Savage 3 Word Quotes

I kissed her instead. Again and again I kissed her because I didn’t have any words for what I was feeling.

We abandon our backboards along with our decorum, racing for the stairs and the promise of freedom, however temporary it may be. "Walk!" Mrs. Nightwing shouts. When we cannot seem to heed her advice, she bellows after us that we are savages not fit for marriage. She adds that we shall be the shame of the school and something else besides, but we are down the first flight of stairs, and her words cannot touch us.

Is she pleasing to the eye?" Gabriel went to an inset sideboard to pour himself a brandy. "She's bloody ravishing," he muttered. Looking more and more interested, his father asked, "What is the problem with her, then?" "She's a perfect little savage. Constitutionally incapable of guarding her tongue. Not to mention peculiar: She goes to balls but never dances, only sits in the corner. Two of the fellows I went drinking with last night said they'd asked her to waltz on previous occasions. She told one of them that a carriage horse had recently stepped on her foot, and she told the other that the butler had accidentally slammed her leg in the door." Gabriel took a swallow of brandy before finishing grimly, "No wonder she's a wallflower." Sebastian, who had begun to laugh, seemed struck by that last comment. "Ahhh," he said softly. "That explains it." He was silent for a moment, lost in some distant, pleasurable memory. "Dangerous creatures, wallflowers. Approach them with the utmost caution. They sit quietly in corners, appearing abandoned and forlorn, when in truth they're sirens who lure men to their downfall. You won't even notice the moment she steals the heart right out of your body- and then it's hers for good. A wallflower never gives your heart back." "Are you finished amusing yourself?" Gabriel asked, impatient with his father's flight of fancy. "Because I have actual problems to deal with." Still smiling, Sebastian reached for some chalk and applied it to the tip of his cue stick. "Forgive me. The word makes me a bit sentimental.

Just as you and I speak by forming words, the natural, private discourse of the Sanza twins appears to consist entirely of farts and savage beatings. What

They shouted, “Eustace! Eustace! Coo-ee!” till they were hoarse and Caspian blew his horn. “He’s nowhere near or he’d have heard that,” said Lucy with a white face. “Confound the fellow,” said Edmund. “What on earth did he want to slink away like this for?” “But we must do something,” said Lucy. “He may have got lost, or fallen into a hole, or been captured by savages.” “Or killed by wild beasts,” said Drinian. “And a good riddance if he has, I say,” muttered Rhince. “Master Rhince,” said Reepicheep, “you never spoke a word that became you less. The creature is no friend of mine but he is of the Queen’s blood, and while he is one of our fellowship it concerns our honor to find him and to avenge him if he is dead.” “Of course we’ve got to find him (if we can),” said Caspian wearily. “That’s the nuisance of it. It means a search party and endless trouble. Bother Eustace.

You know,” began Bunny, “they’re a funny couple of words, aren’t they – ‘political correctness’? I’m a muck savage from the shitty end of Cork, and nobody’s idea of diplomat material, but it strikes me that those two words are simply a derogatory label for what used to be known as basic manners. I live by a very simple rule because I’m a very simple man: people deserve respect until they prove they don’t. I don’t really care who they are, where they’re from or what they look like.

You stand there all tan and glowing and wonder why I use Voice on you?” he bellowed. “Where the hell do you get off? You’ve been with V’lane again. How many slaps in the face do you think I’m going to take, Ms. Lane?” He grabbed my fist and held it when I tried to punch him again. I swung at him with the other. He caught that, too. “I warned you not to play us against each other.” “I’m not playing you! I’m trying to survive. And I don’t slap you when I go off with V’lane!” I tried to yank my fists from his hands. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. I’m trying to get answers, and since you won’t give me any, you can’t blame me for going somewhere else.” “So, the man who doesn’t get laid at home has the right to go off and cheat?” “Huh?” “Which word didn’t you understand?” he sneered. “You’re the one who’s crippled by illogic. This isn’t home, it never will be, and nobody’s getting laid!” I practically shouted. “You think I don’t know that?” He shifted his body beneath me, making me painfully aware of something. Two somethings, in fact, one of which was how far up my short skirt was. The other wasn’t my problem. I wriggled, to shimmy my hem down, but his expression perished the thought. When Barrons looks at me like that, it rattles me. Lust, in those ancient, obsidian eyes, offers no trace of humanity. Doesn’t even bother trying. Savage Mac wants to invite it to come out and play. I think she’s nuts. Nuts, I tell you. “Let go of my hands.” “Make me,” he taunted. “Voice me, Ms. Lane. Come on, little girl, show me some power.” Little girl, my ass.

