Nocticadia Quotes

That is the tragedy of women, isn’t it? We deny ourselves beauty for the sake of misleading men.

Jealousy is a callow schoolboy’s emotion that ends in hard feelings and bloody noses. What I feel for you, Miss Vespertine, would destroy lives.

What separates monsters from good men is only a matter of perspective.

He was moody, like rainy days and bitter coffee. Sensual whispers in dark corners and the slow burn of fine whiskey.

She was the warmth of the sun on a cold and rotting corpse. The first breath after a lifetime of death.

Says who? I happen to get very attached to my fictional boyfriends.

That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you.

Don’t hide from me, Lilia. You are no less beautiful than that day you walked into my classroom and stole my fucking breath.

Allow me to caution you, Miss Vespertine. You are a confused moth dancing about a wild flame. Blind to the incomprehensible danger of your curiosities.

I’m not going anywhere. You and I? This? There’s no escaping it. Doesn’t matter how fast you run, or how far you get, I will always be inside you just like this. In your bones and in your blood and in your head. It doesn’t matter what you tell the universe–what secrets you spill. Nothing can change what we are, what we’ve become.

And so the moth befriended the flame.

Calling her beautiful was like calling the sun lukewarm. She’d blazed like the hottest part of a flame in that dress. And fuck me, I’d felt the heat.

Stay out of trouble, Curious Moth,” he said, as he strode for the door. Curious Moth. A nickname. A fitting one, too, given the fact that I had no intentions of avoiding the flame.

The wealthy possess an insatiable appetite for the rare and priceless. They stare because you’re the only thing worth staring at.

I don’t give a damn about every other girl. There’s only one who crosses my mind a fuck-ton more than she should. So, I’m going to finish you, Lilia. I’m going to give you the release you’ve been craving, and I won’t touch you again. But this pussy belongs to me. You let any other undeserving prick near it, and I will cut out his tongue and send it to you in a specimen jar.

Under different circumstances …” The pause in his words carried a laborious heartbeat that smothered my own, as I watched the slightest smile play on his lips. A beat of hesitation. “I might’ve pursued you.” A nervous rush of breath escaped me. I gripped the strap of my bookbag in some faulty attempt to hold my composure, and swallowed past the dryness in my throat. “And I might’ve let you.

I feel it, too,” he said, as if reading my mind. “It’s inside of me. Burning like a fever I can’t shake. It’s a spiteful, prideful anger that refuses to admit the truth.” “What truth?” I asked, my voice shaky. Nervous. “That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you. I’m weak for you, Lilia.

The wealthy possess an insatiable appetite for the rare and priceless. They stare because you’re the only thing

Her name was a dirty scalpel plunged deep inside my chest,

My social anxiety came courtesy of my mother, who’d always shunned the notion that people were inherently good. In her eyes, everyone was a serial killer until proven otherwise,

No … you don’ … never just go check it out.

Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia.

Without a doubt, Lilia Vespertine was going to be a massive headache. But she was my headache.

I plucked a piece of lint from my black slacks and offered a small but insincere smile.

Good fucking girl,

walking aphrodisiac topped with whipped cream,

rounded his desk, coming to a stop before them. Patroclus and Achilles had been etched into small gold plaques below each preserved moth.

Translations "Voulez-vous boire un verre, mademoiselle?" Would you like another drink, Miss? “Si vous comprenez, retrouvez-moi dans le placard dans dix minutes.” If you understand, meet me in the closet in ten minutes. “Je comprends. Et je décline votre offre.” I do understand. And I decline your offer.

Eyes locked on his, I reached up the hem of my skirt and pulled down my panties, slipping them over my ankles. I balled them in my palm and stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks, next to the hard length that brushed the edge of my thumb. “Panties are for the modest,” I said, and turned for the door.

I was drawn to her, for reasons I could neither justify nor understand. A realization that annoyed the shit out of me. She was an itch on my brain that I couldn’t scratch. The maddening shimmer in the corner of my eye during lecture that distracted my thoughts. The kind of girl who seduced with nothing more than a single glance. A bite of the lip.

Depends on the moth I’m studying.” Eyes on me, he pushed to his feet, stumbling back a step.

Or perhaps it’s the sea who fears the depths of you, Miss Vespertine.

Because the unsettling truth of it was, it set me alight. I really was a dumb fucking moth.

Calling her beautiful was like calling the sun lukewarm.

Some kisses were said to feel like fireworks. His felt like a slow-drip anesthetic, silently siphoning my senses, until all I could smell, taste, and feel was him.

Just to clarify–we’re friends.” Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Who hurt you?

You’re a sickness inside of me that begs never to be cured. Infecting me with this unshakable craving for things I shouldn’t want.

My, you are a wicked little moth.

A note. I opened it to find a small plastic card with the Dragon’s Lair coffee shop logo on it. The attached paper simply said: Now you can buy coffee whenever you like. –B

It was there that I began to wonder if what I felt for Lilia was something more than I cared to admit.

