”
― C.N. Crawford, The Fallen

“As the kiss deepened, his tongue brushed against mine. Images blazed in my mind—of a night sky over a desert, the moon hanging like a jewel, and the rush of wind over my body. The feel of his soft lips was transporting me.
With a nip of my lower lip, he let out a low noise from deep in his throat—a sound of pleasure and agony in one. Then, he pulled away from the kiss, his black eyes piercing me.
I stared at him, catching my breath. “Tell me. Do angels have a weakness?” Specifically, how did an angel end up murdered in a river?
“Of course we do. Everyone has a weakness.” He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, “mortal women.”
― C.N. Crawford, The Fallen