The truth is,” she said shakily, “that I am scared to death of being here.” “I know you are,” he said, sobering, “but I am the last person in the world you’ll ever have to fear.” His words and his tone made the quaking in her limbs, the hammering of her heart, begin again, and Elizabeth hastily drank a liberal amount of her wine, praying it would calm her rioting nerves. As if he saw her distress, he smoothly changed the topic. “Have you given any more thought to the injustice done Galileo?” She shook her head. “I must have sounded very silly last night, going on about how wrong it was to bring him up before the Inquisition. It was an absurd thing to discuss with anyone, especially a gentleman.” “I thought it was a refreshing alternative to the usual insipid trivialities.” “Did you really?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes searching his with a mixture of disbelief and hope, unaware that she was being neatly distracted from her woes and drawn into a discussion she’d find easier. “I did.” “I wish society felt that way.” He grinned sympathetically. “How long have you been required to hide the fact that you have a mind?” “Four weeks,” she admitted, chuckling at his phrasing. “You cannot imagine how awful it is to mouth platitudes to people when you’re longing to ask them about things they’ve seen and things they know. If they’re male, they wouldn’t tell you, of course, even if you did ask.” “What would they say?” he teased. “They would say,” she said wryly, “that the answer would be beyond a female’s comprehension-or that they fear offending my tender sensibilities.” “What sorts of questions have you been asking?” Her eyes lit up with a mixture of laughter and frustration. “I asked Sir Elston Greeley, who had just returned from extensive travels, if he had happened to journey to the colonies, and he said that he had. But when I asked him to describe to me how the natives looked and how they lived, he coughed and sputtered and told me it wasn’t at all ‘the thing’ to discuss ‘savages’ with a female, and that I’d swoon if he did.” “Their appearance and living habits depend upon their tribe,” Ian told her, beginning to answer her questions. “Some of the tribes are ‘savage’ by our standards, not theirs, and some of the tribes are peaceful by any standards…” Two hours flew by as Elizabeth asked him questions and listened in fascination to stories of places he had seen, and not once in all that time did he refuse to answer or treat her comments lightly. He spoke to her like an equal and seemed to enjoy it whenever she debated an opinion with him. They’d eaten lunch and returned to the sofa; she knew it was past time for her to leave, and yet she was loath to end their stolen afternoon.

I wonder where they’ll go,” Jake continued, frowning a little. “There’s wolves out there, and all sorts of beasts.” “No self-respecting wolf would dare to confront that duenna of hers, not with that umbrella she wields,” Ian snapped, but he felt a little uneasy. “Oho!” said Jake with a hearty laugh. “So that’s what she was? I thought they’d come to court you together. Personally, I’d be afraid to close my eyes with that gray-haired hag in bed next to me.” Ian was not listening. Idly he unfolded the note, knowing that Elizabeth Cameron probably wasn’t foolish enough to have written it in her own girlish, illegible scrawl. His first thought as he scanned the neat, scratchy script was that she’d gotten someone else to write it for her…but then he recognized the words, which were strangely familiar, because he’d spoken them himself: Your suggestion has merit. I’m leaving for Scotland on the first of next month and cannot delay the trip again. Would prefer the meeting take place there, in any case. A map is enclosed for direction to the cottage. Cordially-Ian. “God help that silly bastard if he ever crosses my path!” Ian said savagely. “Who d’you mean?” “Peters!” “Peters?” Jake said, gaping. “Your secretary? The one you sacked for mixin’ up all your letters?” “I should have strangled him! This is the note I meant for Dickinson Verley. He sent it to Cameron instead.” In furious disgust Ian raked his hand through his hair. As much as he wanted Elizabeth Cameron out of his sight and out of his life, he could not cause two women to spend the night in their carriage or whatever vehicle they’d brought, when it was his fault they’d come here. He nodded curtly to Jake. “Go and get them.” “Me? Why me?” “Because,” Ian said bitterly, walking over to the cabinet and putting away the gun, “it’s starting to rain, for one thing. For another, if you don’t bring them back, you’ll be doing the cooking.” “If I have to go after that woman, I want a stout glass of something fortifying first. They’re carrying a trunk, so they won’t get much ahead of me.” “On foot?” Ian asked in surprise. “How did you think they got up here?” “I was too angry to think.

