Shift 2 Gives Quotes

I watched him pitch the ball at a table neatly lined with six bowling pins, my stomach giving a little flutter when his T-shirt crept up in the back, revealing a stripe of skin. I knew from experience that every inch of him was hard, defined muscle. His back was smooth and perfect too, the scars from when he’d fallen once again replaced with wings—wings I, and every other human, couldn’t see. “Five dollars says you can’t do it again,” I said, coming up behind him. Patch looked back and grinned. “I don’t want your money, Angel.” “Hey now, kids, let’s keep this discussion PG-rated,” Rixon said. “All three remaining pins,” I challenged Patch. “What kind of prize are we talking about?” he asked. “Bloody hell,” Rixon said. “Can’t this wait until you’re alone?” Patch gave me a secret smile, then shifted his weight back, cradling the ball into his chest. He dropped his right shoulder, brought his arm around, and sent the ball flying forward as hard as he could. There was a loud crack! and the remaining three pins scattered off the table. “Aye, now you’re in trouble, lass,” Rixon shouted at me over the commotion caused by a pocket of onlookers, who were clapping and whistling for Patch. Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up. “You got lucky,” I said. “I’m about to get lucky.

It was with a shock that he felt the touch of Laurent's fingers against the back of his wrist. [...] Laurent was shifting the fabric of his sleeve, sliding it back slightly to reveal the gold underneath, until the wrist cuff he had asked the blacksmith to leave on was exposed between them. 'Sentiment?' said Laurent. 'Something like that.' Their eyes met and he could feel each beat of his heart. A few seconds of silence, a space that lengthened, until Laurent spoke. 'You should give me the other.

She crouched with her hand out. What the hell was she doing… "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty." Oh my God, she was retarded and I was going to kill Jim. She blinked and stared at me. She'd seen my eyes glow. I let go, shifting in the dark into my true form in the dark. If you want a Kitty, little girl, I'll give you one you'll never forget. I stepped into the moonlight. She froze. That's right. No sudden moves. I padded toward her slowly and circled her allowing her take it all in. Do you like the kitty now? I could smell her surprise and fear. Our gazes met. Her eyes went wide and then she fell on her ass. Heh. A bow would have been sufficient.

Your future can be whatever you wish. We all have the power to choose our own destiny. But, my sweet, if you play with those cards, you give the Fates pictured inside them the opportunity to shift your path. People use Decks of Destiny, similar to the one you just touched, to predict the future, and once a future is foretold, that future becomes a living thing, and it will fight very hard to bring itself about.

You’re in control,” he tells me as his lips ghost over mine. “Take what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give you as much or as little as you say.” “What if it’s not what you want?” I whisper, hoping he maybe doesn’t hear. Noah shifts back enough to look me in the eyes. “I want you, Kristin.

Mom frowned, and I wanted to give her a thumbs-up to let her know I was okay. All I could manage was raising my bound hands in her general direction, clocking Cal on the chin as I did so. "Sorry." "No problem. Must be weird for you, having your mom here." "Weird for me, weird for her, probably weird for you since you had to give up your swinging bachelor pad." "Mrs. Casnoff let me install my heart-shaped Jacuzzi in my new dorm room." "Cal," I said with mock astonishment, "did you just make a joke?" "Maybe," he replied. We'd reached the end of the pier. I looked down at the water and tried not to shudder. "I'll be pretending, of course, but do you have any advice on how I'm supposed to not drown?" I asked Cal. "Don't breathe in water." "Oh,thanks,that's super helpful." Cal shifted me in his arms, and I tensed. Just before he tossed me into the pond, he leaned in and whispered, "Good luck." And then I hit the water. I can't say what my first thought was as I sunk below the surface, because it was mostly a string of four-letter words. The water was way too cold for a pond in Georgia in May, and I could feel the chill sinking all the way into my bones. Plus my chest started burning almost immediately, and I sunk all the way to the bottom, landing in the slimy mud. Okay,Sophie,I thought. Don't panic. Then I glanced over to my right, and through the murky water, made out a skull grinning back at me. I panicked.

What rhymes with insensitive?” I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult? Garrett, who’s dicing onions at the counter, glances over. “Sensitive,” he says helpfully. “Yes, G, I’ll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you.” On the other side of the kitchen, Tucker finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to frown at me. “What the hell are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been scribbling on that notepad for the past hour.” “I’m writing a love poem,” I answer without thinking. Then I slam my lips together, realizing what I’ve done. Dead silence crashes over the kitchen. Garrett and Tucker exchange a look. An extremely long look. Then, perfectly synchronized, their heads shift in my direction, and they stare at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental institution. I may as well have. There’s no other reason for why I’m voluntarily writing poetry right now. And that’s not even the craziest item on Grace’s list. That’s right. I said it. List. The little brat texted me not one, not two, but six tasks to complete before she agrees to a date. Or maybe gestures is a better way to phrase it... “I just have one question,” Garrett starts. “Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.” Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.” Garrett crosses his arms. “This is for a chick, right? Because if you’re doing it for funsies, then that’s just plain weird.” “It’s for Grace,” I reply through clenched teeth. My best friend nods solemnly. Then he keels over. Asshole. I scowl as he clutches his side, his broad back shuddering with each bellowing laugh. And even while racked with laughter, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket and start typing. “What are you doing?” I demand. “Texting Wellsy. She needs to know this.” “I hate you.” I’m so busy glaring at Garrett that I don’t notice what Tucker’s up to until it’s too late. He snatches the notepad from the table, studies it, and hoots loudly. “Holy shit. G, he rhymed jackass with Cutlass.” “Cutlass?” Garrett wheezes. “Like the sword?” “The car,” I mutter. “I was comparing her lips to this cherry-red Cutlass I fixed up when I was a kid. Drawing on my own experience, that kind of thing.” Tucker shakes his head in exasperation. “You should have compared them to cherries, dumbass.” He’s right. I should have. I’m a terrible poet and I do know it. “Hey,” I say as inspiration strikes. “What if I steal the words to “Amazing Grace”? I can change it to…um…Terrific Grace.” “Yup,” Garrett cracks. “Pure gold right there. Terrific Grace.” I ponder the next line. “How sweet…” “Your ass,” Tucker supplies. Garrett snorts. “Brilliant minds at work. Terrific Grace, how sweet your ass.” He types on his phone again. “Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.” “Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.” Tucker chuckles. “Seriously, why are you writing poetry for this chick?” “Because I’m trying to win her back. This is one of her requirements.” That gets Garrett’s attention. He perks up, phone poised in hand as he asks, “What are the other ones?” “None of your fucking business.” “Golly gee, if you do half as good a job on those as you’re doing with this epic poem, then you’ll get her back in no time!” I give him the finger. “Sarcasm not appreciated.” Then I swipe the notepad from Tuck’s hand and head for the doorway. “PS? Next time either of you need to score points with your ladies? Don’t ask me for help. Jackasses.” Their wild laughter follows me all the way upstairs. I duck into my room and kick the door shut, then spend the next hour typing up the sorriest excuse for poetry on my laptop. Jesus. I’m putting more effort into this damn poem than for my actual classes.

Okay, well now he felt like an ass. “I know. I just…you mentioned the sex and—” “Hey! Don’t blame this on me. I mentioned sex on Friday night. It’s Monday. I’m over you.” Rod crossed his arms, giving him a cocky grin. Landon bit back a smile. “Over me already, huh? That was quick.” “The heart is fleeting.” “Apparently so is the ass.” “Apparently.” Rod

If at 1st you don't succeed, stretch out on your La-Z-Boy with a six-pack and a porn flick. Y' still won't succeed, but you sure as hell won't give a shift.

Water shifts and flows with its surroundings, but I’ve realized something else. Still waters turn foul over time. Even if I am uncertain of the destination, I must keep moving. You must keep moving, before you rot from the inside out. Do not give up.

Yeah, you like that? You like it when Big Papa gives you his hot and juicy wiener?” I pant, my hips hammering against her. Her fists yank my hair, pulling my head away from her neck so hard that I see stars. “Ow! What the fuck?” I complain as she gives me a dirty look. “You cannot say shit like that when we’re fucking. You Just can’t,” she warns me, letting out a low groan when I shift my hips and grind my pubic bone against her clit. “What’s wrong with a little dirty talk? I thought you’d like it.” “I like dirty talk. I LOVE dirty talk. What you’re doing is not dirty talk. It’s ‘weird as fuck’ talk. Repeat after me: I love fucking you, your pussy is so tight,” Ava demands. (Well, damn, that was hot. I kind of wish I had a vagina right now).

He’d made nothing of his life, so the best he could imagine was to conceive another of himself. A do-over: Jimmy 2.0. As if to give himself a second shot, and doing so would shift the burden to this new him and give the current Jimmy permission to squander what was left of his years.

