Born In Not Sworn In Quotes

let it go -- the smashed word broken open vow or the oath cracked length wise -- let it go it was sworn to go let them go -- the truthful liars and the false fair friends and the boths and neithers -- you must let them go they were born to go let all go -- the big small middling tall bigger really the biggest and all things -- let all go dear so comes love

This was the great shame of Bethel: complacency and complicity that were responsible for the deaths of generations of girls. It was the sickness that placed the pride of men before the innocents they were sworn to protect. It was a structure that exploited the weakest among them for the benefit of those born to power.

He was a good man... No. He was a great man. A maester of the Citadel, chained and sworn, and Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch, ever faithful. When he was born they named him for a hero who had died too young, but though he lived a long long time, his own life was no less heroic. No man was wiser, or gentler, or kinder. At the Wall, a dozen lords commander came and went during his years of service, but he was always there to counsel them. He counseled kings as well. He could have been a king himself, but when they offered him the crown he told them they should give it to his younger brother. How many men would do that? He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out. He was Aemon Targaryen. And now his watch is ended.

Born in Blood, Sworn in Blood. I enter alive and I leave dead,” I said firmly.

You are quite mad.” The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. “If you were better born, I’d marry you.

Miles had sworn his officer's oath to the Emperor less than two weeks ago, puffed with pride at his achievement. In his secret mind he had imagined himself keeping that oath through blazing battle, enemy torture, what-have-you, even while sharing cynical cracks afterwards with Ivan about archaic dress swords and the sort of people who insisted on wearing them. But in the dark of subtler temptations, those that hurt without heroism for consolation, he foresaw, the Emperor would no longer be the symbol of Barrayar in his heart. Peace to you, small lady, he thought to Raina. You've won a twisted poor modern knight, to wear your favor on his sleeve. But it's a twisted poor world we were both born into, that rejects us without mercy and ejects us without consultation. At least I won't just tilt at windmills for you. I'll send in sappers to mine the twirling suckers, and blast them into the sky.... He knew who he served now. And why he could not quit. And why he must not fail.

Life without meaning cannot be borne. We find a mission to which we're sworn --or answer the call of Death's dark horn. Without a gleaning of purpose in life, we have no vision, we live in strife, --or let blood fall on a suicide knife.

If I am capable of loving you Lord MacCaulay, of devoting myself to you, it will never be under the terms to which other women submit, for I am battle-born – a female warrior sworn to defy the bonds which enslave those of my sex. I will not, purely to follow common ideas of decency and femininity, give up my enjoyment of other men.” Mademoiselle Noire - The Gentlemen's Club

I was born a Saxon, but raised by Danes, my daughter had married a Norseman, my dearest friend was Irish, my woman was a Saxon, the mother of my children had been Danish, my gods were pagan, and my oath was sworn to AEthelflaed, a Christian. Whose side was I on?

This was the great shame of Bethel: complacency and complicity that were responsible for the deaths of generations of girls. It was the sickness that placed the pride of men before the innocents they were sworn to protect. It was a structure that exploited the weakest among them for the benefit of those born to power.

I hate you. I hate you waking and sleeping; I hate you for undoing men’s souls, and for spoiling their lives; I hate you as the sworn enemy of the laughter of men.... Oh, it is God’s deadly enemy which I see, and hate, in you. In every one of your speeches you make a mockery of the Spirit, which you have silenced, and you forget that the private thought, the thought born in sorrow and loneliness, can be more deadly than all your implements of torture. You threaten all who oppose you with death, but you forget: our hatred is a deadly poison. It will creep into your blood, and we will die shouting with joy when our hate pulls you down with us into the depths.

reference when we talked about Machiavelli, didn't you? I could’ve sworn you did." "Just because I don't enjoy it doesn't mean I know nothing about it. Tupac was around back in my wind-up phonograph days, you know." I cast her a sardonic look, which makes her laugh and shrug, as if to say 'hey, not my fault you're an old ass man.' "I'm surprised you know anything about him, actually. He died around the time you were born." "Yeah, well, music never really goes out of style, especially Tupac," she says with a smile.

