The Indigo Spell (Bloodlines, #3)

  

Let's face one undeniable fact. I'm a sucker for a happy ending. I have a cynical soul lined with a border of idealism. When I pick up a romantic read, I expect the pair that I am rooting for, to overcome all the obstacles, indulge in a few jealousy-fuelled rants, have each others back in a crisis and finally walk off into an Instagram-worthy sunset.

And so, I am an absolute sap for the duo of a strait-laced, super-intelligent human girl and a seemingly unhinged, smart-talking bad-boy vampire crumbling the odds stacked against them. And if, along the way, I have to deal with page-fillers about conspiracy theories, covert operations and rescue missions of young girls from youth-obsessed witches, then I shall do so without an ounce of regret.

Let's face another fact. I unabashedly ship the Sydney Sage-Adrian Ivashkov pairing. I think they are stinkin' adorable. Honestly, I do. And the author has kindly catered to all the loyal fans by devoting enough pages to the witty (and sometimes, teeth-grittingly cheesy) repartee between the star pairing. Adrian professes his love at regular intervals. Sydney shoots him down. And then she mouths some unnecessary jibber-jabber about it being wrong! and shocking!! and unacceptable!!! And then she proceeds to promptly snog his face off. And indulge in more.
 Fangirls, rejoice.

I was expecting the arrival of Marcus Finch to be the third point of an impending love triangle. I was hoping for Sydney to have a clash of wills between her love for the wholly unsuitable Adrian and the irritatingly appropriate rebel Marcus. Sadly, all that Marcus contributed to the love saga was to be..........irritating. And every time he put it in an appearance, this was what I wanted to do to him:

More screen time for the infinitely likeable Eddie Castille and his unrequited love for Jill would have been nice. Sadly, it meandered around the story's edges but rarely took hold.

The rest of the book reads like a regular teen supernatural drama. It's entertaining but not exactly gripping. At the end of the book, I regret nothing. Adrian Ivashkov remains one of my favourite anti-heroes (and now, full-fledged hero). He is glamorous enough to seem unattainable, trustworthy enough to be likeable, flawed enough to be believable and sassy enough to make cynical ladies crack a smirk. And then he manages to breathe Ivashkov charm into the following exchange:

"...and as for who you are, you're the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously caffeinated fighter you've been since the day I met you. "Sweet talker," I scoffed. "You didn't know anything about me the first time we met." "I knew you were beautiful," he said."I just hoped for the rest."

Okay yes, mush-overload. But, for a minute there, I got all: