Being threatened seems to being out the worst in me.
I don't believe Barrons is out to destroy mankind. I don't think he particularly cares much for mankind, but I don't think he has any deep-seated desire to see us all wiped out.
Born in a generation that thinks cynical and disenchanted is cool, sometimes I'm a little off the beaten track.
You hated my rainbows, now you don't like my leather. Is there anything you like on me?
If I entered a tropical beach, would I end up in Nazi Germany with my highly inconvenient black hair?
Sometimes the small pleasures in life are the sweetest.
Burns from dropped matches, Ms. Lane? Matches one might have dropped while flirting with a pernicious Fae, Ms. Lane? Have you any idea the value of this rug?” I didn’t think his nostrils could flare any wider. His eyes were black flame. “Pernicious? Good grief, is English your second language? Third?” Only someone who’d learned English from a dictionary would use such a word. “Fifth,” he snarled. “Answer me.
He wasn't handsome. That was too calm a word. He was intensely masculine. He was sexual. He attracted.
Dubh is do?" I was incredulous. It was no wonder I hadn't been able to find the stupid word. "Should I be calling pubs poos?" "Dubh is Gaelic, Ms. Lane. Pub is not.
She's my baby girl, Quinn. I want love for her. Real love. The kind that makes a man crazy inside. -Gibraltar to Quinn
Yesterday is skin on snake, to be shed many times.
How does it feel, MacKayla? You have a piece of me in your mouth. Would you like another?
Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever.
Werewolves? Oh please, just plain stupid. Who wants to get it on with a man ruled by his inner dog?
Home, Ms. Lane?” His deep voice was gently amused. “I have to call it something,” I said morosely. “They say home is where the heart is. I think mine’s satin-lined and six feet under.
Nobody looks good in their darkest hour. But it's those hours that make us what we are. We stand strong, or we cower. We emerge victorious, tempered by our trails, or fracture by a permanent, damning fault line.
He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it. The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him.
The kind of person that thanks another person never survives. Have you learned nothing?
Oh ye of little faith. Not for IYD... But you didn't even try.
Barrons has something the rest of us don't have. I don't know what it is, but I feel it all the time, especially when we're standing close. Beneath the expensive clothes, unplaceable accent, and cultured veneer, there's something that never crawled all the way out of the swamp. It didn't want to. It likes it there.
Pretty girls don't have ugly mouths.
At the very last moment, just before its lips claimed hers, its grip on her face relaxed slightly and she did the only thing she could think of: She head-butted it. Snapped her head back, then forward again, and bashed it square in the face as hard as she could. So hard, in fact, that it made her woozy and gave her an instant migraine, making her wonder how Jean-Claude Van Damme always managed to coolly continue fighting after such a stunt. Obviously, movies lied.
Life's not linear at all. It happens in lighting flashes. So fast you don't see those lay-you-out cold moments coming at you until you're Wile E. Coyote, steamrolled flat as a pancake by the Road Runner, victim of your own elaborate schemes.
Even now, my back was still arched with sensual invitation, my bottom was questing up like a cat in heat, and my every move was supple, sinuous. I was one great big come-hither.
I was a twenty-two-year-old single white female alone in a strange country where my sister had been killed.
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