“Her gaze lifted.And collided with a full-sized predator.His eyes were the dark whiskey gold her father liked to pour in heavily cut crystal glasses. Liquid fire, potent and seething with heat.”

“He loved her eyes. They were always changing, and Lucas liked to catalogue all their different colors in his mind. When she laughed, her eyes were pale amber, like honey sitting in a glass jar on a sunny window. When he kissed her, they darkened until they were the rich color of mahogany leather, but with strips of red and gold thread shot through. Right now they were turning dark—inviting him to lower his lips to hers.”

“Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be listening to that voice that first told her the story, a mother, sister, or aunt. Then her voice, like her singing, cut through the crickets and crackling fire.”

“Next, she put her left eye close to the glass-like square. It scanned her retina with a slide of dim blue-light. Immediately after the scan was complete, the gate glided to the side, revealing a closet-sized dark chamber.”

“[My mum] was always like that: grateful for life itself. Her glass was not only half full, it was gold plated with a permanent refill.”

“She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.”