Flick Your Hair Quotes

You okay?” Keefe asked, flicking a strand of her blonde hair to get her attention. “And before you answer, remember: You’re talking to an Empath. Plus, you’ve already pulled put two eyelashes since we got here, and I can tell you’re dying to go for a third.” She was.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was covered in blood. The second thing I noticed was that this didn’t bother me the way it should have. I didn’t feel the urge to scream or speak, to beg for help, or even to wonder where I was. Those instincts were dead, and I was calm as my wet fingers slid up the tiled wall, groping for a light switch. I found one without even having to stand. Four lights slammed on above me, one after the other, illuminating the dead body on the floor just a few feet away. My mind processed the facts first. Male. Heavy. He was lying face down in a wide, red puddle that spread out from beneath him. The tips of his curly black hair were wet with it. There was something in his hand. The fluorescent lights in the white room flickered and buzzed and hummed. I moved to get a better view of the body. His eyes were closed. He could have been asleep, really, if it weren’t for the blood. There was so much of it. And by one of his hands it was smeared into a weird pattern. No. Not a pattern. Words. PLAY ME. My gaze flicked to his hand. His fist was curled around a small tape recorder. I moved his fingers—still warm—and pressed play. A male voice started to speak. "Do I have your attention?" the voice said. I knew that voice. But I couldn’t believe I was hearing it.

She's a Sophomore. Her name is Autumn Elliot. What the hell kind of name is Autumn? Why don't they just call her Fall or The Depressing Season Where Everything Starts to Die" "It's a pretty name Chloe." "Fine," she huffed. "But getting your freak on in a public bathroom? Who does that?" "Um, Chloe..." "Okay, fine. I've done that." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Jesus, Lisa, help me out here. I'm trying to console you, but you're making it difficult.

You’re implying that I’m not presentable in public unless I have a full face of makeup on.” “No. I absolutely did not imply that.” “I suppose I should take three hours to curl my hair, too, right?” I make my voice tremble. I am the victim of horrendous misdeeds. “Because I’m not pretty enough the way I am? I suppose you’re embarrassed to bring me around your family unless I conform to society’s impossible beauty standards for females?” His eyes narrow. “You’re right. Your hair’s an embarrassment in its natural state and your face is so anti–female beauty that if you go out like that, I’d insist on you walking backward and ten feet away from me. I want you to go upstairs right now and paint yourself unrecognizable.” He arches his eyebrows. “Did I do that right? Are those the words you’d like to put in my mouth?” My chin drops. He lowers his gaze to a newspaper and flicks the page. He did it for dramatic effect. I know he didn’t get a chance to finish reading the article he was on. “Actually, I’d like to put an apple in your mouth and roast you on a spit,” I say. “Go ahead and wear pajamas to dinner, Naomi. You think that would bother me? You can go out dressed as Santa Claus and I wouldn’t care.” Now I genuinely am insulted. “Why wouldn’t you care?” He raises his eyes to mine. “Because I think you’re beautiful no matter what.” Ugh. That’s really low, even for him.

I left Abnegation because I wasn't selfless enough,no matter how hard I tried to be." "That's not entirely true." He smiles at me. "That girl who let someone throw knives at her to spare a friend,who hit my dad with a belt to protect me-that selfless girl,that's not you?" He's figured out more about me than I have. And even though it seems impossible that he could feel something for me,given all that I'm not...maybe it isn't.I frown at him. "You've been paying close attention,haven't you?" "I like to observe people." "Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four, because you're a terrible liar." He puts his hand on the rock next to him, his fingers lining up with mine. I look down at our hands. He has long, narrow fingers. Hands made for mine, deft movements.Not Dauntless hands, which should be thick and tough and ready to break things. "Fine." He leans his face closer to mine, his eyes focusing on my chin, and my lips,and my nose. "I watched you because I like you." He says it plainly, boldly, and his eyes flick up to mine. "And don't call me 'Four," okay? It's nice to hear my name again." Just like that,he has finally declared himself, and I don't know how to respond. My cheeks warm,and all I can think to say is, "But you're older than I am...Tobias." He smiles at me. "Yes,that whopping two-year gap really is insurmountable, isn't it?" "I'm not trying to be self-deprecating," I say, "I just don't get it. I'm younger. I'm not pretty.I-" He laughs,a deep laugh that sounds like it came from deep inside him, and touches his lips to my temple. "Don't pretend," I say breathily. "You know I'm not. I'm not ugly,but I am certainly not pretty." "Fine.You're not pretty.So?" He kisses my cheek. "I like how you look. You're deadly smart.You're brave. And even though you found out about Marcus..." His voice softens. "You aren't giving me that look.Like I'm a kicked puppy or something." "Well," I say. "You're not." For a second his dark eyes are on mine, and he's quiet. Then he touches my face and leans in close, brushing my lips with his.The river roars and I feel its spray on my ankles.He grins and presses his mouth to mine. I tense up at first,unsure of myself, so when he pulls away,I'm sure I did something wrong,or badly.But he takes my face in his hands,his figners strong against my skin,and kisses me again, firmer this time, more certain. I wrap an arm around him,sliding my hand up his nack and into his short hair. For a few minutes we kiss,deep in the chasm,with the roar of water all around us. And when we rise,hand in hand, I realize that if we had both chosen differently,we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones.

Aaron flicked his fingers at her. “Eyes, lips, tits, soft skin, hair, vanilla scent, ass, tits again, then your scar. You telling me about it won’t change the order. Your eyes have me first regardless.

He watches me eat for a moment. “Let me see it again.” “No.” “Okay.” He pulls a can of carbonated water out of his backpack and pops the lid. Sometimes I want to punch him. I find the letter and slide it across the table. He reads it again. It makes me feel all jittery inside. His eyes flick up. “She likes you.” I shrug and steal his drink. It tastes like someone drowned an orange in a bottle of Perrier, and I cough. Rev smiles. “You like her.” “How can you drink this crap?” His smile widens. “Is it making you crazy that she won’t reveal herself?” “Seriously, Rev, do you have any regular water?” He’s no fool. “What do you want to do?” I take a long breath and blow it out. I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.” “You know.” “I want to stake out the grave. This waiting between letters is killing me.” “Suggest email.” “She doesn’t want to tell me anything more than her age. She’s not going to give me her email address.” “Maybe not her real email. But you could set up a private account and give her the address. See if she writes you.” It’s so simple it’s brilliant. I hate that I didn’t think of it. “Rev, I could kiss you.” “Brush your teeth first.” He reclaims his bizarre can of water.

I slammed the water off hard enough to make it clack, got out of the shower, dried, and started getting dressed in a fresh set of secondhand clothes. “Why do you wear those?” asked Lacuna. I jumped, stumbled, and shouted half of a word to a spell, but since I was only halfway done putting on my underwear, I mostly just fell on my naked ass. “Gah!” I said. “Don’t do that!” My miniature captive came to the edge of the dresser and peered down at me. “Don’t ask questions?” “Don’t come in here all quiet and spooky and scare me like that!” “You’re six times my height, and fifty times my weight,” Lacuna said gravely. “And I’ve agreed to be your captive. You don’t have any reason to be afraid.” “Not afraid,” I snapped back. “Startled. It isn’t wise to startle a wizard!” “Why not?” “Because of what could happen!” “Because they might fall down on the floor?” “No!” I snarled. Lacuna frowned and said, “You aren’t very good at answering questions.” I started shoving myself into my clothes. “I’m starting to agree with you.” “So why do you wear those?” I blinked. “Clothes?” “Yes. You don’t need them unless it’s cold or raining.” “You’re wearing clothes.” “I am wearing armor. For when it is raining arrows. Your T-shirt will not stop arrows.” “No, it won’t.” I sighed. Lacuna peered at my shirt. “Aer-O-Smith. Arrowsmith. Does the shirt belong to your weapon dealer?” “No.” “Then why do you wear the shirt of someone else’s weapon dealer?” That was frustrating in so many ways that I could avoid a stroke only by refusing to engage. “Lacuna,” I said, “humans wear clothes. It’s one of the things we do. And as long as you are in my service, I expect you to do it as well.” “Why?” “Because if you don’t, I  .  .  . I  .  .  . might pull your arms out of your sockets.” At that, she frowned. “Why?” “Because I have to maintain discipline, don’t I?” “True,” she said gravely. “But I have no clothes.” I counted to ten mentally. “I’ll  .  .  . find something for you. Until then, no desocketing. Just wear the armor. Fair enough?” Lacuna bowed slightly at the waist. “I understand, my lord.” “Good.” I sighed. I flicked a comb through my wet hair, for all the good it would do, and said, “How do I look?” “Mostly human,” she said. “That’s what I was going for.” “You have a visitor, my lord.” I frowned. “What?” “That is why I came in here. You have a visitor waiting for you.” I stood up, exasperated. “Why didn’t you say so?” Lacuna looked confused. “I did. Just now. You were there.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps you have brain damage.” “It would not shock me in the least,” I said. “Would you like me to cut open your skull and check, my lord?” she asked. Someone that short should not be that disturbing. “I  .  .  . No. No, but thank you for the offer.” “It is my duty to serve,” Lacuna intoned. My life, Hell’s bells.

Grabbing the doorknob, he twists, breaking the lock and shoving the door open. I’m just stepping off Trixie Skillz when I notice the hazy glow of an oil-lamp coming from inside, the flame turned way down low. Reclining on the couch next to it is an old woman, her white hair cropped close to her head, her spectacles perched low on her nose. She peers over them at us, the book in her hands entirely forgotten. We crashed the house of someone’s grandma. Just when I thought we were fresh out of horrors, another one comes. “We have nothing of any value, I assure you,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady for someone who thinks their home is being invaded. “I am not here for your things,” Pestilence says. “I am here for your hospitality.” The woman squints curiously at the horseman. Setting her book aside, she rises to her feet. Age has made her soft and plump, but there’s a certain quiet strength to her. “Ruth,” a thin, raspy voice calls from another room in the house, “who’s at the door?” Did he miss the part where we broke into their home? Ruth’s gaze stays on Pestilence for a long time, moving from his bow and quiver to his crown, before settling on his face. “I believe it’s one of the Four Horsemen, dear.” Her eyes flick to me. “And he’s brought with him a lady friend.

Try not to breathe,” I tell Lira. “It might get stuck halfway out.” Lira flicks up her hood. “You should try not to talk then,” she retorts. “Nobody wants your words being preserved for eternity.” “They’re pearls of wisdom, actually.” I can barely see Lira’s eyes under the mass of dark fur from her coat, but the mirthless curl of her smile is ever-present. It lingers in calculated amusement as she considers what to say next. Readies to ricochet the next blow. Lira pulls a line of ice from her hair, artfully indifferent. “If that is what pearls are worth these days, I’ll make sure to invest in diamonds.” “Or gold,” I tell her smugly. “I hear it’s worth its weight.” Kye shakes the snow from his sword and scoffs. “Anytime you two want to stop making me feel nauseated, go right ahead.” “Are you jealous because I’m not flirting with you?” Madrid asks him, warming her finger on the trigger mechanism of her gun. “I don’t need you to flirt with me,” he says. “I already know you find me irresistible.” Madrid reholsters her gun. “It’s actually quite easy to resist you when you’re dressed like that.” Kye looks down at the sleek red coat fitted snugly to his lithe frame. The fur collar cuddles against his jaw and obscures the bottoms of his ears, making it seem as though he has no neck at all. He throws Madrid a smile. “Is it because you think I look sexier wearing nothing?” Torik lets out a withering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’m not sure whether it’s from the hours we’ve gone without food or his inability to wear cutoffs in the biting cold, but his patience seems to be wearing thin. “I could swear that I’m on a life-and-death mission with a bunch of lusty kids,” he says. “Next thing I know, the lot of you will be writing love notes in rum bottles.” “Okay,” Madrid says. “Now I feel nauseated.” I laugh.

This is my friend Veronica,” I told him. “And this is Kaidan.” “Oh, I've heard all about you.” Veronica gave him a big smile. His brow elevated, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he stared at me funny. “Nice wart.” Leaning forward without touching me, he flicked the wart from the tip of my nose. Veronica let out a loud cackle, proving she should be the one in my costume. “I told you it was stupid!” She gloated. With my pointer finger, I moved the paint around my nose to fill in the blank spot. When I finished, he was still watching me. “Your hair's grown a lot,” I said to him. “So has your bottom.” My eyes rounded and blood rushed to my face. Veronica hooted with hilarity, bending at the waist. Even Jay let out a loud snicker, the traitor. I wished Kaidan weren't so perceptive, but it was true. The feminine curves that had always eluded me were finally making an appearance. Stupid tight dress. “Dude, you can get away with anything,” said the pirate to the straight-faced ape. “I meant it as a compliment.” “That was awesome.” Veronica grabbed Jay by the hand. “Come on. Let's go find me a drink.” She winked at me as they ambled away. I gave my attention to the dry, trampled grass and scattered cans for a moment before working up the nerve to say something. “My dad gave me a cell phone.” And a car. And a ton of money. Kaidan set the ape head on the ground and pulled his phone from a fuzzy pocket, blowing off brown lint. Then he held his furry thumbs above the buttons and nodded at me. I started to give him my number, but his brow creased in frustration with the big, costumed hands. “Here,” I said, taking his phone. Saving my number for him gave me a thrill.

I went back in and grabbed my running clothes, then changed in the bathroom. I opened the door to the bathroom, stopping when I saw Kaidan's toiletry bag on the sink. I was overcome with curiosity about his cologne or aftershave, because I'd never smelled it on anyone else before. Feeling sneaky, I prodded one finger into the bag and peeked. No cologne bottle. Only a razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. I picked up the deodorant, pulled off the lid, and smelled it. Nope, that wasn't it. The sound of Kaidan's deep chuckle close to the doorway made me scream and drop the deodorant into the sink with a clatter. I smacked one hand to my chest and grabbed the edge of the sink with the other. He laughed out loud now. “Okay, that must have looked really bad.” I spoke to his reflection in the mirror, then fumbled to pick up the deodorant. I put the lid on and dropped it in his bag. “But I was just trying to figure out what cologne you wear.” My face was on fire as Kaidan stepped into the small bathroom and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. I stepped away. He seemed entertained by my predicament. “I haven't been wearing any cologne.” “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I didn't see any, so I thought it might be your deodorant, but that's not it either. Maybe it's your laundry detergent or something. Let's just forget about it.” “What is it you smell, exactly?” His voice took on a husky quality, and it felt like he was taking up a lot of room. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Something strange was going on here. I stepped back, hitting the tub with my heel as I tried to put the scent into words. “I don't know. It's like citrus and the forest or something...leaves and tree sap. I can't explain it.” His eyes bored into mine while he wore that trademark sexy smirk, arms still crossed. “Citrus?” he asked. “Like lemons?” “Oranges mostly. And a little lime, too.” He nodded and flicked his head to the side to get hair out of his eyes. Then his smile disappeared and his badge throbbed. “What you smell are my pheromones, Anna.” A small, nervous laugh burst from my throat. “Oh, okay, then. Well...” I eyed the small space that was available to pass through the door. I made an awkward move toward it, but he shifted his body and I stepped back again. “People can't usually smell pheromones,” he told me. “You must be using your extra senses without realizing it. I've heard of Neph losing control of their senses with certain emotions. Fear, surprise...lust.” I rubbed my hands up and down my upper arms, wanting nothing more than to veer this conversation out of the danger zone. “Yeah, I do have a hard time reining in the scent sometimes,” I babbled. “It even gets away from me while I sleep now and then. I wake up thinking Patti's making cinnamon rolls and it ends up being from someone else's apartment. Then I'm just stuck with cereal. Anyway...” “Would you like to know your own scent?” he asked me. My heart swelled up big in my chest and squeezed small again. This whole scent thing was way too sensual to be discussed in this small space. Any second now my traitorous body would be emitting some of those pheromones and there'd be red in my aura. “Uh, not really,” I said, keeping my eyes averted. “I think I should probably go.” He made no attempt to move out of the doorway. “You smell like pears with freesia undertones.” “Wow, okay.” I cleared my throat, still refusing eye contact. I had to get out of there. “I think I'll just...” I pointed to the door and began to shuffle past him, doing my best not to brush up against him. He finally took a step back and put his hands up by his sides to show that he wouldn't touch me. I broke out of the confined bathroom and took a deep breath.