I'm talking about your lovely long arms and your perfectly shaped legs... I find I am quite jealous of those stockings for knowing the feel of you, the warmth of you." She shifted, unable to keep still beneath the onslaught of his words. "I'm talking about that corset that hugs you where you are lovely and soft... is it uncomfortable?" She hesitated. "Not usually." "And now?" She heard the knowledge in the question. She nodded once. "It's rather- constricting." He tutted once, and she opened her eyes, instantly meeting his, hot and focused on her. "Poor Pippa. Tell me, with your knowledge of the human body, why do you think that is?" She swallowed, tried for a deep breath. Failed. "It's because my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest." The smile again. "Have you overexerted yourself?" She shook her head. "No." "What, then?" She was not a fool. He was pushing her. Attempting to see how far she would go. She told the truth. "I think it is you." He closed his eyes then, hands fisting again, and pressed his head back against the side of the desk, exposing the long column of his neck and his tightly clenched jaw. Her mouth went dry at the movement, at the way the tendons there bunched and rippled, and she was quite desperate to touch him. When he returned his gaze to hers, there was something wild in those pewter depths... something she was at once consumed and terrified by. "You shouldn't be so quick with the truth," he said. "Why?" "It gives me too much control." "I trust you." "You shouldn't." He leaned forward, bracing his arm against his raised knee. "You are not safe with me." She had never once felt unsafe with him. "I don't think that's correct." He laughed, low and dark, and the sound rippled through her, a wave of pleasure and temptation. "You have no idea what I could do to you, Philippa Marbury. The ways I could touch you. The wonders I could show you. I could ruin you without thought, sink with you into the depths of sin and not once regret it. I could lead you right into temptation and never ever look back." The words stole her breath. She wanted it. Every bit of it.

Gabe watched, holding his breath as the figure slowly turned. The body moved in an almost unnatural way as it shifted and crawled slowly on all fours across the floor. When the candlelight at last fell on the figure, Gabe could make out the auburn hair of his beloved Sophie. Her hair was matted, greasy, and hung in her face. Gabe saw her shoulders were hollow looking and her skin was almost glowing white. Gabe caught sight of Sophie’s fingers, her knuckles were bloody, and her nails cracked and peeling. Instinctively, Gabe fell to his knees and crawled to Sophie. Without even giving it a thought, he grabbed her hands and pulled them closer to the light.

They will eat him alive. On his current course, Henry will fail spectacularly.” My chest constricts so tight it feels like my bones may crack. Because she’s right. “He won’t.” “You don’t know that,” she swipes back. “I damn well do! I never would have abdicated otherwise.” “What?” “Don’t mistake me—I wouldn’t have married anyone but Olivia, and I would’ve waited a lifetime if I had to, until the laws were changed. But I didn’t because I knew in my heart and soul that Henry will not just be a good king, he will be better than I ever could’ve been.” For a moment I don’t breathe. I can’t. The shock of my brother’s words has knocked the air right out of my lungs. Granny’s too, if her whisper is any indication. “You truly believe that?” “Absolutely. And, frankly, I’m disheartened that you don’t.” “Henry has never been one to rise to the occasion,” she states plainly. “He’s never needed to,” my brother insists. “He’s never been asked—not once in his whole life. Until now. And he will not only rise to the occasion . . . he will soar beyond it.” The Queen’s voice is hushed, like she’s in prayer. “I want to believe that. More than I can say. Lend me a bit of your faith, Nicholas. Why are you so certain?” Nicholas’s voice is rough, tight with emotion. “Because . . . he’s just like Mum.” My eyes close when the words reach my ears. Burning and wet. There’s no greater compliment—not to me—not ever. But, Christ, look at me . . . it’s not even close to true. “He’s exactly like her. That way she had of knowing just what a person needed—whether it was strength or guidance, kindness or comfort or joy—and effortlessly giving it to them. The way people used to gravitate to her . . . at parties, the whole room would shift when she walked in . . . because everyone wanted to be nearer to her. She had a light, a talent, a gift—it doesn’t matter what it’s called—all that matters is that Henry has it too. He doesn’t see it in himself, but I do. I always have.” There’s a moment of quiet and I imagine Nicholas leaning in closer to the Queen. “The people would have followed me or Dad for the same reason they follow you—because we are dependable, solid. They trust our judgment; they know we would never let them down. But they will follow Henry because they love him. They’ll see in him their son, brother, best friend, and even if he mucks it up now, they will stick with him because they will want him to succeed. I would have been respected and admired, but Grandmother . . . he will be beloved. And if I have learned anything since the day Olivia came into my life, it’s that more than reasoning or duty, honor or tradition . . . love is stronger.

Your inclination appears to be much as it was last night.’ Damen found himself saying, ‘You talk the same in bed,’ and the words came out sounding like he felt: helplessly charmed. ‘Can you think of a better way of putting it?’ ‘I want you,’ said Damen. ‘You’ve had me,’ said Laurent. ‘Twice. I can still feel the . . . sensation of it.’ Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buried his face in Laurent’s neck and groaned, and there was laughter too, and something akin to happiness that hurt as it pushed at the inside of his chest. ‘Stop it. You will not be able to walk,’ said Damen. ‘I’d welcome the chance to walk,’ said Laurent. ‘I have to ride a horse.’ ‘Is it . . . ? I tried to . . . I wouldn’t—’ ‘I like the way it feels,’ said Laurent. ‘I liked the way it felt. You’re a generous, giving lover, and I feel—’ Laurent broke off, and gave a shaky laugh at his own words. ‘I feel like the Vaskian tribe, in the body of one person. I suppose it is often like this?’ ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘No, it’s—’ It’s never like this. The idea that Laurent might find this with someone else hurt him. ‘Does that betray my inexperience? You know my reputation. Once every ten years.’ ‘I can’t,’ said Damen. ‘I can’t have this for just one night.’ ‘One night and one morning,’ said Laurent, and this time it was Damen who found himself pushed down onto the bed. *

Pierce Hutton gave him a highly amused smile as they went over updated security information from the oil rig in the Caspian Sea. “So you’ve finally decided to do something about Cecily,” Peirce murmured. “It’s about time. I was beginning to get used to that permanent scowl.” Tate glanced at him wryly. “I thought I was doing a great job of keeping her at arm’s length. She’s pregnant, now, of course,” he volunteered. The older man chuckled helplessly. “So much for keeping her at arm’s length. When’s the wedding?” Tate’s smile faded. “That’s premature. She ran. I finally tracked her down, but now I have to convince her that I want to get married without having her think it’s only because of the baby.” “I don’t envy you the job,” Pierce replied, his black eyes twinkling. “I had my own rocky road to marriage, if you recall.” “How’s the baby these days?” he asked. Pierce laughed with wholehearted delight. “We watch him instead of television. I never expected fatherhood to make such changes in me, in my life.” He shook his head, with a faraway look claiming his eyes. “Sometimes I’m afraid it’s all a dream and I’ll wake up alone.” He shifted, embarrassed. “You can have the time off. But who’s going to handle your job while you’re gone?” “I thought I’d get you to put Colby Lane on the payroll.” He held up his hand when Pierce looked thunderous. “He’s stopped drinking,” he hold him. “Cecily got him into therapy. He’s not the man he was.” “You’re sure of that?” Pierce wanted to know. Tate smiled. “I’m sure. “Okay. But if he ever throws a punch at me again, he’ll be smiling on the inside of his mouth!” Tate chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll give him a call before I leave town.

If you care so much about it,” she asks him, “then why did you run?” He takes a moment before answering, shifting his weight and grimacing again. “Their work is good,” he says. “It just isn’t mine.” This baffles her. His motives—his hazy integrity. It was easy to dismiss Lev as “part of the problem” when she did not know him, but now it’s not so easy. He’s a paradox. This is a boy who almost blew himself to bits in an attempt to kill others, and yet he offered himself to the parts pirate in order to save Miracolina’s life. How could someone go from having no respect for one’s own existence to being willing to give himself as a sacrifice for someone he barely knows? It flies in the face of the truths that have defined Miracolina’s life. The bad are bad, the good are good, and being caught in between is just an illusion. There is no gray.

The table is in the presence of the enemies because God wants you to know that you'll always have enough for every moment, every struggle. He'll sustain you in every dark night. And God wants the enemies to watch you shine. Why? Because in time they will stop gawking at you and turn their attention to the One who has the ability to keep your face beaming (Romans 14:11; Philippians 2:10-11). Lastly, the table is in the presence of your enemies so they can hear your song. With your eyes locked on Jesus, your worship will be uninterrupted. And your worship will become your weapon. Not only will God be exalted, but chains will break as you fight with this declaration: It may look like I'm surrounded, but I'm surrounded by You, Jesus. Everything shifts when you exchange a teacup-sized knowledge of God for an oceanic understanding of who He is. It will be hard for the Enemy to crowd in on your newfound relationshipw with God. How do you win the battle for your mind? Keep your mind on Christ. Period. There's no way the Enemy will get a seat at your table.

I stare at my Erudite clothes while the others strip off their outer layers of clothing. “No time for modesty, Stiff!” Christina says, giving me a pointed look. I know she’s right, so I pull off the red shirt I was wearing and put on the blue one instead. I glance at Fernando and Marcus to make sure they aren’t watching, and change out of my pants too. I have to roll up the jeans four times, and when I belt them, they bunch at the top like the neck of a crushed paper bag. “Did she just call you “Stiff’?” Fernando says. “Yeah,” I say. “I transferred into Dauntless from Abnegation.” “Huh.” He frowns. “That’s quite a shift. That kind of leap in personality between generations is almost genetically impossible these days.” “Sometimes personality has nothing to do with a person’s choice of faction,” I say, thinking of my mother. She left Dauntless not because she was ill-suited for it but because it was safer to be Divergent in Abnegation. And then there’s Tobias, who switched to Dauntless to escape his father. “There are many factor to consider.” To escape the man I have made my ally. I feel a twinge of guilt. “Keep talking like that and they’ll never discover you’re not really Erudite,” Fernando says.

