Blink Of An Eye Funny Quotes

Two seconds later, the sound of an alarm filled my ears. ''What did you do?'' I said over the noise as he backed up towards the bathroom door. ''The girl who gave you the note?'' ''Yes...'' ''I caught her staring at my lighter.'' I blinked. ''You gave a child, in a psych ward , a lighter?'' His eyes crinkled at the corners. ''She seemed trustworthy.'' ''You're sick,'' I said, but smiled. ''Hey, nobody's perfect. '' Noah smiled back.

When they reached a maintenance closet, Iko ushered the escort-droid inside. “I want you to know that I hold nothing against you,” she said, by way of introduction. “I understand that it isn’t your fault your programmer had so little imagination.” The escort-droid held her gaze with empty eyes. “In another life, we could have been sisters, and I feel it’s important to acknowledge that.” A blank stare. A blink, every six seconds. “But as it stands, I’m a part of an important mission right now, and I cannot be swayed from my goal by my sympathy for androids who are less advanced than myself.” Nothing. “All right then.” Iko held out her hands. “I need your clothes.

He grinned. "You're jealous." I considered it. "No. But when you stared at that woman like she was made of diamonds, it didn't feel very good." "I stared at her because she smelled strange." "Strange how?" "She smelled like rock dust. Very strong dry smell." Curran put his arms around me. "I love it when you get all fussy and possessive." "I never get fussy and possessive." He grinned, showing his teeth. His face was practically glowing. "So you're cool if I go over and chat her up?" "Sure. Are you cool if I go and chat up that sexy werewolf on the third floor?" He went from casual and funny to deadly serious in half a blink. "What sexy werewolf?" I laughed. Curran's eyes focused. He was concentrating on something. "You're taking a mental inventory of all people working on the third floor, aren't you?" His expression went blank. I'd hit the nail on the head. I slid off him and put my head on his biceps. The shaggy carpet was nice and comfortable under my back. "Is it Jordan?" "I just picked a random floor," I told him. "You're nuts, you know that?" He put his arm around me. "Look who is talking.

Winston points at my face. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he has to blink a few times before saying, “I like you. It’s pretty nice you’re not dead.

Tell him if he harms you, I'll scorch the ground where he stands.' 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Tairn.' I roll my eyes and walk to Dain, whose jaw is locked, but his eyes are wide with apprehension. 'Tell him, or I'll take it up with Cath.' 'Tairn says if you harm me, he'll burn you,' I say as dragons to the left and right launch skyward without their riders, headed back to the Vale. But not Tairn. Nope, he's still standing behind me like an overprotective dad. 'I'm not going to harm you, ' Dain snaps. 'Word for word, Silver One.' I blow a breath out slowly. 'Sorry, he actually said, if you harm me, he'll scorch the ground where you stand.' I turn and look over my shoulder. 'Better?' Tairn blinks. Dain keeps his eyes on me, but I see it there, the swirling anger Tairn warned me about. 'I would rather die than harm you, and you know it.

Thank you,” he said. I blinked. “What?” A funny little smile played out across his lips. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” My mouth gaped. “It’s a big deal.” His lashes lifted and his eyes met mine. “What we did. It was your first time. I’m honored.” Was this real? “So thank you.” Jax closed the distance between us, melding our lips together in what had to have been the sweetest kiss possible, and I realized this was real. Not some orgasm-induced hallucination, and there was truly no wonder why I’d fallen for him.

I was going straight for Mantis, but then that bloody gas got in my eyes and, I don't know, some massive bloke reared up in front of me. I hit him, but I swear, it was like hiting a wall." Gracious nodded. "You hit a wall." Maybury blinked at him. "I what?" "I saw it. You ran into a cloud of gas and stumbled around for a second until you reached a wall, and then you shrieked and punched it. It was very heroic.

Funny he could take down a group of terrorists without blinking an eye, but come face to face with this gorgeous woman, and he lost his common sense.

He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities. She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.

They gave me drugs and told me to see a gallbladder specialist to make sure the stone had passed. I told them that hamsters can only blink one eye at a time. I considered this a fair trade but they billed my insurance company anyway.

Brooke stared in surprise. “You brought me lunch?” “I was in the neighborhood.” She checked out the label on the bag. “DMK is twenty minutes from here.” “I was in that neighborhood, and now I’m here,” he said in exasperation. “Seriously, woman, you are impossible to feed.” He strode over and set the bag on her desk. “One cheeseburger with spicy chipotle ketchup and a side of sweet potato fries—chosen specifically for a certain spicy and sweet girl I know—and a green dill pickle for your eyes. So there.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Brooke studied him. “You seem very ornery right now.” “As a matter of fact, I am.” “Why?” “I don’t know,” he huffed. “Just . . . eat your Brooke Burger. Stop asking so many questions. Sometimes a guy just wants to buy a girl lunch. Any objections to that? Good. Enjoy your Sunday, Ms. Parker.” He strode out of her office, gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Brooke stared at the doorway and blinked.

The heavy eyelids snapped open. Jack froze. A huge gold-and-amber eye, as big as a dinner plater, stared at him. The dark pupil shrank, focusing. Jack stood very still. The colossal head turned, the scaled lip only three feet from Jack. The golden eyes gazed at him, wirling with fiery color. Jack breathed in tiny, shallow breaths. Dont blink. Don't blink... Two gusts of wind erutped from the wyvern's nostrils Jack jumped straight up, bounced off the ground into another jump, and scrambled up the nearest tree. In the clearing, Gaston bent over, guffawing like an idiot. 'It's not funny!

Something about the way he had avoided looking directly at me despite his gracious manner made me think he could go from funny to dangerous in the blink of an eye.

Amanda bit her lip. "You're not... trying to be funny or something, are you?" "I'm not trying to be anything!" I said. "All right, kids," the photographer called. "On the count of three. One, two-" She broke off, straightening up from the camera with a frown. "Excuse me. You in the turquoise? I need you to face forward." I rotated my body as best I could. "All the way, please." I turned so that my shoulders werre even with everybody else's, only now my head faced Gail instead of the lens. Gail pressed her lips together. "Stop it!" she said. "Winnie?" Mr. Hutchinson said. He walked to the end of our row. "What's going on?" "I can't," I whispered. "Can't what?" "Can't move my neck, it's stuck." Tears burned in my eyes, and I blinked hard to keep them back. "Mr. Hutchinson, she's faking," Gail said. "She's trying to be funny and she's ruining everything.

But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. “What I’m trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms—it’s strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven.” Hyacinth’s breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she’d never asked. “But you didn’t,” Violet continued. “You looked rather like me. And then—oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday—you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice.” “Twice?” Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important. “Twice.” Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. “I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ ” A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth’s lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise. “And then you let out a wail,” Violet said, shaking her head. “My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled.” Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother composed herself, wanting desperately to ask her to continue, but somehow knowing the moment called for silence. For a full minute Hyacinth waited, and then finally her mother said, softly, “And from that moment on, you were so dear to me. I love all my children, but you…” She looked up, her eyes catching Hyacinth’s. “You saved me.” Something squeezed in Hyacinth’s chest. She couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite breathe. She could only watch her mother’s face, listen to her words, and be so very, very grateful that she’d been lucky enough to be her child. “In some ways I was a little too protective of you,” Violet said, her lips forming the tiniest of smiles, “and at the same time too lenient. You were so exuberant, so completely sure of who you were and how you fit into the world around you. You were a force of nature, and I didn’t want to clip your wings.” “Thank you,” Hyacinth whispered, but the words were so soft, she wasn’t even sure she’d said them aloud.

Hey. You know Twilight?” He blinks.“Excuse me?” “Twilight. The vampire book.” His wary eyes study my face. “What about it?” “Okay, so you know how Bella’s blood is extra special? Like how it gives Edward a raging boner every time he’s around her?” “Are you fucking with me right now?” I ignore that. “Do you think it happens in real life? Pheromones and all that crap. Is it a bullshit theory some horndog dreamed up so he could justify why he’s attracted to his mother or some shit? Or is there actually a biological reason why we’re drawn to certain people? Like goddamn Twilight. Edward wants her on a biological level, right?” “Are you seriously dissecting Twilight right now?