Your butler informed me you were here. I thought-that is, I wondered how things were going.” “And since my butler didn’t know,” Ian concluded with amused irritation, “you decided to call on Elizabeth and see if you could discover for yourself?” “Something like that,” the vicar said calmly. “Elizabeth regards me as a friend, I think. And so I planned to call on her and, if you weren’t here, to put in a good word for you.” “Only one?” Ian said mildly. The vicar did not back down; he rarely did, particularly in matters of morality or justice. “Given your treatment of her, I was hard pressed to think of one. How did matters turn out with your grandfather?” “Well enough,” Ina said, his mind on meeting with Elizabeth. “He’s here in London.” “And?” “And,” Ian said sardonically, “you may now address me as ‘my lord.’” “I’ve come here,” Duncan persisted implacably, “to address you as ‘the bridegroom.’” A flash of annoyance crossed Ian’s tanned features. “You never stop pressing, do you? I’ve managed my own life for thirty years, Duncan. I think I can do it now.” Duncan had the grace to look slightly abashed. “You’re right, of course. Shall I leave?” Ian considered the benefits of Duncan’s soothing presence and reluctantly shook his head. “No. In fact, since you’re here,” he continued as they neared the top step, “you may as well be the one to announce us to the butler. I can’t get past him.” Duncan lifted the knocker while bestowing a mocking glance on Ian. “You can’t get past the butler, and you think you’re managing very well without me?” Declining to rise to that bait, Ian remained silent. The door opened a moment later, and the butler looked politely from Duncan, who began to give his name, to Ian. To Duncan’s startled disbelief, the door came crashing forward in his face. An instant before it banged into its frame Ian twisted, slamming his shoulder into it and sending the butler flying backward into the hall and ricocheting off the wall. In a low, savage voice he said, “Tell your mistress I’m here, or I’ll find her myself and tell her.” With a glance of furious outrage the older man considered Ian’s superior size and powerful frame, then turned and started reluctantly for a room ahead and to the left, where muted voices could be heard. Duncan eyed Ian with one gray eyebrow lifted and said sardonically, “Very clever of you to ingratiate yourself so well with Elizabeth’s servants.” The group in the drawing room reacted with diverse emotions to Bentner’s announcement that “Thornton is here and forced his way into the house.” The dowager duchess looked fascinated, Julius looked both relived and dismayed, Alexandra looked wary, and Elizabeth, who was still preoccupied with her uncle’s unstated purpose for his visit, looked nonplussed. Only Lucinda showed no expression at all, but she laid her needlework aside and lifted her face attentively toward the doorway.

That grip tightened again but this time he started rubbing his first two fingers against her neck in a soft little rhythm. The action was almost erotic. Or maybe that was just the effect he was having on her. She could feel his gentle stroking all the way to the pulsing point between her legs. Maybe she had mental issues that this man was turning her on. He leaned closer, skimming his mouth against her jawline and she froze. Just completely, utterly froze. “Are you meeting Tasev?” he whispered. She’d told herself to be prepared for this question, to keep her reaction under wraps, but he came to his own conclusion if his savage curse was anything to go by. Damn it, Wesley was going to be pissed at her, but Levi had been right. She had operational latitude right now and she needed to keep Levi close. They needed to know what he knew and what he was planning. Trying to shut him out now, when he was at the party specifically to meet the German, would be stupid. Levi had stayed off their radar for two years because he was good. Of course Wesley hadn’t exactly sent out a worldwide manhunt for him either. About a year ago he’d decided to more or less let him go. Now . . . “I met with the German earlier tonight. He squeezed me in before some of his other meetings.” Levi snorted, his gaze dipping to her lips once more, that hungry look in place again. It was so raw and in her face it was hard to ignore that kind of desire and what it was doing to her. “I can understand why.” Even though Levi didn’t ask she decided to use the latitude she had and bring him in on this. They had similar goals. She needed to bring Tasev down and rescue a very important scientist—if he was even the man who’d sent out an emergency message to Meghan/Wesley—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t let Levi have Tasev once she’d gotten what she needed. “I’m meeting with Tasev tomorrow night.” At her words every muscle in Levi’s lean, fit body stilled. Before he could respond, she continued, “I’ll make you a deal. You can come with me to the meeting—if we can work out an agreeable plan—but you don’t kill him until I get what I want. I have less than a week. Can you live with that time line?” She was allowed to bring one person with her to the meeting so it would be Levi—if he could be a professional and if Wesley went for it. And of course, if Tasev did. They had a lot to discuss before she was on board one hundred percent, but bringing along a seasoned agent—former agent—like Levi could be beneficial. Levi watched her carefully again, his gaze roaming over her face, as if he was trying to see into her mind. “You’re not lying. Why are you doing this?” “Because if I try to shut you out you’ll cause me more problems than I want to deal with. And I don’t want to kill you.” Those dark eyes narrowed a fraction with just a hint of amusement—as if he knew she couldn’t take him on physically. “And?

I want you." She felt the words wrench from her. As they slipped from her mouth into his, he crushed her against him in a grip that left all gentleness behind. His lips savaged, warred, absorbed, util they were both speechless. With an inarticulate mrumuer, Grant buried his face in her hair and fought to find reason. "Good God,in another minute I'll forget it's still daylight and this is a public road." Gennie ran her fingers down the nape of his neck. "I already have." Grant forced the breath in and out of his lungs three times, then lifted his head. "Be careful," he warned quietly. "I have a more difficult time remembering to be civilized than doing what comes naturally. At this moment I'd feel very natural dragging you into the backseat,tearing off your clothes and loving you until you were senseless." A thrill rushed up and down her spine, daring her,urging her. She leaned closer utnil her lips were nearly against his. "One should never go against one's nature.

It was a charming and delightful day at Lord's as Ford and Arthur tumbled haphazardly out of a space-time anomaly and hit the immaculate turf rather hard. The applause of the crowd was tremendous. It wasn't for them, but instinctively they bowed anyway, which was fortunate because the small red heavy ball which the crowd actually had been applauding whistled mere millimetres over Arthur's head. In the crowd a man collapsed. They threw themselves back to the ground which seemed to spin hideously around them. "What was that?" hissed Arthur. "Something red," hissed Ford back at him. "Where are we?" "Er, somewhere green." "Shapes," muttered Arthur. "I need shapes." The applause of the crowd had been rapidly succeeded by gasps of astonishment, and the awkward titters of hundreds of people who could not yet make up their minds about whether to believe what they had just seen or not. "This your sofa?" said a voice. "What was that?" whispered Ford. Arthur looked up. "Something blue," he said. "Shape?" said Ford. Arthur looked again. "It is shaped," he hissed at Ford, with his brow savagely furrowing, "like a policeman." They remained crouched there for a few moments, frowning deeply. The blue thing shaped like a policeman tapped them both on the shoulders. "Come on, you two," the shape said, "let's be having you." These words had an electrifying effect on Arthur. He leapt to his feet like an author hearing the phone ring and shot a series of startled glanced at the panorama around him which had suddenly settled down into something of quite terrifying ordinariness. "Where did you get this from?" he yelled at the policeman shape. "What did you say?" said the startled shape. "This is Lord's Cricket Ground, isn't it?" snapped Arthur. "Where did you find it, how did you get it here? I think," he added, clasping his hand to his brow, "that I had better calm down." He squatted down abruptly in front of Ford. "It is a policeman," he said, "What do we do?" Ford shrugged. "What do you want to do?" he said. "I want you," said Arthur, "to tell me that I have been dreaming for the last five years." Ford shrugged again, and obliged. "You've been dreaming for the last five years," he said. Arthur got to his feet. "It's all right, officer," he said. "I've been dreaming for the last five years. Ask him," he added, pointing at Ford, "he was in it.

She didn’t want to be empty, didn’t want to vanish. She wanted to be whole. She said, “I want to remember you.” An emotion flared in his face. He braced her hips, tugged her closer. His lids were heavy, eyes dark. His mouth was a wet gleam. She didn’t recognize his expression. It was new. She leaned in and drank the newness of him. Their kiss turned savage. She made it so. She felt his teeth, reveled in the sure knowledge that it had never been like this between them. Yet at the same time, she felt each kiss they’d shared before, felt them live inside this one. His mouth left hers, rasping down her neck. He buried his face in her skin. She sought his mouth and found that he tasted different now. She was tasting the taste of her skin on his mouth. Coppery. She dipped her tongue into it again. “Kestrel.” She didn’t answer him. “This is a bad idea.” “No,” she said. “It isn’t.” He pulled away, closed his eyes, and dropped his head to press his brow against her belly. She felt rich with the words he muttered against her nightdress. His mouth burned through the cloth. His chair scraped back. He no longer touched her. “Not like this.” “Yes. Exactly like this.” She tried to find the words to express how this helped, how he somehow mapped the country of herself, showed the ridges, the rise and valley of her very being. “Kestrel, I think that you’re…using me a little.” She stopped, unpleasantly startled. It occurred to her that what he’d said was another version of what she’d been struggling to say. “It’s not, ah, a hardship.” He gave a rueful smile. “It’s not that I don’t want--” She’d never heard him stammer. Even with her untrustworthy memory, she knew this. You’re easy to know, she wanted to say. Memories of him came quickly. It didn’t hurt, not as much as she’d feared before, on the tundra, or in his empty bed. At least, it didn’t hurt anymore. It was better. Better than…other things. A faceless horror. A monster. Inside her. It thickened, grew into a featureless, blunt shape. She wouldn’t touch it. She’d go nowhere near it. Arin had been right, that day when he’d suggested that there was something too horrible for her to remember. “It’s not enough,” he said. It took her a moment to realize he was continuing his refusal and not responding to her thoughts, which were so loud in her head that she felt as if she’d shouted them. She said, “What would be enough?” Color mounted on his face. “You can tell me,” she said. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Me.” “I don’t understand.” “I want…you to want me.” “I do.” He pushed a hand through his rough hair. “I don’t mean this.” He gestured between them, his hand flipping from her to him. “I…” He struggled, knuckled his eyes, and let the words come. “I want you to be mine, wholly mine, your heart, too. I want you to feel the same way.” Her stomach sank. She’d sworn to herself not to lie to him. He read her answer in her eyes. He dimmed, and said nothing either. But he brushed hair from her face, lifting away strands that had caught in her eyelashes and between her lips. His fingertip painted a slow line over her lower lip. She felt it down her spine, in her belly. Then his hand fell away, and she felt alone.

My back is pressed against the side of the garage, Jake's body pinning me to the wood. He looks down at my lips and back to my eyes. The rain is soaking us as we stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Jake grabs my chin in his hands, pointing my face up to his, then coldly whispers, 'I suppose you think it's selfish when I rip this dress from your body and fuck you right here in the rain.' I can't say another word. Jake's mouth finds mine and we savagely kiss each other. Our lips press hard into each other as the passion and love I have for this man comes spilling out of me. True to his word, Jake grabs ahold of my dress where the millions of buttons trail down my back and yanks. He yanks and then yanks again. The delicate lace and satin tears away from my body and falls to shreds, billowing at my feet when he says, 'You've ruined me.' He kisses me hard, bordering on painful, as he pours his torn heart out to me. 'I'm a complete fucking mess without you.

You’re going to spoil her,” a matronly nurse scolded me. I managed to withhold actually speaking the words fuck you but tried to at least say them with my eyes.  She squared her shoulders and stomped off.

philosophy class while in college in Boston were the words of French biologist Jean Rostand: Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god.

He shushes me softly. He reaches out and caresses my cheek, cooing a stream of gently spoken words. “Ty v bezovasnoshti so mnoy, malyutka. Ya ne prichinu tebe vreda.

Grr. She’s being nice. I have no defense against my sister when she’s nice. It’s like if Dracula took a moment before he ripped open your throat with his fangs and sucked out all your blood to say a few polite words about your lovely taste in interior design. It’s disorienting.

There’s a word written there, the raised, swollen cuts stark against the rest of my skin. Ours.

My lips tremble, but I force the words to keep coming. “I love you. So much. Always have, and I always will. Kill for you. Live for you. Die for you.

Fuck it. Rae… I think I’m falling in love with you.” I gasp at the raw honesty in his words. “You turned my world upside down, but it turns out it was in the best way fucking possible. I was nothing before you, and I already know that I never want to go back to being him. You’ve made me, Rae. You’ve made me the man I am, and I’ll forever be grateful you saw through all the bullshit and gave me a chance.

Don’t scream, malyutka. I won’t hurt you. I give you my word.

The man turned around, looked at her. And there was his face, his wonderful, beautiful Joc-face. He recognized her – she saw it in his eyes. She didn’t stop running until she crashed against him, throwing him back a step. Her face mashed into his chest and she felt his arms enfold her. Her heart throbbed with pain so fierce, her teeth were bared and clenched. “Joc!” She growled the word savagely. Her hands, clutching the back of his tunic, trembled. “Joc, you rotten old MUDSUCKER!” She pushed him off and began beating her fists against him, cursing, calling him every nasty name she could think of. Joc didn’t protest. His blue eyes watched her, painfully sad. “I know, Love,” he said. “I know.” “I hate you!” Heidel sobbed, hugging him harder. He looked exactly the same. The round face, the heavy cheeks, the untidy eyebrows, the thinning hair, sandy brown, the smile creases around his eyes. Joc. Her Joc. “You go ahead. You hate me all you want.” Joc held her so tightly Heidel couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to. His voice, the feel of him, the smell, made her feel as if he’d never gone, yet brought the pain of his absence roaring to the surface. She squished her eyes tight while his course thumb stroked her cheek. “Joc.” She couldn’t stop saying his name. “Joc... why did you leave us?” His chest rose and fell beneath her, a heavy sigh. “We need to get off the trail.

They spoke as if I were not in the room with them. Sure, I was in shock, but I could process their words. Unfortunately, speaking seemed to be a different skill set I didn’t possess at the moment.

I know I’ve got an awful history and honestly, I’m not much better now. My temper is shit. I want to kill any man that looks at you. I’m not . . . good with words, or feelings,