We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7) As believers, “we live by faith, not by sight”—God never wants us to live by our feelings. Our inner self may want to live by feelings, and Satan may want us to, but God wants us to face the facts, not feelings. He wants us to face the facts of Christ and His finished and perfect work for us. And once we face these precious facts, and believe them simply because God says they are facts, He will take care of our feelings. Yet God never gives us feelings to enable or encourage us to trust Him, and He never gives them to show us that we have already completely trusted Him. God only gives us feelings when He sees that we trust Him apart from our feelings, resting solely on His Word and His faithfulness to His promise. And these feelings that can only come from Him will be given at such a time and to such a degree as His love sees best for each individual circumstance. Therefore we must choose between facing our feelings or facing the facts of God. Our feelings may be as uncertain and changing as the sea or shifting sand. God’s facts, however, are as certain as the Rock of Ages Himself—“Jesus Christ . . . the same yesterday and today and forever” (Heb. 13:8).

A musical laugh sprang free, her happy smile trailing behind, and I was in heaven. “Until you,” she agreed. She squinted one eye and added, “Though you should know, I’m probably gonna be really, really bad at it.” The expression on her face said she honestly believed it, and I couldn’t wait to prove her wrong. I leaned close to her ear and whispered across her skin, “That’s impossible.” Peyton’s breath caught in a gasp, and I angled back to see her face. That’s when the moment changed. Sounds of the emptying baseball field fell away. The cool air around us kindled. The soft smile on her face faded as she looked into my eyes, shifting her gaze between them to see what I’d do next. Part of me wondered the same thing. I’d kissed dozens of girls before. Some I wanted, others purely because I was bored. But I’d never felt anything like this. Anticipation. Want. Fear. Unlike any other kiss I’d ever shared, this one needed to be epic. Girls remembered their first kiss for the rest of their lives, and I had to leave Peyton with something good to cling to later… when I inevitably screwed everything up. Gauging her reaction, I slowly lowered my head and watched her soft lips part. Adrenaline surged through my veins at the swipe of her tongue. She nodded once, silently giving me permission, then closed her eyes. Inhaling the scent of sunflowers, I kissed her.

with “This is a class assignment,” and (2) they had to engage the interactions with a straight face. They couldn’t give away the punchline. The exchanges went something like this: Students (walking in a group toward a stranger in a mall): “Excuse me, sir!” Stranger (looking around and awkwardly shifting bags of clothes): “Uhh, yeah? Me?” Students: “Yes! You. I was walking by, saw you, and wondered: Will you be my friend? Can I see pictures of your family? What are your political preferences? Can I see the pictures of your tattoos? What are your religious preferences? Why? Are you pro-choice? How come? Who are your favorite musicians? We’re going to read you a list of probing, introspective quotes, and you simply give us a thumbs up or a thumbs down if you like them or don’t like them. If you feel angry about a quote, tell us why.” And so on. My students had to video each interaction. And yes, it was as awkward and cringey as you can imagine. According to the papers they had to write after the fact, the assignment stirred up quite a bit of reflection. In a few short years, my students had come to believe they had “friends” because they knew some information about people. They thought they were connecting with those people. The exercise helped them see that our social media exchanges are anything but normal. The thumbs ups and thumbs downs are anything but connecting. The reality is that most of us don’t have any friends. Until recently, friendship was about enduring the awkwardness and ugliness of human

Bluefur?" Thrushpelt was calling her from the trail ahead, his sandy-gray pelt blending with the walls of frost-burnt bracken. “Are you okay?” His eyes were round with concern. Bluefur padded on with her head down. “Just going back to camp.” He didn’t step aside to let her pass, but gently held his tail up to block her way. “Stop,” he ordered. She looked into his eyes and saw a tenderness that took her by surprise. “Rosetail has just congratulated me on becoming a father,” he meowed. Bluefur felt the world spin around her. “She couldn’t! She promised!” “Is she right? Are you having kits?” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell her that you were the father.” Mortified, Bluefur searched for words. “She just guessed, and it was easier….” She stopped. She couldn’t give anything away. “So you are going to have kits?” Thrushpelt pressed. Bluefur blinked. “Yes, I am.” She waited for him to ask whose they were. Why she’d lied. But he just stood and watched her. At last he spoke. “I’m not going to ask who the father is,” he meowed. “I’m sure there’s a reason why you’ve kept this secret.” Bluefur plucked at a fern straying across the ground. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out differently. I—I would have been happy with you, I know. But now everything has gone wrong, and I don’t know what to do.” Thrushpelt shifted his paws. “You can tell the Clan I’m the father, if you want. I mean, if it makes things easier.” Bluefur stared at him. “You’d really do that?” Was she the only cat not willing to make a sacrifice for these kits? Thrushpelt nodded. “You know how I feel about you, Bluefur. I’d do my best to make you happy, I promise. And I’ll love your kits as though they were really my own.

She shifted gears as they left Worth Avenue, hurtling them along the beach at just sublight speed. “Jesus, Addison, you are so blind,” she finally exploded. “She comes in playing the damsel in distress, and you buy all of it.” “She did n—” “‘Oh, Richard, I need your help,’” she mimicked, doing a startlingly good impression of Patricia’s soft, cultured Brit—especially since the two women had barely spoken a total of five words to one another. “’I’ve left Peter, and I so badly want to make a new start, but I just don’t know how to do it on my own. You’re so big and strong and successful, can’t you see it in your heart to help me?’” Samantha canted her eyes at him. “Did it go a little like that?” Christ. “Maybe,” he hedged. “But—” “See? She wants you back.” “Well, she can’t have me. I’m taken. But she asked for my help, and I’m partially the reason she’s in this position.” “No, she put herself on her back and then you put her in the next position.” “Even so—” “You can’t resist putting on your shining armor, can you?” she said more calmly, blowing out her breath. “And if I know it, then she knows it, too.” “Honestly, Samantha, I think it’s more a matter of Patricia actually being helpless than her acting that way to gain my assistance. I doubt she could find a grocery store on her own, much less the toothpaste aisle.” “But she’s not after toothpaste.” As they stopped at a light, Richard leaned over and grabbed Samantha’s face, kissing her hard on her surprised mouth. “Don’t worry about this. You won’t have to deal with her.” “Maybe not, but you will. And keep in mind that she’s got a subscriber website where she gives advice about how not to get screwed in a divorce.” “She does?” “Yes. Interesting stuff. You really need to spend more time surfing the ’net.” “Shit.” Before Samantha could follow up her smug look with more commentary, he took a breath. “I’ll make dumping the website a condition of my helping her.” “Great. She won’t need the site, anyway, because she’ll be busy screwing you over in person, instead.” “No one screws me over, Samantha. Ever.” “Yet, smart guy. Yet.

Kato’s expression shifts into something I could almost call a smile for the first time since I found him. He plucks the chordsagain in the beginnings of a tune I recognize, a ballad popular in southern Sinta. His fingers move with skill and subtlety over the strings. I had no idea he was musical. “Maybe we’re not meant to kill it.” He keeps playing. “Doesn’t music soothe the beast? I’ll play, you sing.” “I sound like a strangled Satyr when I sing.” He smiles. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” “There’s no need for mudslinging,” I say with a huff. He chuckles softly. “I can carry a tune.” “Great!” I pat his arm. “That’ll be your job. I’ll stand back—waaaaay back—while you calm the beast. I’m confident you’ll sound as good as you look.” His chest puffs out. “How do I look?” “Terrible.” I grin. “You needed a bath, a shave, and a comb before we even set foot on the Ice Plains. Now, I can just barely make out your eyes and your nose. The rest is all”—I flap my hands around—“hair.” His chest deflates. He eyes me wryly. “I could say the same about you.” I gasp. “I grew a beard? Do you think Griffin will like it? I’ve been trying to keep it neat, but I may have picked up an eel.” Kato laughs outright, and he really is unbearably handsome. Some of the grimness evaporates from his eyes. “I was talking about this.” He gives one of my tousled waves a light tug. I once saw Griffin do that to Kaia. It’s brotherly. Affectionate. My heart squeezes in my chest. My love for Griffin is completely different, but Kato has a piece of me that no man ever had, not even Aetos. Kato sees me, and accepts. In that moment, I realize he’s slipped inside my soul right next to Eleni. They’re a blond-haired, blue-eyed, sunny pair—my light in the dark. Clearing my throat doesn’t drive away the thick lump in it, or dispel the sudden tightness, so I make a show of smoothing down my hair—a lost cause at this point. “Ah, that. It’s getting to the stage where it deserves a name. The Knotted Nest? The Twisted Tresses?” “What about the Terrible Tangle?” I nod. “That has serious possibilities.” “The Matted Mess?” he suggests. My jaw drops. “It’s not that bad!” Grinning, Kato pats my head. “Let’s get out of here.” Yes, please! “I have your clothes. They’re even dry, thanks to your Eternal Fires of the Underworld Cloak.” He quirks an eyebrow, taking the things I hand him. “That gets a name, too?” “I should think so,” I answer loftily.

I'm renowned within the ton as being cool under fire- around you, I'm never cool. I'm heated- I seethe- I burn with desire. If I'm in the same room, all I can think about is heat- your heat- and how you'll feel around me." Patience felt the heat rise, a real force between them. "I've gained the reputation of being the soul of discretion- now look at me. I've seduced my godmother's niece- and been seduced by her. I share her bed openly, even under my godmother's roof." His lips twisted wryly. "So much for discretion." He drew a deep breath; his chest brushed her breasts. "And as for my vaunted, up-until-you 'legendary' control- the instant I'm inside you that evaporates like water on hot steel." What prompted her Patience never knew. His lips were so close- with her teeth, she nipped the lower. "I told you to let go- I won't break." The tension, pouring off him in waves, eased, just a little. He sighed, and rested his forehead on hers. "I don't like losing control- it's like losing myself- in you." She felt him gather himself, felt the tension swell and coalesce about them. "It's giving myself to you- so that I'm in your keeping." The words, low and gravelly, rolled through her; closing her eyes, she drew in a shallow breath. "And you don't like doing that." "I don't like it- but I crave it. I don't approve of it, yet I yearn for it." His words feathered her cheek, then his lips touched hers. "Do you understand? I haven't any choice." Patience felt his chest swell as he drew a deep breath. "I love you." She shivered, eyes shut tight, and felt the world shift about her. "Losing myself in you- giving my heart and soul into your keeping- is part of that." His lips brushed hers in an inexpressibly tender caress. "Trusting you is part of that. Telling you I love you is part of that." His lips touched hers; Patience didn't wait for more. She kissed him. Letting go of the post, she slid her hands up, framing his face, so she could let him know- let him feel- her response to all he'd said. He felt it, sensed it- and reacted; his arms locked tight about her. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the emotion that held them, that flowed so effortlessly between them. Silver and gold, it wound about them, investing each touch with its magic. Silver and gold, it shimmered about them, and quivered in their fractured breaths. It was immediate compulsion and future promise, heavenly delight and earthly pleasure. It was here and now- and forever.