He looks up. Our eyes lock,and he breaks into a slow smile. My heart beats faster and faster. Almost there.He sets down his book and stands.And then this-the moment he calls my name-is the real moment everything changes. He is no longer St. Clair, everyone's pal, everyone's friend. He is Etienne. Etienne,like the night we met. He is Etienne,he is my friend. He is so much more. Etienne.My feet trip in three syllables. E-ti-enne. E-ti-enne, E-ti-enne. His name coats my tongue like melting chocolate. He is so beautiful, so perfect. My throat catches as he opens his arms and wraps me in a hug.My heart pounds furiously,and I'm embarrassed,because I know he feels it. We break apart, and I stagger backward. He catches me before I fall down the stairs. "Whoa," he says. But I don't think he means me falling. I blush and blame it on clumsiness. "Yeesh,that could've been bad." Phew.A steady voice. He looks dazed. "Are you all right?" I realize his hands are still on my shoulders,and my entire body stiffens underneath his touch. "Yeah.Great. Super!" "Hey,Anna. How was your break?" John.I forget he was here.Etienne lets go of me carefully as I acknowledge Josh,but the whole time we're chatting, I wish he'd return to drawing and leave us alone. After a minute, he glances behind me-to where Etienne is standing-and gets a funny expression on hs face. His speech trails off,and he buries his nose in his sketchbook. I look back, but Etienne's own face has been wiped blank. We sit on the steps together. I haven't been this nervous around him since the first week of school. My mind is tangled, my tongue tied,my stomach in knots. "Well," he says, after an excruciating minute. "Did we use up all our conversation over the holiday?" The pressure inside me eases enough to speak. "Guess I'll go back to the dorm." I pretend to stand, and he laughs. "I have something for you." He pulls me back down by my sleeve. "A late Christmas present." "For me? But I didn't get you anything!" He reaches into a coat pocket and brings out his hand in a fist, closed around something very small. "It's not much,so don't get excited." "Ooo,what is it?" "I saw it when I was out with Mum, and it made me think of you-" "Etienne! Come on!" He blinks at hearing his first name. My face turns red, and I'm filled with the overwhelming sensation that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. His expression turns to amazement as he says, "Close your eyes and hold out your hand." Still blushing,I hold one out. His fingers brush against my palm, and my hand jerks back as if he were electrified. Something goes flying and lands with a faith dink behind us. I open my eyes. He's staring at me, equally stunned. "Whoops," I say. He tilts his head at me. "I think...I think it landed back here." I scramble to my feet, but I don't even know what I'm looking for. I never felt what he placed in my hands. I only felt him. "I don't see anything! Just pebbles and pigeon droppings," I add,trying to act normal. Where is it? What is it? "Here." He plucks something tiny and yellow from the steps above him. I fumble back and hold out my hand again, bracing myself for the contact. Etienne pauses and then drops it from a few inches above my hand.As if he's avoiding me,too. It's a glass bead.A banana. He clears his throat. "I know you said Bridgette was the only one who could call you "Banana," but Mum was feeling better last weekend,so I took her to her favorite bead shop. I saw that and thought of you.I hope you don't mind someone else adding to your collection. Especially since you and Bridgette...you know..." I close my hand around the bead. "Thank you." "Mum wondered why I wanted it." "What did you tell her?" "That it was for you,of course." He says this like, duh. I beam.The bead is so lightweight I hardly feel it, except for the teeny cold patch it leaves in my palm.

It was a mug. And it had a joke printed on it. It said, Engineers don’t cry. They build bridges and get over it.” Someone laughed then. Isabel or perhaps Gonzalo—I wasn’t sure. With all that crazy banging, my heart had somehow moved up my throat and to my temples, so it was hard to focus on anything besides its beating and Aaron’s voice. “And you know what I did?” he continued, bitterness filling his tone. “Instead of laughing like I wanted to, instead of looking up at her and saying something funny that would hopefully make her give me one of those bright smiles I had somehow already seen her give so freely in the short day I had been around her, I pushed it all down and set the mug on my desk. Then, I thanked her and asked her if there was anything else she needed.” I knew I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but I was. Just as much as I had been back then, if not more. It had been such a silly thing to do, and I had felt so tiny and dumb after he brushed it away so easily. Closing my eyes, I heard him continue, “I pretty much kicked her out of my office after she went out of her way and got me a gift.” Aaron’s voice got low and harsh. “A fucking welcome gift.” I opened my eyes just in time to watch him turn his head in my direction. Our gazes met. “Just like the big jerk I had advertised myself to be, I ran her out. And to this day, I regret it every time it crosses my mind. Every time I look at her.” He didn’t even blink as he talked, looking straight into my eyes. And I didn’t think I did either. I didn’t think I was even breathing. “All the time I wasted so foolishly. All the time I could have had with her.

One blink of a camera eye (can’t quite put his finger on the name of the photographer) and that child dressed in leaves became all these things: sad, terribly, beautiful, funny, terrifying, dark, light, charming, fairystory, folkstory, truth.

One blink of a camera eye (can’t quite put his finger on the name of the photographer) and that child dressed in leaves became all these things: sad, terrible, beautiful, funny, terrifying, dark, light, charming, fairystory, folkstory, truth.

I shut my eyes and concentrated on the sun, and on feeling it warm my skin. On pleasure. Hedon. The Greek god. Or idol, as he should probably be called seeing as I was on hallowed ground. It's pretty arrogant, calling all other gods, apart from the one you've come up with, idols. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Every dictator's command to his subjects, of course. The funny thing was that Christians couldn't see it themselves. They didn't see the mechanism, the regenerative, self-fulfilling, self-aggrandising aspect which meant that a superstition like this could survive for two thousand years, and in which the key--salvation--was restricted to those who were fortunate enough to have been born in a space of time which was a merest blink of the eye in human history, and who also happened to live on the only little bit of the planet that ever got to hear the commandment and were able to formulate an opinion about the concise sales pitch ("Paradise?").

The sound of a chainsaw going off inside the building had me meeting Amari’s gaze, and he shot me a funny expression. “You scared?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why? If I say yes, will you hold my hand?” Well, I hadn’t been asking to flirt. I’d just been joking. But…. “No,” I replied. “I’m going to be too busy holding Zac’s hand. I don’t want him having nightmares tonight.” He chuckled just as I felt a hand land on the back of my neck again, molding itself around it. Tilting my head back, I found those familiar baby blues on me. I whispered, “But for real, I don’t think I’ll get scared, but if I do, I’m using you as a human shield. You’ve lived a much fuller life than I have. Technically, Amari’s bigger but—” My old friend scoffed. “We’re the same size. You know people still call me ‘Big Texas,’ don’t you?” “Yeah, I know, but I started calling you that back when you were the biggest guy I knew. You’re not even that big.” “Excuse me?” It was too much fun to pick on him. “You’re big, but you’re not that big.” Zac’s head reared back. “Aren’t you five feet tall?” “Five foot two.” Zac blinked. I blinked. He narrowed his eyes. “Swear to God, I’m tellin’ Mama on you.

When she wasn’t being stiff-necked, she was the friend he most wanted to talk to, who he couldn’t wait to see each day. She came into his mind with the first ray of consciousness at daybreak. He nodded off, smiling over her with his last, heavy-eyed blink before sleep. Sweet Win. Funny Win. Clever Win. Frightened, brave, careful, meticulous Winnie, trying to avoid the bite of the world by pretending it didn’t have teeth.

My goodness. Humans are quite noisy, aren't they?" A voice called as Morgan's eyes were drawn to the large brown circles blinking back at him, floating in midair. "These two also don't seem to have a very good sense of judgement either. So quick to pick a fight rather than showing kindness. Such a shame. What wasted potential." The voice filled the air as the silhouette bobbed into view again. It slowly took on a human-like shape.

The . . . the one about Colin Eversea! I learned a new verse from a young lady at school. It’s very funny and . . . and . . . bawdy.” That last word was a reckless inspiration. She presented it almost defiantly. Lisbeth blinked as though she’d flicked water into her eyes. Lisbeth and Waterburn eyed her for a silent nonplussed instant. A finch peeped somewhere in the hedgerows. Apparently it wasn’t a word anyone associated with her, or particularly wanted to associate with her, judging from the carefully bland expression on Waterburn’s face. Next I’ll try the word whore in a sentence, she thought wildly.

Mom?” Then again, louder. “Mom?” She turned around so quickly, she knocked the pan off the stove and nearly dropped the gray paper into the open flame there. I saw her reach back and slap her hand against the knobs, twisting a dial until the smell of gas disappeared. “I don’t feel good. Can I stay home today?” No response, not even a blink. Her jaw was working, grinding, but it took me walking over to the table and sitting down for her to find her voice. “How—how did you get in here?” “I have a bad headache and my stomach hurts,” I told her, putting my elbows up on the table. I knew she hated when I whined, but I didn’t think she hated it enough to come over and grab me by the arm again. “I asked you how you got in here, young lady. What’s your name?” Her voice sounded strange. “Where do you live?” Her grip on my skin only tightened the longer I waited to answer. It had to have been a joke, right? Was she sick, too? Sometimes cold medicine did funny things to her. Funny things, though. Not scary things. “Can you tell me your name?” she repeated. “Ouch!” I yelped, trying to pull my arm away. “Mom, what’s wrong?” She yanked me up from the table, forcing me onto my feet. “Where are your parents? How did you get in this house?” Something tightened in my chest to the point of snapping. “Mom, Mommy, why—” “Stop it,” she hissed, “stop calling me that!” “What are you—?” I think I must have tried to say something else, but she dragged me over to the door that led out into the garage. My feet slid against the wood, skin burning. “Wh-what’s wrong with you?” I cried. I tried twisting out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t even look at me. Not until we were at the door to the garage and she pushed my back up against it. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I know you’re confused, but I promise that I’m not your mother. I don’t know how you got into this house, and, frankly, I’m not sure I want to know—” “I live here!” I told her. “I live here! I’m Ruby!” When she looked at me again, I saw none of the things that made Mom my mother. The lines that formed around her eyes when she smiled were smoothed out, and her jaw was clenched around whatever she wanted to say next. When she looked at me, she didn’t see me. I wasn’t invisible, but I wasn’t Ruby. “Mom.” I started to cry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please, I promise I’ll be good—I’ll go to school today and won’t be sick, and I’ll pick up my room. I’m sorry. Please remember. Please!” She put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the door handle. “My husband is a police officer. He’ll be able to help you get home. Wait in here—and don’t touch anything.” The door opened and I was pushed into a wall of freezing January air. I stumbled down onto the dirty, oil-stained concrete, just managing to catch myself before I slammed into the side of her car. I heard the door shut behind me, and the lock click into place; heard her call Dad’s name as clearly as I heard the birds in the bushes outside the dark garage. She hadn’t even turned on the light for me. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, ignoring the bite of the frosty air on my bare skin. I launched myself in the direction of the door, fumbling around until I found it. I tried shaking the handle, jiggling it, still thinking, hoping, praying that this was some big birthday surprise, and that by the time I got back inside, there would be a plate of pancakes at the table and Dad would bring in the presents, and we could—we could—we could pretend like the night before had never happened, even with the evidence in the next room over. The door was locked. “I’m sorry!” I was screaming. Pounding my fists against it. “Mommy, I’m sorry! Please!” Dad appeared a moment later, his stocky shape outlined by the light from inside of the house. I saw Mom’s bright-red face over his shoulder; he turned to wave her off and then reached over to flip on the overhead lights.