Tamarin presented to more than a thousand Israeli schoolchildren, aged between eight and fourteen, the account of the battle of Jericho in the book of Joshua: Joshua said to the people, ‘Shout; for the LORD has given you the city. And the city and all that is within it shall be devoted to the LORD for destruction…But all silver and gold, and vessels of bronze and iron, are sacred to the LORD; they shall go into the treasury of the LORD.’…Then they utterly destroyed all in the city, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and asses, with the edge of the sword…And they burned the city with fire, and all within it; only the silver and gold, and the vessels of bronze and of iron, they put into the treasury of the house of the LORD. Tamarin then asked the children a simple moral question: ‘Do you think Joshua and the Israelites acted rightly or not?’ They had to choose between A (total approval), B (partial approval) and C (total disapproval). The results were polarized: 66 per cent gave total approval and 26 per cent total disapproval, with rather fewer (8 per cent) in the middle with partial approval. Unlike Maimonides, the children in Tamarin’s experiment were young enough to be innocent. Presumably the savage views they expressed were those of their parents, or the cultural group in which they were brought up. It is, I suppose, not unlikely that Palestinian children, brought up in the same wartorn country, would offer equivalent opinions in the opposite direction. These considerations fill me with despair. They seem to show the immense power of religion, and especially the religious upbringing of children, to divide people and foster historic enmities and hereditary vendettas. Tamarin ran a fascinating control group in his experiment. A different group of 168 Israeli children were given the same text from the book of Joshua, but with Joshua’s own name replaced by ‘General Lin’ and ‘Israel’ replaced by ‘a Chinese kingdom 3,000 years ago’. Now the experiment gave opposite results. Only 7 per cent approved of General Lin’s behaviour, and 75 per cent disapproved. In other words, when their loyalty to Judaism was removed from the calculation, the majority of the children agreed with the moral judgements that most modern humans would share.

I know I’ve got an awful history and honestly, I’m not much better now. My temper is shit. I want to kill any man that looks at you. I’m not . . . good with words, or feelings,” he takes a deep breath and I realize that Nero is nervous—almost as nervous as I am. “But I love you, Camille. I’ll never hurt you. You can trust me for that, if nothing else.

An interest in fashion can be perceived as frivolous. In my mind, clothes are wearable art. They’re the statement that precedes you into every room. They’re the tools that shape people’s perception, before you’ve spoken a word.

Just as the boss is responsible for the actions of his soldiers, so the soldiers will pay for their boss’s words. I’m going to rip their heads off their fucking shoulders.

sat down on the bench, unsure of how to act. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth, I wished for an instruction manual on how to do life. It felt like everyone had been given one but me. They knew how loud to cheer, how long to clap, how they were perceived. If Delilah were here, she would have told me Layla was being a jealous cunt, in those exact words. Her voice was inside my head. But Layla’s was there too. And our parents’, who had spent years telling me to just act normal.

The shadow smiled at him. So Hunt smiled back. And then the shadow spoke. “You would do well in Hel.” Too drugged with agony, Hunt didn’t even quiver at the familiar male voice. One he’d already heard in another dream, another life. “Apollion,” he grunted. Not Death at all, then. He tried not to let disappointment sink in his gut. “What a sorry state you’re in,” the Prince of the Pit purred. He remained hidden in the shifting shadows. The demon prince inhaled, as if tasting the air. “What delicious pain you feel.” “I’d be happy to share.” A terrifyingly soft laugh. “Your good humor, it seems, remains intact. Even with the halo inked anew upon your brow.” Hunt smiled savagely. “I had the honor of having it done by Rigelus’s hand this time.” “Interesting that he would do it himself, rather than employ an imperial hag. Do you detect a difference?” Hunt’s chin dipped. “This one … stings. The hag’s halo felt like cold iron. This burns like acid.” He’d just finished voicing the last word when a thought slammed into him. “Bryce. Is she … is she with you?” If they’d hurt her, if Apollion gave one suggestion that— “No.” The shadow seemed to blink. “Why?

Fair enough. I know the kind of sweet she is. Grew up with it. She’s sweet like poison.” Three things happened at once—because the universe and our electricity grid fucking hated me: I gasped at a volume that wasn’t the least bit discreet, the light flooded both me and the rest of the yard, and my sternum caved in from the force of Lachlan’s judgment. Sweet like poison. …like poison. Poison. They were looking at me. What a picture we were, all of us too stunned to move. Time suspended. Lachlan’s harsh words hung in the air like daggers poised to do serious damage.