Children are born atheists. Then they are indoctrinated and abused by so-called 'God's representatives.' Innocents are scarred emotionally and psychologically by those who are sworn to protect them.

you were last seen walking through a field of pianos. no. a museum of mouths. in the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. no. eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. you were wearing a dress made out of envelopes and stamps, this was how you travelled. i was the mannequin in the storefront window you could have sworn moved. the library card in the book you were reading until that dog trotted up and licked your face. the cookie with two fortunes. the one jamming herself through the paper shredder, afraid to talk to you. the beggar, hat outstretched bumming for more minutes. the phone number on the bathroom stall with no agenda other than a good time. the good time is a picnic on water, or a movie theatre that only plays your childhood home videos and no one hushes when you talk through them. when they play my videos i throw milk duds at the screen during the scenes i watch myself letting you go – lost to the other side of an elevator – your face switching to someone else’s with the swish of a geisha’s fan. my father could have been a travelling salesman. i could have been born on any doorstep. there are 2,469,501 cities in this world, and a lot of doorsteps. meet me on the boardwalk. i’ll be sure to wear my eyes. do not forget your face. i could never.

That’s swell. That’s what I call answering like a man. When is your birthday?” “In January.” “I’d have sworn to it. So is mine. I believe the highest types are born in January. It’s barometric—you can look it up in Ellsworth Huntington. The parents make love in spring when the organism is healthiest and then the best specimens are conceived. If you want children you should plan to knock up your dear one in that season. Ancient wisdom is right. Now science comes lately and finds it out.

Montmorency was in it all, of course. Montmorency’s ambition in life, is to get in the way and be sworn at. If he can squirm in anywhere where he particularly is not wanted, and be a perfect nuisance, and make people mad, and have things thrown at his head, then he feels his day has not been wasted. To get somebody to stumble over him, and curse him steadily for an hour, is his highest aim and object; and, when he has succeeded in accomplishing this, his conceit becomes quite unbearable. He came and sat down on things, just when they were wanted to be packed; and he laboured under the fixed belief that, whenever Harris or George reached out their hand for anything, it was his cold, damp nose that they wanted. He put his leg into the jam, and he worried the teaspoons, and he pretended that the lemons were rats, and got into the hamper and killed three of them before Harris could land him with the frying-pan. Harris said I encouraged him. I didn’t encourage him. A dog like that don’t want any encouragement. It’s the natural, original sin that is born in him that makes him do things like that.

Oh, Beli; not so rashly, not so rashly: What did you know about states or diasporas? What did you know about Nueba Yol or unheated 'old law' tenements or children whose self-hate short-circuited their minds? What did you know, madame, about immigration? Don't laugh, mi negrita, for your world is about to be changed. Utterly. Yes: a terrible beauty is etc., etc. Take it from me. You laugh because you've been ransacked to the limit of your soul, because your lover betrayed you almost unto death, because your first son was never born. You laugh because you have no front teeth and you've sworn never to smile again.

Once, in Tóurin, two princesses were born Of mortal blood, but divinely sworn When monsters of chaos prowled the night, To protect the queendom, the girls took flight To the old hallowed lands, where they first swore an oath To pay the greatest price and sever them both, So there the merciless earth took its claim, binding on to the throne, and one to the flame

I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling his heart beating against me. I wish I could gather time around us, slowing the minutes, making them last a lifetime. “I was born on the island kingdom of Ghedda,” I whisper. This is a story I never told even to you, Habiba. I tell it now only because I cannot bear to leave him without the truth, knowing only half of me. I raise my head and meet his eyes. “That was more than four thousand years ago. I was the eldest daughter of a wise and generous king.” Aladdin stares at me, his eyes soft and curious, encouraging me to go on. “When I was seventeen, I became queen of Ghedda. In those days, the jinn were greater in number, and the Shaitan held greater sway over the realms of men. He demanded we offer him twenty maidens and twenty warriors in sacrifice, in return for fair seas and lucrative trade. I was young and proud and desired, above all else, to be a fair ruler. I would not bow to his wishes, so he shook our island until it began to fall into the sea.” I shudder, and Aladdin draws me closer. “I climbed to the alomb at the top of the Mountain of Tongues, and there offered myself to the Shaitan, if he would only save my city from the sea.” My voice falls to a whisper, little more than a ripple on the water. “So he took me and made me jinn and put me in the lamp. And then he caused the Mountain of Tongues to erupt, and Ghedda was lost to fire. For he had sworn only to save my people from the sea, not from flame.

Shoot them!’ they cried. ‘Shoot the Jewish dogs!’ What had happened to my German friends that they became murderers? How is it possible to create enemies from friends, to create such hate? Where was the Germany I had been so proud to be a part of, the country where I was born, the country of my ancestors? One day we were friends, neighbours, colleagues, and the next we were told we were sworn enemies. When I think of those Germans relishing our pain, I want to ask them, ‘Have you got a soul? Have you got a heart?’ It was madness, in the true sense of the word – otherwise civilised people lost all ability to tell right from wrong. They committed terrible atrocities, and worse, they enjoyed it. They thought they were doing the right thing. And even those who could not fool themselves that we Jews were the enemy did nothing to stop the mob.

Beauty and the Illiterate" Often, in the Repose of Evening her soul took a lightness from                   the mountains across, although the day was harsh and                   tomorrow foreign. But, when it darkened well and out came the priest’s hand over                   the little garden of the dead, She Alone, Standing, with the few domestics of the night—the blowing                   rosemary and the murmur of smoke from the kilns—                   at sea’s entry, wakeful Otherly beauty! Only the waves’ words half-guessed or in a rustle, and others                   resembling the dead’s that startle in the cypress, strange                   zodiacs that lit up her magnetic moon-turned head.                   And one Unbelievable cleanliness allowed, to great depth in her, the real                   landscape to be seen, Where, near the river, the dark ones fought against the Angel,                   exactly showing how she’s born, Beauty Or what we otherwise call tear. And long as her thinking lasted, you could feel it overflow the                   glowing sight bitterly in the eyes and the huge, like an                   ancient prostitute’s, cheekbones Stretched to the extreme points of the Large Dog and of the Virgin. “Far from the pestilential city I dreamed of her deserted place                   where a tear may have no meaning and the only light be                   from the flame that ravishes all that for me exists. “Shoulder-to-shoulder under what will be, sworn to extreme silence                   and the co-ruling of the stars, “As if I didn’t know yet, the illiterate, that there exactly, in extreme                   silence are the most repellent thuds “And that, since it became unbearable inside a man’s chest, solitude                   dispersed and seeded stars!

That night, atrocities were being committed by civilised Germans all over Leipzig, all over the country. Nearly every Jewish home and business in my city was vandalised, burned or otherwise destroyed, as were our synagogues. As were our people. It wasn’t just Nazi soldiers and fascist thugs who turned against us. Ordinary citizens, our friends and neighbours since before I was born, joined in the violence and the looting. When the mob was done destroying property, they rounded up Jewish people – many of them young children – and threw them into the river that I used to skate on as a child. The ice was thin and the water freezing. Men and women I’d grown up with stood on the riverbanks, spitting and jeering as people struggled. ‘Shoot them!’ they cried. ‘Shoot the Jewish dogs!’ What had happened to my German friends that they became murderers? How is it possible to create enemies from friends, to create such hate? Where was the Germany I had been so proud to be a part of, the country where I was born, the country of my ancestors? One day we were friends, neighbours, colleagues, and the next we were told we were sworn enemies. When I think of those Germans relishing our pain, I want to ask them, ‘Have you got a soul? Have you got a heart?’ It was madness, in the true sense of the word – otherwise civilised people lost all ability to tell right from wrong. They committed terrible atrocities, and worse, they enjoyed it. They thought they were doing the right thing. And even those who could not fool themselves that we Jews were the enemy did nothing to stop the mob. If enough people had stood up then, on Kristallnacht, and said, ‘Enough! What are you doing? What is wrong with you?’ then the course of history would have been different. But they did not. They were scared. They were weak. And their weakness allowed them to be manipulated into hatred. As they loaded me onto a truck to take me away, blood mixing with the tears on my face, I stopped being proud to be German. Never again.