So,if it's all love or money, which is Alex Bainbridge?" I blinked at him. "What?" "He's a turd, Ella. He looked right through you like you were a ghost, but you still have a thing for him." "I do n-" "Don't even. You've gone through the whole week watching for him. So what is it? I would really like to know. Love or money?" "I have not been watching for him!" I snapped. Oh, but I had, in every hallway, at lunch, when I took my seat at the edge of English class. "And if I have, it's just so I can look away first." Frankie rolled his eyes. "Shall I get you a pail of water?" "Why?" "Your pants are on fire." I actually looked down at my lap. "Oh, very funny." I shot Sadie a look when she giggled.

Morning.” She blinks at me. Specifically at my abs, I think. “Where are your pajamas?” “Don’t own any.” I glance down at my boxers. All the important bits are covered. “Does it matter? I could put on my bathing suit instead. It’s more or less the same thing in a brighter color.” “Right.” She clears her throat. But I don’t miss her eyes making another quick sweep of my body. And I have to hold back a laugh. Could Alex be having a moment of regret? “Um…” She shakes her head once. “Thank you for dealing with the delivery.” “No problem.” I lift a hand to my chest and stroke a palm down my bare skin. And, yup, her eyes lock onto my fingers, and she follows my movements like a hungry dog eyes a piece of meat. How funny is this? Now I’m definitely not putting on a shirt this morning. Not until I absolutely have to. Why ruin the fun?

Freydis lifted a hand and rubbed briefly at the spot on her chin where the gun’s muzzle had left a mild indentation. Then she said, to Murphy, “Are you seeing anyone?” Murphy blinked. “Mortals make the best lovers by far,” Freydis explained. “And this job means I’m basically sexually frustrated around the clock. But it’s hard to find mortals I respect.” Murphy’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Um.” Freydis frowned slightly and glanced from Murphy to me and back. “I don’t mind sharing.” “I’m . . . I’m Catholic,” Murphy said. Freydis’s eyes shone with a wicked sparkle. “I don’t mind conflicted, either.” Murphy gave me a somewhat desperate glance. Huh. I’d officially seen everything now. Murphy asking for a rescue. From monsters and madmen, she’d never cried uncle. It had taken a redhead. “Business first, maybe?” I suggested. “We could all die tonight,” Freydis said. “But as you wish.

Do you remember Zhitomir, Vasily? Do you remember the Teterev, Vasily, and that evening when the Sabbath, the young Sabbath tripped stealthily along the sunset, her little red heel treading on the stars? THe slender horn of the moon bathed its arrows in the black waters of the Teterev. Funny little Gedali, founder of the Fourth International, was taking us to Rabbi Motele Bratzlavsky’s for evening service. Funny little Gedali swayed the cock’s feathers on his high hat in the red haze of the evening. The candes in the Rabbi’s room blinked their predatory eyes. Bent over prayer books, brawny Jews were moaning in muffled voices, and the old buffoon of the zaddiks of Chernobyl jingled coppers in his torn pocket... ...Do you remember that night, Vasily? Beyond the windows horses were neighing and Cossacks were shouting. The wilderness of war was yawning beyong the windows, and Robbi Motele Bratzslavsky was praying at the eastern wall, his decayed fingers clinging to his tales. (...)

It would be really wonderful if all this could be a dream,” I said. “Come now, you’ll get there. Focus on one aura at a time; that helps. What do you see when you look at me?” I took a breath. “A kind of idiosyncratic bluish with a happy patch of crimson right around your middle. You’re a bit dark—but also very light in funny little ways.” I blinked. “There are also notes of a sort of rosy color hanging all around both you and Jenny. No, not rosy, exactly. How would you describe it—a buoyant sort of flush?” “Buoyant is not a color,” said Jackaby. “You sound ridiculous. But an excellent start! The sight will take time to understand. I’m here to help.” “I’m here for you, too, Abigail,” Jenny assured me, putting a hand on Jackaby’s shoulder as she glided forward to join us. “We can practice together and take it slow. It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve done to help me figure out my own abilities.” I nodded. “It’s nice to see that you’re not having any more trouble in that area,” I said. Jenny’s hand was still on Jackaby’s shoulder. The flush around their auras increased when I mentioned it. “I’m not even sure how it happened,” Jenny said. “I just needed it to happen, and it did.” “Not surprised about it at all,” said Jackaby. “Not surprised?” Jenny said. “Yesterday I couldn’t so much as brush a hair out of your eyes, but today I reached inside your chest and held your heart in my hands—and you’re not surprised?” “Not at all. My heart was always yours,” said Jackaby. Jenny leaned back and looked at him, startled. “That is about the sweetest thing I think you’ve ever said.” “Was it good?” He gave her a goofy grin. “I was trying to work out how to phrase it the whole ride over.” “Not good at all, no,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep a smile off her face. “It was sappy and maudlin and positively terrible. Sweet, though. Excellent effort.” “You’re just jealous because we’re both technically undead now, and I’m clearly so much better at it.” “Jealous? I’m not jealous. For the first time since I’ve known you, I have the power to shut you up.” She leaned in and kissed him right on the lips.

Rhysand opened his mouth, but then the silhouettes of two tall, powerful bodies appeared on the other side of the front door's fogged glass. One of them banged on it with a fist. 'Hurry up, you lazy ass,' a deep male voice drawled from the antechamber beyond. Exhaustion drugged me so heavily that I didn't particularly care that there were wings peeking over thier two shadowy forms. Rhys didn't so much as blink toward the door. 'Two things, Feyre darling.' The pounding continued, followed by the second male murmuring to his companion, 'If you're going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.' That voice- like shadows given form, dark and smooth and... cold. 'I wasn't the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,' the first one said. Then added, 'Busybody.' I could have sworn a smile tugged on Rhys's lips as he went on, 'One, no one- no one- but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. it is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish- and you wish- may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris's walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish. Those two in the antechamber,' he added, eyes sparkling, 'might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.' Another pound, emphasised by the first male voice saying, 'You know we can hear you, prick.' 'Secondly,' Rhys went on, 'in regard to the two bastards at my door, it's up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you're still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.' There was such light in his eyes. It made him look... younger, somehow. More mortal. So at odds with the icy rage I'd seen earlier when I'd awoken... Awoken on that couch, and then decided I wasn't returning home. Decided that, perhaps, the Spring Court might not be my home.

I wake the next morning to a gentle tap, tap, tap on the side of my nose. I blink my eyes open and startle when I see a face looking into mine. Hayley grins at me. “You sweepy?” she says quietly. I was until she tapped against my face like a hungry bird. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and look over at Logan. He’s lying beside me with one arm flung over his head, his mouth hanging open. I snuggle deeper into my pillow. “Where’s your daddy?” I ask. “Sweeping,” she says. She’s dragging a bunny by the ears. “I’m hungwy,” she says. I cover a yawn with my open palm. I probably have awful morning breath. “Can you go and wake your daddy?” She shakes her head. “He said to go back to sweep.” I look toward the window. The sun is just barely over the horizon. “I want a pancake,” she says. A pancake? “How about some cereal?” I ask as I throw the covers off myself and get up. I take a pair of Logan’s boxers from his drawer and put them on. “Dos are Logan’s,” she says, scowling at me. “Do you think he’ll mind if I borrow them?” I whisper at her. She shakes her head and smiles, taking my hand in her free one so she can lead me from the room. “You don’t got to whisper. Logan can’t hear,” she says. I laugh. She’s right. And what’s funny is that it took a three-year-old to remind me. I hold a finger to my lips, though, as we step out into the hallway. “But your daddy can. Shh.” She giggles and repeats my shush.

She’s smart, but it’s not just that she’s smart. She works harder than anyone I know, yet she’s too hard on herself. Everyone likes Mia. From the geeks to the jocks to the stoners, every single group of kids in our class has nothing but the best to say about her because she never judges. She’s not petty like other people. She doesn’t gossip, but instead, she gives people the benefit of the doubt. I’ve seen her put others first, one too many times because she hates confrontation. Unless it’s with me, of course, and then she’s brutal.” Carson’s voice grew soft as he turned me around in his arms to face him. “But she puts too much pressure on herself to be perfect. And I hate that. It eats away at me when I see it.” My heart pounded like a drum in my chest until I thought it might burst. All I could do was stare up at him, my lashes fluttering as I blinked away my shock. He reached up to my hair and smoothed a hand through my locks, and for a moment, I wondered if he remembered we weren’t alone, that there was someone—a stranger—standing only feet away from us, but he just continued, dragging his fingers through the length of my locks as he said, “Her hair. . .it reminds me of the sunset—both orange, and fiery pink, and pale yellow at the same time. She’s a good friend—loyal to the core and trustworthy, the kind who will be on your side through anything. And her laugh. . .She has this laugh. The one where she doesn’t think someone’s funny, but she’s pretending anyway. That laugh doesn’t reach her eyes. But her real laugh, now that’s something to see because her whole face gets into it. It’s uncontrollable. It sounds like wind chimes, and she crinkles her nose and eyes.” Reaching up, he touched the bridge of my nose, making me gasp. “And every time I hear it, I think, I want to be the one to make her laugh like that because it’s impossible to hear and not smile. It pulls you in, that laugh.