Flynn lived in a shiny glass apartment tower on the water in Melbourne. The building looked like hundreds of mirrors reflecting the bright blue sky. He lived at the top of the high-rise. Kope and I stepped off the elevator and looked down the hall at Flynn’s door. We’d been silent. Nodding to each other, we sent our hearing into the apartment. With a quiet gasp, I yanked my auditory sense back to normal. Flynn was busy with company at the moment. Very busy. Kope made a low sound and closed his eyes, shaking his head as if to clear away the sounds he’d heard. My face heated and I shifted from foot to foot, fighting back the nervous smile that always wanted to surface at inappropriate times. I found a small sitting area around the corner with glass walls overlooking the city. We sat, taking in the view. When my stupid urge to smile finally settled, I braved another look at Kope and pointed to myself, using my new, limited sign-language skills to tell him I’d listen. Given the new information about his inclination for lust, it was only fair. I quickly looked away, embarrassed by the crassness of the situation. I wasn’t going to listen the whole time. I’d just pop in for a quick check. Ten minutes passed. Still busy. Half an hour passed. Busy. Forty-five minutes passed. I shook my head to let Kope know they were still at it. He fidgeted and paced, out of his normal, calm comfort zone. An hour and ten minutes passed, and I took a turn at stretching my legs. I was getting hungry. I thought we’d be through with our talk by this time. We could interrupt Flynn, but I didn’t want him to freak out in front of somebody. We needed his guest to leave so we could talk alone. At the hour and a half mark, Kope checked his watch and looked at me. I sent my hearing into the room. Oh, they weren’t in the bedroom anymore. Finally! I wiggled my hearing around until it hit the sound of running water. A shower. This was a good sign. But wait . . . nope. I shook my head, eyes wide. Was this normal? Kope did something uncharacteristic then. He grinned, giving a little huff through his nose. This elicited a small giggle from me and I pressed both hands over my mouth. It was too late, though. At this point, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I could feel the crazy, unfortunate amusement rising. I jumped up and ran as spritely as I could to the stairwell with Kope on my heels. We sprinted down several flights before I fell back against the wall, laughter bubbling out. It went on and on, only getting worse when Kope joined in with his deep chuckling, a joyful rumble.

She clicks on the last slide, and that’s when it happens. “Me So Horny” blasts out of the speakers and my video, mine and Peter’s, flashes on the projector screen. Someone has taken the video from Anonybitch’s Instagram and put their own soundtrack to it. They’ve edited it too, so I bop up and down on Peter’s lap at triple speed to the beat. Oh no no no no. Please, no. Everything happens at once. People are shrieking and laughing and pointing and going “Oooh!” Mr. Vasquez is jumping up to unplug the projector, and then Peter’s running onstage, grabbing the microphone out of a stunned Reena’s hand. “Whoever did that is a piece of garbage. And not that it’s anybody’s fucking business, but Lara Jean and I did not have sex in the hot tub.” My ears are ringing, and people are twisting around in their seats to look at me and then shifting back around to look at Peter. “All we did was kiss, so fuck off!” Mr. Vasquez, the junior class advisor, is trying to grab the mic back from Peter, but Peter manages to maintain control of it. He holds the mic up high and yells out, “I’m gonna find whoever did this and kick their ass!” In the scuffle, he drops the mic. People are cheering and laughing. Peter’s being frog-marched off the stage, and he frantically looks out into the audience. He’s looking for me. The assembly breaks up then, and everyone starts filing out the doors, but I stay low in my seat. Chris comes and finds me, face alight. She grabs me by the shoulders. “Ummm, that was crazy! He freaking dropped the F bomb twice!” I am still in a state of shock, maybe. A video of me and Peter hot and heavy was just on the projector screen, and everyone saw Mr. Vasquez, seventy-year-old Mr. Glebe who doesn’t even know what Instagram is. The only passionate kiss of my life and everybody saw. Chris shakes my shoulders. “Lara Jean! Are you okay?” I nod mutely, and she releases me. “He’s kicking whoever did it’s ass? I’d love to see that!” She snorts and throws her head back like a wild pony. “I mean, the boy’s an idiot if he thinks for one second it wasn’t Gen who posted that video. Like, wow, those are some serious blinders, y’know?” Chris stops short and examines my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Everybody saw us.” “Yeah…that sucked. I’m sure that was Gen’s handiwork. She must’ve gotten one of her little minions to sneak it onto Reena’s PowerPoint.” Chris shakes her head in disgust. “She’s such a bitch. I’m glad Peter set the record straight, though. Like, I hate to give him credit, but that was an act of chivalry. No guy has ever set the record straight for me.

Hey,” a deep unfamiliar voice said from behind her. Every nerve went on alert. Her heart pounded with fear. Instinct told her to run, but how far could she go with him so close? She grabbed a knife from the butcher block beside her and spun around, hurting her sore feet but not really feeling the pain. “Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.” Somewhere in her muddled mind he looked familiar, but the fear stole her rational thoughts. Her hands shook and she backed up into the counter, looking everywhere for an escape that seemed impossible. “Hey now, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Tears filled her eyes. Too much to take in one night, she stammered, “Get out. Leave me alone.” The stranger took a step toward her, and she took one toward him. “Get out, or I’ll gut you where you stand.” One side of his mouth cocked up in a slanted grin. His eyes flashed with admiration, confusing her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m looking for Owen.” “He doesn’t live here. Why does everyone think he lives here?” she yelled. A flash of movement came from her left; she swung to face the new danger and inhaled when Owen rushed her, pushing the knife out of his way and pulling her close. She immediately dropped it and grabbed hold of him as he kept his back to the stranger, her back to the counter, and his big body protecting her. “You’re okay, sweetheart. That’s my brother, Brody. He came to help me board up the glass door.” He hugged her closer when she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and held him tighter, crying all over the front of his shirt, her face buried in his chest, her bravado from a moment ago drained away, overwhelmed by her fear. Owen was here, holding her, keeping her safe. She needed him and refused to let go, even when he tried to back away. “Brody, man, you want to give us a minute.” “Sure. I just wanted to let her know I’m here. She’s got a lot of guts, facing off with me with that knife. I like her.” “Yeah, I like her, too.” Owen brushed his hand over her head and settled into her, holding her tight and close. Brody left with a chuckle and an “I bet you do.” All of a sudden she felt foolish, but it didn’t stop her from staying in Owen’s arms. She shifted on her feet, and he slid his big hands down her back to her waist, hoisting her up onto the counter. His warm hands settled on her thighs, spreading them wide so he could stand between them. Close. Intimate. Their eyes met, and he reached up and swiped his thumbs across both her cheeks, taking away the tears. She got hold of herself enough to say, “Your brother is huge.” “You just faced off with an ex– Army Ranger. He could take you out with one lethal smile.” “He wasn’t smiling.” “He doesn’t much, since he got home. Unless he’s with Rain." -Brody, Claire, & Owen

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,

But as she rounded the last turn before the hall landing, she nearly collided with Sir Ian, carrying his mother’s shawl. “Oh!” Lina exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt a step above his. “Rather careless of you to leave this behind,” he said. He was too close. “Aye, it was,” she agreed, stepping back up a step to gain more space. His eyes danced. “Mayhap I should demand a penance before returning it.” “You dare,” she said, stiffening and wishing he were not so fiendishly beguiling with that boyish gleam of mischief in his eyes. He was definitely not just a mischievous boy anymore, though. And, for a lady to encourage such behavior . . . He looked up, as if to heaven, and murmured, “Just one wee ki—” “Shame on you, Sir Ian Colquhoun,” she interjected, thinking she sounded just like her mother. “Galbraith cannot know that you are on this stairway.” “Once again, you are wrong, lass,” he said, his eyes still alight. “He is still with Lizzie on the dais—giving her a well-deserved scolding, I trust. I saw that you had left the shawl and offered to find a maidservant to return it to you. But this is much better. I do think you should thank me prettily for taking so much trouble.” “I will thank you. After you have returned it to me.” Cocking his head, he held the shawl higher, so she’d have to reach for it. When she did, he moved it back out of her reach. Lina lowered her outstretched hand to her side and eyed him sternly from her slightly superior height. “I thought you sought my approval.” He stepped up to the stair below hers, putting the shawl out of reach again. His face was now inches higher than hers and his body again much too close for comfort. “I’d prefer something else just now,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. Reaching with his left hand for her right wrist, he held it firmly. Apparently oblivious of her attempt to snatch it free, he pressed the shawl into her hand and let go of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers. She waited to see what he would do next. He smiled then, wryly, as if he dared her to walk away. His lips were tantalizingly close. Lina shut her eyes. “Coward,” Ian murmured, enjoying himself. Her eyes flew open. Then, to his astonishment, she learned forward, brushed her lips against his right cheek, and whirled, snatching up her skirts in her free hand as first her right foot and then her left blindly sought the next stair upward. Reaching out, he easily caught her arm. “Not so fast,” he said, turning her back to face him. “You must not kiss and run, lass. That’s against the rules.” “The lady makes the rules, sir. Let go of me.” She was two steps above his again, looking disdainfully down her nose at him. She did not try to pull away. She was testing him, he knew. But she was right about who made the rules. Even so, the urge was strong to seize her and teach her what kissing was all about. However, he also wanted to make her desire that kiss enough to abandon her disapproval. And that was the greater challenge. Sakes, if he were seeking a wife and had no royal duty commanding him . . . Shifting his grip to her hand, he drew it to his lips and slowly kissed each knuckle. Then he kissed the silky skin above them, turned her trembling hand palm up long enough to breathe gently into that tender palm . . . and released her. With a barely discernable gasp, she turned away, her dignity apparently still—or again—intact. He enjoyed watching her move, so he stood where he was to savor the sight. His reward came when she stopped before vanishing around the next curve and looked back. Her lips parted slowly, invitingly, in surprise. He bowed and had the delight of seeing her whirl again and hurry away. “I shall win this battle, I think,” he murmured to himself.

