Harsh words, but deserved. Definitely doesn’t make me feel like a good person saying it but had to be said.
I know authors put in a lot of work, hours, blood, sweat and tears into their stories. But it felt like this book needed more time to be set aside before revisiting it for the editing phase. If she had let it sit for a bit, when she came back to it I’m sure she would’ve seen all the ways it could’ve been better.
Everything felt rushed and contrived. Things were just happening only to move the plot along. No real feelings were felt, the characters were just going through motions and we were told they were feeling a certain type of way, but never felt any of it because the events of story did not sync up with what was going on in their internal lives. None of their choices or actions were in line with what we were told they were feeling.
For example, we were told there was this great heartbreak. Yet the devastation of it was not felt. At all. No actual consequences. Things just kept happening. We were told she was immensely sad, yet after just a second she was already dreaming of a fairytale ending with another guy — and a prince at that.
Not to mention she kept thinking the guy who showed consistent disdain for her seemed to like her somehow? That in and of itself was annoying. Absolutely delusional. Nothing about Jacks showed that he liked her. Maybe toying with her a bit? Playing around? Only getting her through everything just because he needed her alive to do something for him.
But who knows, maybe in some sick twisted way he did like her. But should young girls (the target demographic for this book) really be encouraged to fangirl a guy like Jacks?
No. The answer is no. Rhysand from ACOTAR is a far better candidate. Encouraging, empowering, fun and kind. Rumored to be an asshole, yet not actually an asshole. Hot as fudge (or the other word, pick your poison).
Still, to be fair, I have to admit there was one good scene:
Before Evangeline could suck in a breath, Jacks was directly in front of her. His lips curved into a devastating smile that on anyone else might have looked inviting or flirtatious, as if throwing a knife at her feet and daring her to stab him was the equivalent of asking her to dance.
“Jacks—” Evangeline tried not to sound as if her heart was racing.
“Don’t you want to hurt me anymore, Little Fox?” His finger reached out and lightly traced her exposed collarbone, setting every inch of her skin on fire. “You can pick up the dagger any time now.”
But Evangeline couldn’t pick up the dagger. She could barely manage to keep breathing. His hand was now at the hollow of her throat, careful and caressing. Jacks had touched her before—last night he’d held her while she’d slept, but he’d acted as if that had been torture. His touch hadn’t been warm or curious.
Or maybe she was the one who was curious. She knew she shouldn’t be. But hadn’t she wondered what it would be like to be wanted with the intensity that Jacks seemed to want things?
His mouth curved wider as his hands moved from her throat to her shoulders and slowly slid the cape away, leaving more of her skin exposed.
“You should go back on the other side of the gate.” Her voice was hoarse.
“You’re the one who said I needed a distraction.” His fingers drifted lower, trailing down her chest to the sensitive stretch of skin right above the lacy line of her corset. “Isn’t this better than talking?” One finger dipped all the way into the corset.
Her breathing hitched. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“That’s what makes it interesting.” His other hand found her jaw, while the finger in her corset gently stroked just above her heart, coaxing it to beat even faster.
“You can always pick up the blade,” he taunted. “You wouldn’t like me as a vampire, Little Fox.”
The warm hand at her jaw tilted her head back until she met his eyes. They were dilated to nearly full black and somehow still as bright as broken stars.
She needed to back away. This was wrong for so many reasons, and worse than that, it was incredibly stupid to let him keep touching her, to like the way he kept touching her.
He wouldn’t even be doing this if it weren’t for the vampire venom.
It didn’t matter that he was being gentle, that his knuckles were barely brushing her skin as they skimmed their way from her chest to the back of her neck, while his other hand traveled to her hip, slowly gliding over her skirts as he eased her closer. The crypt was freezing, but Jacks was warm enough to heat every inch of Evangeline as the hand at her neck slid into her hair, twisting his fingers around the strands before shoving them away from her neck and—
His teeth grazed her pulse.