A loud clang of what sounded like a tray hitting the marble kitchen floor made Bree jump and Gianni go wide eyed with apparent terror. He covered his ears and shook his head. “Bang! Bang! Bang!” He fell over and covered his head. Bree rushed over to him as he began shrieking fearfully. “Maaammaaaaaa!” “Is okay, Gianni. Just a ting falled down,” Will said patting Gianni’s back but Bree noticed her little boy’s hand was shaking. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s here. That’s okay,” she crouched down and gathered Gianni into her arms. “Bang! Mama. It bang!” he wailed into her shoulder, trembling in her arms. “It was just a loud noise. Cook just dropped something, probably a whole big plate of yucky beets. Isn’t that funny?” she said, forcing a laugh. Jesus Christ, how much more violence would her children be forced to endure? Again, Bree felt selfish for bringing her innocent babies into the Dardano world. Gianni looked up at her, picking up on her tone he gave a small watery smile. “Ucky ee “Yucky yucky beets,” Bree repeated bouncing him lightly as her heart returned to its normal rhythm in her chest. Gianni giggled and shuddered against her as the last remnants of his fear dissipated. Bree looked over at Will. “You okay, sweetie?” Will blinked and looked over at her, wide eyed and his lower lip quivered, but he set his chin like she knew he’d watched Alessandro do and nodded. “I bwave. I nod scared.” Bree smiled at him and kissed his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Wow. That is pretty brave. I know I was scared when I first heard the noise.” “Really?” Will asked hesitantly. “Definitely,” Bree nodded. Gianni echoed the gesture. “Well, dat’s diffen. You’s a girl.” “Oh, is that so?” Bree asked setting Gianni on the blanket next to her. “So you think ’cause mommy’s a girl she’s a fraidy cat. Huh? Huh?” she asked poking him. Will curled in on himself and giggled as he tried to avoid her fingers.

It’s not all about hitting. There’s an art to it. A talent. You need power but also smarts. When to hit and where. You have to outthink your opponent. It’s not all about size. Determination and experience play a part.” “Like in business,” she said. “The skill set translates.” She wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t it hurt when you get hit?” “Some. But boxing is what I knew. Without it, I would have just been some kid on the streets.” “You’re saying hitting people kept you from being bad?” “Something like that. Put down your glass.” She set it on the desk. He did the same, then stepped in front of her. “Hit me,” he said. She tucked both hands behind her back. “I couldn’t.” The amusement was back. “Do you actually think you can hurt me?” She eyed his broad chest. “Probably not. And I might hurt myself.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket, then unfastened his tie. In one of those easy, sexy gestures, he pulled it free of his collar and tossed it over a chair. “Raise your hands and make a fist,” he said. “Thumbs out.” Feeling a little foolish, she did as he requested. He stood in front of her again, this time angled, his left side toward her. “Hit me,” he said. “Put your weight behind it. You can’t hurt me.” “Are you challenging me?” He grinned. “Think you can take me?” Not on her best day, but she was willing to make the effort. She punched him in the arm. Not hard, but not lightly. He frowned. “Anytime now.” “Funny.” “Try again. This time hit me like you mean it or I’ll call you a girl.” “I am a girl.” She punched harder this time and felt the impact back to her shoulder. Duncan didn’t even blink. “Maybe I’d do better at tennis,” she murmured. “It’s all about knowing what to do.” He moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You want to bend your knees and keep your chin down. As you start the punch, think about a corkscrew.” He demonstrated in slow motion. “That will give you power,” he said. “It’s a jab. A good jab can make a boxer’s career. Lean into the punch.” She was sure his words were making sense, but it was difficult to think with him standing so close. She was aware of his body just inches from hers, of the strength and heat he radiated. The need to simply relax into his arms was powerful. Still, she did her best to pay attention, and when he stepped in front of her again so she could demonstrate, she did her best to remember what he’d said. This time, she felt the impact all the way up her arm. There was a jarring sensation, but also the knowledge that she’d hit a lot harder. “Did I bruise you?” she asked, almost hoping he would say yes, or at least rub his arm. “No, but that was better. Did you feel the difference?” “Yes, but I still wouldn’t want to be a boxer.” “Probably for the best. You’d get your nose broken.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “I wouldn’t want that.” She leaned closer. “Have you had your nose broken?” “A couple of times.” She peered at his handsome face. “I can’t tell.” “I was lucky.” She put her hand on his chin to turn his head. He looked away, giving her a view of his profile. There was a small bump on his nose. Nothing she would have noticed. “You couldn’t just play tennis?” she asked. He laughed, then captured her hand in his and faced her. They were standing close together, his fingers rubbing hers. She shivered slightly, but not from cold. His eyes darkened as he seemed to loom over her. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He swallowed. “Annie.” The word was more breath than sound. She heard the wanting in his voice and felt an answering hunger burning inside her. There were a thousand reasons she should run and not a single reason to stay. She knew that she was the one at risk, knew that he wasn’t looking for anything permanent. But the temptation was too great. Being around Duncan was the best part of her day.

She frowned at him and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’re pretty damned stubborn, aren’t you?” He thought that was evident and not worth answering, so he just let himself disappear into her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. He loved how liquid and soft they were. She started to move away and he caught her arm. “Don’t go.” “I don’t like people touching me.” He should have let go of her, but instead he rubbed the pads of his fingers up and down her bare arm. Her shirt was still half buttoned, and he was tempted to stroke her flat belly just to know the texture of her. “I don’t like it either,” he said. And it was true. Funny. He’d never admitted that to anyone. It didn’t particularly matter, he did what had to be done, but he didn’t like it— maybe not in the same way she meant. His was a matter of personal space, a natural avoidance of closeness with others. But Rikki . . . He studied her face. “I don’t think my touch bothers you that much.” She blinked. She rarely blinked, but he’d struck home. She compressed her lips and then narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re pretty arrogant for a man who can’t move with a pile of weapons sitting next to him.” “You have such a penchant for violence.” She looked outraged. “I do? You’re the one being hostile. I’m Mother Teresa here. And I don’t like sick people.” “Do you like anyone?” Amusement was creeping in again. He was beginning to like the feeling. “Anything?” “Not particularly.

Life has a funny way of changing in the blink of an eye. It’s so unsteady. One minute love is the answer to everything, and the next you’re hopelessly trying to use it to fix the unfixable.

Hal—come sit!” Rachel is looking back. She motions toward a sliver of space between Jonah and Madison. “There’s room.” “No. There’s not.” Luke says it without even turning around. “How do you and Hallie know each other, anyway?” “We met in the bathroom. Earlier tonight. She seems cool.” Rachel smiles at Hallelujah. Hallelujah can’t bring herself to smile back. “Sure, if you like the strong, silent type. I don’t. No offense.” Luke laughs, and Brad laughs, and the girls from Knoxville take that as their cue to laugh too. Like it was actually funny. Rachel doesn’t laugh. She’s still smiling, but now it’s like she’s not sure whether she should be. “Come on, Hal,” she says. “We’ll make room.” But Luke’s shaking his head. “Sorry. Guess I’m not being clear. There might be room for someone. But there’s not room for Hallie. Hal. Whatever you wanna call her. Besides. She has to get back. Curfew.” Rachel looks from Luke to Hallelujah, confused. “We’re all breaking curfew.” “Yeah, but it’s Hallie’s fault we have early curfew in the first place. And it’s her fault we have so many chaperones to deal with.” Luke’s counting on his fingers, holding them in the air. “Plus, they’ll probably be checking up on her. So she can’t stay.” “How is all of that her fault?” Rachel asks. “What’d she do?” “Yeah, Luke. What’d she do?” It’s Jonah. Hallelujah is kind of shocked to hear his voice. It’s low, with a dark undercurrent that’s unfamiliar to her. Then again, it’s been months since they talked. And a lot has changed. “If I remember it right,” Jonah goes on, still staring into the fire, “she wasn’t the only one.” Luke looks over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Jonah says. “Just making an observation.” “An observation,” Luke repeats. “Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence. It’s uncomfortable. Hallelujah feels like the night sounds get louder to compensate. The wind rustling tree branches. The hum of cicadas. Birdcalls. They’re suffocating her. Then Luke shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever. Hallie still has to go.” He swings around to look at her directly. “What are you waiting for?” Hallelujah blinks, wishing that small movement could make her vanish. Everyone in the circle is staring. Waiting for her to leave. Their eyes cut into her. She takes two steps backward, tears clouding her vision. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She turns and starts walking away. Walking, not running. She doesn’t want to give Luke that satisfaction.

How did you two meet?” she asks. She tilts her head to the side. Something tells me that she already knows the story, but her husband has set aside his Blackberry and is listening now. Emily looks up at me and blinks her pretty brown eyes. “I went into his tattoo shop to get a tattoo.” She grins. “And he put the moves on me.” She nudges me in the side. “Can I tell them what happened next?” I can feel her laughter against my side. “She punched me in the face, Mrs. Madison.” I reach up and absently stroke across my nose. “He tried to put the moves on me, and I was angry.” She shrugs, but she’s still laughing. “I’ll never forget the look on his face.” “One minute I think I’m going to get to spend some time with a pretty girl,” I say. Emily squeezes my hand when I say “spend some time” because we both know I tried to lay her, just like I used to do with every woman I met. “And the next, she breaks my nose.” Emily laughs. She tugs my sleeve until I look down at her. “You never tried that move on anyone else, did you? After that?” “You cured me of that particular move,” I say. I laugh because it’s funny now. It wasn’t nearly as funny then. It fucking hurt. “Was it love at first sight?” her mom asks. I look down into Emily’s eyes. I was intrigued by her the moment I saw that tattoo she wanted. There was so much in that drawing that made me want to get to know her. But she wouldn’t let me. “It was almost instantaneous for me,” I admit. Trip jabs a finger toward his throat like he wants to make himself throw up, but I think I’m the only one who sees it. “It took me a little longer,” she says.