Zane’s eyes were still closed when Ty’s lips brushed his again. He slid a hand under Zane’s briefs and tugged at the elastic. “Mmm. What do you want?” Zane murmured, shifting on the cool wood floor to give Ty’s hand more access. Ty shook his head and grinned. “Just you,” he answered.

The mummy twitched. This time, both Ronan and Tyrus leaped on it, blades slashing. Ronan severed an arm. Tyrus cleaved the corpse clean in half, the legs falling free. Yet the thing was already in flight, hurtling itself at Moria ... who skewered it on the end of her outthrust dagger. She held it there, casually, as the mummy gnashed its teeth and clawed with its remaining arm. "Need some help with that?" Tyrus asked. "No, it's remarkably light. That must be a result of the drying process." "And the fact it's missing three limbs." "True." Ashyn cast a nervous glance at the huddled monks, now shifting and looking their way. "We ought to lower our voices. Or be more respectful. It is a monk, after all." "Mmm, not truly," Moria said. "It's only part of a monk." She caught Ashyn's look. "Yes, I know. Give me a hand getting it free.

Taking her hands in his, he sank down to kneel before her. “I know we already are engaged, but I never went about it properly. Lydia Price, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” Gasps permeated the room as Vincent reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a small jewel case. He flicked the box open to reveal a golden ring filigreed with Celtic knots and adorned with a large diamond surrounded by a rainbow of other jewels. Lydia’s heart lodged in her throat even as unmitigated happiness warmed her body. “When?” The word escaped aloud before she was aware. “Now.” From another pocket in his waistcoat, Vincent withdrew a small sheaf of papers. “I have with me a marriage contract and a special license. I’ve also managed to procure a parson at this late hour.” Everyone’s gazes flew to the stranger, whose identity was now revealed. The parson yawned as if in emphasis of the inconvenience. All eyes shifted to Lydia, awaiting her reply. Her knees quaked beneath her gown, threatening to give out and topple her. “Please, Lydia,” he said achingly. “I cannot bear another night of you not being mine.” “Yes.” The word escaped her lips past the joy swelling within. As if afraid she’d change her mind, Vincent quickly slipped the elaborate ring on her third finger and rose to his feet, retaining his grip on her hand. “You’ve made me the happiest of men,” he replied.

He stopped, puffing slightly. He studied the shop window for a few seconds, as if he was thinking. Then he faced me. ‘You’re right. Okay? You’re right.’ I stared at him. ‘The Shamrock and Clover. It’s a horrible place. And I know I’ve not been the greatest to work for. But all I can tell you is that, for every miserable directive I give you, my nuts are being squeezed ten times harder by Head Office. My wife hates me because I’m never home. The suppliers hate me because I have to cut their margins every single week because of pressure from shareholders. My regional manager says I’m underperforming on units shifted and if I don’t pull it out of the bag I’m going to get sent to the North Wales Passenger Ferry branch. At which point my wife will actually leave me. And I won’t blame her. ‘I hate managing people. I have the social skills of a lamppost, which is why I can’t hang on to anyone. Vera only stays because she has the skin of a rhino and I suspect she’s secretly after my job. So there – I’m sorry. I’d actually quite like to give you your job back because, whatever I said earlier, you were pretty good. Customers liked you.

You’re terrified that my father will hear that you’ve taken me prisoner. No Spartan woman marries a coward!” “Watch your tongue,” Theseus growled, his hands clenched. If he hit me, I’d hit him back, no matter how bad a beating I got for it. I would not surrender. “Or what? Will you kill me? Go ahead and try. If you succeed, you lose what you really want to gain from this marriage. If I die, I take the Spartan crown with me into Hades’ kingdom. Better that than let you get your filthy hands on it!” He took a step forward. I held my ground, shifting my weight just a bit and grabbing hold of my skirt. I’d changed my mind. If he gave the slightest sign that he intended to strike me, I wouldn’t wait for the blow to land. I’d jerk up the hem of my gown and kick him so hard that--! Suddenly the hall rang with Theseus’s laughter. He held his sides, threw back his head, and brayed. “Ah, Lady Helen, the gods have been more than good to you. The three Graces gave you a face to outshine the sun, then filled your lovely mouth with these bursts of comical nonsense. We should be grateful to them. It’s all that keeps us poor mortal men from mistaking you for a goddess.” He turned his back on me and returned to his throne. From there he proclaimed, “As a reward for amusing me so well, I’m going to give the lady Helen her own lodging in the palace and her very own attendant to be responsible for her every wish, her every whim, and above all, her every movement. Now who deserves such a prize?” His eyes closed and a mean smile twisted his lips. “Telys.

She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. "Which one do you want to use?" "Something mild to go with the cheese." "The milkweed blossom?" Isabel nodded. "We're probably the only ones who'll notice." "The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me," Jamie said. "Not to me. I've had to train my palate. Same with wines. But I'm not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flowers. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I'd give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It's going to go perfectly with the appetizers." She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake. "One sip," Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker. "One, young lady." Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her. Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. "You're right. It's delicious." Isabel took back the goblet. "Look at me, corrupting a minor.

He bent over and kissed her on the nose quickly before shifting his attention back to the grill. “I see you didn’t burn them.” “I … .” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking cow flesh.” “I love it when you refer to it that way,” Jack said. “It gives me this low-down tickle in my stomach.

About earlier--” My attention shifts behind Darren to a little blond boy in overalls trying to push his head between the rods of the railing. Darren turns to see what I’m looking at and laughs. “You’re gonna get stuck.” The boy looks up at him in confusion and yells something in another language. His mother rushes over and snatches his hand, giving both Darren and me the evil eye as she drags him away. “Kids.” Darren shrugs. “Do you want any?” “Kids?” I choke. “Uh, I don’t know. Probably. Someday. Not anytime soon, so don’t get any ideas tonight back at the hotel.” My cheeks flame from the shock of my own words and I conjure up a laugh to play it cool. Inappropriate jokes are Morgan’s forte, not mine. “Noted.” Darren does a cough-laugh combo and rubs one of his ears.

Yeah, well, I--” He stops and his eyes shift behind me, wide in amusement. I turn my head to find a couple straight out of the 1980s at the end of the gelato line. They’re both sporting mullets and faded jeans. White sneakers. When I notice the matching red fanny packs, I have to look away. “You should take a picture of that,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “What?” I lean in closer and speak just above a whisper. “No way.” “Do it!” he insists. “Five euros.” He digs into his pocket and clanks down five coins. I sneak a peek at the unsuspecting couple. The man is wiping sweat off his face with a hanky. They’re too close. I’d never get away with it. “I can’t,” I say. “Pansy.” With a grunt, I switch my camera on and set it to automatic. I raise it to my face and start to twist my upper body. “No, wait!” he says. “You’re doing it wrong.” I drop the camera to my lap and face him. “What?” “You’re too obvious. You need stealth. Watch and learn.” He retrieves a small point-and-shoot camera from his pocket and aims it toward me. “Say cheese!” he says so loudly that I’m sure everyone around us is looking. “Uh…cheese?” “Done.” He hits a few buttons and shows me the display screen. There they are. Looked right at him too. Clever. But I can’t let him win. “Wow. That’s pretty pixelated. What kind of setting do you have that on?” He frowns. “It’s just zoomed in.” “Oh.” I reach to zoom out, but he pulls it away too fast. “What? Why can’t I see? Did you actually take a picture of me or something?” “Stealth.” He shrugs and my cheeks turn pink. “Guess these are my winnings.” The coins scrape across the table as he scoops them up to put in his pocket. “You didn’t even give me a chance to redeem myself,” I defend. “Excuses, excuses. Just admit I’m the better photographer.” He laughs, standing to shoot his empty cup in the trash. “Finished?” I nod and he tosses mine too. “Braver maybe, but better? Your camera doesn’t have enough buttons.