But as soon as we touched, I felt magic crackle over and through me, so strong that I tried to jerk my hand back. But he held tight until, finally, the crackling sensation stopped. My hand slid out of his, and I leaped up from the fountain."What the hell was-" Then I looked down and realized I was completely dry. Not only that, but my demure black dress had been replaced with...well, another black dress, but this one was a lot shorter, sparklier, and also rocking a very low neckline. Even my hair was different, transformed from a soggy braid to silky brown waves. Nick winked at me. "That's better. Now you look more like the Demon Who Would be Queen." He heaved himself out of the water and grabbed Jenna's hand. Within seconds, she went from drowned rat to hottie, her soaked clothes replaced with-what else?-a pink sundress. Of course it showed a lot more skin than anything Jenna would have picked out for herself. "Oh,lovely,Nick," Daisy said, rolling her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "What?" he asked once he laid a smacking kiss on her cheek. "They look better like that." Without thinking,I reached out and grabbed Nick's free arm. His wet white T-shirt and jeans rippled, and suddenly he was wearing a Day-Glo yellow tank top and acid-washed jeans. "And you look better like this." I wasn't sure if it was the ridiculous sight of Nick in those clothes, or the fact that I'd done a spell so easily-with absolutely no explosions-but I could feel my lips curving upward in a smile. As Daisy hooted with laughter, Nick narrowed his eyes at me. "Okay, now you're in for it." He waved his hand, and suddenly I was sweltering. When I glanced down, I saw that it was because I was now dressed like the Easter Bunny.But with the flick of one fuzzy paw,I'd transformed Nick's jeans and tank top into a snowsuit. Then I was in a bikini. So Nick was wearing a particularly poofy purple prom dress. By the time he'd turned my clothes into a showgirl's costume, complete with a feathery headdress, and I'd put him in a scuba suit, we were both completely magic drunk and giggling.

I suppose it's nothing to you that your nose is cold and damp? I thought not. Contrive to leave my hair rooted to my head, if you please. And if I detect so much as a paw-flick toward that earring, you, my fine sir, are mouse meat.

What’s up with your hair?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t you worried you’ll be spotted by angels flying above with all that blue?’ ‘War paint,’ says Dee, fastening his seatbelt. ‘Except it’s in our hair instead of on our faces,’ says Dum, starting the engine. ‘Because we’re original like that.’ ‘Besides, are poisonous frogs worried about being spotted by birds?’ asks Dee. ‘Are poisonous snakes? They all have bright markings.’ ‘You’re a poisonous frog now?’ I ask. ‘Ribbit.’ He turns and flicks out his tongue at me. It’s blue. My eyes widen. ‘You dyed your tongue too?’ Dee smiles. ‘Nah. It’s just Gatorade.’ He lifts up a bottle half-full of blue liquid. ‘Gotcha.’ He winks. ‘“Hydrate or Die,” man,’ says Dum as we turn onto El Camino Real. ‘That’s not Gatorade’s marketing,’ says Dee. ‘It’s for some other brand.’ ‘Never thought I’d say this,’ says Dum, ‘but I actually miss ads. You know, like “Just Do It.” I never realized how much of life’s good advice came from ads. What we really need now is for some industrious soul to put out a product and give us a really excellent saying to go with it. Like “Kill ’Em All and Let God Sort ’Em Out.”’ ‘That’s not an advertising jingle,’ I say. ‘Only because it wasn’t good advice back in the day,’ says Dum. ‘Might be good advice now. Attach a product to it, and we could get rich.

Why are you walking like that?” Rome asked, running a broad hand through his short hair, his glittering green eyes flicking down my legs before settling on my face. “Like what?” I asked, as he fell into step beside me. ... “Like you’re scared of the ground,” he replied on a snort.

Don’t call your family ‘the fam’, Sean. It sounds douchey. Another two syllables won’t kill you,” I chided playfully. Sean’s smirk indicated he was enjoying my criticism, and I didn’t understand that, either. “This coming from the girl with hair like a packet of Skittles.” “My hair isn’t douchey,” I said, and flicked a few locks over my shoulder. “It brings joy to all those who gaze upon it.

as he flicked through the envelope and Brooke’s details. His stare remained glued to Brooke’s sleeping face with her wavy hair spread across the pillow like a halo. The picture had been taken with Jett’s

You’re not a vamp, are you? Because it would explain your predatory nature, aversion to garlic, why you never seem to get sick, how you seem to be able to read my mind, and why you keep biting me during sex. Not that I’m complaining about the latter. It’s hot.” Dane sighed, but his eyes lit with a faint glimmer of amusement. He gently flicked the diamond on my engagement ring. “You have a drop of milk on your chin.” I frowned. “You usually don’t complain when I don’t swallow properly. I don’t know where I am with you.” He fisted my hair and tugged my head back. “Behave.” He pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. “You’re going to pay for that later.” He released my hair. “Eat your cereal.

Ooooh, oh fucking hell yeah… oooohhh,” Marco moaned. “I’m going to split your little dragon boypussy in two.” “Promises, promises,” Andreas teased, then took Marco all the way down his throat. I smiled as I watched Marco arch on my pillow, gasping in pleasure. I lifted his shirt up revealing his thick mat of luscious, black hair and pinched his pierced nipple, then I flicked the tender nub with my finger. He twitched several times and I knew the sensation of my touch and what I was doing combined with Andreas skillful mouth was going to shoot him to the moon.

I’m trying to decide whether you put a hockey stick in bed between us or if you’re really happy to be waking up beside me.” He rubbed himself against my ass, groaning next to the shell of my hair. He’s a vocal guy and it does something to me. It’s like he flicks a switch somewhere and suddenly it’s Niagara Falls between my legs. “If I say it’s a hockey stick, will you play with it?” “Oh my God. You are so cringe. I hate hockey, would you believe?” “I could make you fall in love with hockey, Anastasia,” he whispered, sending goose bumps across my entire body. “With the right educational tools, of course, and the appropriate amount of practice.

He could feel the end of the battle approaching, and so could the blur of the Sith he faced in the Force, the shadow had become a pulsar of fear. Easily, almost effortlessly, he turned the shadow's fear into a weapon: he angled the battle to bring them both out onto the window ledge. Out in the wind. Out with the lightning. Out on a rain-slicked ledge above a half kilometer drop. Out where the shadow's fear's fear made it hesitate. Out where the shadow's fear turned some of it's Force-powered speed into a Force-powered grip on the slippery permacrete. Out where Mace could flick his blade in one precise arc and slash the shadow's lightsaber in half. One piece flipped back in through the cut open window. The other tumbled from opening fingers, bounced on the ledge, and fell through the rain towards the distant alleys below. Now the shadow was only Palpatine: old and shrunken, thinning hair bleached white by time and care, face lined with exhaustion. 'For all your power, my lord,you are no Jedi. All you are, my lord,' Mace said evenly, staring past his blade, 'is under arrest.

A wave formed, swelling around Ariel's body. It lifted her up higher and higher- or maybe she herself was growing: it was hard to tell. She held the trident aloft. Storm clouds raced to her from all directions like a lost school of cichlid babies flicking to their father's mouth for protection. Lightning coursed through the sky and danced between the trident's tines. Ariel sang a song of rage. Notes rose and fell discordantly, her voice screeching at times like a banshee from the far north. She sang, and the wind sang with her. It whipped her hair out of its braids and pulled tresses into tentacles that billowed around her head. She sang of the unfairness of Eric's fate and her own, of her father's torture as a polyp, even of Scuttle's mortal life, slowly but visibly slipping away. Mostly she sang about Ursula. She sang about everyone whose lives had been touched and destroyed by evil like coral being killed and bleached, like dead spots in the ocean from algae blooms, like scale rot. She sang about what she would do to anyone who threatened those she loved and protected. And then, with her final note, she made a quick thrust as if to throw the trident toward the boats in the bay, pulling it back at the last moment. A clap louder than thunder echoed across the ocean. A wave even larger than the one she rode roared up from the depths of the open sea. It smashed through and around her, leaving her hair and body white with foam. She grinned fiercely at the power of the moment. The tsunami continued on, making straight for Tirulia. But... despite her rage... underneath it all the queen was still Ariel. Her momentary urge to destroy everything came and went like a single flash of summer lightning.

Cort nodded, then whispered a single word. “Wait.” “What?” The effort it took the man to speak lent his words great emphasis. “Let the word and the legend go before you. There are those who will carry both.” His eyes flicked over the gunslinger’s shoulder. “Fools, perchance. Let your shadow grow hair on its face. Let it become dark.” He smiled grotesquely. “Given time, words may even enchant an enchanter. Do you take my meaning, gunslinger?

But if you could just pay her some small attention-or better yet, escort her yourself-it would be ever so helpful, and I would be grateful forever.” “Alex, if you were married to anyone but Jordan Townsende, I might consider asking you how you’d be willing to express your gratitude. However, since I haven’t any real wish to see my life brought to a premature end, I shall refrain from doing so and say instead that your smile is gratitude enough.” “Don’t joke, Roddy, I’m quite desperately in need of your help, and I would be eternally grateful for it.” “You are making me quake with trepidation, my sweet. Whoever she is, she must be in a deal of trouble if you need me.” “She’s lovely and spirited, and you will admire her tremendously.” “In that case, I shall deem it an embarrassing honor to lend my support to her. Who-“ His gaze flicked to a sudden movement in the doorway and riveted there, his eternally bland expression giving way to reverent admiration. “My God,” he whispered. Standing in the doorway like a vision from heaven was an unknown young woman clad in a shimmering silver-blue gown with a low, square neckline that offered a tantalizing view of smooth, voluptuous flesh, and a diagonally wrapped bodice that emphasized a tiny waist. Her glossy golden hair was swept back off her forehead and held in place with a sapphire clip, then left to fall artlessly about her shoulders and midway down her back, where it ended in luxurious waves and curls that gleamed brightly in the dancing candlelight. Beneath gracefully winged brows and long, curly lashes her glowing green eyes were neither jade nor emerald, but a startling color somewhere in between. In that moment of stunned silence Roddy observed her with the impartiality of a true connoisseur, looking for flaws that others would miss and finding only perfection in the delicately sculpted cheekbones, slender white throat, and soft mouth. The vision in the doorway moved imperceptibly. “Excuse me,” she said to Alexandra with a melting smile, her voice like wind chimes, “I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.” In a graceful swirl of silvery blue skirts she turned and vanished, and still Roddy stared at the empty doorway while Alexandra’s hopes soared. Never had she seen Roddy display the slightest genuine fascination for a feminine face and figure. His words sent her spirits even higher: “My God,” he said again in a reverent whisper. “Was she real?” “Very real,” Alex eagerly assured him, “and very desperately in need of your help, though she mustn’t know what I’ve asked of you. You will help, won’t you?” Dragging his gaze from the doorway, he shook his head as if to clear it. “Help?” he uttered dryly. “I’m tempted to offer her my very desirable hand in marriage!

Anna? Anna,are you there? I've been waiting in the lobby for fifteen minutes." A scrambling noise,and St. Clair curses from the floorboards. "And I see your light's off.Brilliant. Could've mentioned you'd decided to go on without me." I explode out of bed. I overslept! I can't believe I overslept! How could this happen? St. Clair's boots clomp away,and his suitcase drags heavily behind him. I throw open my door. Even though they're dimmed this time of night,the crystal sconces in the hall make me blink and shade my eyes. St. Clair twists into focus.He's stunned. "Anna?" "Help," I gasp. "Help me." He drops his suitcase and runs to me. "Are you all right? What happened?" I pull him in and flick on my light. The room is illuminated in its disheveled entirety. My luggage with its zippers open and clothes piled on top like acrobats. Toiletries scattered around my sink. Bedsheets twined into ropes. And me. Belatedly, I remember that not only is my hair crazy and my face smeared with zit cream,but I'm also wearing matching flannel Batman pajamas. "No way." He's gleeful. "You slept in? I woke you up?" I fall to the floor and frantically squish clothes into my suitcase. "You haven't packed yet?" "I was gonna finish this morning! WOULD YOU FREAKING HELP ALREADY?" I tug on a zipper.It catches a yellow Bat symbol, and I scream in frustration. We're going to miss our flight. We're going to iss it,and it's my fault. And who knows when the next plane will leave, and we'll be stuck here all day, and I'll never make it in time for Bridge and Toph's show. And St. Clair's mom will cry when she has to go to the hospital without him for her first round of internal radiation, because he'll be stuck iin an airport on the other side of the world,and its ALL. MY FAULT. "Okay,okay." He takes the zipper and wiggles it from my pajama bottoms. I make a strange sound between a moan and a squeal. The suitcase finally lets go, and St. Clair rests his arms on my shoulders to steady them. "Get dressed. Wipe your face off.I'll takecare of the rest." Yes,one thing at a time.I can do this. I can do this. ARRRGH! He packs my clothes. Don't think about him touching your underwear. Do NOT think about him touching your underwear. I grab my travel outfit-thankfully laid out the night before-and freeze. "Um." St. Clair looks up and sees me holding my jeans. He sputters. "I'll, I'll step out-" "Turn around.Just turn around, there's not time!" He quickly turns,and his shoulders hunch low over my suitcase to prove by posture how hard he is Not Looking.

I'll be your fake boyfriend whether you kiss me or not." His hand grazed the small of her back, the tension between them almost magnetic as he continued, "But I hope you will." She licked her lower lip, and her breath faltered. "You're not wrong. I like you. You're kind. And you're weirdly sweet. And..." Her gaze fixed on his mouth, then flicked back to his eyes. "You have amazing lips." "So do you," he replied, and stroked a lock of her hair off her face. He grinned and leaned into her. "Kiss me, mi amor.

