Shane Steele Quotes

Istvhan, you ever kill someone with an ice swan?” he whispered. “I clubbed someone unconscious with a frozen goose once. That’s similar?” The Bishop suffered a mysterious coughing fit. “No, you had to use the goose as a bludgeon, didn’t you? For the swan, I figure you’d snap the head off and try to stab with the neck.” “Hmmm…” Istvhan eyed the ice sculpture speculatively. “It’s pretty big. And not well balanced.” “I figure you’d have to go two-handed with it.” “I think I’d grab one of the candelabras instead. Some of those are nice and heavy.” “Far too unwieldy. I could take you apart with the ice swan while you were still trying to get the candelabra off the ground.” “Gentlemen,” said Beartongue, “I forbid you to smash the Archon’s decor and try to duel with it.” “Yes, your holiness.” “I’ll have you both excommunicated.” Stephen coughed. “Technically we’re not in your church, your holiness.” “Then I will have you confirmed so that I can excommunicate you even harder.” “Yes, your holiness.” He and Istvhan traded smug looks. Shane gazed into the distance, perhaps imagining a place where he had suitably serious colleagues.

Shane," she said, turning to look at the paladin. "when a woman is lamenting that she doesn't feel attractive, you're supposed to tell her she's beautiful. Not that you're honored to kill people with her.

Ten minutes later, Shane pushed open the door to the inn. Davith limped through and didn't stop. He made a bee line for the bar, grabbed the edge to hold himself up, and hissed, "Do you know that there are holes that bite people here?

Well,” said Wren, sprawling across a chair in the main room. “That was certainly a day. That I spent. Somehow.” Shane inclined his head in agreement. He, too, had spent a day. That was about the best that could be said for it. He felt exhausted from sheer inactivity.

Your god may be dead, but you still serve,” said Beartongue. “Do not make me break out a theological argument, Shane, I’ll do it.” Wren grinned. “We’d never argue with the bishop of a god of lawyers.” “Never? That’s news to me. You argued with me last week.” “Yes, and I was right, too. You should have let me kill him.

Shane took a deep breath. “Maltrevor is…not a good man. He might…attempt to take liberties.” Over the paladin’s shoulder, Marguerite saw Wren cover her eyes and turn away. “…Liberties,” said Marguerite, not quite certain she’d heard correctly. “Yes.” “Sexual liberties, you mean?” Shane, to give him what credit she could muster, met her eyes squarely. “Yes. I am sorry to say, it seems likely.” “Good heavens,” said Marguerite. “I was just going to suck his cock, then drug his wine, but if you think he might take liberties…” The paladin’s face became so expressionless that for a moment, Marguerite was afraid he might keel over in a dead faint. Wren sat down and put her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Okay, here's my last word: Nobody shoots anybody tonight. We're a team now, one big happy family. We need each other. If everybody shows up here tomorrow breathing and with all working body parts, and I do mean everybody, I'll make breakfast. Anything you want. But if anybody hurts anybody else on the team, I'm going to be upset. Understand?" Joey and Frankie looked in different directions. "And nobody wants Agnes upset," Shane said. Joey and Frankie nodded. "Good." Agnes shoved her chair back. "Now let's all get some sleep. And somebody check on Garth, please." "I'll check on the lad," Frankie said, getting up. "You're not fucking Irish," Joey said, getting up to go with him. "Family," Agnes said, steel in her voice. "I can't wait for the holidays," Xavier said, and left them to their slumbers.

Beards, though?” said Shane. Shane was serious even for a paladin, which Stephen had to admit was a high bar. “Right. Warrior tradition, very manly. They all have beards. Which we wouldn’t care about very much, except that their mythology has it that facial hair makes you trustworthy—no, don’t ask me why, I don’t know, it’s mythology, it doesn’t have to make sense. The translation of their great evil is ‘the beardless devil.’ None of which is particularly relevant here, except that they have a knee jerk reaction that men without beards are suspicious. And since it is my job to get us all through this reception for the prince of Charlock without causing a diplomatic incident and without allowing those bast—ahem, my esteemed colleagues from the Hanged Motherhood—to worm their way even further into the Archon’s graces, you three get to be the honor guards.” “Well, we can certainly stand in one place and look…ah…bearded.” said Stephen.

Prisoners drank water piped in from the river, the same river that other convicts located upstream used as a toilet. “[I]t is a water that no population of human creatures inside or outside of the prison walls should be condemned to drink,” the inspector wrote. Rows of coke ovens outside their barracks turned the coal into the carbon-rich fuel coal companies used to produce the steel for the railroad tracks it was laying throughout the South. Convicts breathed gas, carbon, and soot from the stoves every night. The emissions killed the trees for hundreds of yards around. Yet according to a report by Alabama’s inspector of convicts, the high mortality rates were based not on the conditions of their incarceration but on the “debased moral condition of the negro . . . whose systems are poisoned beyond medical aid by the loathsome diseases incident to the unrestrained indulgence of lust . . . now that they are deprived of the control and care of a master.

I steel my spine. “I told you, you can’t have me again.” “Is it because you have a boyfriend?” “I don’t have—” Oh, fuck. Joe. I keep forgetting about him. “No. Not because of him. We broke up anyway.” Why did I just say that? Joe was a solid alibi. “You don’t seem too upset about that.” I shrug. “It was inevitable. Long distance and all.” He seems to weigh that for a moment. “So, you’re single again?” I’m struggling to suppress my smile. Shane so blatantly pursuing me isn’t as easy to shrug off as I expected. “More like happily unattached.” “Is it because you’re not attracted to me anymore?” He manages a straight face for all of two seconds before it splits into a smug grin. I can’t help my laugh, even as my cheeks flush. We both know damn well that I am; he’s caught me gawking too many times to argue otherwise. “Someone came back from his brush with nature loving himself a bit too much.” I’m sure it serves him well when he’s posing for calendars and selling his wares on stage for charity come December. “Nah.” He reaches out to snap a spent Shasta daisy off its stem. “I just had a lot of time to think about things while I was away. About things I want in life.

It happens, boys get led along the wrong path and before you know it, the police are involved. But Shane has turned his life around so one must be generous

Enough talk! I will not allow this insult against my lady to stand!" Sir Lawrence drew himself up to his full height, one bony hand settling over his sword hilt. "I challenge you to a duel!" "No," said Shane.

This wasn’t part of the plan, and I know you’ve been fucked non-stop since Shane got back home, but if I don’t get inside you now, I think I’ll fucking explode. Because you’ve got me as hard as fucking steel here, Angel. So, slide yourself onto my cock, and I promise I’ll take it easy with you.

The Rat’s gonna give me the money to build another device? The Sail dropped my workshop’s ceiling on top of the first one.” “You’ll have to talk directly to the Bishop for that,” said Marguerite, “but if she doesn’t, she’s not the person I think she is. I’ll scrape up money for it myself, if I have to sell my body on the street.” Shane cleared his throat. Marguerite winked at him. “You’re right, I’ll sell your body instead.” “No one is selling anyone’s body until we talk to the Bishop,” said Shane firmly, then recognized the voice that was coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t even the paladin’s voice. It was… “Oh, Dreaming God, you’ve got me sounding like Beartongue now.

Shane." Grace nodded. "I can't say if you'll like him. He's...very paladinly." "What, clanky and judgmental?

After all that - after everything - she offered you a job?" Shane raked his hands through his hair. "And actually thought you might take it?" "I might," said Marguerite. "In a few years, anyway, depending on how things fall out." "But she tried to kill you!" "Yes, and the Dreaming God's people tried to kill you," Marguerite pointed out. "You forgave them." His eyebrows drew together. "That's different." Marguerite just looked at him. "...I'm pretty sure it's different?

Shane wondered if there was a term for feeling guilty about not feeling sufficiently guilty.

It’s not safe for you out here. Get back inside.” Her throat clenched as she watched Jack heading for a steel structure with a barrel roof. “He’s in danger,” she whispered as he disappeared from sight. “He’ll be okay.” She gave Shane a fierce look. “You don’t know that. Give me a gun, and let me go with him.” “Not a chance.” Shane’s expression was just as fierce as hers. “If something happens to you, Jack…” He stopped and started again, a pleading look in his eyes. “He risked everything to come back here for you. Don’t let it be for nothing.