ANYTHING LIKE THAT 11/26/32 A YOUNG LADY, born in Russia, confided to us that she was about to become an American citizen, and would we be her witness, for she needed someone to testify to her good character and good intentions. Greatly touched, we dressed in a semiformal manner and accompanied her to a sort of barn over on the North River. Here we were tossed about from one United States naturalization clerk to another United States naturalization clerk, and eventually wound up before a bench, an American flag, and a grim, chilly examiner. After a few routine questions, the man suddenly speeded up his voice and inquired: “Do you believe in Communism, anarchism, polygamy—or anything like that?” And before we could pry into the phrase “anything like that”—which we felt it our duty to do—our young friend had blithely answered no, and it was all over. She is now an American citizen, a very pretty one, sworn never to believe in Anything Like That.

After being shown the demesne by Pikeman, and consulting with him at length, the elders had expressed their willingness to bring their fellows to live and work in Bourne on the same terms that My Lord had agreed with his own serfs. Hugh watched in disbelief as Bourne signed a writ, prepared by Thurkell, which not only granted them extra land but rights of access to education, medicine and a meal of meat every seven days. It was a word in disarray when base-born men, sworn to obedience through their oaths of fealty, could expect rewards in return for their labour. Pg 135

After being shown the demesne by Pikeman, and consulting with him at length, the elders had expressed their willingness to bring their fellows to live and work in Bourne on the same terms that My Lord had agreed with his own serfs. Hugh watched in disbelief as Bourne signed a writ, prepared by Thurkell, which not only granted them extra land but rights of access to education, medicine and a meal of meat every seven days. It was a world in disarray when base-born men, sworn to obedience through their oaths of fealty, could expect rewards in return for their labour.

Here stands the bride, Cassandra. She is unique in this world. Her beauty, grace, and charms are the legacy of those who have come before her and will be gifted to those who are born through her. “This man, Wulf, on the other hand stands before us a product of…” Urian frowned as he paused. “Well, he’s the product of a bitch who can’t stand the thought of Apollo’s children ruling the earth.” “Urian, behave!” Phoebe snapped from where she stood with their father. He bristled at her command. “Considering the fact that I just bound a member of your family to one of the people I have sworn to annihilate, I think I’m being remarkably good.

He had expected to find them impressive, perhaps even frightening. He had not thought to find them beautiful. Yet they were. As black as onyx, polished smooth, so the bone seemed to shimmer in the light of his torch. They liked the fire, he sensed. He’d thrust the torch into the mouth of one of the larger skulls and made the shadows leap and dance on the wall behind him. The teeth were long, curving knives of black diamond. The flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater fires. When he had moved away, Tyrion could have sworn that the beast’s empty eye sockets had watched him go. There were nineteen skulls. The oldest was more than three thousand years old; the youngest a mere century and a half. The most recent were also the smallest; a matched pair no bigger than mastiff’s skulls, and oddly misshapen, all that remained of the last two hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They were the last of the Targaryen dragons, perhaps the last dragons anywhere, and they had not lived very long. From there the skulls ranged upward in size to the three great monsters of song and story, the dragons that Aegon Targaryen