Jackson…” she whispered. “I love to hear my name on your lips,” he rasped against her ear. “Say it again.” “Jackson…this isn’t another lesson…is it?” She had to know. She had to be sure. “It ought to be,” he growled. “God knows you didn’t learn the first one very well, or we wouldn’t be here together, alone.” When he lifted her onto the table, knocking off some of the books, she gasped. “I’ve never been good with lessons.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Perhaps you haven’t had the right teacher. Or the right lessons, my lady.” “Celia,” she countered, burying her hands in his thick, raven hair. He had the most beautiful hair, soft to the touch, with lovely waves that spilled wantonly over her fingers. “If I’m to call you Jackson, you must call me Celia.” His eyes turned molten gray as they locked with hers. “Celia,” he breathed. Then he brought his hands up to flick open the buttons of her redingote and pull out her lace tucker so he could toss it aside. She caught her breath. “Wha-What are you doing?” “Continuing your lessons.” He spread open her redingote gown to expose her undergarments. “I want to taste you. Will you let me, sweeting?” Sweeting? That alone would have softened her resolve, for no mad had ever called her such a lovely thing. But the fact that he was asking for what Ned had tried to force from her melted her resistance even further. “I’m willing to repeat a lesson as often as it takes to learn it,” she said, shocking her own boldness.

The air is crisp on my skin, and though my hands are wrapped under thick gloves, I shove my fists into my pockets anyway. The wind penetrates here through every layer, including skin. I’m dressed in fur so thick that walking feels like an exertion. It slows me down more than I would like, and even though I know there’s no imminent threat of attack, I still don’t like being unprepared in case one comes. It shakes me more than the cold ever could. When I turn to Lira, the ends of her hair are white with frost. “Try not to breathe,” I tell her. “It might get stuck halfway out.” Lira flicks up her hood. “You should try not to talk then,” she retorts. “Nobody wants your words being preserved for eternity.” “They’re pearls of wisdom, actually.” I can barely see Lira’s eyes under the mass of dark fur from her coat, but the mirthless curl of her smile is ever-present. It lingers in calculated amusement as she considers what to say next. Readies to ricochet the next blow. Lira pulls a line of ice from her hair, artfully indifferent. “If that is what pearls are worth these days, I’ll make sure to invest in diamonds.” “Or gold,” I tell her smugly. “I hear it’s worth its weight.” Kye shakes the snow from his sword and scoffs. “Anytime you two want to stop making me feel nauseated, go right ahead.” “Are you jealous because I’m not flirting with you?” Madrid asks him, warming her finger on the trigger mechanism of her gun. “I don’t need you to flirt with me,” he says. “I already know you find me irresistible.” Madrid reholsters her gun. “It’s actually quite easy to resist you when you’re dressed like that.” Kye looks down at the sleek red coat fitted snugly to his lithe frame. The fur collar cuddles against his jaw and obscures the bottoms of his ears, making it seem as though he has no neck at all. He throws Madrid a smile. “Is it because you think I look sexier wearing nothing?” Torik lets out a withering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’m not sure whether it’s from the hours we’ve gone without food or his inability to wear cutoffs in the biting cold, but his patience seems to be wearing thin. “I could swear that I’m on a life-and-death mission with a bunch of lusty kids,” he says. “Next thing I know, the lot of you will be writing love notes in rum bottles.” “Okay,” Madrid says. “Now I feel nauseated.

PANOTII LOOKS PUT OUT ABOUT BEING LEFT BEHIND AND dogs my steps as I stow his tack under the deep overhang on the south side of the wizard’s hovel. There’s plenty of grass here, water at the lake, and it’s not that cold yet, despite the shift in seasons. If the rains start before we get back, the horses can take shelter under the overhang. I’m not worried about them wandering off. Not one of them has stepped outside of the large makeshift corral of God Bolt pits since we got here. “You can’t come with us,” I tell him. “It’ll be cold and slippery. And big monsters will want to eat you.” He tosses his head, snorting. “Really big monsters. There might be Dragons. And the Hydra. And I can’t vouch for the friendliness of the Ipotane toward regular horses.” I blow gently into his nose. Panotii chuffs back. “You’ll be safe here, and if anyone tries to steal you, Grandpa Zeus will throw down a thunderbolt. Boom! No more horse thief.” “Zeus may have better things to do than babysit our horses,” Flynn says, stowing his own equine gear next to mine. I glance northward toward the Gods’ mountain home and speak loudly. “In that case, I’m announcing right now that I’ll make an Olympian stink if anything happens to my horse.” Flynn looks nervous and moves away from me like he’s expecting a God Bolt to come thundering down. “She’s not kidding.” Sunlight glints off Griffin’s windblown hair. Thick black stubble darkens his jaw. He flashes me a smile that brings out the slight hook in his nose, and something tightens in my belly. I turn back to Panotii and scratch under his jaw. “You’re in charge here.” His enormous ears flick my way. “You keep the others in line.” Panotii nods. I swear to the Gods, my horse nods. Brown Horse raises his head and pins me with a gimlet stare. I roll my eyes. “Fine. You can help. You’re both in charge.” Apparently satisfied, Griffin’s horse goes back to grazing, shearing the grass around him with neat, organized efficiency. Griffin and Brown Horse were made for each other. Panotii shoves his nose into my shoulder, knocking me back a step. Taking a handful of his chestnut mane, I stretch up on my toes to whisper into one of his donkey ears. “Seriously, you’re in charge. I’ll bet you can even rhyme.” Carver and Kato chuckle as they walk past. Griffin bands his arms around my waist from behind, surprising me. “I heard that.

He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers—and find myself brushing Aladdin’s hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little. “Sometimes,” he says, “I forget you’re supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen.” “I do not!” I sit up and glare at him. He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment’s hesitation, I reach over and flick them away. Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze.

With a quick flick, he unhooked her bra, releasing her breasts from their confinement. "You are more beautiful than I imagined." He tossed her bra on the floor. "And your skin... Christ, it shimmers like gold." Before she could respond, his mouth was on her nipple, hot and wet and sucking with gentle pulls. She unraveled in an instant, sliding her fingers through his soft hair as she rocked her hips on his cock. "Fuck, Liam." As a rule, Daisy didn't often use the word fuck. With over a million total words in the English language, there were many better ways to express oneself, but when the man of her teenage fantasies was sucking on her nipples while squeezing her ass and grinding his thick cock against her, fuck was the perfect word to express both her emotional state---impatient, needy, and flying on an endorphin high---and her hopes for the future.

His tousled hair glittered like pagan gold as he pressed her to her back and dragged his open mouth over her flat stomach. Evie shook her head with groggy denial even as he bent her knees and pushed them upward. "Too tired," she said thickly, "I---wait, Sebastian---" His tongue searched her salty-damp flesh with assuaging licks, persisting until her protests died away. The gentle ministrations of his mouth lulled her into peace, her heartbeat slowing to measured beats. After long, patient minutes, he drew the swollen bud of her clitoris in his mouth and began to suckle and nibble. She jerked at the delicate aggression of his mouth. He drove her higher, his tongue flicking and swirling in a deliberate pattern, his arms clamping around her thighs. It seemed her body was no longer her own, that she existed only to receive this torment of pleasure. Sebastian... she could not voice his name, and yet he seemed to hear her silent plea, and in response he did something with his mouth that launched her into a series of incandescent climaxes. Every time she thought it was over, another ripple of sensation went through her until she was so exhausted that she begged him to stop. Sebastian rose over her, his eyes glittering in his shadowed face. She moved to welcome him, opening her legs, sliding her arms around the powerful length of his back. He nudged inside her swollen flesh, filling her completely. As his mouth came to her ear, she could hardly hear his whisper over the thumping of her heart. "Evie," came his dark voice, "I want something from you... I want you to come one more time." "No," she said weakly. "Yes. I need to feel you come around me." Her head rolled in a slow, negative shake across the pillow. "I can't... I can't..." "Yes, you can. I'll help you." His hand drifted along her body to the place where they were joined. "Let me deeper inside you... deeper..." She moaned helplessly as she felt his fingertips on her sex, skillfully manipulating her spent nerves. Suddenly she felt him sliding even farther as her excited body opened to accept him. "Mmm..." he crooned. "Yes, that's it... ah, love, you're so sweet..." He settled between her bent knees, into the cradle of her hips, driving hard and sure inside her. She encompassed him with her arms and legs, and buried her face in his hot throat, and cried out one last time, her flesh pulsing and tightening to bring him to shattering fulfillment. He shook in her arms, and clenched his hands into the warm spill of her hair as he gave himself over to her completely, worshipping her with every part of his body and spirit.

into my room. *   *   * The last time I had sex was the night I left my husband. I packed my bags while he was at work and loaded most of them into the car. The furniture, the mementos, everything except my clothes was his to keep—where I was going, I wouldn’t need them. Then I waited in the hallway, sitting on a suitcase. Aiden arrived home at the usual time. The door jammed on my suitcase as he flicked on the light. “Hey,” he said, “what are you doing?” “Leaving you,” I said. Aiden continued hooking his coat on the hall tree. “Oh yeah?” “Mmm-hmm,” I said. “You seem to be taking it well.” He turned, taking in my suitcase and somber expression. “You’re … serious?” I’d never threatened to leave him before, but we had a certain way of talking, a light way, that made everything seem like a joke. As I held his gaze and nodded, realization dawned. “Shit, Anna.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I know we have problems but—” “I have Alzheimer

Mystery is good." He drummed his fingertips on my thigh. "Maybe.Maybe not. But I'll let it go. How about this: If I were to open the top drawer of your dresser, what would I find?" "Are we back to discussing my underwear again?" "Only in graphic detail..." He flicked my sore knee, but not where the bruise was. "I keep loose change and my oldest comic books in mine. Some people have journals or photographs or awards..." "Okay,okay." I sighed. "Underwear," I said. "Two ancient swimsuits, and a magazine file." "Of...?" "Pictures I've pulled out of magazines." "Yes,thank you. I gathered that. What's in it?" I squirmed a little and contemplated lying. Travel pix, shoes, hints on getting glue off of Ultrasuede... "Mostly pictures of models with short hair," I confessed finally. "It's sort of a goal of mine." Alex reached up and wrapped a strand around his finger. "I like your hair," he said quietly, "but I think you'd look great whatever you did with it.

James finished his curry and wandered off on his own. He noticed a girl leaning against a tree smoking. Long hair, baggy jeans. She was about James’s age, nice looking. He didn’t remember her from any of the intelligence files. “Hey, can I have a drag?” James said, trying to sound cool. “Sure,” the girl said. She passed James the cigarette. James had never tried one before and hoped he wasn’t about to make an idiot of himself. He gave it a little suck. It burned his throat, but he managed not to cough. “Not seen you here before,” the girl said. “I’m Ross,” James said. “Staying here with my aunt for a bit.” “Joanna,” the girl said. “I live in Craddogh.” “Haven’t been there yet,” James said. “It’s a dump, two shops and a post office. Where you from?” “London.” “I wish I was,” Joanna said. “You like it here?” “I’m always covered in mud. I want to go to bed, but there’s a guy playing guitar three meters from where I sleep. I wish I could go home, have a warm shower, and see my mates.” Joanna smiled. “So why are you staying with your aunt?” “Long story: Parents are getting divorced. Mum freaking out. Got expelled from school.” “So you’re good-looking and you’re a rebel,” Joanna said. James was glad it was quite dark because he felt himself blush. “You want the last puff, Ross?” “No, I’m cool,” James said. Joanna flicked the cigarette butt into the night. “So, I paid you a compliment,” Joanna said. “Yeah.” Joanna laughed. “So do I get one back?” she asked. “Oh, sure,” James said. “You’re really like . . . nice.” “Can’t I get any better than nice?” “Beautiful,” James said. “You’re beautiful.” “That’s more like it,” Joanna said. “Want to kiss me?” “Um, OK,” James said. James was nervous. He’d never had the courage to ask a girl out. Now he was about to kiss someone he’d known for three minutes. He pecked her on the cheek. Joanna shoved James against the tree and started kissing his face and neck. Her hand went in the back pocket of James’s jeans, then she jumped backwards.

How generous is your mistress,’ said the light, mocking voice of Prince Dmitri Ivanovich Vishnevetsky, ‘who said that as your guest I might hunt where I pleased.’ Half veiled by the blossom, he leaned against the opposite wall: a man strongly made with cleft chin and soft chestnut hair and moustache, and all the arts of a courtier. In his hands was a small Turkish bow; and across the spangled silk of his shirt hung a quiver. He smiled as he ceased speaking, and bending the bow, took aim, lightly, at a fluttering host of birds calling from the cherry tree over his head. The Voevoda smiled. ‘I am more generous still,’ he said, and drew back his arm, the fingers brushing his girdle. A flick of silver, arching through the air, touched Vishnevetsky’s bow with a click, and the Prince made a sound, cut off at once, as he stumbled off-balance, the sliced wood and hemp whipping about him: his arms flung involuntarily apart. Lymond’s knife, its chased hilt gold in the lamplight, lay on the cracked tiles at his feet. Lymond said, ‘I give you both weapon and quarry.

Sara flinched as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her to his naked body. The heat of his skin sank through the insubstantial layer of her shift. He was aroused, throbbing hard and forcefully erect against her. "Open your eyes," he said. "There's nothing to be afraid of." She forced herself to comply, staring straight ahead into his chest. Her heart thumped so violently that it seemed to batter against her ribs. As if he could read her mind, Derek lowered his mouth to her hair and held her tightly. "Sara... I'm going to take care of you. I'll never hurt you, or force you to do something you don't want." He took a long breath and forced himself to add reluctantly, "If you want this to stop, then tell me. I probably won't be kind. But I'll wait." She would never know how much the words cost him. It went against his nature to deny himself what he wanted so badly. He had been deprived of too much when he was young- it had made him selfish to the core. But her needs had become too important to him, her affection too precious to risk. Sara looked up at him, reading the truth in his face. Gradually her body relaxed against his. "You must tell me how to please you," she said softly. "I-I don't know anything... and you know too much." His black lashes lowered over a flick of green fire. A wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "We'll find some middle ground," he promised, and kissed her.