He blinked and then smiled at my attempt as a joke. My stomach twisted. Good grief. It was the first time he had smiled properly. I was lucky I was sitting down. The experience transformed his face and revealed a row of perfect white teeth. Those golden brown eyes glowed and a series of laughter lines creased his face. They were the sort of lines that did funny things to a woman's stomach, not to mention other places.

You’re really going to kick me out?” “Yes, I really am.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook folded her arms. Jane bit her lip and bent her head back to look at the sky. Funny that it looked so far away. It felt as if it were pressing down on her head, shoving her into the dirt. What a mean bully of a sky. Much of the household was present now. Miss Heartwright was huddled with the main actors, whispering, like rubberneckers shocked at a roadside accident but unable to look away. A couple of gardeners strolled up as well, tools in hand. Martin wiped his brow, confusion (sadness?) heavy on his face. Jane was embarrassed to see him, remembering how she’d ended things, and feeling less than appealing at the moment. The whole scene was rather Hester Prynne, and Jane imagined herself on a scaffold with a scarlet C for “cell phone” on her chest. She realized she was still holding her croquet mallet and wondered that no one felt threatened by her. She hefted it. Would it be fun to bash in a window? Nah. She handed it to Miss Charming. “Go get ‘em, Charming.” “Okay,” Miss Charming said uncertainly. “If you would be so kind as to step into the carriage,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook. Curse the woman. Jane had just started to have such fun, too. Why didn’t one of the gentlemen come forward to defend her? Wasn’t that, like, their whole purpose of existence? She supposed they’d be fired if they did. The cowards. She stood on the carriage’s little step and turned to face the others. She’d never left a relationship with the last word, something poetic and timeless, triumphant amid her downfall. Oh, for a perfect line! She opened her mouth, hoping something just right would come to her, but Miss Heartwright spoke first. “Mrs. Wattlesbrook! Oh dear, I have only now realized what transpired.” She lifted the hem of her skirts and minced her way to the carriage. “Please wait, this is all my fault. Poor Miss Erstwhile was only doing me a favor. You see, the modern contraption was mine. I did not realize I had it until I arrived, and I was so distressed, Miss Erstwhile kindly offered to keep it for me among her own things where I would not have to look upon it.” Jane stood very still. She thought to wonder what instinct made her body rigid when shocked. Was she prey by nature? A rabbit afraid to move when a hawk wheels overhead? Mrs. Wattlesbrook had not moved either, not even to blink. A silent minute limped forward as everyone waited. “I see,” the proprietress said at last. She looked at Jane, at Miss Heartwright, then fumbled with the keys at her side. “Well, now, ahem, since it was an accident, I think we should forget it ever happened. I do hope, Miss Heartwright, that you will continue to honor us with your presence.” Ah, you old witch, Jane thought. “Yes, of course, thank you.” Miss Heartwright was in her best form, all proper feminine concern, artless and pleasant. Her eyes twinkled. They really did. Everyone began to move off, nothing disturbing left to view. Jane caught a glimpse of Martin smiling, pleased, before he turned away. “I’m so sorry, Jane. I do hope you will forgive me.” “Please don’t mention it, Miss Heartwright.” “Amelia.” She held Jane’s hand to help her descend from the carriage. “You must call me Amelia now.” “Thank you, Amelia.” It was such a sisterly moment, Jane thought they might actually embrace. They didn’t.

Lord Charles?" "Amy."  He smiled sleepily and rose up on one elbow, the blanket sliding down one shoulder.  "Good morning." Temporary silence.  Charles was unaware that Amy had a friend with her, and he was totally oblivious to the sight he presented to the two girls, his hair tousled by sleep, his pale blue eyes clear as aquamarine as a shaft of sunlight drove through the window and caught him full in the face.  A sighted man would, of course, have squinted; Charles did not, and instead, Mira and Amy were treated to a brilliant, wide-open view of clear, intelligent eyes, romantically down turned at the outer corners and fringed by long straight lashes tinged with gold. "Hell and tarnation above, Amy, ye sure weren't jokin'!  He's bleedin' gorgeous!" "Mira!" cried Amy, horrified. Charles was hard-pressed to hide his amusement.  He knew, of course, or had at least suspected, that Amy had a girlish infatuation for him, and he'd tried his best not to embarrass her by calling attention to it.  He determined not to do so now. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked, still supporting himself on one elbow and blinking the sleep from his eyes. Mira, standing there with her mouth open, was transfixed by that slow, deliberate blink.  In a heartbeat, she saw what Amy had described:  studied thoughtfulness, kindness, compassion.  The way the man lowered those long eyelashes over those translucently clear eyes, then slowly brought them back up again, did something funny to her insides.  Cripes, no wonder Amy was smitten! "Mira Ashton, patriot," she announced.  "I'm Amy's friend.  She tells me ye're a blasted Brit who took it upon himself to be merciful to Will, so I guess I'll take it upon myself to be merciful to you.  Besides, I hear ye're being nice to Amy, and since everyone else in this house treats her like donkey dung, I figger the least I can do is be civil to ye — redcoat or not." "Mira!" Amy gasped. "Well, it's true.  Where are those two bleedin' leeches, anyhow?" Despite himself, and his irritation with both the girl's language and her rather vexing use of the word "Brit," Charles got to his feet and bowed, his spirits suddenly quite buoyed.  If Amy had friends like this, maybe he shouldn't be worrying about her, after all. "Still in bed, I daresay," he said.

You have an accent I do not recognize," he was saying. 'Tis certainly not local…." "Really, Lord Gareth — you should rest, not try to talk. Save your strength." "My dear angel, I can assure you I'd much rather talk to you, than lie here in silence and wonder if I shall live to see the next sunrise. I ... do not wish to be alone with my thoughts at the moment. Pray, amuse me, would you?" She sighed. "Very well, then. I'm from Boston." "County of Lincolnshire?" "Colony of Massachusetts." His smile faded. "Ah, yes ... Boston."  The town's name fell wearily from his lips and he let his eyes drift shut, as though that single word had drained him of his remaining strength. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?" "Farther, perhaps, than I should be," she said, cryptically. He seemed not to hear her. "I had a brother who died over there last year, fighting the rebels.... He was a captain in the Fourth. I miss him dreadfully." Juliet leaned the side of her face against the squab and took a deep, bracing breath. If this man died, he would never know just who the little girl playing so contentedly with his cravat was. He would never know that the stranger who was caring for him during his final moments was the woman his brother had loved, would never know just why she — a long way from home, indeed — had come to England. It was now or never. "Yes," she whispered, tracing a thin crack in the squab near her face. "So do I." "Sorry?" "I said, yes. I miss him too." "Forgive me, but I don't quite understand...."  And then he blanched and stiffened as the truth hit him with debilitating force. His eyes widened, their lazy dreaminess fading. His head rose halfway out of her lap. He stared at her and blinked, and in the sudden, charged silence that filled the coach, Juliet heard the pounding tattoo of her own heart, felt his gaze boring into the underside of her chin as his mind, dulled by pain and shock, quickly put the pieces together. Boston. Juliet. I miss him, too. He gave an incredulous little laugh. "No," he said, slowly shaking his head, as though he suspected he was the butt of some horrible joke or worse, knew she was telling the truth and could not find a way to accept it. He scrutinized her features, his gaze moving over every aspect of her face. "We all thought ... I mean, Lucien said he tried to locate you ... No, I am hallucinating, I must be!  You cannot be the same Juliet. Not his Juliet —" "I am," she said quietly. "His Juliet. And now I've come to England to throw myself on the mercy of his family, as he bade me to do should anything happen to him." "But this is just too extraordinary, I cannot believe —" Juliet was gazing out the window into the darkness again. "He told you about me, then?" "Told us? His letters home were filled with nothing but declarations of love for his 'colonial maiden,' his 'fair Juliet' — he said he was going to marry you. I ... you ... dear God, you have shocked my poor brain into speechlessness, Miss Paige. I do not believe you are here, in the flesh!" "Believe it," she said, miserably. "If Charles had lived, you and I would have been brother and sister. Don't die, Lord Gareth. I have no wish to see yet another de Montforte brother into an early grave." He settled back against her arm and flung one bloodstained wrist across his eyes, his body shaking. For a moment she thought the shock of her revelation had killed him. But no. Beneath the lace of his sleeve she could see his gleaming grin, and Juliet realized that he was not dying but convulsing with giddy, helpless mirth. For the life of her, she did not see what was so funny. "Then this baby —" he managed, sliding his wrist up his brow to peer up at her with gleaming eyes — "this baby —" "Is your niece.

Funny how everything can be perfect, and within the blink of an eye, things come crashing down.