There you two are,” Nina calls. She offers a smile almost identical to Chiara’s when she’s up to something. Nina drops Tate’s hand and presses the power button on her point-and-shoot camera. She motions for Darren and me to get closer together, but we’re like rocks. “Come on, I want a picture,” she prompts. Darren doesn’t move, so I walk over to him and leave a few inches between us. Nina huffs and reaches for Darren’s arm, wrapping it behind my head and resting his hand on my shoulder. My bare shoulder! “Nina--” Darren starts to gripe. “Shut up, I’m giving you direction. You two are pathetic.” She stands by Tate again and takes a picture of us. “Smiling won’t kill you, doll.” “I am smiling,” I say through gritted teeth, Darren’s hand burning into my skin. She puts a fist on her hip and shifts her weight impatiently. “Not you. Him.” I turn to look at Darren, but he’s still holding on to me and my body sort of melts into his. He turns his face to mine too and I bite back a nervous laugh, which makes him crack a smile. “Finally,” Nina says as she takes a couple more pictures. My smile stretches ear to ear and I’m completely lost in Darren’s deep eyes. Nina’s still chattering on, probably asking us to change poses, but I don’t hear any of it and Darren doesn’t seem to either. It’s just us. Me and the boy I watched fall asleep last night. The same cute face I stared at until my eyes burned with heaviness and forced me to close them. The hand on my bare shoulder is the same one that still held a loose grip on mine this morning when I woke up. My head is light and my fingers shake, but I can’t stop smiling. He’s so close. All he has to do is lean-- “Where’s the mistletoe when you need it?” Nina’s voice cuts through my thoughts. His eyes dart to my lips for an instant and his smile falls. “I think you got enough pictures, Nina,” Darren says.

Hmph." I pushed the button a couple more times, trying to hurry the elevator along. "Oh, yeah, that's going to do some good. Everyone knows an elevator doesn't shift into second until you really lean on the call button." I pressed it another fifteen times, giving Jim a triumphant smile when the green light lit above the door. "Ha! See? It does too work—oh, sorry. Didn't mean to step on your foot.

Legal and political theory have committed much mischief by failing to pinpoint physical invasion as the only human action that should be illegal and that justifies the use of physical violence to combat it." In the law of torts, "harm" is generally treated as physical invasion of person or property. The outlawing of defamation (libel and slander) has always been a glaring anomaly in tort law. Words and opinions are not physical invasions. Analogous to the loss of property value from a better product or a shift in consumer demand, no one has a property right in his "reputation." Reputation is strictly a function of the subjective opinions of other minds, and they have the absolute right to their own opinions whatever they may be. Hence, outlawing defamation is itself a gross invasion of the defamer's right of freedom of speech, which is a subset of his property right in his own person. An even broader assault on freedom of speech is the modern Warren-Brandeis-inspired tort of invasion of the alleged right of "privacy," which outlaws free speech and acts using one's own property that are not even false or "malicious." In the law of torts, "harm" is generally treated as physical invasion of person or property and usually requires payment of damages for "emotional" harm if and only if that harm is a consequence of physical invasion. Thus, within the standard law of trespass — an invasion of person or property — "battery" is the actual invasion of someone else's body, while "assault" is the creation by one person in another of a fear, or apprehension, of battery. To be a tortious assault and therefore subject to legal action, tort law wisely requires the threat to be near and imminent. Mere insults and violent words, vague future threats, or simple possession of a weapon cannot constitute an assault18; there must be accompanying overt action to give rise to the apprehension of an imminent physical battery. Or, to put it another way, there must be a concrete threat of an imminent battery before the prospective victim may legitimately use force and violence to defend himself. Physical invasion or molestation need not be actually "harmful" or inflict severe damage in order to constitute a tort. The courts properly have held that such acts as spitting in someone's face or ripping off someone's hat are batteries. Chief Justice Holt's words in 1704 still seem to apply: "The least touching of another in anger is a battery." While the actual damage may not be substantial, in a profound sense we may conclude that the victim's person was molested, was interfered with, by the physical aggression against him, and that hence these seemingly minor actions have become legal wrongs. (2/2)

Roland gave her a courtier’s smile. “And what sort of work do you do for my uncle?” Dorian shifted on his feet and Chaol went very still, but Celaena returned Roland’s smile and said, “I bury the king’s opponents where nobody will ever find them.” Roland, to her surprise, actually chuckled. She didn’t dare look at Chaol, whom she was certain would give her a tongue-lashing for it later. “I’d heard about the King’s Champion. I didn’t think it would be someone so … lovely.

Of course," she muttered with a rough laugh that was far from humorous, "how foolish of me to consider such a thing when I have seen the evidence of your loathing myself." "Loathing? Oh yes, I despise you." Avenell murmured darkly. The sarcasm dripping from his harsh words sent a shiver down her spine. He lowered his chin but did not break eye contact. "I would love to show you in a thousand ways just how much I loathe you, Miss Chadwick." As he spoke, his expression slowly shifted. It felt as though he allowed his facade to fall away, giving her a glimpse of the truth beneath before he shuttered his features again. For a brief moment, she again detected that hunger she had first seen on the night they had collided outside the Mawbrys' town house. It left her breathless. In a blast of heat and trembling awareness, she understood that what she had been seeing in him all along had never been anger or revulsion. It was desire, possibly as deep and complex as her own. The revelation stunned her.

That ache for Dav’s presence struck her heart again, and she felt it in her whole body, a frantic pulse that nearly over- whelmed her with feeling. It scared her, the way it crashed like a wave, no words to give it shape. If only she could describe it, maybe the dark void would shrink and shift and become something she could hold in her palm. When it was in her fingers, she would study it, and then tuck it away in her pocket, or perhaps toss it out into the Plains and let it disap- pear among the grass. But no – she could not throw it away, not when it was all she had left of her mentor. She needed some piece of him to tell her what to do, to remind her who she was.

THROUGH GOD’S EYES It’s God’s prerogative to shift our perspective in any area, but there are a few areas that seem especially common. 1. Self We looked at this in detail in the last chapter. You need to see yourself as God sees you. Period. No more, no less. That is the path to both true humility and healthy self-esteem. As you pray, let God shift the way you think about yourself. Believe His affirmations of who you are. Then align the way you talk about yourself, and present yourself with that image 2. Pain Too often we are in such a hurry to fix pain that we either suppress it or offer it cheap solutions, much like Job’s friends. Prayer does neither of those. Prayer doesn’t dismiss pain. It embraces it. Validates it. Sits with it. It creates a safe space to process what we are feeling, and it connects us to the one who can truly make a difference in our circumstances. It gives

sinew that holds him together. Our lips press and mold, mingling, taking, begging . . . Desperate. Beck’s tongue runs against my bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep within me, lighting a fire so hot, so wild, my hands start to travel up his neck to his cheeks where I grip him, positioning his head so when I open my mouth, I can expertly dive my tongue onto his. He groans, his lap shifting against mine now, his hard-on pressing against my wet and throbbing center. I match his rocking, using my position on his lap to take advantage of his length I can feel through his board shorts. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but God, am I happy it has. Maybe I really should live in the moment, maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity, maybe I should… “Woo, yeah, get it on!” Zoey screams from below us, immediately shooting me off Beck’s lap and into the rail behind me, causing me to lose my balance. With cat-like reflexes, Beck catches my arm and steadies me, his eyes aware but heady with lust, his breathing as erratic as mine. “Don’t let us disturb you,” Zoey calls out once again. “Just taking a midnight stroll.” “Yup, that’s great.” I give her a thumbs up with one hand as the other is holding on to Beck, our eyes never breaking contact. “Have a good night, you

Welcome to my life around February of 2012 as I sat down to write Shift. My novel Wool had somehow become a New York Times bestseller, even though it was still a self-published book with some truly questionable cover art. Ridley Scott had snatched up the film rights. Publishers were offering me hundreds of thousands of dollars to take the book off my hands (the offers would soon reach seven figures). Reviews and fan e-mails were pouring in, asking for more, more, more. I had twenty years of not being able to finish a novel under my belt. I had thirty years of being disappointed with sequels as a reader. At the time, Eminem’s song “Lose Yourself” was popular, and I would jam the song every morning, firing myself up so as not to waste this opportunity. And then I decided to write a book that absolutely no one was asking for. No one except me. A word of advice here: If you love reading, you should really give writing a chance. The blank page can be whatever you want it to be. A sad scene, a happy scene, a love story, a tragedy. It’s all right there. You are in charge. You make the rules. Delight your every fancy. Right your every literary wrong.

My Order emerged,” he breathed and the terror in his voice told me all I needed to about what had happened. “You’re not a Dragon?” I asked, my own voice cracking with fear for him. Father would have been more than furious to discover that his son was anything other than a full blooded Dragon Shifter. It was a matter of pride and respect; he ridiculed families with mixed blood, he believed wholeheartedly in the superiority of our kind. One of his sons being anything other was totally unthinkable. Xavier shook his head slowly, trying to withdraw his hand from mine as footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me but I refused to release him. “It doesn’t change anything for me,” I growled. “You’re still my brother, I don’t care if you’re a Werewolf or a Vampire or a-” “So he told you, did he?” Father’s cold voice came from the doorway behind me and the hairs along the back of my neck stood to attention in warning. Xavier snatched his hand out of mine, blinking away the evidence of the tears which hadn’t even fallen. I stood before him, placing myself between him and Father. “It doesn’t matter,” I said firmly, though the simmering rage in my father’s eyes told a very different story. “I’m the oldest. I’m the first in line anyway, Xavier never wanted to challenge me for that role so-” “Yes, I still have my Heir but I’ve lost the spare. Did he tell you exactly what Order he is?” Father snarled, his eyes changing to their Dragon form and a trail of smoke leaving his nostrils. He was so angry about this that he was battling against the urge to shift. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so close to the edge before. “Not yet. But surely it’s not the end of the world if-” “Shift,” Father commanded, his gaze passing me to land on my brother. Xavier got out of his chair and backed up, shaking his head in panic. His skin looked odd though, like there was light shining from within it, trying to break free. “I told you, I’ll get control of it; I won’t shift ever,” he said anxiously. “No one will ever find out that I’m-” “SHIFT!” Father bellowed, using fear to force the change on him. Xavier cried out in panic as the light beneath his skin grew to a powerful glow and he bucked forward as his Order form took over. I backed up as his form changed, giving him room to become- “Fucking hell,” I breathed, my eyes widening in panic. “My thoughts precisely,” Father hissed venomously. Xavier had transformed into a lilac Pegasus complete with golden horn and rainbow patterned wings. His coat shone with glitter in the light of my magical orbs and his wide, horsey eyes looked back at us fearfully. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, scrambling for something, anything to say. “I... didn’t know we had any recessive Pegasus genes in the bloodline...maybe he's linked to the constellation,” I muttered, unsure what else I could say. Father hated the weaker, more common Orders. He was a Dragon through and through; he loved power, invoking fear and breathing fire. A Pegasus was about as far as you could get to the opposite end of the Order spectrum. They were flying horses who pooped glitter, granted wishes and were... cute. Xavier hadn’t even been lucky enough to have a dark coloured coat, it was lilac. Lilac! (DARIUS POV)