Still dark. The Alpine hush is miles deep. The skylight over Holly’s bed is covered with snow, but now that the blizzard’s stopped I’m guessing the stars are out. I’d like to buy her a telescope. Could I send her one? From where? My body’s aching and floaty but my mind’s flicking through the last night and day, like a record collector flicking through a file of LPs. On the clock radio, a ghostly presenter named Antoine Tanguay is working through Nocturne Hour from three till four A.M. Like all the best DJs, Antoine Tanguay says almost nothing. I kiss Holly’s hair, but to my surprise she’s awake: “When did the wind die down?” “An hour ago. Like someone unplugged it.” “You’ve been awake a whole hour?” “My arm’s dead, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” “Idiot.” She lifts her body to tell me to slide out. I loop a long strand of her hair around my thumb and rub it on my lip. “I spoke out of turn last night. About your brother. Sorry.” “You’re forgiven.” She twangs my boxer shorts’ elastic. “Obviously. Maybe I needed to hear it.” I kiss her wound-up hair bundle, then uncoil it. “You wouldn’t have any ciggies left, perchance?” In the velvet dark, I see her smile: A blade of happiness slips between my ribs. “What?” “Use a word like ‘perchance’ in Gravesend, you’d get crucified on the Ebbsfleet roundabout for being a suspected Conservative voter. No cigarettes left, I’m ’fraid. I went out to buy some yesterday, but found a semiattractive stalker, who’d cleverly made himself homeless forty minutes before a whiteout, so I had to come back without any.” I trace her cheekbones. “Semiattractive? Cheeky moo.” She yawns an octave. “Hope we can dig a way out tomorrow.” “I hope we can’t. I like being snowed in with you.” “Yeah well, some of us have these job things. Günter’s expecting a full house. Flirty-flirty tourists want to party-party-party.” I bury my head in the crook of her bare shoulder. “No.” Her hand explores my shoulder blade. “No what?” “No, you can’t go to Le Croc tomorrow. Sorry. First, because now I’m your man, I forbid it.” Her sss-sss is a sort of laugh. “Second?” “Second, if you went, I’d have to gun down every male between twelve and ninety who dared speak to you, plus any lesbians too. That’s seventy-five percent of Le Croc’s clientele. Tomorrow’s headlines would all be BLOODBATH IN THE ALPS AND LAMB THE SLAUGHTERER, and the a vegetarian-pacifist type, I know you wouldn’t want any role in a massacre so you’d better shack up”—I kiss her nose, forehead, and temple—“with me all day.” She presses her ear to my ribs. “Have you heard your heart? It’s like Keith Moon in there. Seriously. Have I got off with a mutant?” The blanket’s slipped off her shoulder: I pull it back. We say nothing for a while. Antoine whispers in his radio studio, wherever it is, and plays John Cage’s In a Landscape. It unscrolls, meanderingly. “If time had a pause button,” I tell Holly Sykes, “I’d press it. Right”—I press a spot between her eyebrows and up a bit—“there. Now.” “But if you did that, the whole universe’d be frozen, even you, so you couldn’t press play to start time again. We’d be stuck forever.” I kiss her on the mouth and blood’s rushing everywhere. She murmurs, “You only value something if you know it’ll end.

It's hard to form a lasting connection when your permanent address is an eight-inch mailbox in the UPS store. Still,as I inch my way closer, I can't help the way my breath hitches, the way my insides thrum and swirl. And when he turns,flashing me that slow, languorous smile that's about to make him world famous,his eyes meeting mine when he says, "Hey,Daire-Happy Sweet Sixteen," I can't help but think of the millions of girls who would do just about anything to stand in my pointy blue babouches. I return the smile, flick a little wave of my hand, then bury it in the side pocket of the olive-green army jacket I always wear. Pretending not to notice the way his gaze roams over me, straying from my waist-length brown hair peeking out from my scarf, to the tie-dyed tank top that clings under my jacket,to the skinny dark denim jeans,all the way down to the brand-new slippers I wear on my feet. "Nice." He places his foot beside mine, providing me with a view of the his-and-hers version of the very same shoe. Laughing when he adds, "Maybe we can start a trend when we head back to the States.What do you think?" We. There is no we. I know it.He knows it.And it bugs me that he tries to pretend otherwise. The cameras stopped rolling hours ago, and yet here he is,still playing a role. Acting as though our brief, on-location hookup means something more. Acting like we won't really end long before our passports are stamped RETURN. And that's all it takes for those annoyingly soft girly feelings to vanish as quickly as a flame in the rain. Allowing the Daire I know,the Daire I've honed myself to be, to stand in her palce. "Doubtful." I smirk,kicking his shoe with mine.A little harder then necessary, but then again,he deserves it for thinking I'm lame enough to fall for his act. "So,what do you say-food? I'm dying for one of those beef brochettes,maybe even a sausage one too.Oh-and some fries would be good!" I make for the food stalls,but Vane has another idea. His hand reaches for mine,fingers entwining until they're laced nice and tight. "In a minute," he says,pulling me so close my hip bumps against his. "I thought we might do something special-in honor of your birthday and all.What do you think about matching tattoos?" I gape.Surely he's joking. "Yeah,you know,mehndi. Nothing permanent.Still,I thought it could be kinda cool." He arcs his left brow in his trademark Vane Wick wau,and I have to fight not to frown in return. Nothing permanent. That's my theme song-my mission statement,if you will. Still,mehndi's not quite the same as a press-on. It has its own life span. One that will linger long after Vane's studio-financed, private jet lifts him high into the sky and right out of my life. Though I don't mention any of that, instead I just say, "You know the director will kill you if you show up on set tomorrow covered in henna." Vane shrugs. Shrugs in a way I've seen too many times, on too many young actors before him.He's in full-on star-power mode.Think he's indispensable. That he's the only seventeen-year-old guy with a hint of talent,golden skin, wavy blond hair, and piercing blue eyes that can light up a screen and make the girls (and most of their moms) swoon. It's a dangerous way to see yourself-especially when you make your living in Hollywood. It's the kind of thinking that leads straight to multiple rehab stints, trashy reality TV shows, desperate ghostwritten memoirs, and low-budget movies that go straight to DVD.

Millions of us daily take advantage of [Skype], delighted to carry the severed heads of family members under our arms as we move from the deck to the cool of inside, or steering them around our new homes, bobbing them like babies on a seasickening tour. Skype can be a wonderful consolation prize in the ongoing tournament of globalization, though typically the first place it transforms us is to ourselves. How often are the initial seconds of a video's call takeoff occupied by two wary, diagonal glances, with a quick muss or flick of the hair, or a more generous tilt of the screen in respect to the chin? Please attend to your own mask first. Yet, despite the obvious cheer of seeing a faraway face, lonesomeness surely persists in the impossibility of eye contact. You can offer up your eyes to the other person, but your own view will be of the webcam's unwarm aperture. ... The problem lies in the fact that we can't bring our silence with us through walls. In phone conversations, while silence can be both awkward and intimate, there is no doubt that each of you inhabits the same darkness, breathing the same dead air. Perversely, a phone silence is a thick rope tying two speakers together in the private void of their suspended conversation. This binding may be unpleasant and to be avoided, but it isn't as estranging as its visual counterpart. When talk runs to ground on Skype, and if the purpose of the call is to chat, I can quickly sense that my silence isn't their silence. For some reason silence can't cross the membrane of the computer screen as it can uncoil down phone lines. While we may be lulled into thinking that a Skype call, being visual, is more akin to a hang-out than a phone conversation, it is in many ways more demanding than its aural predecessor. Not until Skype has it become clear how much companionable quiet has depended on co-inhabiting an atmosphere, with a simple act of sharing the particulars of a place -- the objects in the room, the light through the window -- offering a lovely alternative to talk.

…and then Aerin caught a sudden whiff of smoke as from, and then the smell of cooking. She sat down hard, but Talat’s ears flicked back at her. What do you mean stop here? and went on. And there was a small campfire, tucked in the curve of the trail where there was a little clearing and a stream curving around the other side. “Good day to you,” said Luthe. Talat whickered a greeting, and Aerin slid off him and he went forward alone to nose Luthe's hands and browse his hair. “I thought you never left your hall and your lake,” said Aerin. “Rarely,” said Luthe. “In fact, increasingly exceedingly rarely. But I can be prodded from time to time by extraordinary circumstances.” Aerin smiled faintly. “You have plenty to choose from here recently.” “Yes.” “May I ask, which particular circumstance was sufficiently extraordinary in this case?” “Aerin—” Luthe paused, and then his voice took on its bantering tone again. “I thought you might like to be dragged back to the present, that you might arrive in time to give Tor his Crown and end the siege; and of course now instead of a few hundred years hence there is no jungle to be compelled to claw your way through. I’ve no doubt you could have done it, but it would have put you in a foul temper, and you would have been in a fouler one by the time you came back to the Lake of Dreams—assuming you would still have had the sense to to make your way there, not in your case something one can count on. You would have needed my assistance to regain your own time—if lighting a little fire made you see double, charging about in time without assistance would have blinded you for good—the longer you’re out of it, the harder it would have been to get you back in. So I came to meet you.” Aerin stared at the fire, for she couldn’t think at all when she looked at Luthe. “I really was a long time climbing, then,” she said. “Yes,” said Luthe. “A very long time.” “And a very long time falling.” “And a very long time falling.” Aerin said nothing more while she pulled Talat’s saddle off and dropped it by the fire, and rubbed his back dry, and checked his feet for small stones. “I suppose I should forgive you, then, for making me other than mortal,” she said. “You might. I would appreciate it if you did.

A dark-haired young woman was waiting in the atrium by the fountain. When she saw Arin, her face filled with light and tears. He almost ran across the short space between them to gather her in his arms. “Sister or lover?” Kestrel said. The woman looked up from their embrace. Her expression hardened. She stepped away from Arin. “What?” “Are you his sister or lover?” She walked up to Kestrel and slapped her across the face. “Sarsine!” Arin hauled her back. “His sister is dead,” Sarsine said, “and I hope you suffer as much as she did.” Kestrel’s fingers went to her cheek to press against the sting--and cover a smile with the heels of her tied hands. She remembered the bruises on Arin when she had bought him. His surly defiance. She had always wondered why slaves brought punishment upon themselves. But it had been sweet to feel a tipping of power, however slight, when that hand had cracked across her face. To know, despite the pain, that for a moment Kestrel had been the one in control. “Sarsine is my cousin,” Arin said. “I haven’t seen her in years. After the war, she was sold as a house slave. I was a laborer, so--” “I don’t care,” Kestrel said. His shadowed eyes met hers. They were the color of the winter sea--the water far below Kestrel’s feet when she had looked down and imagined what it would be like to drown. He broke the gaze between them. To his cousin he said, “I need you to be her keeper. Escort her to the east wing, let her have the run of the suite--” “Arin! Have you lost your mind?” “Remove anything that could be a weapon. Keep the outermost door locked at all times. See that she wants for nothing, but remember that she is a prisoner.” “In the east wing.” Sarsine’s voice was thick with disgust. “She’s the general’s daughter.” “Oh, I know.” “A political prisoner,” Arin said. “We must be better than the Valorians. We are more than savages.” “Do you truly think that keeping your clipped bird in a luxurious cage will change how the Valorians see us?” “It will change how we see ourselves.” “No, Arin. It will change how everyone sees you.” He shook his head. “She’s mine to do with as I see fit.” There was an uneasy rustle among the Herrani. Kestrel’s heart sickened. She kept trying to forget this: the question of what it meant to belong to Arin. He reached for her, pulling her firmly toward him as her boots dragged and squeaked against the tiles. With the flick of a knife, he cut the bonds at her wrists, and the sound of leather hitting the floor was loud in the atrium’s acoustics--almost as loud as Sarsine’s choked protest. Arin let Kestrel go. “Please, Sarsine. Take her.” His cousin stared at him. Eventually, she nodded, but her expression made clear that she thought he was indulging in something disastrous.

You want me to fuck you?” I leaned down, bringing her face to mine so our noses crushed together. I grabbed the front of her dress, twisting, tightening it against her skin until the fabric began pulling apart and tearing. “You want me to knock you up?” “Yes,” she breathed out. “Yes.” I dropped to the marble, resting my back against the vanity. “Ask nicely.” “Please.” “Nicer.” She crawled toward me on all fours, straddled my lap, and grabbed my hand, bringing it between her legs. Her fingers guided mine into her slick pussy, two of hers joining mine inside her warmth. My lips found her nipple, biting down through her dress. Together, we fucked her cunt down to our knuckles, curling until her walls pulsed. I watched our fingers disappear inside her. She arched her back, trying to accommodate as much of us as she could. Her lips drifted to the shell of my ear. “Please, please, please.” I tore my fingers out of her, ripped her dress down the middle, and captured both sides of her waist, sinking her onto my cock, down to the hilt. Her head fell forward. She bit my shoulder, drawing blood, her hips bucking. She was so tight it felt like I was fucking her ass. Her walls squeezed around me, milking my dick for cum. I let her ride my length until my impatience won over, and I pulled her off me, flipped her over, and lowered her on all fours. The marble was cold and hard against her knees. I love seeing that spoiled little brat take all of my cock, feeling the discomfort of it. My silver-spooned nymph. I entered her from behind. She drove back, meeting each of my thrusts. My fingers curled around her neck and steered her upward until her back plastered against my front. She craned her head around and captured my lips, slipping her tongue past my teeth. Her back arched, fingers dipping between her legs, searching for her clit. I smacked them away, then landed a palm on her ass. “Rom,” she whined. “I need to come.” “What you need is to be fucking grateful.” My blood brought my point home, covering every inch of her back, arms, and tits, matting her hair in clumps. I released her throat and pet the crown of her head, whispering praises into her ear. “Such a good girl.” Words I never thought I’d say. Especially to this particular girl, who was anything but good two hundred percent of the time. “If only you took directions so well when you’re not filled with my cock.” I reached around her and found her clit, rewarding her with a single flick. She cried out and fell forward, on her hands and knees again, pushing onto my cock. More crimson drops splattered onto her back. I’d reopened my wound, and fresh red painted her spine. I dipped a finger into it, then spelled my name across her back dimples. “Who owns your ass?” I growled. “You.” “Louder.” “You.” “Now crawl forward and show me your cunt from behind. I want to see if it’s worth my cum.” With a reluctant moan, she inched away from my cock, writhing about two feet away. She started to turn when I hissed, “I don’t want to see your face, Mrs. Costa. Just the cunt I stole from my enemy.” She spread her thighs apart, exposing her pussy. It dripped on my floor, her juices mixing with my blood, creating a pink puddle at her feet. I stroked my cock, coated with her wetness, scented by the wife I couldn’t get enough of. I grinned, the release tickling my shaft. “Embarrassed?” “No. Empty.” Fuck me sideways. How this woman would ever end up with a wuss like Madison, I had no idea. She would make meatballs out of him before the reception. (Chapter 55)