I poor sinner confess to thee, O Almighty, eternal, merciful God and Father, that I have sinned in manifold ways against thee and thy commandments. I confess that I have not believed in thee, my one God and Father, but have put my faith and trust more in creatures than in thee, my God and Creator, because I have feared them more than thee. And for their benefit and pleasure, I have done and left undone many things in disobedience to thee and thy commandments. I confess that I have taken thy holy Name in vain, that I have often sworn falsely and lightly by the same, that I have not always professed it nor kept it holy as I ought; but even more, I have slandered it often and grossly with all my life, words and deeds. I confess that I have not kept thy Sabbath holy, that I have not heard thy holy Word with earnestness nor lived according to the same; moreover that I have not yielded myself fully to thy divine hand, nor rejoiced in thy work done in me and in others, but have often grumbled against it stoutly and have been impatient. I confess that I have not honored my father and mother, that I have been disobedient to all whom I justly owe obedience, such as father and mother, my superiors, and all who have tried to guide and teach me faithfully. I confess that I have taken life; that I have offended my neighbor often and grossly by word and deed, caused him harm, grown angry over him, borne envy and hatred toward him, deprived him of his honor and the like. I confess that I have been unchaste. I acknowledge all my sins of the flesh and all the excess and extravagance of my whole life in eating, drinking, clothing and other things; my intemperance in seeing, hearing and speaking, and in all my life; yea, even fornication, adultery and such. I confess that I have stolen. I acknowledge my greed. I admit that in the use of my worldly goods I have set myself against thee and thy holy laws. Greedily and against charity have I grasped them. And scarcely, if at all, have I given of them when the need of my neighbor required it. I confess that I have born false witness, that I have been untrue and unfaithful toward my neighbor. I have lied to him, I have told lies about him, and I have failed to defend his honor and reputation as my own. And finally I confess that I have coveted the possessions and spouses of others. I acknowledge in summary that my whole life is nothing else than sin and transgression of thy holy commandments and an inclination toward all evil. Wherefore I beseech thee, O heavenly Father, that thou wouldst graciously forgive me these and all my sins. Keep and preserve me henceforth that I may walk only in thy way and live according to thy will; and all of this through Jesus Christ, thy dear Son, our Saviour. Amen.5 That just about

It is dances like these, I have found, that make the world go ’round. It is how glances are exchanged, alliances are made, vows sworn, and, ultimately, how babies finally get born. Richard

What are you working on?” she finally asked. He growled a low warning in his throat that made her a bit uneasy. “I have a lot of work to finish. I’m not here to be sociable. I’m here only to protect you. Ignore me and go about your business as if I’m not even in the room.” She arched a brow at that ridiculous comment. “Have you any idea how much space you take up? In case it’s escaped your notice, you’re not exactly small or easy to ignore.” She could have sworn she saw one corner of his mouth twitch as if he’d almost smiled. But he said nothing in response.

We live in a society whose whole policy is to excite every nerve in the human body and keep it at the highest pitch of artificial tension, to strain every human desire to the limit and to create as many new desires and synthetic passions as possible, in order to cater to them with the products of our factories and printing presses and movie studios and all the rest. Being the son of an artist, I was born the sworn enemy of everything that could obviously be called “bourgeois,” and now I only had to dress up that aversion in economic terms and extend it to cover more ground than it had covered before—namely, to include anything that could be classified as semi-fascist, like D. H. Lawrence and many of the artists who thought they were rebels without really being so—and I had my new religion all ready for immediate use.

No stars winked over my birth. No crown was set on my head. I was born into a world of possible gods. My name whispers through the caverns of time because I whispered it first.

General Vois-Usurper-King Consort-Great Bladesman-Betrayed by his second wife. Born poor with not a coin to his name. The moment General Vois's hands touched iron, they never parted. Stories of men old and gray claim he earned the respect of many on the battlefield when saving the life of King Rubart whose body he dragged. Since then, many follow him and with time he had an army large enough to wage a war. Sworn enemy to his second wife, Alexandra, he now sits imprisoned in The House of Lych-a mental facility.

A Rose in Winter A crimson bloom in winter’s snow, Born out of time, like a maiden’s woe, Spawned in a season when the chill winds blow. ’Twas found in a sheltered spot, Bright sterling gules and blemished not, Red as a drop o’ blood from the broken heart, Of the maid who waits and weeps atop the tor, Left behind by yon argent knight sworn to war, ’Til ajousting and aquesting he goes no more. Fear not, Sweet Jo, amoulderin’ on the moor. The winter’s rose doth promise in the fading runes of yore, That true love once found will again be restored.

Night and day waging war, bitter enemies evermore. Fierce and loyal, the day is strong. Broken oaths, so much goes wrong. Magic speaks to all hearts bound. Trapped in slumber until she's found. When two are joined the spell will break. One by one their souls awake. Hate takes over, vengeance sworn. And from the flames new life is born.

