Arrows And Apologies Quotes

[…] But you doona plan to deprive Bowen and me of a fight?" Garreth had answered, "So as to no' piss off a vampire queen and the most powerful witch ever to live? Oh, aye." "What are you planning?" "Steal the arrow from Lousha, sneak off, shoot the god. Then I'll come back with a present and an apology, promising she can shoot the next god.

just because someone doesn’t love the same way as you doesn’t mean they love you any less.

I’ve loved you since the second you walked into my life, and I’ll love you every second after, until I have no more to love you with.

Some people just don’t want to be saved.

Did you just speak to me?” The arrow quivered. (Oh, dear. That was a horrible pun. My apologies.) YEA, VERILY. PRITHEE, SHOOTING IS NOT MY PURPOSE. His voice was definitely male, sonorous and grave, like a bad Shakespearean actor’s. “But you’re an arrow,” I said. “Shooting you is the whole point.” (Ah, I really must watch those puns.)

The guy throws a punch at Sam, but Mika catches his arm like an arrow. She holds a strong grip on the guy’s wrist, which seems to surprise everyone—especially him. This is the night I learned Mika helps teach a women’s self-defense class at the YMCA. Mika twists his hand to the point of breaking it, sending him to his knees. “So you like harassing girls,” Mika shouts. “Apologize!” “Alright! Sorry! Now let go!

For years, I watched every person he came into contact with latch on to the goodness inside him and drain him of it, taking it for themselves when they inevitably moved on. They left the hollow, dried-out husk, and no one ever bothered to teach him how to get that goodness back.

Look,” I say finally, scratching at the tag on my neck. “This is… was… my brother’s dog. It was his last wish for him to see Aplana Island, and I’d really like to grant him it. Respect the dead and all, you know?

Violet’s been on and off the island for years now, returning only to stalk the long-lost brother she has there, even though she won’t actually speak to him.

Scoffing, I glance over the quick study sheet she gave me on Alistair Wolfe. Thirty-six years old, bisexual, an avid hunter and self-proclaimed art connoisseur, working on reviving the economy on the island and driving it away from its reliance on real estate investments.

What are the odds, little thief?

Christ, I want to kiss her. Ruin her makeup, just because I know it’d piss her off.

Lifting a shoulder, the girl shrugs. “I like the rush.” Yes, dirty girl, you certainly do.

Better to keep it locked up tight, away from anyone who might hurt it.

You’re building a pool.” I nod, threading my fingers through her hair. “Why?” Closing my eyes, I consider not answering this question either. Swimming has never appealed to me. The water leaves you vulnerable, which is why I’ve always simply avoided it. My lips are dry when they open again. “Because you said you like to swim.

God doesn’t get on his knees to worship,” I mutter against her, taking her clit between my teeth. “You’re in bed with the devil, m’eudail, and I don’t think he intends on letting you go.

Perhaps I’m the devil.

We turn in silence for several steps, my gaze glued to the royal-blue tie beneath his suit jacket. It matches the color of my hair, and I wonder if he did that on purpose.

Why, because you still think he just wanted you to come find him? News flash, bitch, I’m the one who sent you that missing person folder.

Stroking behind his ears, Alistair smirks at me. “One down, one to go.

Infinitely, and with every fiber of my being, Cora Astor. I’ve loved you since the second you walked into my life, and I’ll love you every second after, until I have no more to love you with.

But the tree also acknowledges new chapters in life. Hard good-byes.” I swallow, gripping the podium. “Moving forward. So with the Lucian Astor Memorial Tree, I want us to look ahead, prepare for the future, and accept what it throws at us with open, waiting arms.

That’s Lucian Astor. He’s been missing for a year, and I just found his body at the quarry.

The last shot of the night is muffled by Alistair’s immediate embrace; he wraps his arms around my head, pulling my face into his chest, and the cry that rips from my throat sears my flesh on its exit, drowning out the reverb of the gun.