You still want me?” she murmured, a seductive husk to her voice. Gods, this woman could do me in with a single question. My gaze drifted down to my very proud, very erect cock and back to her face. “I think you know I’ll always want you. But right now? I want you more than I want air.” Lust bloomed through our connection, nearly knocking me for a loop. “That’s good. You know, I almost touched myself in the shower without you,” she admitted, opening her towel and showing me her perfect skin. “Almost made myself come all over my fingers just thinking about you tied up out here.” She threw a leg over mine, straddling me, my cock mere inches from Heaven. But did Wren even graze my aching, leaking head? No. No, she did not. Instead, she held herself from me as she grazed her own skin, palming her breasts, plucking her already-tight nipples.    “Fuuuuccccckkkkk,” I groaned, shifting restlessly on the sheets, trying for just a brush of her sex against mine. The pleasure she was giving herself threaded through me—enough that I was ready to rip out of these cuffs and take her over my knee. Her hands traveled down her stomach, her fingers threading through her auburn curls. “Just like this,” she said. “But I thought you’d want to see me. And you want to, don’t you? Watch me fuck myself?” My mouth was as dry as the Sahara. “Yes,” I croaked. “I want to see everything.” She whimpered as she grazed her clit with her thumb, fucking that sweet pussy with her fingers, her delicious heat so far out of reach. “Let me taste you,” I ordered, the thread of command thick in my voice. Wren raised an eyebrow, not giving an inch. “Good boys say please, Nico. Everyone knows that.” “Please,” I whispered, needing her taste on my tongue. Needing it, craving it. If she was going to torture me this way, I wanted something, anything of hers. Wren’s smile widened as she crawled up my body, grazing her luscious tits up my belly and chest. I tried capturing a nipple in my mouth, but she kept it just out of reach. She straddled my chest, her wet, slick heat so close and so far—all at the same time. I wanted her to sit on my face, wanted to lap her up, and drink her down. Wanted her pleasure for my own. But instead of letting me taste her, she went back to work, milking herself of pleasure just out of reach. Her scent filled my nose so much I could almost savor her sweetness, and as her pleasure ramped up, it got thicker in the air. She let her hair down, the wet strands curling over her gorgeous tits as she writhed. She plucked at her nipples, making herself hiss in desire. “That’s it, beautiful,” I growled. “Make yourself come all over my chest. Fuck that gorgeous pussy.” My words must have done the trick because Wren went off like a bomb, her orgasm slamming into both of us, nearly taking me over with it. But she didn’t come to me, didn’t press her body against mine, and that’s when I decided I’d had about enough of this shit. A flick of my wrists later, and Wren was on her back in my bed, her eyes wide. I nearly hissed at her warm skin against mine, but I was too preoccupied with her surprise. It was fucking adorable. “Yo-you just broke out of… How did you… How strong are you?” Like a pair of steel cuffs were a match for any shifter, let alone an Alpha. “Sweetheart, I’m an Acosta Alpha, next in line to take my father’s place if he ever decides to step down. A shifter is strong. I am stronger. Now, you’ve had your fun. It’s my turn.” Her wide green-gold eyes flared as her mouth parted, and even though she’d just had an orgasm, Wren’s desire blazed through us. As reluctant as I was to move,

How is doing your hair—and maybe putting on some lip gloss—being tricky?” “It’s like I’m trying to distract him with something shiny.” Cath circled her spoon hand in front of her face, accidentally flicking cottage cheese on her sweater. “He already knows about all this. This is what I look like.” She tried to scrape the cottage cheese off without rubbing it in.

As I’ve been telling you, Cassandra, you need to be cautious. People are not always what they seem.” Cass lifted her chin and forced herself to sound casual. “I feel very safe here on San Domenico.” She added, for good measure, “Especially now that you’re staying with us.” Luca smiled faintly. “I’m glad to hear it. I thought maybe you were finding my presence burdensome.” He flicked his eyes toward the mantel clock. “You should probably get dressed.” Luca was already dressed. He wore black breeches and boots with a wine-colored silk doublet that fit snugly across his broad shoulders. A gold embroidered velvet cape hung from one shoulder. Most of his thick blondish hair was covered by a small-brimmed black velvet hat adorned with a plume of burgundy and white feathers. “You look nice,” Cass said, partially to soften him and partially because it was true. “So do you,” he responded instantly. “I mean, you will--I mean, you do now too, but--” She turned back toward her room as Luca fumbled over his words. His politeness was sort of charming. So different from the men in the streets who hollered and clapped when women walked by. He probably wouldn’t even try to kiss her again unless she specifically told him it was all right. For a brief second, Cass wondered what it would be like to stand on her tiptoes and press her mouth against Luca’s pale lips. His beard had grown out some in the past few days. What would it feel like against the smooth skin of her cheek?

Before I met Rosie, I’d believed that a snake’s personality was rather like that of a goldfish. But Rosie enjoyed exploring. She stretched her head out and flicked her tongue at anything I showed her. Soon she was meeting visitors at the zoo. Children derived the most delight from this. Some adults had their barriers and their suspicions about wildlife, but most children were very receptive. They would laugh as Rosie’s forked tongue tickled their cheeks or touched their hair. Rosie soon became my best friend and my favorite snake. I could always use her as a therapist, to help people with a snake phobia get over their fear. She had excellent camera presence and was a director’s dream: She’d park herself on a tree limb and just stay there. Most important for the zoo, Rosie was absolutely bulletproof with children. During the course of a busy day, she often had kids lying in her coils, each one without worry or fear. Rosie became a great snake ambassador at the zoo, and I became a convert to the wonderful world of snakes. It would not have mattered what herpetological books I read or what lectures I attended. I would never have developed a relationship with Rosie if Steve hadn’t encouraged me to sit down and have dinner with her one night. I grew to love her so much, it was all the more difficult for me when one day I let her down. I had set her on the floor while I cleaned out her enclosure, but then I got distracted by a phone call. When I turned back around, Rosie had vanished. I looked everywhere. She was not in the living room, not in the kitchen, not down the hall. I felt panic well up within me. There’s a boa constrictor on the loose and I can’t find her! As I turned the corner and looked in the bathroom, I saw the dark maroon tip of her tail poking out from the vanity unit. I couldn’t believe what she had done. Rosie had managed to weave her body through all the drawers of the bathroom’s vanity unit, wedging herself completely tight inside of it. I could not budge her. She had jammed herself in. I screwed up all my courage, found Steve, and explained what had happened. “What?” he exclaimed, upset. “You can’t take your eyes off a snake for a second!” He examined the situation in the bathroom. His first concern was for the safety of the snake. He tried to work the drawers out of the vanity unit, but to no avail. Finally he simply tore the unit apart bare-handed. The smaller the pieces of the unit became, the smaller I felt. Snakes have no ears, so they pick up vibrations instead. Tearing apart the vanity must have scared Rosie to death. We finally eased her out of the completely smashed unit, and I got her back in her enclosure. Steve headed back out to work. I sat down with my pile of rubble, where the sink once stood.

I am Sebastiano, and your name?” he asks. “Violet,” I say as we step over the threshold. “Violetta!” he says, throwing his arms wide. “English girl, Italian name!” And across the room, I see a dark head turn in our direction. That much taller than the rest of the boys, he stands out, his straight black silky hair falling over his face, his blue eyes as bright and cold as the water of the fjord next to my grandmother’s summer rental cottage. I was looking for him before and couldn’t see him anywhere; now that I’ve been distracted by dancing and a Chianti-drinking donkey, he’s spotted me. His gaze flicks like a knife between me and the boy, who’s at the gigantic wine bottle now, filling cups and handing me one. “Salute!” Sebastiano says, touching his cup to mine, and I glance up at Luca, seeing that he’s taking this in, too. A rush of confusion fills me as I toast. I’m glad that Luca’s seen me with someone else, that I haven’t been a wallflower at this party, that I’ve proved him wrong, even a little bit, because there’s a boy here who seems to like me, who’s talking to me, anyway, getting me a drink. In films, in books, flirting with a boy is a surefire way to get the one you actually like interested in you, draw him over to your side. They’re supposed to like competition, the challenge of going after a girl who’s popular. But maybe real life doesn’t quite work that way. Because Luca arches one black eyebrow, his mouth quirks up on one side in a sneer, and he turns pointedly away sliding a cigarette into his mouth, and lighting it with a flip of his Zippo. Disgusting habit, I think as firmly as I can. I’m glad he’s not coming over, smoking a nasty stinking cancer stick. It’s awful when you lie to yourself. I do think smoking is foul, but I’m also more than aware that if Luca strolled over to talk to me, with that cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, I wouldn’t walk away, complaining about the smoke; I’d stand there staring up at him, trying not to grin as widely as a five-year-old meeting Cinderella at Disneyland.

were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?’ she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear her. ‘Nothing,’ said Harry gloomily. ‘I was so sure it was Malfoy,’ said Ron, for about the hundredth time. ‘What’s that?’ asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow. ‘Just a Get Well card,’ said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open and read aloud: ‘To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.’ Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

Dawn came in wisps of pink against a blue-gray sky. Through the trees, shafts of misty sunlight formed luminous motes of warmth along the river. Birds sang. Squirrels chattered. The low rush of the water was ceaseless. Loretta woke slowly, aware before she opened her eyes that something was horribly wrong. Amy wasn’t this big. The arm around her was hard and heavy, the warm hand that cupped her breast distinctly masculine. She frowned and wondered where the hairy blanket touching her cheek had come from. Where was the gray down quilt? Why did she hurt everywhere? Through the spikes of her eyelashes, she stared at a gnarled tree root. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. The moldy floor of the forest blended its musty smell with the rich, tantalizing aroma of coffee. Then the sound of men’s voices drifted to her, the tones conversational, interspersed with an occasional chuckle. Friendly voices. Normal-sounding voices--except for one thing. She couldn’t understand the language. With a start, she remembered. Her sudden gasp of alarm woke the Comanche who held her in his arms. She knew without looking that it was Hunter, the most horrible. His hand tightened reflexively on her naked breast, and his arm hardened to steel around her. He grunted something and nuzzled her neck. Loretta’s first instinct was to grab his hand, but she no sooner tried than she realized that her own were bound behind her. He pressed his face against her hair and took a deep breath. She could tell he was only half-awake by the slow, lazy way he moved. His thumb grazed her nipple, teasing the sensitive tip into an unwilling response. Her body sprang taut as well, jerking with every flick of his fingers. He yawned and pressed closer. Oh, God, help me. Lowering his hand to her belly, he pressed his palm against her spasm-stricken muscles and kneaded away the tightness. She felt like a sensitive harp string, thrummed by expert fingers. Horrified by her body’s reaction, she tried to twist free, but he threw a damp, buckskin-clad leg over both of hers and pinned her to the fur. Her back stung each time she moved, the pain so sharp it made beads of sweat pop out on her brow. Her thighs felt as if they were on fire. “M-mm-m, you are still hot,” he mumbled. His hand lingered on her belly. “Not too bad where the sun did not touch, though. The fever is better.” No man had ever dared touch her like this. She tossed her head from side to side, strained to get her arms and legs free, then shuddered in defeat. “Do not fight.” His voice was so close, it seemed to come from within her own mind. “You cannot win, eh? Rest.” His sleepy whispers invaded her whole being, slow, hypnotic, persuasive. He rubbed her in a circular motion, pausing in sleep, then coming awake to rub some more. “Lie still. Trust this Comanche. It is for the burn, no? To heal your skin.

Make me a story.” “Hunter, I don’t have a stitch of clothes on,” she squeaked. One of his dark eyebrows flicked upward. “You must have clothes to make stories?” “No. I guess I…well, it might help me think.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, carrying her along with him in the curve of his arm. Pressing her head onto his shoulder, he made a valiant attempt to ignore the feeling of her silken flesh against his and said, “This Comanche wears breeches. I will make the story.” And with that, Hunter began talking, smiling to himself every once in a while because he quickly discovered that he had as much trouble concentrating as she did when she didn’t have clothes on. In a husky whisper he recited the prophecy to her. When he finished she stirred in the crook of his arm. “That is your song?” “Huh, yes.” “But, it’s beautiful!” With a start, Hunter realized he thought so, too. “Since my boyhood, I had much hate for the words.” He twined a length of her hair around his finger, smiling. “And great hate for the honey-haired woman who would one day steal my heart. I wished to kill you, yes?” “But I’m not the woman in your song.” “Ah, yes, you are the woman.” “The song says the People will call me the Little Wise One. They don’t! And they never will. I’m far from wise.” “It will come to pass,” he assured her. “It must. All of the words must.

With a quiet pause, he let his hand come to rest just below the triangle of blond curls that concealed her most tender flesh. "Cade?" she said in a strained voice. "Close your eyes," he commanded. "Close your eyes and let me please you." "But you have... you do." "Good. Then let me please you more." Parting her, he eased a finger inside and began to stroke. She arched, inadvertently driving him even further inside. Her body responded, sending down a rush of wetness that made his caresses that much easier, that much more inviting. As he'd asked, she let her eyelids flutter closed, her head rolling against the sheets, while need coiled hot as a brand through her belly and between her legs. Unable to govern her reaction, her breath came in fast, little pants, her legs parting as he continued his deep inner massage. Leaning up, he caught her mouth in a slow, ravishing kiss, tangling his tongue with hers in an imitation of what he was doing to her below. She gave a muffled cry when he added another finger, filling her in a way that drove her right to the edge. A few strokes later a swirling flick of his thumb sent her hurtling over, her fingers clenching in his hair as she shook with release. But he wasn't done, stoking her desire with deep, open-mouthed kisses that made her moan, his fingers building her need once more so that she could do nothing but yearn, held utterly in his thrall until he finally took mercy and sent her flying yet again.

If I’m your salvation…” I pause to smirk, flicking a vicious glare over her. With my other hand, I capture a lock of her hair between my fingers, twirling it around. “Welcome to hell.