No one asked you, boy,” Gawain said. “Get back with the other soldiers.”   Clark flinched, his shoulders climbing to his ears and his face falling. His gaze darted to Fallon and away as he took the dressing down.   “I asked him here,” Shea said, staring Gawain down.   He snorted but didn’t say anything, Fallon’s presence keeping him from voicing his opinion.   “I’ll just go, Shea. It’s alright. I should probably report back to see if they need any scouts.” Clark didn’t wait for a reply, turning his horse and sending it galloping back to the line.   She watched him go before taking a deep breath. She turned back around. Eamon and Buck watched her for a moment before giving the Rain Clan’s elder hard glances. He didn’t pay them any attention, probably deciding they were no worthier of being here, than Clark had been.   “You do the boy no favors by making him think he can break the chain of command,” Gawain said, his tone patronizing. “You won’t always be there to protect him.”   Shea’s hands tightened on the reins of her mount. It took considerable effort to bite back the words that wanted to escape her. Only the knowledge that Fallon might have need of this man kept her from the scathing retort she had forming.   In a coordinated movement, made all the more comical for it, Buck and Eamon stuck their tongues out and rolled their eyes before assuming their normal stone-faced expressions—the ones they wore around Trateri expedition leaders whom they found obnoxious.   Shea smothered the brief giggle the sight caused her. She schooled her face and gave them a nod of gratitude. She looked up and blinked, as she found herself pinned under the enigmatic gaze of Fallon. His eyes flicked to her two friends then back to her.   She held her breath, sensing a chastisement coming. He lowered one eyelid in an exaggerated wink before sticking just the tip of his tongue out and wrinkling his nose. This time she didn’t quite contain her laugh.   Fallon’s face was cool and implacable as Shea lost the battle and her chortles rolled out. The rest of the party besides Fallon, Eamon and Buck eyed her with concern, not seeing what she found so funny.   “If the Telroi could compose herself, perhaps we could get back to the business at hand,” Braden said.   “My name is Shea. I suggest you remember it.

I’m sorry, what?” I said, blinking through my fog. “I wasn’t listening.” “Obviously,” my friend said with a playfully scolding tone. “I asked you what Tiresias told Narcissus’ mom about him. What was the prophecy?” “Let me think,” I said as I carved through the stories mentally. “Well, we know it’s vague,” Daniella supplied unhelpfully. “Prophecies are notoriously vague,” Bethany said as she popped a potato chip in her mouth. The crunch resounded through the dorm room and interrupted our study session. “Yeah, like the Ultimate Weapon one,” I muttered. “Didn’t Sarah tell you to focus on studying for the final tomorrow?” Jade reminded me. “Yeah,” I grunted, regretting ever telling them why I showed up at the late-night study session sooner than I planned. “Alright, Tiresias said that Narcissus should…” I closed my eyes and searched for the correct words. “Never know himself!” I concluded triumphantly. Beth scribbled down the answer. Then she perked up unexpectedly with a weird expression on her face. “That makes it sound like he wasn’t allowed to masturbate. Like he couldn’t know himself.” Beth’s eyebrows jumped suggestively. I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what it means.” “I know, but it’s funny,” Daniella said through a snort. “Maybe your prophecy has to do with masturbation,” Jade joked as she bent over the bed to reach for Beth’s bag of potato chips. She lifted them up, kindly, so she could grab a handful. “And the Ultimate Weapon is a vibrator!

Sleep well, Gonzo?” I ask. He grins and signs something to Pete. “What did he say?” I ask Pete. “You don’t want to know,” Pete says with a grimace. He glares at Gonzo. “Watch your manners, Karl,” he warns. His voice is stern, and Gonzo hangs his head. That’s the first time I’ve heard Pete call him by his real name. Pete stands up and goes to get a fork for one of the other boys. He’s still glaring at Gonzo, and now I’m dying to know what he said to earn such disfavor from Pete. “What did I miss?” I ask, looking back and forth between them. “Some adolescent humor,” Pete grumbles, looking at Gonzo from beneath lowered lashes. Pete reaches for a salt shaker for another of the boys. “Which wasn’t amusing.” Gonzo signs something quickly to Pete. “I know that was meant for me,” Pete says quietly, staring into Gonzo’s eyes. “But she’s sitting right here, and it’s rude to talk in front of her unless I can tell her what you said.” He grumbles something and then says, “And I wouldn’t repeat what you just said for a million dollars.” He holds up his hands as though he’s saying what the fuck. “You don’t talk like that in front of girls, dude.” He jabs a fork at Gonzo. “When we’re alone, you can talk all the shit you want. And it might even be funny.” Gonzo taps me on the shoulder so I look at him. He signs something with his fist close to his chest. The color on his cheeks is high. “He said sorry,” Pete grumbles. Gonzo signs something else and then blinks his eyes at me, batting his thick lashes. “He wants to know if you forgive him.” “I’ll think about it,” I say. I still don’t know what he said, so I don’t know why I should be offended. But Pete’s so serious that I feel like I need to play along. “Gonzo, go ahead and get suctioned or whatever it is you do so we can be ready for the first activity,” Pete says. Gonzo grins and signs something. But he leaves. Pete shakes his head. More boy humor?

Loretta snuggled deeply into silken furs, trying to escape the persistent hand that shook her shoulder and the voice that called to her. Not her name, anyway. Blue Eyes. What kind of name was that? “Blue Eyes, you will be awake now. Home…you wish for home?” Home. Amy and Aunt Rachel. The gray down quilt. Pork slab and eggs for breakfast. Coffee on the porch when the sun peeked over the horizon and streaked the sky with crimson. Home. To laughter and love and safety. Oh, yes, she wished for home. “Be awake, little one. This Comanche will take you back. Loh-rhett-ah? Wake up, Hoos-cho Soh-nips, Bird Bones, you must eat and grow strong so you can go home. To your people and your wooden walls.” Loretta opened her eyes. She rolled onto her back and blinked. A dark face swam above her. Funny, but blinking didn’t bring him into focus. She reached out, curious, then thought better of it. “You will make the honey talk with me? We will make a treaty between us, one with no tiv-ope, writing. You will eat and grow strong, and I will take you to your people.” Honey talk. All lies, according to Hunter. Loretta peered up. She ran her tongue across her lips and tried to swallow. “H-home?” she croaked. “Huh, yes, Blue Eyes. Home. But you must eat so you can live to go back. And drink. For three days. Until you are strong again.” His fingertips grazed her cheek and trailed lightly into her hair. “Then this Comanche will take you.” “You will?” she rasped. “It is a promise I make. You will eat and drink?” Loretta closed her eyes. She had to be dreaming. But oh, what a lovely dream it was. To go home. To have Hunter volunteer to take her there. No need to worry that his wrath would rain upon her family. “No tricks. You swear it?” “No tricks.” His voice echoed and reechoed inside her head, loud, then like a whisper. She fought to open her eyes. The darkness was surrounding her again. “Then I will eat.

It seemed to Hunter that every time he turned around, Bright Star hovered nearby, fluttering her lashes and blushing, making such an obvious play for Hunter’s affections that he knew it couldn’t escape his wife’s notice for long. Hunter didn’t want to shame Bright Star by scorning her. At the same time, he didn’t want Loretta to believe he was encouraging the girl. He already had enough problems. While he mulled the situation over, trying to think of a kind way to discourage Bright Star, the young maiden intensified her campaign, and, as Hunter had feared, Loretta at last realized what was going on. When she did, Hunter took the brunt. “Who is that girl?” Loretta demanded one evening. “What girl?” Hunter felt heat rising up his neck and avoided meeting his wife’s flashing blue gaze. “That girl, the one who seems to have something in her eye.” Hunter obliged Loretta by giving Bright Star a bored glance. “She is sister to my woman who is dead.” He bent back over the arrowhead he was sharpening. “She is called Bright Star.” “She doesn’t look very bright. Is that a tic, or does she always blink that way?” Hunter smothered a snort of laughter. “She makes eyes, yes?” “At you?” He straightened and lifted a dark brow. “You think she makes eyes for you?” Loretta’s spine stiffened. “You think this is funny? Doesn’t she realize that you’re a married--” The flash in her eyes grew more fiery. “Oh, yes, how remiss of me. I forgot that you can have an entire herd of wives.” Hunter sighed and set aside the arrowhead. “This Comanche has no wish for a herd of wives. One is sure enough plenty trouble.” “Are you saying I make your life miserable? If that’s the case, why did you marry me? Why didn’t you marry her?” Hunter knew jealousy when he saw it. Everything else had failed. New tactics were called for. “I could have. Bright Star thinks I would be a fine husband, yes?” “She can have you.” That wasn’t exactly the response Hunter had been hoping for.

Who is that girl?” Loretta demanded one evening. “What girl?” Hunter felt heat rising up his neck and avoided meeting his wife’s flashing blue gaze. “That girl, the one who seems to have something in her eye.” Hunter obliged Loretta by giving Bright Star a bored glance. “She is sister to my woman who is dead.” He bent back over the arrowhead he was sharpening. “She is called Bright Star.” “She doesn’t look very bright. Is that a tic, or does she always blink that way?” Hunter smothered a snort of laughter. “She makes eyes, yes?” “At you?” He straightened and lifted a dark brow. “You think she makes eyes for you?” Loretta’s spine stiffened. “You think this is funny? Doesn’t she realize that you’re a married--” The flash in her eyes grew more fiery. “Oh, yes, how remiss of me. I forgot that you can have an entire herd of wives.” Hunter sighed and set aside the arrowhead. “This Comanche has no wish for a herd of wives. One is sure enough plenty trouble.” “Are you saying I make your life miserable? If that’s the case, why did you marry me? Why didn’t you marry her?” Hunter knew jealousy when he saw it. Everything else had failed. New tactics were called for. “I could have. Bright Star thinks I would be a fine husband, yes?” “She can have you.” That wasn’t exactly the response Hunter had been hoping for. “You have me, one unto the other, forever until we die and rot. It was your wish.” She sputtered for a moment, trying to speak. “I wasforced into this farce of a marriage!” He shrugged again. “And you do not want your man. It is sure enough a sad thing.” He thumbed his hand at Bright Star, who was still fluttering her lashes. “She wants what you do not. Yet you are angry? It is boisa, Blue Eyes.” Loretta flew to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. “It sounds as if you’ve been cheated all the way around, you poor man. Well, let me tell you something!” “I am here.” She jutted her small chin at him. “As long as you have wandering eyes, this woman wouldn’t have you in her buffalo robes if you crawled on your knees and begged. Is that clear?” She swung her arm toward Bright Star. “You can have her! You can have every woman in the village! Be my guest. But you can’t have me as well, make no mistake in that!” With that, Loretta spun and ran into the lodge. Hunter sat there a moment, listening to the muffled sounds that drifted from the doorway. Sobbing. With a snarl, he picked up the nearly finished arrowhead he had been sharpening and threw it into some nearby brush.