Here’s sharing some true, realistic lessons I learnt in six decades of life after I took birth on this beautiful planet in 1960: LESSON 1 1960-70 Identifying core values early strengthens one’s inner self and gives direction to “HOW” of living. Daily conversations with my father when I was about 08 got me to define right and wrong in a simple way: Never to harm yourself or any other person even in your thoughts in any way. It gave me a ‘burden-less’ living. LESSON 2 1970-80 Don’t let your goodness be taken as your weakness by people and use you. Instead of being focused on “getting liked” by those in demand, better to spend time on self-development thro self-discipline, self-control and focus to be the best in what comes naturally to you. LESSON 3 1980-90  Whatever be the level of comfort in life, it can simply shift in one day. Life can change in the blink of an eye. Those are the moments when the work you have done on yourself will help you stand tall, confident and get to rebuild yourself. Clarity of the choice will be defining your life ahead. LESSON 4 1990-00 Persistence, confidence, commitment, passion, hard-work, dedication and devotion are all beautiful terms. Unless you add ‘Strategy’, it works NOT. In pursuit of your goal you may have to be flexible about your values. LESSON 5 2000-10 Doesn’t matter if you are MOON, if Sun doesn’t like you and stop giving you light, you are nowhere. Very important to develop lasting relationships on a “give and take” principle. Clear and candid. Period. LESSON 6 2010-20 And if you continue to live with the basic first lesson that I got in early childhood and then what I learned later of being flexible, which I chose not to, as I wanted to pursue what I thought was right, then it is equally true that life slowly and steadily turns magical. For every one person who preys on you to cut your wings, you will find 10 angels willing to share theirs. You will learn LESS IS MORE. And you will find humility holding you tight and taking you through every storm and staying firmly rooted would also mean storms passing through you. Life will just keep flowing and you will be able to create your own small beautiful and happy world. LESSON NOW: Whatever you know is only to the extent of how YOU have experienced life. More than that is a perception and an illusion what can also be termed as Your imagined reality So finally, my lessons are MINE. May not be applicable to all. If even one person is able to relate with them and choose to restart by reconsidering any WHATSs , WHYs and HOWSs, I will be happy. LAST WORD: AGE IS NOT A NUMBER! It’s a well-earned gift of experiences. Feeling blessed!

Yes,” Bryce said tightly. “Before Danika helped to save this city. Where’s the Pack of Devils?” she asked again, voice hitching. Something large growled and shifted in the shadows behind the Under-King, but remained hidden by the mists. Hunt’s lightning zapped at his fingers in warning. “Life is a beautiful ring of growth and decay,” the Under-King said, the words echoing through the Sleeping City around them. “No part left to waste. What we receive upon birth, we give back in death. What is granted to you mortals in the Eternal Lands is merely another step in the cycle. A waypoint along your journey toward the Void.” Hunt growled. “Let me guess: You hail from Hel, too?” “I hail from a place between stars, a place that has no name and never shall. But I know of the Void that the Princes of Hel worship. It birthed me, too.” The star in the center of Bryce’s chest flared. The Under-King smiled, and his horrific face turned ravenous. “I beheld your light across the river, that day. Had I only known when you first came to me—things might have been quite different.” Hunt’s lightning surged, but he reined it in. “What do you want with her?” “What I want from all souls who pass here. What I give back to the Dead Gate, to all of Midgard: energy, life, power. You did not give your power to the Eleusian system; you made the Drop outside of it. Thus, you still possess some firstlight. Raw, nutritious firstlight.” “Nutritious?” Bryce said. The Under-King waved a bony hand. “Can you blame me for sampling the goods as they pass through the Dead Gate?” Hunt’s mouth dried up. “You … you feed on the souls of the dead?

Neither nature nor history can tell us what we ought to do. Facts, whether those of nature or those of history, cannot make the decision for us, they cannot determine the ends we are going to choose. It is we who introduce purpose and meaning into nature and into history. Men are not equal; but we can decide to fight for equality. Human institutions such as the state are not rational, but we can decide to fight to make them more rational. We ourselves and our ordinary language are, on the whole, emotional rather than rational; but we can try to become a little more rational, and we can train ourselves to use our language as an instrument not of self-expression (as our romantic educationists would say) but of rational communication. History itself I mean the history of power politics, of course, not the non-existent story of the development of mankind has no end nor meaning, but we can decide to give it both. We can make it our fight for the open society and against its antagonists (who, when in a corner, always protest their humanitarian sentiments, in accordance with Pareto's advice) and we can interpret it accordingly. Ultimately, we may say the same about the 'meaning of life'. It is up to us to decide what shall be our purpose in life, to determine our ends. This dualism of facts and decisions is, I believe, fundamental. Facts as such have no meaning; they can gain it only through our decisions. Historicism is only one of many attempts to get over this dualism; it is born of fear, for it shrinks from realizing that we bear the ultimate responsibility even for the standards we choose. But such an attempt seems to me to represent precisely what is usually described as superstition. For it assumes that we can reap where we have not sown; it tries to persuade us that if we merely fall into step with history everything will and must go right, and that no fundamental decision on our part is required; it tries to shift our responsibility on to history, and thereby on to the play of demoniac powers beyond ourselves; it tries to base our actions upon the hidden intentions of these powers, which can be revealed to us only in mystical inspirations and intuitions; and it thus puts these actions and decisions on the moral level of one who, inspired by horoscopes and dreams, chooses his lucky number in a lottery.

There are encounters that change nothing. Urth turns her aged face to the sun and he beams upon her snows; they scintillate and coruscate until each little point of ice hanging from the swelling sides of the towers seems the Claw of the Conciliator, the most precious of gems. Then everyone except the wisest believes that the snow must melt and give way to a protracted summer beyond summer. Nothing of the sort occurs. The paradise endures for a watch or two, then shadows blue as watered milk lengthen on the snow, which shifts and dances under the spur of an east wind. Night comes, and all is at it was. My finding Triskele was like that. I felt that it could have and should have changed everything, but it was only the episode of a few months, and when it was over and he was gone, it was only another winter passed and the Feast of Holy Katharine come again, and nothing had changed.

BARTON CENTRE, 912, 9th Floor, Mahatma Gandhi Rd, Bengaluru, Karnataka - 560 001 Phone Number +91 8884400919 Situated off the southeast shore of Africa, Mauritius is a shocking island country in the Indian Sea known for its perfectly clear waters, white sandy sea shores, and lavish green scenes. The volcanic island flaunts pleasant coral reefs and a different scope of verdure. Culture and Language Mauritius is a mixture of societies, with impacts from Indian, African, Chinese, and European practices. Local people communicate in a blend of dialects, with English, French, Creole, and Hindi being ordinarily utilized. This social variety is reflected in the island's food, music, and celebrations. 2. Outline of Mauritius Visit Bundles Sorts of Visit Bundles Accessible Mauritius Tour Package From Bangalore offer various choices, from extravagant ocean side hotels to daring eco-the travel industry encounters. Whether you're searching for a heartfelt escape, a family get-away, or a performance experience, there's a bundle to suit each voyager's inclinations. Irregularity and Best Times to Visit The best opportunity to visit Mauritius is from May to December when the weather conditions is cooler and drier, ideal for investigating the island's attractions and appreciating outside exercises. Top vacationer season is from October to April, so reserving your visit bundle ahead of time is suggested. 3. Features of a Mauritius Tour Package From Bangalore Flight Subtleties and Travel Length Departures from Bangalore to Mauritius normally take around 7 to 8 hours, with non-stop flights accessible for a helpful travel insight. Some visit bundles might incorporate flight appointments and air terminal exchanges for a problem free excursion. Considerations and Prohibitions in the Bundle Normal considerations in Mauritius visit bundles are convenience, dinners, touring visits, and exercises, for example, water sports and spa medicines. Rejections might shift yet frequently incorporate travel protection, visa charges, and individual costs. 4. Convenience and Transportation Choices Well known Lodging Decisions in Mauritius Mauritius offers a scope of facilities, from extravagance resorts disregarding the sea to shop lodgings settled in tropical nurseries. Famous decisions remember ocean front pieces of land for Terrific Baie, extravagance withdraws in Beauty Female horse, and eco-accommodating hotels in Dark Waterway Canyons Public Park. Transportation inside Mauritius Transportation choices in Mauritius incorporate taxicabs, rental vehicles, and public transports for getting around the island. Many visit bundles give air terminal exchanges and may likewise incorporate confidential transportation for touring visits and journeys. 5. Energizing Exercises and Attractions in Mauritius Ocean side Exercises and Water Sports Mauritius is a heaven for ocean side darlings and daredevils the same. From lazing on the immaculate sandy sea shores to enjoying an assortment of water sports, for example, swimming, scuba jumping, and parasailing, there is no deficiency of energy here. Whether you're a carefully prepared surfer or a fledgling hoping to get a few waves, Mauritius offers something for everybody. Investigating Nature and Untamed life Nature fans will be in wonderment of Mauritius' different scenes, from lavish woods and cascades to shocking greenhouses. Investigate the Dark Stream Crevasses Public Park to detect extraordinary widely varied vegetation, or visit the Seven Shaded Earths in Chamarel for a characteristic miracle. Try not to botch the opportunity to experience monster turtles at the Île aux Aigrettes nature hold for a really remarkable encounter. 6. Test Schedule for a Mauritius Visit from Bangalore