Fae of the match,” she said and I flinched in surprise as her voice rang out over the whole stadium. “Goes to Geraldine Grus.” I could finally let my smile free as I looked around to see Geraldine leaping out of her spot in the line up, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “Oh sweet onion balls!” she gasped as she rushed towards us. “Congratulations!” I said enthusiastically as I placed the medal over her head. She crushed me in an embrace, lifting me clean off of my feet as she celebrated. Darcy wrapped her arms around us too and we laughed as Geraldine descended into happy tears. “And congratulations to the winners of the match: Starlight Academy!” Nova added loudly when we didn’t seem likely to break free of Geraldine any time soon. The crowd from Starlight went crazy, their applause deafening as the team jumped up and down in ecstatic celebration. A low growl caught my attention and I glanced to my right where Darius stood almost close enough to touch. His jaw was locked tight, his spine rigid and his eyes burning with rage. I looked away from him quickly, though I couldn’t help but feel glad that this was upsetting him. Poor little Darius lost his favourite game. Imagine how bad you’d feel if someone tried to drown you though? Not that I’m bitter at all... Nova passed Darcy a bunch of flowers and gave me a medal on a green ribbon as the Starlight Airstriker stepped up to claim them. The guy pulled both of us into an exuberant hug as he claimed his prizes and I couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased for the team as we worked our way through the line, handing over flowers and medals to each of them as they approached. I imagined beating a team filled with the Celestial Heirs was something that none of them would ever forget. I could feel heat radiating off of Darius beside me as he fought to maintain his composure while the line worked its way past us but I didn’t look his way again. The last Starlight player to approach us was the Captain, Quentin. He smiled widely as he accepted the flowers from Darcy, tossing her a wink. As I placed the medal around his neck he pulled me into a tight hug, his hand skimming my ass less than accidentally. I pushed him off with a laugh, his excitement infectious in a way that made me think he was a Siren but it didn’t feel invasive like the way it always did with Max. Maybe because he wasn’t trying to force any emotions onto me, just sharing his own. “Why don’t you two girls come back and party with us at Starlight tonight?” he offered and I didn’t miss his suggestive tone. “Why don’t you fuck off while you’ve still got some teeth left?” Darius said before we could respond. I frowned at him but his gaze was locked on Quentin. To my surprise, Quentin laughed tauntingly. “And to think, we were worried about facing off against the Celestial Heirs,” he said, aiming his comments at me and Darcy. “Turns out they really aren’t that impressive after all. It would be a shame if Solaria ended up in their loser hands. Maybe the two of you should reconsider the idea of taking up your crown?” I laughed at his brazen behaviour, wondering how much more it would take for Darius to snap. “Yeah,” I replied jokingly. “Maybe we should take our crowns back after all.” Darcy laughed too, flicking her long hair. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “I think a crown would suit me actually.” Quentin yelled out in surprise as a shot of heated energy slammed into him like a freight train and he was catapulted halfway across the pitch before falling into a heap on the ground. Before I could react in any way, I found a severely pissed off Dragon Shifter snarling in my face. My breath caught in my lungs and I blinked up at him as he growled at me. Seth moved in on Darcy beside me, his face set with the same enraged scowl while the other two drew close behind them. “Do you want to say that again?” Darius asked, his voice low, the threat in it sending a tremor right through my core. (tory)

Do you want to know a secret?” she breathed, her voice lowering seductively. “What?” I asked, wanting to hear anything and everything she might ever want to tell me. She leaned a little closer and her long hair tickled my skin. “I think,” she breathed slowly. “That I’m going to puke.” She leapt off of me so quickly that the bed bounced beneath me as she darted to the en-suite. My dick was straining so hard against my fly that I thought it might actually burst and I had to rearrange myself before I could follow her. By the time I got there she’d already emptied her stomach contents into the toilet and she flushed it before stumbling towards the basin where she washed her mouth out. She proceeded to steal my toothbrush like a goddamn animal and I leaned against the doorframe as I watched her, trying not to look at her ass too much as she bent forward over the basin but I was clearly failing at that. I should have been pissed at her for intruding on my space like this but somehow I didn’t mind at all. When she’d finished, she sauntered back towards me, pushing a hand into her hair as she fought to walk in a straight line. She failed. I caught her as she almost face planted into the tiles and hooked her into my arms before returning her to the bed again. She tugged me down too and I was past the point of protesting. The moment her head hit the pillow her eyes fell shut but she turned towards me, draping an arm across my waist. I flicked the lights off and the room was only illuminated by the fire which was burning low in the grate. “You’re unbelievable, you know that,” she mumbled. “In what way?” I asked, wondering if she just might be about to admit that she felt this heat between us too. She shifted nearer to me and I pulled her close as she laid her head on my chest. My heart was hammering wildly and I couldn’t quite believe the strange turn of events that had led us here. For the longest moment she didn’t speak and I began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep but then she carried on. “You have the biggest goddamn jacuzzi I’ve ever seen in your bathroom,” she said and I couldn’t help but laugh at the way that conversation had gone. “Do you like it?” I asked. “No. It’s just unbelievable. Like you. You’re just... such... a dick.” Her breathing grew heavier and I was sure she’d passed out again. A smile pulled at my lips in response to her comment. It might have been nice for my ego if she’d started declaring how attractive she found me, but in all honesty she just wouldn’t have been herself without her smart mouth. And I was beginning to realise that I might like that, and a few other things about her, just a bit too much. (Darius POV)

I caught his mouth with mine and shifted my hands to start unhooking his shirt buttons. I could feel him grinning as he kissed me harder, driving me back against the bookshelf and shoving his knee between my thighs. I pushed his shirt off of his broad shoulders and looked at the perfection of his muscular torso for a moment, running my hands down his chest. He drove me back against the shelf more firmly, kissing me again. I devoured the taste of him, his hands sliding over my breasts through the thin material of my dress and making my nipples harden in response. I placed my palms on his chest and pushed him back, propelling him around so that he was pressed against the shelf instead of me and a dark laugh left him. “Do you wanna be in charge, sweetheart?” “Well, I am more powerful than you,” I teased. His eyes lit with the challenge in my tone as I took a few steps back and pulled on the knot at the back of my neck. My dress fell from my body like a spill of oil and pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my black panties. “Holy shit, Tory.” He gazed at me hungrily and I stepped back again biting on my bottom lip as I looked at him. “Take your pants off,” I commanded. Caleb’s smile deepened and he held my eye as he kicked his shoes off and unhooked his belt. I twisted my fingers through my hair as I watched him, my pulse rising as he revealed more of his muscular body to me. When he was down to his navy boxers, he advanced on me again. I smiled, backing up as he stalked towards me until the backs on my thighs met with the games table. He was upon me in a heartbeat, his hands gripping my thighs as he lifted me up and sat me on the table. His mouth pressed to my throat, stubble grazing across my skin in the most delicious way. His kisses moved lower, passing over my collar bone before making it to the swell of my breast. His mouth landed on my nipple, his tongue flicking against it and making me moan in pleasure. His hand found my other breast while he spread his other palm across my lower back to hold me in place. I locked my ankles around him, pulling him closer so that I could feel the full length of his arousal grinding against me through the lacy fabric of my panties. His mouth found mine again and I pushed my fingers into his golden curls as my breasts skimmed against the firm lines of his muscular chest. My muscles were tightening, my heart pounding and my body aching for more of him. I grazed my fingertips down his chest, feeling every ridge of his abdomen before reaching the waistband of his boxers. I pushed my hand beneath the soft material and wrapped my fingers around the hard length of him. Caleb groaned against my lips as I began to move my hand up and down, a tingle running along my spine as I felt just how much my touch affected him. His hands made it to the sides of my panties and he peeled them down as his heavy breathing broke our kiss. I lifted my ass to let him remove them and he stepped back, forcing my hand off of him as he tossed my underwear aside. I watched as he pushed his boxers off revealing every inch of him and my mouth dried up with desire. He shot forward with his Vampire speed, scooping me up and moving me backwards as he lay me beneath him on the games table. Poker chips and cards scattered all around us and a surprised laugh left my lips. He grinned as he kissed me again, hard enough to bruise my lips but still not enough to tame my desire. My hands explored the curve of his shoulders and I arched my back off of the table so that my nipples skimmed his flesh. Caleb shifted, moving between my legs, our kiss breaking for the briefest moment as he looked into my eyes and pushed himself inside me. A moan of pleasure escaped me as he filled me and I tipped my head back, my eyes falling closed as I absorbed the feeling of his body merging with mine. “Fuck,” Caleb breathed as he started to move, slowly at first but building in speed as I urged him on. (tory)

He opened an eye and smiled lazily at me. 'That willow's singing always puts me to sleep.' 'The what of what?' I said, propping myself on my elbows to stare at the tree above us.' Tamlin pointed toward the willow. The branches sighed as they moved in the breeze. 'It sings.' 'I suppose it sings war-camp limericks, too?' He smiled and half sat up, twisting to look at me. 'You're human,' he said and I rolled my eyes. 'Your senses are still sealed off from everything.' I made a face. 'Just another of my many shortcomings.' But the word- shortcomings- had somehow stopped finding its mark. He plucked a strand of grass from my hair. Heat radiated from my face as his fingers grazed my cheek. 'I could make you able to see it,' he said. His fingers lingered at the end of my braid, twirling the curl of hair around. 'See my world- hear it, smell it.' My breathing became shallow as he sat up. 'Taste it.' His eyes flicked to the fading bruise on my neck. 'How?' I asked, heat blooming as he crouched before me. 'Every gift comes with a price.' I frowned, and he grinned. 'A kiss.' 'Absolutely not!' But my blood raced, and I had to clench my hands in the grass to keep from touching him. 'Don't you think it puts me at a disadvantage to not be able to see all this?' 'I'm one of the High Fae- we don't give anything without gaining something from it.' To my own surprise, I said, 'Fine.' He blinked, probably expecting me to have fought a little harder. I hid my smile and sat up so that I faced him, our knees touching as we knelt in the grass. I licked my lips, my heart fluttering so quickly it felt as if I had a hummingbird inside my chest. 'Close your eyes,' he said, and I obeyed, my fingers grappling onto the grass. The birds chattered, and the willow branches sighed. The grass crunched as Tamlin rose up on his knees. I braced myself at the brush of his mouth on one of my eyelids, then on the other. He pulled away, and I was left breathless, the kisses still lingering on my skin.

The golden-haired High Fae's mask gleamed with the last rays of the afternoon sunshine. 'Before you ask again: the food is safe for you to eat.' He pointed to the chair at the other end of the table. No sign of his claws. When I didn't move, he sighed sharply. 'What do you want, then?' I said nothing. To eat, flee, save my family. Lucien drawled from his seat along the length of the table. 'I told you so, Tamlin.' He flicked a glance toward his friend. 'Your skills with females have definitely become rusty in recent decades.

You’re covered in blood,” Felix noted. Jericho snorted. “Yeah, kind of a hazard of the job.” Felix scoffed. “Yeah, but you’re also wearing that weird smug, smirky look you only get whenever you get laid, and since you were in an abandoned cabin with Trevor the perv, we’re…alarmed.” He flicked his hand dramatically. “Alarmed,” Jericho echoed. Arsen leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Did you fuck Trevor the perv, Coe?" Felix pulled a face. “I’m just hoping he fucked him before he killed him, not after. Once you cross that line, you don’t come back.” Jericho tried to follow their dizzying thought process, but before he could formulate a response, Nico and Levi arrived. Fuck. Levi looked like a wanted poster had fucked a tattoo model. His inky dark hair fell in his face, and he sucked on a Dum-Dum lollipop. Nico’s springy blond curls hung in his face. He looked surprisingly angelic for somebody who was such a little monster. “What’s up? Why’s everybody looking so constipated?” Levi asked. “Coe fucked Trevor the perv,” Arsen said, as if this was fact and not their wild speculation. Levi wrinkled his nose. “That dude was gay? Or was he, like”—he mimed a blowjob—“trying to bribe his way out of it?” Jericho’s face contorted at the idea of a blowjob from greasy ass Trevor, but they paid him no mind. Nico also looked disgusted. “What the fuck, man? Like, I get it. Who hasn’t wanted to fuck somebody they killed or kill somebody they fucked? But it’s a slippery slope, man.” “This is what I told him,” Arsen said, shaking his head. “Once you cross that line…” “Jesus Christ. I didn’t fuck Trevor the perv. I killed Trevor the perv,” Jericho said, walking around the four of them to head to his office, attempting to close the door behind him. His brother caught it and swung it back open. “If you didn’t fuck Trevor, then who was it? And don’t lie and say it didn’t happen. Your after orgasm glow never lies,” Arsen said, flopping down into a chair hard enough to rock it back dangerously far before it righted itself. “I—” Jericho shook his head. “I ran into a guy.” “With your dick?” Levi asked. Nico’s brows knitted together. “In the middle of the woods?” “Like, a homeless man in the woods? A… What’s the word? A hobo?” Arsen asked. Levi elbowed him. “We don’t call them that anymore. Show some respect.” Arsen shrugged. “Sorry. What do you call a man roaming the woods looking for sex?” “A lie,” Felix said, his mouth set in a hard line. “No way my brother banged some hot, sweaty lumberjack in the woods. That’s not his type.” His long, elegant fingers trailed over his collarbones, a slow smile spreading along his face as his brother seemed to get lost in his own lumberjack fantasy. “I—” “There’s nothing in the woods but animals and Sasquatch,” Nico said. “Sasquatch?” Levi parroted. Nico nodded. “Yeah, you know. Bigfoot.” “Did you fuck Bigfoot?” Levi asked, pulling the lollipop from his mouth with a pop.

Of course I am jealous,” I bite out, my tail flicking. “You smile at other males but never at me. You chatter and touch their hair, and ignore me. You touch their arms, but you hate my touch. You give your happy thoughts freely to others, and there are none for me. I want all of it. I want everything you have. I want your tears, your touches, your smiles, your frowns. I want it all, and I do not wish to share. I want to put you in my furs and devour you whole. The thought of four more males waking up and joining the tribe? Of you smiling and laughing with them? Touching them? Plaiting their hair? Taking them to your furs? It makes me crazy.” I rake my hand through my mane in frustration, but it only falls over my horns and gets in my face. “I

You’re sitting here in the dark listening to that, but I’m the scary one?’ Ravi said, flicking on the light switch, the yellow glow reflecting off the dark hair swept across his forehead. He pulled that face, the one that always got her, and Pip smiled because it was impossible not to

Narian and I left the parlor shortly thereafter in high spirits. The former Queen had been very accepting of him, and he had been remarkably forthcoming with her. Somehow, through common experience and maternal instinct, she had reached out to forge a connection with her future son-in-law. We went to my quarters and Narian stayed in the parlor while I changed for dinner, although he would not accompany me to the meal--we may have had luck with my mother, but my father would not be so receptive to the news of our betrothal. When I reemerged in simpler garb, he was in an armchair, contemplatively rubbing his once-broken wrist, his face growing progressively more trouble. I glanced around the room, wondering what could possibly have happened to change his temperament in the short time we had been apart. “Narian? What is it?” He shook his head, then ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “Your mother would make an excellent interrogator.” I couldn’t help it--I laughed, harder than I had in a long time. “I hardly think she’s the type!” “Find it as funny as you like,” he said with a smile. “But I don’t know what I was telling her!” “Well, do you regret it?” I asked, and he flashed through a myriad of emotions: confusion, deliberation, discomfort at having been so open with her, then, at last, acceptance. “No,” he said, with a touch of wonder. “I…I understand it now, I suppose--why you talk to her. Why you trust her. I wanted to trust her.” I walked over to him and sat in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but it’s time I did. I’m in love with you, Narian.” “I love you, too,” he said, the corners of his mouth flicking upward. The words weren’t so difficult, after all.

A woman was bent over a bucket, wearing a bum-skimming skirt. Her eyes followed the long shapely legs, down to the strappy stilettos adorning the woman’s feet. She flicked back the long blonde hair from her face. Who the hell was it? George’s fancy piece? How dare he when poor Jemima was laid up in hospital, probably missing him like mad?