What’s ‘Anders’ short for?” He blinked his thoughts away and glanced to Valerie. She was looking more relaxed now that he wasn’t approaching, and her head was tipped curiously as she waited for his answer. Apparently he wasn’t quick enough answering, because she went on, “Or is it your last name like you call Justin by his last name Bricker?” “It’s a short form of my last name,” he answered. Her eyebrows rose. “Which is?” “Andronnikov.” That made her eyes widen. “What’s your first name?” He was silent for a moment, but suspected now that she knew she didn’t even know his first name, Valerie would hardly be willing to kiss him again, let alone anything else if he didn’t tell her. Women could be funny about wanting to know the name of the guy sticking their tongue down her throat while groping her. “My first name is Semen.” She blinked several times at this news, and then simply breathed, “Oh dear.” At least she wasn’t laughing, Anders thought wryly, and explained, “It’s Basque in origin. Based on the word for son.” “I see,” she murmured. “Everyone just calls me Anders.” “Yes, I can see why,” she muttered, and then cleared her throat and said, “So your father was Russian, and your mother Basque and neither of them spoke English?” “What makes you think that?” “Well it’s that or they had a sick sense of humor,” she said dryly. “That’s like naming a daughter Ova. Worse even. I’m surprised you survived high school with a name like that.” “Actually, I’ve met a couple of women named Ova over the years,” Anders said with amusement. “Dear God,” she muttered. Anders chuckled and moved sideways, not drawing any closer, but moving to grip the edge of the pool as she was doing so that they faced each other with their sides to the pool rim. Valerie smiled, and then said, “So were you raised in Basque Country or Russia or Canada?” “Russia to start,” he answered solemnly, easing a step closer in the water. She nodded, seemingly unsurprised and said, “You have a bit of an accent. Not a thick one, but a bit of it. I figured you weren’t raised here from birth.” “No, I came here later,” Anders acknowledged. Much later, but he kept that to himself for now and eased another step closer.

I'm here for you, Max. Always." Those words. Every time she says them, they land like an arrow to my heart. They're a reminder that I've got her in my corner. And I want her to know that I'll be there for her too. Always. "I'm here for you too, Joelle. Always, no matter what." The way she melts into my body softens me. I'm head over heels for this woman, and I fucking love it. Love. The word echoes in my mind. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. For a quiet minute we just hold each other. I close my eyes and relish the feel of her against me. Without her I'd... The thought cuts off in my head. Without Joelle. Just imagining that scenario has me panicking. Love. An unfamiliar ache claims my throat as my heart races. Love. It rings louder in my head until it's the only word I know. Love. I glance down at Joelle, cuddled into my chest, blinking slowly, her delicate shoulders rising with each breath she takes. And that's when it hits me. I don't ever want to know a life without Joelle. Because I'm in love with her. The thought lands like a brick to the head, but in the best way. Because the impact of that realization leaves me in a daze. It's like I'm floating. The most thoughtful, beautiful, kind, funny, and loyal person I've ever met---and she's with me. And I love her.

I will accompany you,' Cardan says, rising. I open my mouth to explain all the reasons that he can't go. The problem is that as I look up in to his gold-rimmed eyes and he blinks mock-innocently down at me, I can't think of a single one that will actually stop him. 'Good,' he says, sweeping past me. 'We're decided. ... In the hall, I am forced to walk faster to catch up with Cardan. 'You don't even know where we're going.' He pushes black curls away from his face. 'Fand, where are we going?' The knight looks miserable but answers. 'To Hollow Hall.' 'Ah,' he says. 'Then I am already proven useful. You will need me to charm the door.

...it's too bad bad you're not like the Suriel, spouting any information I want if I'm clever enough to snare you.' For a moment, he blinked at me. Then his mouth twisted to the side and that metal eye whizzed and narrowed on me. 'I suppose you won't tell me what you want to know.' 'You have your secrets, and I have mine,' I said carefully. I couldn't tell whether he would try to convince me otherwise if I told him the truth. 'But if you were a Suriel,' I added with deliberate slowness, in case he hadn't caught my meaning, 'how, exactly, would I trap you?' Lucien set down the knife and picked at his nails. For a moment, I wondered if he would tell me anything at all. Wondered if he would go right to Tamlin and tattle. But then he said. 'I'd probably have a weakness for groves of young birch trees in the western woods, and freshly slaughtered chickens, and would probably be so greedy that I wouldn't notice the double-loop snare rigged around the grove to pin my legs in place.' 'Hmm,' I didn't dare ask why he had decided to be so accommodating. There was still a good chance he wouldn't mind seeing me dead, but I would risk it. 'I somehow prefer you as a High Fae.' He smirked, but the amusement was short-lived. 'If I were insane and stupid enough to go after a Suriel, I'd also take a bow and quiver, and maybe a knife just like this one.' He sheathed the knife he'd cleaned and set it down on the edge of the table- an offering. 'And I'd be prepared to run like hell when I freed it- to the nearest running water, which they hate crossing.' 'But you're not insane, so you'll be here, safe and sound?' 'I'll be conveniently hunting on the grounds, and with my superior hearing, I might be feeling generous enough to listen if someone screams from the western woods. But it's a good thing I had no role in telling you to go out today, since Tam would eviscerate anyone who told you how to trap a Suriel; and it's a good thing I had planned to hunt anyway, because if anyone caught me helping you, there would be trouble of a whole other hell awaiting us. I hope your secrets are worth it.' He said it with his usual grin, but there was an edge to it- a warning I didn't miss. Another riddle- and another bit of information. I said, 'It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut.' He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. 'I think I'm starting to like you- for a murdering human.

I came here a great deal in those weeks after Under the Mountain.' My throat tightened as I leaned in to brush a kiss to his cheek. 'Thank you for sharing this place with me.' 'It belongs to you, too, now.' And I knew he meant not just in terms of us being mates, but... in the ways it belonged to the other females here. Who had endured and survived. I gave him a half smile. 'I suppose it's a miracle that I can even stand to be underground.' But his features remained solemn, contemplative. 'It is.' He added softly. 'I'm very proud of you.' My eyes burned, and I blinked as I faced the books. 'And I suppose,' I said with an effort at lightness, 'that it's a miracle I can actually read these things.' Rhys's answering smile was lovely- and just a bit wicked. 'I believe my little lessons helped.' 'Yes, "Rhys is the greatest lover a female can hope for" is undoubtedly how I learned to read.' 'I was only trying to tell you what you now know.

Am I unaware of a new recruitment policy where half-dressed ladies in cloaks are now needed on the Rise?' he asked. 'Are we that desperately in need of protection?' Anger hit my blood like wildfire. 'Desperate? Why would my presence on the Rise signal desperation when, as you've seen, I know how to use a bow? Oh, wait. Is it because I happen to have breasts?' 'I've known women with far less beautiful breasts that could cut a man down without so much as blinking an eye,' he said. 'But none of those women are here in Masadonia.

Just as I was pulling over he started shifting in his seat, and I glanced over to see him pulling a slim black wallet out. Jesus. I pulled over to the curb in front of the square white stone home. “Don’t.” His silence was deafening as he sat there, duffel on his lap, one hand on the car door, and the other holding a slim coffee-colored leather wallet. “I’m giving you a ride as a favor. I don’t want your money,” I explained to him carefully. He started to pull out a bill from his wallet regardless. “Hey, I’m not joking. I don’t want your money.” Kulti started to shove a fifty at me. “Here.” I reached up and cupped his hand, crushing the bill between us. “I don’t want it.” “Take it.” He pushed against me. I pushed back. “No.” “Stop being stubborn and take the money,” Kulti argued, his face exasperated. Well if he thought he was the only one getting aggravated, he was dead wrong. “I said no. I don’t want it. Just get out.” It was his turn to start with the one-word replies. “No.” Screw this. I put some muscle behind it and slowly started pushing our hands back toward him. Well I made it two inches before he realized what I was doing and then began pushing back, only he was stronger and he advanced more than two inches. “Quit it. I’m not joking. Take your money.” I grunted a little, putting more weight into my push, almost futilely. Those green-brown eyes flicked up to with an even look that had annoyance written all over it. “I said I would pay you—“ “I don’t want your money, you hardheaded ass—“ Oh dear God. I stopped pushing the second I realized what I said. It must have been so unexpected that he wasn’t paying attention because the next thing that I knew, he was punching me in the shoulder. It didn’t hurt at all. But for some reason, instinct had me saying “oww” anyway. We both looked like we’d violated the other. Like I’d backstabbed him for saying ‘oww’ and I’m sure I looked at him like I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to hit me. Sure it was an accident, and an accident that didn’t hurt on top of that, but… “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking down at his hand like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. I opened my mouth and then I closed it. Reiner Kulti had just punched me in the shoulder. I had driven him home, argued with him over how I didn’t want his money, and then he punched me in the shoulder. I closed my eyes, pinched my nose and burst out laughing. “Get outta here,” I said when I started laughing harder. “I didn’t mean to—“ I threw my head back against the headrest and felt myself shake with how stupid this was. “I know. I know you didn’t. But just get out, it’s fine. I need to get to work before you punch me in the other shoulder.” “This isn’t funny,” he snapped. “It was an accident.” Suddenly I stopped laughing and snapped right back at him, “I know it was, jeez. I was just messing with you.” I gave him a wide-eyed look. “A joke, do you know what that is?” I mean, I’d already gone for calling him a hardheaded ass, and he hadn’t thought twice about it, but that might have been because he’d punched me immediately afterward. “Yes, I know what a joke is,” he grumbled back. Whether it was because I was tired of this shit, his shit or whatever, I found myself caring less and less who he was and how I should probably treat him differently. Maybe not totally, but at least a little bit. “I’m happy to hear that.” I scooped the fifty bucks that had fallen on my lap after the meeting of his fist and my shoulder and tossed it at him. “I really do need to get to work though, so…” I tipped my head in the direction of the door at his side, indifferent to how rude I was being. Did he look confused that I was kicking him out? I think so but he didn’t argue, and he took the wadded-up money and held onto it as he got out of the car. Straightening up, he held the door in one hand and looked inside. “Thank you.” Finally. I blinked at him and nodded. “You’re welcome.” Just like that, he shut the door.