Inside, the tent was sectioned off by cloth walls. In the main area where they entered, there was a table with four chairs and an arming stand that held the knight’s chain mail, helm, and sword. “Ioan?” Christian called. No one answered. As they turned to leave, they were confronted by what appeared to be a young archer who was surely no older than the boy who had led them here. Several inches shorter than Adara, he was gangly and thin, with raven-black hair and brown eyes that watched them warily. He held his bow at the ready with an arrow already nocked. “Who are you and what business have you with Lord Ioan?” he asked in a gruff, low tone. “We are old friends,” Christian said calmly. Phantom moved toward him. The archer turned quickly and let fly the arrow. Phantom caught it midflight, but before he could take another step, the archer swung the bow and caught him upside his head with it. Phantom staggered back from the force of the blow. The archer struck again and knocked him to the ground. Christian moved toward them. Before Adara could blink, the archer had another arrow nocked and ready to fly into Christian’s chest. “Corryn, cease!” The Welsh-accented voice rang through the room like thunder. Adara looked at the entrance to see a tall, well-muscled man there who bore a striking resemblance to the archer. His wavy black hair fell to his shoulders and a full beard covered his cheeks. He looked wild and untamed as he put himself between the archer and Christian. “What has gotten into your head, Spider?” he asked the archer in his thick, rolling accent. “They came here looking for you,” the archer said brashly, as if the larger man’s anger didn’t concern him at all. He finally unnocked the arrow. “After the message from Stryder saying there were assassins out to kill you, I thought I was protecting you, brawd.” The man she assumed must be Ioan made a disgusted noise at him. “God save me from your protection. Did it never occur to you that an assassin wouldn’t bother to come into my tent and announce himself?” He said something in a language Adara didn’t understand, but by Corryn’s reaction, it must have been a curse or reprimand of some kind. “Now apologize. You almost took the head off the Abbot, and it’s the Phantom who you’ve knocked to the ground.” The archer’s face went pale at that. Ioan stepped away from the boy to offer his hand to Phantom, who took it. He helped him back up to his feet. “You’ll have to forgive my brother, Phantom. He’s a damned fool.” “Are you the Abbot?” Corryn asked Christian. “Aye.” The boy’s lips quivered before he threw himself into Christian’s arms. “May the saints guard your blessed soul throughout all eternity!” Christian looked awkward as he frowned at Ioan. “Brother?” Ioan’s gaze turned dark, dangerous as he pulled Corryn back. Still Corryn stared at Christian with hero worship. “Thank you, Abbot, for bringing my brother back to me.” “Get out of here, scamp,” Ioan said gruffly, “before I skin you.” Corryn curled his lip at Ioan. “I spoke too soon, Abbott. Curses to you, that you brought his surly hide home. Methinks you should have left him there to rot.” He turned to Phantom. “My apologies to you, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Phantom shook the boy’s arm. “I admire anyone who can get the better of me. It doesn’t happen often.” “Corryn!” “I’m leaving,” he snapped. “To the devil with your hoary hide.” -Christian, Corryn, Ioan, & Phantom

Eat the rich, my ass. More like let them eat you.

You don’t have to light the match to be responsible for the carnage.

Some people, though, never say anything new or different, so making sentences becomes less about the accuracy and more about context. The subtle shift of a gaze or the slight twitch in a finger, masking agitation or hurt.

The stories about the boogeyman were true, it appeared, only I learned then that most monsters weren’t the hideous creatures they’d been painted as. So often, they were just humans who let their flaws dictate their beings.

Money might be the root of all evil, but it sure makes life easier when you’ve got it.

I didn’t think I’d experienced the unconditional love I’d been looking for. But just because someone doesn’t love the same way as you doesn’t mean they love you any less.

Be careful, my brother wrote in his folder. There are more people watching than you’ll ever know. Never let them see you with your guard down.

That scent singes my nostrils, a small fire lighting my insides as something catastrophic builds in my bones. Chlorine and citrus.

Choking on a sob, I shake my head. I would’ve never done this to you.

No, but my father taught me how to remove a man’s tongue from a bullet wound in the back of his neck, if you’re interested.

Grinning, I reach up, tugging the corded leather necklace hidden beneath the collar of my dress shirt. I slide the W charm to the side, pinching her little hoop between two fingers, and raise a brow at her. Her eyes widen, and her hand goes to her nose, feeling for the piercing she already knows isn’t there. “No, it isn’t.

Out of habit, my hand creeps up to my face, and I toy with my nose ring, gliding it in and out of my nostril while my breathing spikes.

If you’d like to remain attorney for Aplana, keep your comments about my assistant to yourself. Better yet, don’t think them at all. She doesn’t exist where you’re concerned, mate.

Yet, somehow, even though I was mere steps behind him, Hollis Alvarez is gone.

As he wheels himself out of the gym, I stand there, staring at the spot he just left, wondering why he wrapped his good knee.