Don’t ever feel ashamed of being ruthless in the pursuit of what you want, Lilia. The path to success is rarely a virtuous one.

if fucking her meant an eternity in hell, I’d welcome damnation with a goddamn smile.

Here, I thought you liked studying moths, the way you carry on in your lectures.” “Depends on the moth I’m studying.” Eyes on me, he pushed to his feet, stumbling back a step.

One touch would end this agonizing curiosity, but might just send me spiraling into madness.

The mechanisms for achieving your goals are inconsequential, so long as they’re successful.

You don’t have to be scared. I will never hurt you, Lilia. In fact, I’ll rain hell on anyone who ever hurts you again.

Stay out of trouble, Curious Moth,” he said, as he strode for the door.

The way she sat in my class with her wild hair that reminded me of autumn leaves, her mouthy comebacks, and those eyes. Bold, aquamarine eyes that constantly challenged me. Eyes

Calling her beautiful was like calling the sun lukewarm. She'd blazed like the hottest part of a flame in that dress. And fuck me, I'd felt the heat.

You're a sickness inside of me that begs never to be cured. Infecting me with this unshakable craving for things I shouldn't want.

Lilia. Her name was a dirty scalpel plunged deep inside my chest, past crumbling bones and decayed flesh.

Over her shoulder, she shot me a smile–one so fucking beautiful, I wanted to frame it. Capture it. Study the alchemy of it. How wonderfully intoxicating one simple expression could be.

If Heaven existed, I'd found it in those ancient, dark hallways, under cold misty skies with autumn's wet leaves sticking to the soles of my boots, in the scent of coffee and old books.

That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you. I’m weak for you, Lilia.

Under different circumstances …” The pause in his words carried a laborious heartbeat that smothered my own, as I watched the slightest smile play on his lips. A beat of hesitation. “I might’ve pursued you.

I both hated and craved the addicting way he’d hooked himself into my veins and fed me with this unbridled and reckless desire. It went against everything I was. Everything I believed. And yet, it was everything.

And just how does that benefit you as a reader? A voyeur, essentially. You have no intimate connection with these fictional characters.” “Says who? I happen to get very attached to my fictional boyfriends.” Yet another frown. “Boyfriends?” “I read a lot.

Are you okay?” Lilia asked, giving a squeeze of my hand. “I will be.” I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles. “What did he say to you?” “He just said that I was too beautiful to fret over this scar. And that I should look out for you because you’re all he has left.

I’d taken some of the money Jayda had given me to go thrifting for something decent to wear. I had an appreciation for vintage dresses, thanks to my mother, who’d always told me that dresses and skirts were a woman’s rebellion against the world’s ruthless nature. Soft and vulnerable and bold at the same time.

I fell in love with him–his abrasive heart and blood-stained hands. The dangerous and erudite professor, with fiery eyes and cold steel flesh. We hid away in shadows, stealing kisses under midnight stars. He taught me passion and courage, and to seize what I wanted by the teeth. And in return, I taught him to feel again.

On a squeal, she jumped back, then cautiously stepped forward. Another wave followed the first, and I watched her legs jerk, as she lifted her dress and let the water pool around her. Over her shoulder, she shot me a smile–one so fucking beautiful, I wanted to frame it. Capture it. Study the alchemy of it. How wonderfully intoxicating one simple expression could be.

Because you’re better than them. Stronger. And unfortunately, you’ll have to fight harder for what you want. But you have an understanding of things beyond their comprehension. You’re exceptional, Lilia. And by God, if you waste that intellect on the ignorant words of an envious shrew like Loretta Gilchrist, it will be the most egregious offense you’ve ever committed.

A figure wearing a black hoodie entered the front door of what appeared to be Corbeau Hall. He glanced toward the camera just as Lippincott hit pause, and the breath exploded out of me. Like staring at a fucking mirror. An exact replica of me. Caedmon? It was a wonder Lippincott couldn’t hear the frantic pounding of my heart, as I stared down at what I was certain was my twin.

Copper colored eyes, set beneath long, black lashes and a naturally stern brow, stared back at me. The shift of his jaw dragged my attention toward the perfection of his profile, sharp and angular and shadowed in a light stubble. A shivering warmth scattered beneath my skin and fluttered in my chest, as he gave an aloof blink of his bedroom eyes before turning back toward the voice.

I stared up at him, the fear inside of me dissolving, and I raised my hand. He placed his much bigger hand against mine, palm to palm, and curled his fingers around mine, swallowing them. “I feel everything.” He let out a choke of a laugh. “I fucking feel everything!” He whisked me into his arms and spun me around. My stomach flipped, and a giggle slipped free, in spite of my earlier tears.