Bastien stood then fell back down. “Well, ain’t this a bitch? Could have sworn I was further from the floor than this a second ago.” Dancer

Pelewen still wanders the night Under the canopy of long-dead days, A knight sword-sworn to duty and might, A knight faith-sealed with truth and right.   Nerena still wanders the misty eve, Under the canopy of long-dead days, A witch evil-sworn to lies believe, A witch dark-sealed to darkness wreathe.   What brought you, knight, to wander that wood? What brought the thieves who cut you down? Where, dark witch, did you find the good, To succor he who for goodness stood?   With secrets whispered in secluded shade, She healed you, knight, your life returned, With kisses, witch, the first he gave, Your soul was healed and holy made.   Love, you too we see this night Under the canopy of long-dead days; A blessing sworn to the good and right, A love that sealed a witch and knight.   What partings made upon the morn, Under wind and sun and forest song: One body whole and one soul born, Four eyes wet and two hearts torn.   What drove you, Knight, to the distant glade? What drove you to confess, dear maid? Why, Knight, did heart turn horse ‘round again? And why, Pureman, could you not forgive her stain?   One maid burned at morning’s light. One horse rides through ash at night. One soul to tell the Knight the tale. One Knight upon his sword impaled.   Death, you too we see this eve, Under the canopy of long-dead days; A death dark-sworn to love bereave, A death dark-sealed to sadness wreathe.   “Well, that was depressing,” Chertanne derided

Nymphs are creatures born without magical gifts, but they can acquire them from Fae. They are our sworn enemies. Their nature is one of destruction and death.

For those of you with a passing memory of grade-school history, our so-called founding fathers signed Canada into existence in 1867. The location was Prince Edward Island. A bloat of prosperous men from all over British North America came together and, fortified with a ridiculous amount of liquor, they argued and drank until a country was born. It was not an immaculate conception; it was a messy one. Modern-day Canada prides itself on being a diverse nation, and the Fathers of Confederation were no slouches in that department. There were many shades of white and a variety of English accents. Diversity was encouraged as long as everyone was Protestant. Rumours persist that there were a few Irish Catholics in the mix. If true, they kept their lifestyle on the downlow. The man at the centre of the founding bender was Sir John A. Macdonald. He would go on to become Canada's first and drunkest prime minister. After we was sworn in for the first time, he was asked what is the most he ever spent on a bottle of whiskey. His answer? Forty-five minutes.

Of all the warriors that have ever been born in this land, he is the mightiest; and he has sworn a great oath that he will die in the field, with his face turned toward the false worshippers who believe that the son of Joseph was God.

I already bled for you, so that seals it. Born in blood. Sworn in blood.

I’d been born to fulfill a promise to the fae king. It was an ancient promise, bound in powerful magic. I was sworn to serve his every need, smile and laugh at his jokes, be silent when commanded, and offer myself up as his next mortal bride.

The imagery of Mongol greatness received its clearest statement around 1390 by Geoffrey Chaucer, who had traveled widely in France and Italy on diplomatic business and had a far more international perspective than many of the people for whom he wrote. In The Canterbury Tales, the first book written in English, the story of the squire relates a romantic and fanciful tale about the life and adventures of Genghis Khan. This noble king was called Genghis Khan, Who in his time was of so great renown That there was nowhere in no region So excellent a lord in all things. He lacked nothing that belonged to a king. As of the sect of which he was born He kept his law, to which that he was sworn. And thereto he was hardy, wise, and rich, And piteous and just, always liked; Soothe of his word, benign, and honorable, Of his courage as any center stable; Young, fresh, and strong, in arms desirous As any bachelor of all his house. A fair person he was and fortunate, And kept always so well royal estate That there was nowhere such another man. This noble king, this Tartar Genghis Khan.