“Jacks—” It was suddenly impossible to form words. His hot mouth was against her throat, and his teeth were on her skin. His teeth! Evangeline finally pressed against his chest. But it was as useless as trying to battle a block of marble. Hot, sculpted marble. She wanted to tell him not to bite her, but saying the word bite didn’t seem like the wisest idea just then. “You won’t want this later…”
“Not really thinking about later.” He licked her, one languorous stroke up the column of her neck.
She gasped, “You don’t even like me.”
“I like you right now. I like you a lot.” He gently sucked her skin. “In fact, I can’t think of anything I like more.”
“Jacks—this is all from the vampire venom.” She pressed harder against his chest, frantic, but he didn’t seem to notice. His tongue was on her neck, toying withher pulse. “You—” Her words faltered as his teeth grazed her again, raking over all her sensitized skin in a way that should not have felt so incredibly good.
She had to stop this. One bite. One spilled drop of blood and they’d both be in trouble. “If you do this … you’ll never see the sun again. Won’t you miss the sun?”
His only response was another tortuous lick, and then his other hand was tightening around her hips, pulling her closer as if preparing to—
“You need me to open the Valory Arch!”
Jacks stilled at her words.
His breath went jagged as his lips hovered over her pulse. He didn’t bite her. But he didn’t release her. If anything, he held her tighter. He was burning up against her. She tried to calm her breathing, certain he could feel her racing heartbeat and hear the blood rushing in her veins beneath his parted mouth. But he didn’t lower his lips.
He didn’t move except to breathe in and out.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, wrapped in an embrace that she couldn’t fight and that Jacks couldn’t seem to let go of. There were moments he struggled. He tangled her hair in his fingers, their cold tips brushing her scalp—
Cold. His palm was cold.
Evangeline dared to look up as morning sunlight crept through the mausoleum window. They’d survived the night.
Jacks’s arms tensed as if he’d just had the same realization. Everything that had burned suddenly felt like ice. His chest, his arms, his breath upon her neck.
He extricated himself from her slowly with stiff, ungraceful movements. He was once again the Jacks who’d carried her to LaLa’s flat. The heat, the want, the hunger, all of it had vanished with the night. His hands were awkward as he untangled his fingers from her hair. It was eerily reminiscent of when Apollo had been freed from Jacks’s magic. Only Jacks wasn’t angry, just exquisitely uncomfortable.
At least he wasn’t laughing. Evangeline didn’t think she could have borne it if he’d teased her for letting him get so close or for gasping as he’d licked her neck.
Her cheeks were suddenly burning, and she was grateful he didn’t look at her when he bent down to grab his dagger.
She took a moment to turn, smooth her hair, and take a deep breath, inhaling the cool, crisp morning instead of him.
“Here.” Jacks’s voice was right behind her. And then she felt her ruffled cloak. He placed it across her shoulders and quickly secured the straps to her corset. “If you freeze to death, the trouble I’ve gone to keeping you alive will be wasted.” His mocking tone was back, clipped and cutting, and yet she felt the soft brush of his fingertips lingering against her neck before he pulled away.
Evangeline tried not to react. She wasn’t even sure he realized he’d done it. When she spun to face him again, he was back to being indifferent as he strode toward the mausoleum exit
—
Everything in that scene—the pacing, the tension, the awkwardness—was perfect and made absolute sense.
But out of 297 pages, that was the only scene that conveyed any kind of feeling. Is it worth wasting all those hours to read just one scene of good writing? Nope. Not at all.
Though am I tempted to read the second book? Yes, but only because others raved about it and because of that one scene. If it didn’t exist, I don’t think I would’ve considered the second book no matter what others had said about it. But because it exists, it gives me hope that the author has the ability to write a good story if she tries just a little bit more. Here’s to hoping she’s put in more effort for the second book.
Have you read it yet? What are your thoughts?
Green Where You Water It 
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