In this instance, she’d not heard him count. He’d not hit a wall, unless the brick-headed stubbornness of Dmitri’s face counted. Thwack! “Yay.” Yes, that was her cheering for her Pookie aloud. Since it seemed he hadn’t heard, she said it louder, yodeled it as a matter of fact. “You get him, Pookie. Show him who’s the biggest, baddest pussy around.” Leo turned his head at that, narrowing his blue gaze on her. Totally annoyed. Totally adrenalized. Totally hot. “Vex!” How sexy her nickname sounded when he growled it. She could tell he totally dug the encouragement. She waggled her fingers at him and meant to say, “You’re welcome,” but instead shouted, “Behind you!” During that moment of inattention— which really Leo should have known better than to indulge in— Dmitri threw a mighty hook. Had she mentioned just how sigh-worthy big her Pookie was? The perfectly aimed blow hit Leo in the jaw, and the force snapped his head to the side. But it certainly didn’t fell him. Not even close. On the contrary, the punch brought the predator in him alive. As he rotated his jaw, Leo’s gaze flicked her way, his eyes lit with a wildness, his lip quirked, almost in amusement, and then he acted. His fist retaliated then his elbow, snapping Dmitri in the nose. Any other man, even shifter, might have quickly succumbed, but the Russian Siberian tiger was more than a match for the hybrid lion/ tiger. Put them in a ring and they’d have brought in a fortune. They certainly put on a good show. Blood trailed from Dmitri’s lip from where Leo’s fist struck him. However, that didn’t stop the Russian from giving as good as he got. Size-wise, Leo held a slight edge, but what Dmitri lacked in girth, he made up for in skill. Even if Meena wasn’t interested in marrying him, it didn’t mean she couldn’t admire the grace of Dmitri’s movement and his uncanny intuition when it came to dodging blows. Leo wasn’t too shabby either. While he’d obviously not grown up on the mean streets of Russia, he knew how to throw a punch, wrestle a man, and look totally hot in defense of his woman. Sigh. A man coming to her rescue. Just like one of those romance novels Teena likes to read. Luna sidled up alongside her. “What did you do this time?” Why did everyone assume it was her fault? “I didn’t do anything.” Luna snorted. “Sure you didn’t. And it also wasn’t you who put Kool-Aid in Arik’s mom’s shampoo bottle and turned her hair pink at the family picnic a few years ago.” “I thought the short spikes she sported after she got it shaved looked awesome.” “Never said the outcome wasn’t worth it. Just like I’m totally intrigued about what’s happening here. That is Leo laying a smackdown on that Russian diplomat, right? Since I highly doubt they’re sparring over who makes the better vodka or who deserved the gold medal in hockey at the last winter Olympics, then that leaves only one other possibility.” Luna fixed her with a gaze. “This is your fault.” Meena’s shoulders hunched. “Okay, so maybe I’m a teensy tiny bit responsible. Like maybe I made sure my ex-fiancé and current fiancé got to meet.” “Duh. I already knew about that part. What I’m talking about is, how the hell did you get Leo to lose his shit? I mean when he gets his serious on, you couldn’t melt an ice cube in his mouth. Leo never loses control because to lose control is to lose one’s way, or some such bullshit. He’s always spouting these funny little sayings in the hopes of curbing our wild tendencies.” Pookie had the cutest personality. “What can I say?” Meena shrugged. “I guess he got jealous. Totally normal, given we’re soul mates.

A little girl, perhaps five years of age and bursting with enthusiasm, broke away from her mother and ran toward me, stopping a couple of feet short, suddenly aware that she was in the midst of strangers. She was holding a purple flower, her dark hair held back by a woven headband, her large blue eyes round with alarm. “It’s all right,” I said to her, believing she intended to give the flower to me. “Don’t be afraid.” She looked at me curiously, then took a tentative step--not toward me, but toward Narian. He watched her draw closer, his expression uncertain, as though he were trying to determine the girl’s motivations. When she stood before him, he knelt down to accept the flower, while the crowd held its collective breath, and I wondered if they thought he would harm her. “You’re brave like my papa,” she said, and the people chuckled. The girl blushed, not used to such attention. A smile flicked across Narian’s face. “And you’re beautiful like the woman I love.” He touched her cheek, and the girl giggled, then ran back to her mother. A sprinkling of applause broke out, which Narian acknowledged with a nod. When I caught his eye, I beamed at him, suddenly envisioning our future. He would be the father of my children someday, and a wonderful father he would be.

Her feet moved into the vast space, but all she could see was Cyrus. He strode through the room the way a captain commands his ship. Was it possible his maroon bruise made him more dashing? He was a fine sight in a black broadcloth coat. Her salacious gaze dropped to a brass button lower on his waistcoat. The metal glimmered, winking at her with flirtatious intent very near the tuft of hair she remembered so well at his navel. The corner of Cyrus’s mouth crooked. If she looked ready to devour him, he read the message on her face, no words required. “Claire.” He said her name like a treasured sound. Then, her landlord bent low over her hand, kissing her knuckles and keeping her fingers in a tender hold. Her flesh sung a merry tune recalling how she’d gripped those broad shoulders of his in a fit of passion. Was that only two nights ago? Her cheeks turned hot at the memory. Cyrus rose to his full height, holding her hand. He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Mmmm…” he hummed approvingly. “You smell of almonds.” His lips lingered on her hairline, giving her another soft kiss. “And vanilla, I think. Something you cooked?” He breathed in her scent, standing close yet not intimidating in the least. His own smell was clean and starched with a hint of coffee. She reached high, touching his face like a woman with every right to partake of the feast he offered. “It’s face powder.” One finger stroked the smooth square of his jaw, her voice curving with amusement. “Today I join the ranks of ladies who meet for luncheon, and I can’t be sure if I’ve been lured here or goaded by one very challenging man put on earth to harass my senses.” She caressed his jaw, the grain of his skin smooth to the touch. He must’ve shaved in the last hour. His mouth quirked sideways, pressing the maroon bruise higher up his cheek. “Something tells me you’re the perfect woman to soothe such a man or put him in his place.” His pewter stare flicked over her exposed skin, settling on her cleavage. “As to your senses, I shall treat them with the utmost care.

I’m coming,” John growled. He rolled his pants legs up a little more, then gingerly stepped into the water. He grimaced. “Boy howdy, is it cold!” Addie giggled behind her hand. “You’ll get used to it in a minute.” He still wore his bowler, vest, and jacket, but with his pants rolled up and the wonder on his face, he reminded her of a little boy dressed in his father’s clothes. She leaned down and flicked cold water at him. A dollop splashed on his cheek and rolled down his neck. His eyes went wide, then he grinned and took off his hat. He scooped up a hatful of water and started toward her. Adrenaline kicked in, and she scurried backward with her hands out. “I give, I give!” He advanced on her. “You’re not getting off that easy.” “Do it, Papa!” Edward splashed water as he practically danced along beside his father. Gideon barked excitedly as if he approved as well. “Traitor,” Addie told him. Her feet slid on the moss-covered rocks. She threw out her hands to try to regain her balance, and John caught her arm. She clutched at him, and in the next moment, she was in his arms, and they both tumbled into the stream. Cold water filled her mouth and nose and soaked her clothing. Her water-heavy dress dragged her down, but she managed to sit up. Laughter bubbled from her throat when she saw John. His wet hair hung in his face, and his suit was soaked. “Hungry?” She picked a flopping minnow off his shoulder and tossed it back into the water. “That was too small to keep anyway,” he said.

If you’re courting me, Major Halliday,” she said, “it is only fair to tell you that I have no intention of marrying. Ever.” He unsettled Lily completely with a chuckle. “I’m not courting you,” he answered, with such assurance that Lily was stung. “But you’ll never make a spinster,” he added. “I will,” Lily insisted through her teeth. Caleb stopped the buggy and, with the black leather bonnet hiding them from the prying eyes of Tylerville, cupped Lily’s chin in his hand and lifted it. His grasp was not painful, but it wasn’t gentle, either. “You’ll marry,” he replied, “and here’s the reason why.” Before Lily could make a move to twist away he kissed her. Those lips she’d found so appealing shaped hers effortlessly to suit them. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, and she could feel her nipples budding against him like spring flowers. She gave a soft whimper as his tongue touched hers in a caressing flick, and the kiss went on. Endlessly. When Caleb finally broke away Lily found her hands clutching his shoulders. Shamed, she let go of him and made to smooth her hair. He took up the reins without a word and set the horse and rig in motion again. They’d gone some distance before Lily could bring herself to speak. “You really should take me back to Mrs. McAllister’s.” Caleb’s eyes glowed like amber coals. “Not a chance, Miss Chalmers. We haven’t finished our argument.” They had finished, as far as Lily was concerned, and he’d won. Never in her wildest dreams had she guessed that being kissed would feel like that. She could hardly wait to do it again. “What argument was that, Major?” she retorted. “You said you’d never marry.” Lily sighed in spite of herself. “You were very forward just now.” “Yes.” “Would you care to be forward again, please?” Caleb laughed. “That’s one thing you won’t have to worry about,” he answered. Lily

Oh . . . Jesus. Wes, yes, you’re so good. You’re so damn good.” I move back to flicks, and her hips flex, one hand pulls on my hair, her other digs into the blankets. Her breasts peak, her stomach becomes shallow, her lips fall open and the most beautiful, feral cry calls out of her mouth as she comes on my tongue. Her pussy is so slick as I let her ride out her orgasm until she can’t take it anymore.

He drags his hand over his face. “Would you be pissed if I already had condoms?” “Huh?” The question strikes me as weird at first, because he's the guy and he should have condoms and why the hell would I be mad about that and oh—oh. Okay. He already had condoms. That's why I should be mad. I mean, we haven't yet had sex in our several months of dating and he has condoms, presumably in the nightstand drawer because that's where he keeps flicking his gaze. And they're probably condoms from sexual exploits with another girl—a prettier girl, a better girl than I am. And now he finally won over his new girlfriend enough to do the deed so he'll just cock an eyebrow and flash that cute smile and ask if it's okay if he uses another relationship's leftovers for our first time. “Okay, whatever is going on in your head is wrong,” Jace says with a small chuckle. “Gosh, your face is adorable when you're internally freaking out.” “What am I supposed to think about this?” I ask in frustration. He leans over me and pulls open the nightstand drawer, taking out an unopened box of condoms. He shakes the box like a maraca to prove his point. “They're unopened. I bought a box a few weeks ago, you know, just in case.” “Why would I get pissed about that?” I ask. “It's much sexier than a guy wanting to jump my bones with no protection.” He shrugs. “I didn't want you thinking I was assuming we'd have sex, or I was pressuring you too soon by buying them, or—shit, I don't know.” He runs a hand through his hair. It makes his bicep grow taunt and the sight of it sends a fire through my belly. “I don't want to screw up anything with you.” His voice is resigned, hopeful and desperate all at the same time. “I love you so much, Bayleigh. And it sucks because it feels like everything I do or don't do has the potential to screw up this thing we have going on.” “This thing,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “is perfect.” I move closer and nuzzle against his chest. He wraps his arm around me. “We both overthink everything way too much,” he says.

up, his sunglasses gone, and his shirt ripped, and a petite Asian woman covered in sweat, her chest heaving as she braced her palms on her knees. Striding closer, Honor showed Sorrow no mercy. “He kicked your ass.” Sorrow’s head jerked up, long, silken strands of hair having escaped her ponytail to stick to her face. “I—” “Be quiet.” She flicked a hand at Venom. “Go away.” Whether he would’ve obeyed had Dmitri not been present was a moot question, because he inclined his head and left without a word. “If you were an Academy student,” Honor said, realizing this young woman needed a type of guidance no man could provide—not without slamming into Sorrow’s jagged pride, “you’d be on your ass now because your instructor would’ve put you there.

This is where it starts—where it always starts: you peer out over your long nose and see green. It brushes against your outer coat and tickles the smooth skin of your belly. It blankets the ground beneath your paws. In place of the endless stone boxes the men built, giant green trunks rise up around you. You sit on your hindquarters but still can’t quite tilt your head back far enough to see their leafy tops. This isn’t your home. There’s no way you could’ve been here before. But somehow, it feels familiar. And there is something else you recognize. . . . Meat. Your whole body seems to shout the word at once. Fur bristles along your spine. Your muzzle twitches and saliva drips from your jowls. You feel the smooth sharpness of your tearing teeth. It has been so long. Where is the meat? Your ears stand upright, the fine hairs taking in everything. You hear the crisp snap of a small branch, then the whisper of fur brushing against leaves. You think you can even hear the trill of a heartbeat. More than anything, though, you can smell the creature, hidden in the shadows, between the darker shades of green. It smells like fear and food, like everything you love about the chase. It smells like life. Out of the corner of your vision, you sense motion. You spring forward from your back legs, and the animal bolts, a tawny blur. It’s not like the rodents you’re used to. This is bigger. It bounds instead of skitters, leaps instead of burrows. It’s all speed and grace, and you love the energy it takes to chase after it. Your pack is with you suddenly—brothers and sisters and second cousins, alphas and omegas. As you tear through the forest, head nodding and eyes watering, they trail in lines behind you, and you know without looking that your tail is streaming out like a flag. With the blood pumping inside your ears, each second sounds like a bark. The creature is faster than you are, but it’s losing steam. You’re panting but not tired. You run and run and run, watching the spindly legs flick through the underbrush ahead of you. You were made for this. There’s a flick of white, a flash of a hoof. You drive harder, your nails churning up cool dirt. The pack fans out and starts to close in, herding your prey closer and closer. It’s slowing. You’re gaining. It stumbles, and you dive. You open your jaws. You sink in your teeth. You savor.

Alice felt drunk on the idea of how many of her friends smoked, how adult they had all seemed and felt. How the cigarettes had been giant flashing signposts, to themselves and each other. you could never trust someone who smoked Marlboro Lights, the Diet Coke of cigarettes-those were for the girls with pale lipstick and overplucked eyebrows, the girls who maybe also played volleyball and had sex with their boyfriends in their beds which were still covered with stuffed animals. Girls who smoked Parliments were neutral-it was as close as you could get to not smoking, but still, you could flick your thumb against the recessed filter, and you could bum one to anybody, the Type O negative of smoking. Girls who smoked Marboro Reds were wild-those were for the girls who had no fear, and in their whole school, there was only one, a tiny girl with brown, wavy hair to her waist whose parents had been in a cult and then escaped. Newport girls were equally harsh but listened to hip-hop, and those girls, like Phoebe, wore lipstick and nail polish like vampire blood, rich and purple. Newport Lights girls were like that, only virgins. The girls who smoked American spirits were beyond everyone-they were grown-ups. with keys to their boyfriends' houses. Alice had to laugh at the secret rooms of her brain, where this information lived and had been sleeping. She had smoked Newport Lights, and yes, she was a virgin.