When Holden was nine, Rufus the family Labrador died. He’d already been an adult dog when Holden was born, so Holden had only ever known Rufus as a big black slobbering bundle of love. He’d taken some of his first steps clutching the dog’s fur in one stubby fist. He’d run around their Montana farm not much bigger than a toddler with Rufus as his only babysitter. Holden had loved the dog with the simple intensity only children and dogs share. But when he was nine, Rufus was fifteen, and old for such a big dog. He slowed down. He stopped running with Holden, barely managing a trot to catch up, then gradually only a slow walk. He stopped eating. And one night he flopped onto his side next to a heater vent and started panting. Mother Elise had told him that Rufus probably wouldn’t last the night, and even if he did they’d have to call the vet in the morning. Holden had tearfully sworn to stay by the dog’s side. For the first couple of hours, he held Rufus’ head on his lap and cried, as Rufus struggled to breathe and occasionally gave one halfhearted thump of his tail. By the third, against his will and every good thought he’d had about himself, Holden was bored. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten. That humans only have so much emotional energy. No matter how intense the situation, or how powerful the feelings, it was impossible to maintain a heightened emotional state forever. Eventually you’d just get tired and want it to end.

Well, what else could I have done?” I demanded. “You heard the threats he was making against you.” “Against me. Right.” Victor tapped his broad, bare chest. “Which means I’m the one who should be answering them—not you. If you hadn’t piped up and sworn to go, I could have taken care of it myself.” “How?” I asked. “By fighting all of them? No. You’re big and strong, Victor, but there have to be a lot of wolves in that pack. You can’t fight all of them for me—and I don’t want you to.” “What you want doesn’t enter into it,” he snarled. “And why is that?” I demanded, starting to get really mad. “Because this is a were matter or because we’re bonded? Let me tell something, Victor, just because Corbin forced us to get married doesn’t mean you own me.” “Yes, I do,” he insisted, his eyes flashing gold. “I told you before, Taylor, you’re mine. By the Laws of Ownership you’re mine and I’m yours.” “I don’t belong to you,” I said, my voice trembling. “I spent the last six years of my life as a slave to Celeste. I’m not trading one master for another.” He raked a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “I’m not claiming to be your master, Taylor—I’m your Goddamn husband. I’m supposed to protect you.” “I can take care of myself,” I snapped back. “And don’t forget you’re only my husband for two more months until the Laws of Ownership are satisfied. After that—” I stopped, biting my tongue but the damage had obviously been done. There was a furious, hurt look in Victor’s eyes as he glared at me. “After that you’re leaving, is that right?” he demanded. “And nothing else matters. I guess last night was no big fucking deal to you.” “It was a big deal,” I protested. “It was really nice… incredible…” “Incredibly stupid, you mean.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “God, I can’t believe I’m so stupid.” “Victor—” I started but he grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and headed for the door. I called his name again but he was already driving away.

Women did not study. Women have no head for learning. Do not be a foolish child. Go home. Women are for marriage and child bearing. No good can come to a woman through learning.’ Her anger burned deeply that day at the humiliation to which she had been subjected. What had she to go home to? Her family had been slain and her village plundered by a power-hungry warlord. Anaya had sworn by the soul of her dead mother she would avenge their deaths, and the magick she had been born with had been her only salvation and means of retribution. But she needed to control it. As yet, she had been unable to master its power, and it frightened her in its extent. But those pious men with their small minds and, holier than thou attitudes, had destroyed her dreams.

Oakleigh. Never, the wrinkled caretaker had sworn, would Daniel sell his home. Taking him away from the house he'd been born in would kill him. Everything her grandfather had ever valued came from the heritage of the great house, and he had clung to it as if it were his mother. All her life, Elinor had felt ambivalence toward Oakleigh. In her growing-up years, it stood as a symbol for everything her wastrel father had vainly sought. She had known even as a child that the supposed wealth of Oakleigh stood between her weak, fun-loving father and her controlling, demanding grandfather. Her father had felt a desperate need for the shallow, showy comforts money could buy. And for the prestige of a great plantation house. Money wrenched from the sweat of slaves had built Oakleigh, and money was what Oakleigh needed now. As it stood, the house was falling apart. Elinor glanced down at the simple sheet of paper on top of the contract. It was amazingly brief considering the tremendous ramifications it carried. Why had he done it? Why had her grandfather signed over his legal decision-making power to her? Since she'd come back to Bayville,

Afterall, it’s my sworn duty to protect every single one of her victims; all past, present and future. I take full responsibility for my family’s atonement on her behalf. Especially, as the mother who bore the monster. This is my final act of penance for the unholy sins committed by my daughter. A child born out of my own flesh and blood.