Oh. My. God. My friends said it looks funny. I didn't agree nor disagree. I disagreed mentally. ...Because holy crap. I think he did it on purpose, just to drive me crazy. (Well it's working.) Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. He will not get out of my head. I see it every time I close my eyes. Imagine me blinking. I will die if I don't get to see it again. I'm suffering from withdrawals. ...Because holy crap.

that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window. At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. ‘Little tyke,’ chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four’s drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn’t realise what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn’t a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive – no, looking at the sign; cats couldn’t read maps or signs. Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day. But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren’t young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But

It’s funny how from seventeen to seventy can be the blink of an eye, all of a sudden.

The second I step into The Phoenix, Zelda hits me with another one of those stupid glares of hers. Well, I’m not one to keep things bottled up. The question is out before the bell over the door stops ringing. “Why, why, why do you keep looking at me like that?” She glances at the others around her like she doesn’t know full well I’m talking to her. “Who? Me?” She puts a dainty hand to her chest. I go into a long speech as I walk down the center aisle of the shop. “Cut the innocent act. You’re up to something. Every time I see you, you either look at me like you want me to burst into flames or like you know a secret about me. But the thing is, I’m an open book, I have no secrets. So, either you really do want me to burst into flames or you have, like, eye Tourette’s. Like you don’t have control over them. And if that were the case, then why have I never seen you randomly cross your eyes or blink rapidly?” Her brows knit together and her lips purse. Then her face relaxes and she freaking crosses her eyes. She turns to everyone else. “I have no idea what this guy is talking about.” They all laugh way too hard for my liking. Logan crosses his eyes, too. “Dude, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water? Maybe a cup of tea?” “Ha ha, it’s all so funny, but I’m serious!” My arms fling out in exasperation. “She’s up to something.” Zelda shakes her head and scoffs. “Whatever, Dan.

Cracking one eye open, I saw Kash sitting on the edge of my bed just staring at me with an amused expression. “Can I help you?” I mumbled against the pillow. “I’m hungry and want pancakes.” “You want . . . What are you, five?! Make your own. I even bought the easy-make pancakes last weekend. All you have to do is add water.” I rolled over and groaned. “Seven thirty? Kash, we didn’t get back from work until after one. You have got to stop waking me up so early. And how are you even in here?” He looked like he was fighting a smile and his eyes kept flashing up above mine. “Candice let me in.” Trying to act like I didn’t notice where his eyes kept going, and like I wasn’t flipping out because I was sure my hair looked like a hot mess, I slowly brought my arm up to brush back the hair from my face when my hand hit something that tugged at my forehead. “What the hell?” I tried to look straight up and even leaned my head back to try to follow whatever was at the very top of my forehead. I saw a blue tip and grabbed at it before yanking it off and holding it in front of my eyes. “A Nerf dart?!” Kash shamelessly pulled up a Nerf gun and waved it at his side. His eyes slid back up to my forehead and a hard laugh burst from his chest. Rolling back, he fell off the bed and landed with a dull thump on the floor. “What?” I snapped, and scrambled out of bed. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was hit once in the butt and once on my calf by more darts. “You’re such a child, Kash!” Flipping on the light, I blinked against the brightness before focusing on the mirror. A loud gasp filled the small room. “Logan Kash Hendricks! What did you do?” He was still cracking up as he got to his feet and came to stand behind me. “I just had to make sure it was on there real good. So I tested it a few times . . . you’re a really heavy sleeper, by the way.” “There is a hickey on my forehead!” His body was shaking from the laughter he was trying to keep in now. “It’s not funny! This better be gone by the time we go to work tonight.” “Don’t be mad, Sour Patch.” He planted his chin at the top of my head and brushed at my bangs. “You have those, they’ll cover it. Can we have pancakes now?” My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I continued to stare at him in the mirror. “No! Go make them yourself.” He frowned and brought the toy gun up in front of us. “I’ll let you shoot me.” I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. Pancakes sounded really good right now. With a heavy sigh, I held my hand out. “Give me the gun.” As soon as it was in my hand, I went around collecting the three darts and put them back in with the other three still in there before aiming it right at his forehead. Kash smiled, closed his eyes, and took all six darts like a champ. When I was done he had little red marks all over his forehead, and though I knew his would be gone in a few minutes, I felt like he’d gotten it worse than I did. “Feel better?” “A little.” I handed the gun back to him and turned toward my door. “Let’s go make pancakes.” I’d barely hit the kitchen when I realized I didn’t hear him behind me. “And don’t even think about shooting me again, or you’ll be on your own for breakfast!” Whirling

Mrs. Sloane smiled, “Oh, we’re never really done, child. But I don’t know what happens. Not really.” Wallis blinked and Mrs. Sloane’s face flashed young again—long, red hair and big green eyes. “I do know, however, that the older I get, the less it worries me. It’s like death is something I remember from a long time ago. Memories are funny things, though. You never really know from which direction they’re hitting you. Mostly your past, sure. But sometimes you can find yourself remembering things you’re not sure have really happened yet.

Wake her, Gregori,” Mikhail demanded, dragging Raven into his arms. Very gently he cradled her to his chest, rocking her with his body. Gregori complied as his form shimmered translucent, and then took shape beside Mikhail. For the first time there was a hint of anxiety in Gregori’s pale eyes, although there was hard arrogance stamped on his harshly handsome features. Raven blinked, and took a moment to focus. Her breath caught in her throat, and fear leapt into her enormous, expressive eyes. That look stabbed through Mikhail as nothing else might had done. “Csitri--little one.” He breathed the endearment softly, his breath warm against her ear. “Do not ever fear me.” She pressed away from him. “I don’t know you,” she whispered, her voice strangled and raw, her eyes on his bloodstained hands. Mikhail frowned and looked down at his hands. There was no blood there; he had bathed his body in the cleansing energy of the white-hot heat. No blood could remain on him. Vampire blood burned like acid--yet she still saw the scenes from the battle. He glanced at Gregori with a small frown of inquiry. Gregori shook his head in puzzlement. Raven seemed light and insubstantial in Mikhail’s arms, as if she might fade away to nothing. She needed nourishment and care. Very carefully Mikhail touched her mind. His skull exploded with pain. Her mind was a maze of fragments, desperately holding on to her sanity. She feared him, but even more, she was afraid to trust her own judgment. Fragments of the battle, of Mikhail standing in front of Andre, haunted her mind. Her blue-violet gaze, so confused, so frantic and bewildered, sought and found Monique. She gave a small inarticulate cry and strained toward her. Mikhail’s body went rigid. He turned his head slowly in the direction of her pleading gaze. Monique huddled beside her husband, her horrified eyes on Mikhail and the men crowding beside him. Mikhail forced down the wildness of his nature and his resentment of the humans that Raven would turn to for comfort rather than him. For one long moment his black gaze rested on the male who had dared to put his hands around Raven’s throat and tried to end her life. Power pulsed in the room. Tension stretched into terror. You are not helping, Gregori pointed out. And I must say, this is strange to be the one cautioning you against violence. Very funny. But the exchange eased some of the ferocious need to retaliate in him.

Clenching my fists, his subsequent snore emphasises my suspicions. He has been sleeping on the job. I put my hands on my hips and glide over to him. I have one intent in mind. Picking up the book next to his elbow, I slam it down on the table. There are definitely some perks to being able to manipulate objects. Adam’s reaction is priceless. “W…w….what? W…where? W…why?” He stammers, blinking frantically. One hand flies to his heart, which he clutches dramatically and he raises his other to his forehead, wiping his brow. When he realises who has disturbed him and what I have done, he scowls at me. “Why did you do that?” He snaps, rubbing his eyes. He yawns at the end, meaning that I definitely can’t take him seriously. “I was enjoying that dream.” At hearing his answer, I roll my eyes. Part of me is tempted to interrogate him, to find what he was dreaming about exactly. The other rational and sensible part wins, meaning that I thrust the book in his direction, winding him considerably. He throws me a sharp glare, which ends in a grimace. The book juts sharply into his ribs. “You should be reading NOT sleeping!” I retort, making sure that the book digs harder into his chest. I give it one last push. “So get going.