I went back in and grabbed my running clothes, then changed in the bathroom. I opened the door to the bathroom, stopping when I saw Kaidan's toiletry bag on the sink. I was overcome with curiosity about his cologne or aftershave, because I'd never smelled it on anyone else before. Feeling sneaky, I prodded one finger into the bag and peeked. No cologne bottle. Only a razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. I picked up the deodorant, pulled off the lid, and smelled it. Nope, that wasn't it. The sound of Kaidan's deep chuckle close to the doorway made me scream and drop the deodorant into the sink with a clatter. I smacked one hand to my chest and grabbed the edge of the sink with the other. He laughed out loud now. “Okay, that must have looked really bad.” I spoke to his reflection in the mirror, then fumbled to pick up the deodorant. I put the lid on and dropped it in his bag. “But I was just trying to figure out what cologne you wear.” My face was on fire as Kaidan stepped into the small bathroom and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. I stepped away. He seemed entertained by my predicament. “I haven't been wearing any cologne.” “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I didn't see any, so I thought it might be your deodorant, but that's not it either. Maybe it's your laundry detergent or something. Let's just forget about it.” “What is it you smell, exactly?” His voice took on a husky quality, and it felt like he was taking up a lot of room. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Something strange was going on here. I stepped back, hitting the tub with my heel as I tried to put the scent into words. “I don't know. It's like citrus and the forest or something...leaves and tree sap. I can't explain it.” His eyes bored into mine while he wore that trademark sexy smirk, arms still crossed. “Citrus?” he asked. “Like lemons?” “Oranges mostly. And a little lime, too.” He nodded and flicked his head to the side to get hair out of his eyes. Then his smile disappeared and his badge throbbed. “What you smell are my pheromones, Anna.” A small, nervous laugh burst from my throat. “Oh, okay, then. Well...” I eyed the small space that was available to pass through the door. I made an awkward move toward it, but he shifted his body and I stepped back again. “People can't usually smell pheromones,” he told me. “You must be using your extra senses without realizing it. I've heard of Neph losing control of their senses with certain emotions. Fear, surprise...lust.” I rubbed my hands up and down my upper arms, wanting nothing more than to veer this conversation out of the danger zone. “Yeah, I do have a hard time reining in the scent sometimes,” I babbled. “It even gets away from me while I sleep now and then. I wake up thinking Patti's making cinnamon rolls and it ends up being from someone else's apartment. Then I'm just stuck with cereal. Anyway...” “Would you like to know your own scent?” he asked me. My heart swelled up big in my chest and squeezed small again. This whole scent thing was way too sensual to be discussed in this small space. Any second now my traitorous body would be emitting some of those pheromones and there'd be red in my aura. “Uh, not really,” I said, keeping my eyes averted. “I think I should probably go.” He made no attempt to move out of the doorway. “You smell like pears with freesia undertones.” “Wow, okay.” I cleared my throat, still refusing eye contact. I had to get out of there. “I think I'll just...” I pointed to the door and began to shuffle past him, doing my best not to brush up against him. He finally took a step back and put his hands up by his sides to show that he wouldn't touch me. I broke out of the confined bathroom and took a deep breath.

Scott, no offense, but I don't wanna hear your bullshit explanations," I told him. In a smooth, practiced motion, I pulled my knife out of my pocket, flicked it open, then sliced it across his wrist holding my hair.

Do you think my father will ever make me king?" "Not if you remain devoted to your current haircare regime," she replied. Loki rolled his eyes. "Amora." "really, one decent haircut and a bit of oil daily would work wonders on this mop." She reached out, flicking a lock of dark hair out from behind his ear. "You think your father would have got where he is without that lustrous beard?" "Please don't refer to anything about my father as 'lustrous', it's very upsetting.

Memorasing Mum Horrified, Becky’s eyes flicked from her mother to the campervan and back again. Then the campervan’s door opened and Uncle Percy leaned out, waving cheerfully. ‘Good - ’ He glanced up at the coal-black sky, before shifting his gaze to the bewildered group. ‘- Evening, everyone…’ Becky stood there, unable to find a reply. Uncle Percy climbed out. As he did his foot caught on a branch and, before he could stop himself, he plunged forward, landing face down with a splat in a puddle of mud. Becky forgot about her mother and rushed to his side. ‘Are you okay?’ Uncle Percy pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his face clean. ‘I’m fine. How embarrassing!’ he said. ‘How are you, Becky?’ Becky was about to reply when she noticed his long silver hair was matted with blood. ‘You’re bleeding.’ ‘Oh, it looks worse than it is. Had a bit of an incident at Mammoth Gorge.’ Uncle Percy stood up and flattened out the creases in his suit. He waved at Mrs Mellor and Joe. ‘Hello, Catherine. Hello, Joe. Sorry I’m late.’ Mrs Mellor’s jaw had now dropped so far it threatened to fall off altogether. Uncle Percy patted down his hair in a vague attempt to look

I took a step inside and fumbled for the light switch. It was so black-like the black water… Where was that switch? Just like the black water, with the orange flame flickering impossibly on top of it. The flame that couldn't be a fire, but what then…? My fingers traced the wall, still searching, still shaking- suddenly, something Marcel had told me this afternoon echoed in my head, finally sinking in… She took off into the water, he'd said. The bloodsuckers have the advantage there. That's why I raced home -I was afraid she was going to double back swimming. My hand froze in its searching, my whole body froze into place, as I realized why I recognized the strange orange color of the water. Maggie's hair, blowing wild in the wind, the color of fire… She'd been right there. Right there in the harbor with me and Marcel. If Sam hadn't been there if it had been just the two of us…? I couldn't breathe or move. The light flicked on, though my frozen hand had still not found the switch. I blinked at the sudden light and saw that someone was there, waiting for me. VISITOR UNNATURALLY STILL AND WHITE, WITH LARGE BLACK EYES intent on my face, my visitor waited perfectly motionless in the center of the halt, beautiful beyond imagining. My knees trembled for a second, and I nearly fell. Then I hurled myself at her. ‘Olivia, oh, Olivia!’ I cried as I slammed into her. I'd forgotten how hard she was; it was like running headlong into a wall of cement. ‘Bell?’ There was a strange mingling of relief and confusion in her voice. I locked my arms around her, gasping to inhale as much of the scent of her skin as possible. It wasn't like anything else-not floral or spice, citrus, and musk. No perfume in the world could compare. My memory hadn't done it justice. I didn't notice when the gasping turned into something else-I only realized I was sobbing when Olivia dragged me to the living room couch and pulled me into her lap. It was like curling up into a cool stone, but a stone that was contoured comfortingly to the shape of my body. She rubbed my back in a gentle rhythm, waiting for me to get control of myself. ‘I'm… sorry,’ I blubbered. ‘I'm just… so happy… to see you!’ ‘It's okay, Bell. Everything's okay.’ ‘Yes,’ I bawled. And, for once, it seemed that way. Olivia sighed. ‘I'd forgotten how exuberant you are,’ she said, and her tone was disapproving. I looked up at her through my streaming eyes. Olivia's neck was tight, straining away from me, her lips pressed together firmly. Her eyes were black as pitch. ‘Oh,’ I puffed, as I realized the problem. She was thirsty. And I smelled appetizing. It had been a while since I'd had to think about that. ‘Sorry.’ ‘It's my fault. It's been too long since I hunted. I shouldn't let myself get so thirsty. But I was in a hurry today.’ The look she directed at me then was a glare. ‘Speaking of which, would you like to explain to me how you're alive?’ That brought me up short and stopped the sobs. I realized what must have happened immediately, and why Olivia was here. I swallowed loudly, ‘you saw me fall.’ ‘No,’ she disagreed, her eyes narrowing. ‘I saw you jump.’ I pursed my lips as I tried to think of an explanation that wouldn't sound nuts.

Get up, brat, and for the lord's sake, smooth your hair! You look the most complete romp!' Miss Wantage did her best to comply with this direction, but without any marked degree of success. Fortunately, the exigencies of the particular mode of hairdressing affected by his lordship obliged him to carry a comb upon his person. He produced this, dragged it through the soft, tangled curls, tied the hood-strings under Hero's chin, and, after a critical survey, said that it would answer well enough. Miss Wantage smiled trustfully up at him, and the Viscount made a discovery. 'You look just like a kitten!' She laughed. 'No, do I, Sherry?' 'Yes, you do. I think it's your silly little nose,' said the Viscount, flicking it with a careless forefinger. 'That, or the trick you have of staring at a fellow with your eyes wide open. I think I shall call you Kitten. It suits you better than Hero, which I always thought a nonsensical name for a girl.' 'Oh, it is the greatest affliction to me!' she exclaimed. 'You can have no notion, Sherry! I would much rather you should call me Kitten.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt as I looked at the Tongue & Buckle. I wasn’t used to button-up shirts. I only owned two. The one I had on was new, a gift from my sister. Just thinking about her made my fingers worry nervously at the next button. The shirt was black, short-sleeved with tiny little skulls on the pocket. On the back, a Day of the Dead style Virgin Mary. Haley has a wicked sense of humor.   James didn’t insist on much, but he did insist on dressing up for meetings. Ridiculous, since one of the members had a hard time wearing pants. Wait, what was I thinking? James insisted on tons of things. I undid another button.   “You’re one away from a nice seventies look.” Sean put his feet up on the dash.   “I’d need chest hair for that. And gold chains.”   “True.” He leaned farther back into the passenger seat, if that was even possible. Sean, at least, never bitched about my Subaru. “You know, you’re going to have to go in eventually. And the longer you wait, the longer you’re in those clothes.”   I flicked a piece of lint off the black slacks James had dug up for me. He’d grunted at inspection. That grunt probably meant he’d be taking me shopping soon. Or it might have been directed at my Cons. You never knew. He needed to cut me some slack. My last job had been flipping burgers. You didn’t buy dress shoes for a job like that. With a job like that, you couldn’t even afford dress shoes. Or clothes. You couldn’t afford anything, really.   Sean looked over at the pub. “What did Groucho Marx say about being aware of any job that requires new clothes?”   “The quote is that we should ‘beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,’ and it’s Thoreau, not Groucho Marx.”   “Oooh, listen to you. ‘It’s Thoreau.’ Well, we didn’t all go to college for a quarter.”   “I went for a year, not a quarter, and shut up.

The crescent kick is one of the most difficult kicks to master in Tae Kwon Do, but when executed properly, it is one of the most dangerous.  Detective Sergeant Jamie Johansson had been practising it for nearly six years, and despite being only five-foot-six, she could comfortably slam her heel into the ear of someone that was over six feet. And now she had it down to a science. She knew she couldn’t do enough damage with a punch to put someone down if she had to, but a well-executed crescent kick would do the job. Especially from her lightweight trail boots. Her partner made fun of her for wearing them — said that detectives shouldn’t be wearing hiking boots, especially not in the city, but they were tough and she was as fast in them as she was in her trainers. Which she thought made them a lot more suited to tracking down scumbags than Roper’s black leather Chelsea boots.  He disagreed. She didn’t really care.  Smoking thirty a day meant that he wasn’t going to be doing much running anyway. ‘Come on,’ Cake said, jerking the pad. ‘Again. Like you mean it.’ She flicked her head, throwing sweat onto the matt, wound up, lifted her leg, snapped her knee back, and then lashed out. Her shin smashed into the training pad with a dull thwap and she sank into her knees, panting.  Cake clapped them together and grinned with wide, crooked teeth. ‘Good job,’ he said. ‘You’re really getting some power into those, now. But make sure to ice that foot, yeah?’ She caught her breath quickly and stood up, nodding, strands of ash-blonde hair sticking to her forehead, the thick plait running between her lithe shoulders coming loose. ‘Sure,’ she said, measuring her trainer. Cake was six-two and twice her weight. He was Windrush, in his fifties, and ran a mixed martial arts gym just near Duckett’s Green. He was a retired boxer turned trainer that scored his nickname after winning a fight in the late nineties on his birthday. When the commentator asked what he was going to do to celebrate, he said that he was going to eat a birthday cake. Everyone thought that was funny, and it stuck. He had a pretty bad concussion at the time, which probably contributed to the answer. But there was no getting away from it now.  He pulled the pads off his forearms and rubbed his eyes. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, looking over at the clock on the wall. It was just before seven.  He yawned and stretched, cracking his spine. The gym wouldn’t open until midday to the public, but he lived upstairs in a tiny studio, and he and Jamie had an arrangement. It kept him fit and active, and she could train one-on-one. Just how she liked it. She paid her dues of course, slid him extra on top of the monthly for his time. But he said that

Already in your last term in political science, he said, how excellent. I hope you'll consider something with the government when you graduate. I mean that. We really need more smart young women in office--in absolutely every position. When the girl sucked in her breath, Victor suggested she contact his office the following spring about working on his reelection campaign. We'll just be getting started. He met her eyes and watched her nervously flick her hair again, felt his body willing itself closer. But then a diesel bus roared to a stop along the edge of the park just behind them. At the sound of its hissing brakes, he stepped away.

It ain't my idea to leave before dawn. My ole lady decided to visit Nana, that's why the house stinks of hairspray. You know why she's leaving early: so nobody sees her scurry through town on foot. All she wants is for them to see her arrived, all hunky-dory. Not scurrying. It's a learning I made since the car went. 'Well I just can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns around town, I mean, I'll have to try down by Nana's.' She gives off breathy noises, and flicks her fingertips through my hair. Then she takes a step back and frowns. It means goodbye. 'Promise me you won't miss your therapy.' An electric purple sky spills stars behind the pumpjack, calling home the last moths for the night. It reminds me of the morning when ole Mrs Lechuga was out here, all devastated. I try not to think about it. Instead I look ahead to today. Going to Keeter's is a smart idea; if anybody sees me out there, they'll say, 'We saw Vernon out by Keeter's,' and nobody will know if they mean the auto shop, or the piece of land. See? Vernon Gray-matter Little. In return, I've asked Fate to help me solve the cash thing. It's become clear that cash is the only way to deal with problems in life. I even scraped up a few things to pawn in town, if it comes to that. I know it'll come to that, so I have them with me in my pack – my clarinet, my skateboard, and fourteen music discs. They're in the pack with my lunchbox, which contains my sandwich, the two joints, and a piece of paper with some internet addresses on it. As for the joints and the piece of paper, I heard the voice of Jesus last night. He advised me to get wasted, fast. If at first you don't succeed, he said, get wasted off your fucken ass. My plan is to sit out at Keeter's and get some new ideas, ideas borne out of the bravery of wastedness. I ride down empty roads of frosted silver, trees overhead swish cool hints of warm panties in bedclothes. Liberty Drive is naked, save for droppings of hay, and Bar-B-Chew Barn wrappers. In this light you can't see the stains on the sidewalk by the school. As the gym building passes by, all hulky and black, I look the other way, and think of other things. Music's a crazy thing, when you think about it. Interesting how I decided which discs not to pawn. I could've kept some party music, but that would've just tried to boost me up, all this thin kind of 'Tss-tss-tss,' music. You get all boosted up, convinced you're going to win in life, then the song's over and you discover you fucken lost. That's why you end up playing those songs over and over, in case you didn't know. Cream pie, boy. I could've kept back some heavy metal too, but that's likely to drive me to fucken suicide. What I need is some Eminem, some angry poetry, but you can't buy that stuff in Martirio. Like it was an animal sex doll or something, you can't buy angry poetry. When you say gangsta around here, they still think of Bonnie & fucken Clyde. Nah, guess what: I ended up keeping my ole Country albums. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Paycheck – even my daddy's ole Hank Williams compilation. I kept them because those boys have seen some shit – hell, all they sing about is the shit they've seen; you just know they woke up plenty of times on a wooden floor somewhere, with ninety flavors of trouble riding on their ass. The slide-guitar understands your trouble. Then all you need is the beer.