Grr. She’s being nice. I have no defense against my sister when she’s nice. It’s like if Dracula took a moment before he ripped open your throat with his fangs and sucked out all your blood to say a few polite words about your lovely taste in interior design.

She said, “I want to remember you.” An emotion flared in his face. He braced her hips, tugged her closer. His lids were heavy, eyes dark. His mouth was a wet gleam. She didn’t recognize his expression. It was new. She leaned in and drank the newness of him. Their kiss turned savage. She made it so. She felt his teeth, reveled in the sure knowledge that it had never been like this between them. Yet at the same time, she felt each kiss they’d shared before, felt them live inside this one. His mouth left hers, rasping down her neck. He buried his face in her skin. She sought his mouth and found that he tasted different now. She was tasting the taste of her skin on his mouth. Coppery. She dipped her tongue into it again. “Kestrel.” She didn’t answer him. “This is a bad idea.” “No,” she said. “It isn’t.” He pulled away, closed his eyes, and dropped his head to press his brow against her belly. She felt rich with the words he muttered against her nightdress. His mouth burned through the cloth. His chair scraped back. He no longer touched her. “Not like this.” “Yes. Exactly like this.

Her Ramsay. Hers. Hers to explore and touch. Hers to kiss with all the desire she could muster. And hers to love, even though she couldn’t yet force the words from her lips.

Are you awake yet?” he called in his rumbling voice. He spoke as she’d expect a bear to sound if given words, all bass and masculinity. Please, if there are gods at all, let this man have put on clothing. Because she didn’t know if she could tolerate another moment of gazing upon him in only his undergarments. On Ramsay, smallclothes were truly small, revealing the definition of his thighs and the leanness of his hips.

Ramsay held out his hand to her, and when she took it, drew her down beside him. “We’re safe now,” he whispered against her hair. “Sleep. Everything will be better after some sleep.” Reassured by the confidence in his words and the comfort of his arms around her, Victoria closed her eyes.

Never wear trousers or smallclothes again.” “Why not?” he asked in a husky growl. How could she possibly tell him how much she preferred his kilt, and how she’d grown accustomed to the green and silver garment fluttering around his knees and thighs? For fear of bloating his ego, she didn’t utter a word regarding how often she’d prayed to the wind, hoping it would toss the blasted thing around his waist. Heat rushed to her face as her gaze traveled over his chiseled body from abdomen to chest. She traced the same path with her fingers and gave in to the urge to explore.

Gangrannach. It’s the word we use for one who isn’t yet loved by their other half. Whether shifter or human, we wait for as long as we’re able. No one before you exists in my mind or memories anymore, because this… this I’ve been saving for you alone.

Goodnight, my husband,” she said in a quiet voice, relishing the word. She’d really done it, taking an unbreakable physical and verbal vow of matrimony. “Goodnight, my wife,” he whispered against her hair. “My Goldilocks.” Until she’d experienced the joy of lying in Ramsay’s arms, Victoria had never felt safer, and the promise of them belonging to her forever was all the comfort she needed as she drifted to sleep.

I may appear nothing but a foolish and an idle fellow, but I have a brain—one that is trained in legal matters and accustomed to extracting whole volumes of meaning from half a dozen words within a lease or contract.

You have been the agent of your own resurrection, and you do not even see it. Have you no sense of your own gifts? Of your own strengths? You are more blessed with natural abilities and native intelligence than any man I have ever met. You are a savage miracle, Revelstoke Templeton-Vane, knit together by the hands of nature herself. You cannot see it. In your mind, you are Sampson shorn of his hair, and Caroline has been your Delilah. Very well! Mourn what you have lost and pull down the temple on top of yourself. I will not weep for you! But neither will I watch you do it!” He stared at me in frank astonishment. His mouth open. After a long moment, he spoke, forcing the words out slowly, with obvious effort. “I hardly know what to say to that.