I brought Cora into my life. Forced her to stay within the confines I created, under the guise of keeping her safe, yet I’m the one putting her in the direct line of danger—again.

For the first time in my life, I’ve locked in on my prey, and I want to chase her. Not to harm her or string her up as a trophy, but to keep. Forever.

Christ,” he mutters, breathing heavy. “I’m going to fucking marry you, Cordelia Astor.

Just because someone doesn't love the same way as you doesn't mean they love you any less.

I’m sure I already know, though. My brother does few things as well as talking himself out of trouble.

But if I tell him, I’ll endanger him far more than he is in general because the Delos officers weren’t investigating large-scale corruption. They were investigating me.

I’m eleven, secretly learning to pick up on social cues and lip-reading because the hearing loss in my right ear is becoming noticeable. One too many fists to the side of my skull starts to catch up.

Then at sixteen, I switch to a traditional bow and arrow when hunting with my father because the sound of the shotgun obscured my other senses too much, and I want to be able to focus on hearing while I perfect my shot.

Little does she know, the boogeyman hides in plain sight. He’s probably in her bar right now, biding his time as he looks for souls to steal.

Should I get on my knees then?” His free hand finds the button of my jeans, pushing it through the loop. Hooking a thumb in the waist, he gives a small shake of his head. “I’d much rather be on mine.

There it is,” he grunts, speaking directly into my pussy. “Give it to me, m’eudail. I want to see how bewitching you are when you come.

Innocent lassies don’t come all over the face of a man they don’t know. They don’t strip bare in an alley and spread their delicious thighs, and they certainly don’t ask the monster to fuck them.

But I suppose it’s true what they say—You can’t save those who don’t see a problem.

Arrows and Apologies is a dark, contemporary romance inspired by the Apollo and Daphne myth.

My thumb finds the silver band of the Rolex on my wrist. “A friend when I needed one.” A friend until he no longer was one.

I’d guess hostess perhaps, if the frown on her face didn’t seem permanently etched, like that of a marble statue. Employing such an ice queen would likely be bad for business.

That’s always been her problem, though. Blaming outside forces for the beast that lives within me, as if his claws weren’t written into my namesake.

For those we couldn’t save.

I am not a foe. Do not fly me as a lamb flies the wolf, or a dove the hawk. It is for love I pursue you. ​— ​THOMAS BULLFINCH, AGE OF FABLE: VOLS. I & II: STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES

Unfortunately for her, the little nymph has piqued my interest.

Many a boy languishes in school because he finds no arrow there. Things are staid, routine. Perhaps there are arrows to pick up now and again, if you are the sort of boy who will look for them and not be too discouraged, and if the arrows available are fit for the kind of shooting you want to do. But the failure of boys in school—not this boy or that boy, but boys by the millions, despite the fact, attested by empirical investigation and the evidence of history, that they are at least the equals of their sisters in intelligence—suggests that the schools are quite simply bad for them. They stunt their growth. Intellectually and practically, the boys are like pale and spindly plants that have been kept indoors all the days of their lives. And yet, obviously, we need these boys; it is criminally negligent to deny it. Consider how many young black men, in particular, are languishing, because their schools are—at their best—no great shakes, and because they lack the fathers in the home who would train them up in skill and strength. Everywhere you turn your eye in the United States, you will find ugliness, disrepair, vandalism, buildings left to rot—and unemployed or underemployed young men, disheartened, not worth marrying, and ready to cause trouble, since they can cause so little else.

Did you just speak to me?” The arrow quivered. (Oh, dear. That was a horrible pun. My apologies

Janner looked at the others. He had done his best to apologize and had even gone one step further with a compliment. “What was that all about?” he asked under his breath. “Just let him be,” Nia said. “He’ll be fine.” The tent was rolled and tied to Podo’s pack, and in minutes the company was ready to go. After all that had happened the day before, Janner felt ready for anything. His pack had lost its stiffness and hung from his shoulders in a way that fit him. He had wielded his sword in battle, and its weight no longer burdened him but gave him courage. He recalled the heft of the bow in his hand, the tension and release when he drew it and loosed the arrows. The calluses on his palms felt good, and he imagined his hands one day being as tough and capable as Podo’s. “Say the word, King Kalmar,” Podo said with a slight bow of his head. Tink looked like a mouse in a trap. Then he loosed a belch that rivaled one of Podo’s, and in a fit of laughter, the company set off into the forest.