Brood of Vipers by Maggie Claire (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

of memories in my mind, and it is so strong that nothing can break through it. When the faces that haunt me appear, I hide in the memory of your smile. I trace the form of your cheek, brush my fingers through your shock of white hair. I get lost in every detail of your stormy eyes. I hear your laughter brightening up the darkest corners of my thoughts, weaving mischievously through each moment. I taste your kiss. I allow myself to spin fantasies of what our life together might be like if you will just be brave. You are the thing most beloved and precious to my heart, Iris. You always have been. When I think of you, I am strong. When I focus on you, nothing can break me.”

I swallow hard against the knot in my throat, focusing on Cyrus’s scars just to keep my mind clear as I process his words. Even though I knew what he would say, I have no response. Not because I don’t feel anything—quite the contrary. I just can’t seem to find the words to say what’s in my heart.

We’ve come a long way since the House of Vultures, I admit to myself, my hands longing to trace the lines of his features. I hated you so much then. How strange, then, that I can hold you in my heart as dearly as I do now. My head grows heavy, and I wish that I could comfortably lean against his shoulder. That we could just stay right here and watch the sunset together, content to be in each other’s company forever, letting the rest of the world fight its own battles as we embrace our little corner of peaceful paradise.

Despite all the emotions welling up in my heart, my mouth stays tightly closed. It’s fear. I chide myself for not acting on my feelings. The only thing that’s stopping you is fear. My throat bobs nervously, my lip trembles as my emotions plague me, but not a word do I speak.

My silence is magnified by the intensity of Cyrus’s confession. “Say something, Iris,” he demands, his hands falling away from my face. When I don’t, he hops down from the rock, walking briskly away from me. He makes it about ten steps away, then stops, keeping his back to me.

The absence of him suddenly stifles me, and I feel as if I’ve just plunged myself head first into the River Sangre. All of my unspoken words choke me. I see him standing so far away, and my limbs beg me to run to him. My heart burns in my chest, the pain so strong that I wonder if I’m having a heart attack. “Cyrus,” I wheeze, my hands clenching so tightly to my legs that I can feel my nails biting into my thighs.

Cyrus turns, glancing back at me with a hard glint in his eyes. “What?”

“Come…here,” I rasp, my breath hitching in bursts as I try to breathe. It’s like my lungs have closed to protect me from drowning. I claw at my chest, but I cannot draw a fresh breath.

“Why?” Cyrus hesitates, keeping his feet rooted in place as he watches me. “I keep pouring my heart out to you, hoping things will change between us. But it always ends up one sided; I always end up playing the fool.”

“Please,” I whisper, shuddering as my lungs finally open, gasping for clean air as the panic in my mind slowly fades.

“I can’t keep doing this, Iris. Give me a reason,” Cyrus replies, turning his back to me once more as he watches the sunset. “Or tell me if you can’t so I can leave.”

“Suryc and Siri would not—”

“I’d leave Suryc behind then,” Cyrus declares, his voice hard as he calls to me over his shoulder. “If he and Siri cannot be parted, then I’ll walk away alone. Is that what you want?”

Dropping lightly down onto the grass, I stalk up behind Cyrus as quietly as I can, thinking of what I could possibly say that might soften his heart toward me just once more. With each footfall, I hear my voice whispering all the words I would use to describe Cyrus. Strong, certain. Pure, perfect. Mine.

The last word catches fire in my blood, burning away the fear that has been holding me back. Cyrus is mine. Despite—or maybe because of—everything that has passed between us, he has always been mine. All the words I’ve been longing to say flow easily from my mouth now as if whatever hindrances were keeping them dammed up inside me have finally been removed. I close the distance between us confidently now, wrapping my arms around Cyrus’s waist.

“When I was little, I used to think of you as a forest sprite,” I whisper as I settle against his back, sharing my memories with a soft voice. “I used to sit at my window waiting for you to appear. I made up fanciful stories about how you were born of the trees, and I would watch the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of you in your tree form.” My eyes cloud as the memories of those childhood days overtake me. “When you stopped coming to my window, I was devastated. I cried for days.”

“I thought you would hate me with my scars.” Cyrus whispers, his voice rough. I cannot tell whether or not my sudden boldness or the topic of my speech surprises him most.

Guiding him to raise his arm, I slide around until I can see his face once more. His arms settle around me naturally, their warmth like a blanket on a cold winter night. Now, I let my fingers trace the scar from his forehead to his neck, stopping only once over his wobbling lips. “How could I hate the boy that brought the world to my window? I thought…I thought you had stopped coming because you thought I was boring.”

Cyrus raises one hand, grazing his calloused fingers along my jaw. “You have