At my neck, I clutched the small vial of my mother’s ashes that I wore, hanging from her old rosary she used to keep in her pocket. It was a silly superstition my mother had told me once. She’d always worn a ring of my grandmother’s strung on a necklace. When I’d asked why she wore it all the time, she’d told me that the dead never harmed those who carried something that belonged to them. I didn’t even believe in God, but my mother did, and a part of me felt compelled to keep the rosary for that reason.

Because …” Scowling, I blinked back tears. “I won’t lose you again.” After a moment of stillness, he scratched the back of his head and strode toward the door, but came to a stop beside me. With what seemed like reluctance, he held out his hand. I reached for him, and the moment his palm hit mine, I pulled him in for a tight hug, holding him against me. An image flashed through my mind: lying on the floor, bleeding out of my skull after my father had struck me too hard, and Caedmon’s arms wrapped tight around me, telling me I’ll be okay. Impervious.

It was in that moment, I believed him when he said he belonged to me. Like a vast ocean claimed by a single grain of sand.

At twelve years old, about four years younger than me,

If Heaven existed, I'd found it in those ancient, dark hallways under cold misty skies with autumn's wet leaves sticking to the soles of my boots, in the scent of coffee and old books. And him.

Like staring at a fucking mirror. An exact replica of me. Caedmon?

I will bleed out every one of your demons until you feel safe.

reached my knees, and only then did he break contact. “And because I’m a selfish prick who has to live with the fact that I cannot have you to myself, I’m going to ruin you so that any boy who comes after me will leave you deeply unsatisfied, and you’ll be left fucking your own fingers, desperate to remember the time you had your professor’s face between your legs.

He taught me passion and courage, and to seize what I wanted by the teeth. And in return, I taught him to feel again.

My class. My requirements. My student. Without a doubt, Lilia Vespertine was going to be a massive headache. But she was my headache.

Know that I’ve failed more students than I’ve passed.” “With all due respect, I believe that’s the failure of the one teaching.

Until I can isolate a stable toxin variant, I’m stuck studying moths.” “Here, I thought you liked studying moths, the way you carry on in your lectures.” “Depends on the moth I’m studying.” Eyes on me, he pushed to his feet, stumbling back a step.

I had an appreciation for vintage dresses, thanks to my mother, who’d always told me that dresses and skirts were a woman’s rebellion against the world’s ruthless nature. Soft and vulnerable and bold at the same time.

I have lived a lifetime in death–a cold existence in an endless void. Never feeling. Never knowing the warmth of touch. Every unfulfilling breath a suffocating reminder of how hollow I’d become. It wasn’t until you came along and cast the first ray of light that I felt a pulse of life. A pull that I couldn’t resist.

Is this gonna be like one of those Alien scenes, where it pops out of my chest?

I don’t give a damn about every other girl. There’s only one who crosses my mind a fuck-ton more than she should. So, I’m going to finish you, Lilia. I’m going to give you the release you’ve been craving, and I won’t touch you again. But this pussy belongs to me.

He was moody, like rainy days and bitter coffee. Sensual whispers in dark corners and the slow burn of fine whiskey. A torment I both hated and welcomed at the same time.

Devryck, I’m nervous.” “You should be. Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia.

The masochist reared her ugly head, swallowing his attention like a love-sick fool. Because even if I knew better, even if I knew it was all a lie, it felt fucking good.

This guy. If I didn’t find him to be genuinely nice, I’d wonder what the hell his motives were.

Devryck, I’m nervous.” “You should be. Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia.

A friend of my cousin’s did it. Was making a couple grand a month before she found herself a sugar daddy. Now her lazy ass sits by a pool all day long, reading romance novels.

What separates monsters from good men is only a matter of perspective. In your eyes, I’m a sick fuck for what I’ve done to you. But I, on the other hand, see you as a parasite.

It was a level of mastery I couldn’t even fully appreciate, because I’d never had someone so boldly dive between my legs before. In my limited experience, boys took. They took without much thought, and they rarely ever reciprocated.

I was always scared of it. The vastness. The power. The way it could sweep a person off their feet and carry them miles away from shore. Then you’re alone and adrift in the middle of nowhere. With God knows what swimming beneath you.” I stared off, imagining the visual I’d had on the ferry ride. “Deep waters terrify me.

Some sadist group. They call themselves Schadenfreude

Jealousy is a callow schoolboy’s emotion that ends in hard feelings and bloody noses. What I feel for you, Miss Vespertine, would destroy lives.” Palm

You are a confused moth dancing about a wild flame. Blind to the incomprehensible danger of your curiosities.

The guy was a creep sundae with a rotten, moldy cherry.

The truth is an intangible luxury of the powerful.

literally pegged in the ass by his mistress, who’d probably wished she’d spent the night counting cracks in her ceiling instead of pounding the one that had undoubtedly made for a shitty night.

allowing just enough of a peek of the deep grooves there.

With all due respect, I believe that’s the failure of the one teaching.

A delicious mixture of coffee and spicy cologne trailed after him.

I’ve eaten quite heartily whenever we’re together.