Meyer summarizes his code of honor as “(1) Show up. (2) Work hard. (3) Be kind. (4) Take the high road.” As he contributed in ways that revealed his skills without spawning jealousy, colleagues began to admire and trust his comedic genius. “People started to see him as somebody who wasn’t just motivated personally,” Tim Long explains. “You don’t think of him as a competitor. He’s someone you can think of on a higher plane, and can trust creatively.” Carolyn Omine adds, “Compared to other writers’ rooms I’ve been in, I would say The Simpsons tends to look longer for jokes. I think it’s because we have writers, like George, who will say, ‘No, that’s not quite right,’ even if it’s late, even if we’re all tired. I think that’s an important quality. We need those people, like George, who aren’t afraid to say, ‘No, this isn’t good enough. We can do better.’” In a classic article, the psychologist Edwin Hollander argued that when people act generously in groups, they earn idiosyncrasy credits—positive impressions that accumulate in the minds of group members. Since many people think like matchers, when they work in groups, it’s very common for them to keep track of each member’s credits and debits. Once a group member earns idiosyncrasy credits through giving, matchers grant that member a license to deviate from a group’s norms or expectations. As Berkeley sociologist Robb Willer summarizes, “Groups reward individual sacrifice.” On The Simpsons, Meyer amassed plenty of idiosyncrasy credits, earning latitude to contribute original ideas and shift the creative direction of the show. “One of the best things about developing that credibility was if I wanted to try something that was fairly strange, people would be willing to at least give it a shot at the table read,” Meyer reflects. “They ended up not rewriting my stuff as much as they had early on, because they knew I had a decent track record. I think people saw that my heart was in the right place—my intentions were good. That goes a long way.

There were a few things that really peeved a lion. Stealing his sunny nap spot. Messing up his mane. Eating the last donut. Yanking his fucking tail! Reflex had him spin on the brat who’d sneaked up on him. Well, sneaked up if he ignored the fact he knew she was behind him. Let her think she had him. He was so enchanted by the emergence of a playful side that he didn’t want to ruin her fun. A fun that ended when she yanked his tail. Rawr! He spun and shot her a baleful glare. For a moment she froze. A tremble went through her. She was scared. Ah hell. Surely she knew by now he’d never hurt her? But then again, could he expect years of abuse and habit to disappear after spending just over a day with him? He wondered what she’d do. Would she run or give him the broken puppy eyes? Why did this have to happen at all? Why did he have to look so fearsome? Was it his fault his lion was so impressive and scary? Was it— Wait a second, was she laughing? He eyed her. Yup. She was. Laughing and snorting. Now he glared for real. She chortled louder. “Oh. Oh.” She gasped. “If only you could see your expression.” He’d show her an expression. He shifted into his human self, but even his impressive nakedness couldn’t stem her mirth. He stood and then stalked, each long stride bringing him closer, and her laughter dampening until it stopped altogether. He almost applauded when she peered at him instead of staring at her toes. “Am I in trouble?” “Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.” Blackmail? Hell yeah. He’d do anything for a kiss. “If you want a kiss, you’ll have to catch me. Tag, you’re it.” She shoved him, open-palmed against his chest, before bolting, her lithe body a quick blur that soon disappeared from sight. Seriously? She was just awesomeness wrapped in a layer of perfection with a dab of naughty he was really loving.

Daisy almost cancelled her next session, weary of self-introspection and dreading what would be the next thing to emerge from the dirt...she had to admit, she was feeling a shift deep within. Not a window shade snapping up to flood her with clarity, but a slow dawn made up of tiny insights. Things were shifting around in her head and heart and gut. Lining up. Matching edges.

An Introduction to CFD Trading Increase, commit, and individuals trying to trade systems and their cash in different areas are usually trying to find new strategies. Like several good buyer, you won’t be joining the group, instead you had want in order to change lives begin or to create one. Stocks trading is really 80s within the sensation that perhaps young kids today understand how it operates, and have the ability to survive without any formal education. If you should be looking for a new company shift, you should provide a try to this new venture. First what’s a CFD? CFD stands for contract for difference. It’s thought as a small business contract an entrepreneur and by an expense business. If the contract expires, both parties can trade notes concerning the differences between the original and final price indices of particular monetary things like shares of items and futures. This is exactly what CFD Trading is focused on. The one edge that traders have within this economic contract is the fact that they get to purchase these factors at lower costs despite the fact that it includes nonvoting stocks where the trader can’t vote on all aspects of the company as opposed to what stockholders are blessed to do. Another thing is the fact that a CFD does not hold taxes on files even if these aspects are acquired in large amounts. In simple terms, it’s a in which a derivative asset is founded on an underlying asset’s cost between two entities that transactions the differences. These parties will need to pay the differences required to eachother. The way in which CFD Trading works is that among the entities gives the difference before contract ends included to the other. Just about like what occurs in spreadbetting, the trader continues the opposite end-of the deal with investment institution or CFD service, where the trader anticipates which cost will increase and having three selections to take whether to buy, to slide or to sell the component required. Another similarity with spreadbetting is the fact that you can find no tax tasks since CFD’s don’t involve buying of assets to become settled. It just requires the activity of the fee. Since the investor is just needed to spot a minor amount on these things, that are also called edges, the earnings and in addition losses will soon be on the basis of the money set in. In other words, a CFD is good for the entrepreneur since it gives him the chance of owning main assets without so much problem. Does It Work A good example of that is to ingest a share worth $20 and the entrepreneur buys 100 of these. He will be cost $2,000 by this exchange. Employing a stockbroker will demand the entrepreneur to shell 50% of this amount out. That is $1,000. A meager initial cashout is needed which amounts as much as only $100, should you evaluate that to an expenditure finished with a CFD representative. However, allow it to be regarded that whenever an investor enters a deal of difference, the cost place usually begins in a loss. Which damage is definitely equal to the spread. Which means the spread is at $8 along with if you come into a deal, the underlying resource must generate $8 merely to break even. Let us say if the actual resource reaches a quote cost of $ 20, then the CFD price will be a few cents less than that since the dealer will have to escape at that point. So as opposed to increasing your money to $40, he will must settle for several dollars. Nevertheless not really a terrible package to get a purchase with less trouble.

Once again I was glad I hadn’t shit myself, my nose way too close to my ass as I shifted; although it did give me ideas for later. Don’t act like it’s above you.

Do you need assistance with your dress?” “I do not.” She shifted, and Ben heard her draw in her breath at the sight of him peeled down to his breeches and boots. He sat on the bed, giving her his back so he could tug off his footwear. Maggie came around the bed and sat beside him. “This doesn’t feel right.” When he wanted to hurl his boots hard against the bedroom wall, Ben instead set them tidily beside the bed. “What doesn’t feel right about it?” “It’s broad daylight and we’re not married and we’re not marrying, either.” “This marriage business troubles you exceedingly,” he observed. “What is about to happen between us has happened before, Maggie, and at your instigation in even broader daylight than this. I believe you enjoyed yourself, and I most assuredly know I did. Do we need to complicate matters beyond that?” She turned green eyes on him, luminous with some emotion he could not name. “I suppose not.” Her busy, brilliant mind wanted to complicate it—he could see that much in her troubled expression—but his not-very-brilliant, lust-clouded mind was determined on simplicity. He took her hand and put it over the fall of his trousers. “It isn’t complicated at all. You want me, and I’m happy to oblige you. Take the dress off, Maggie, or I will tear it from your body.” And this—this sincere threat of sartorial violence—was what finally won him a small, impish smile. “You would not tear it off me, but you might ruck it up and wrinkle it beyond salvation.

She wanted to smack him. Maggie instead stepped in closer to Hazlit, took the fragrant little flower, and withdrew the jeweled pin from its stem. “If you’ll just hold still a moment, Mr. Hazlit, I’ll have you put to rights in no time.” He was tall enough that she had to look up at him—another unforgivable fault, for Maggie liked to look down on men—so she beamed a toothy smile at him when she jabbed the little pin through layers of fabric to prick his arrogant, manly skin. “Beg pardon,” she said, giving his cravat a pat. “The fault is entirely mine.” The humor in his eyes shifted to something not the least funny, though Maggie’s spirits were significantly restored. “Your

Wriggling out of his grasp she braced herself on his shoulders and tried to stand. Next thing she knew, he had her around the legs and took her down to the mattress in some sort of super-fast ninja move. She screamed and laughed, and he was laughing every bit as hard as he came down on top of her. And, oh God, his laughter was a sweet and sexy rumble that lit her up inside. “You fight dirty, Easy,” she said around her chuckles. “I haven’t had this much fun in so long.” She caressed his face with her fingers. “Me neither. Between overloading on classes and my epilepsy, I often feel like a little old lady trapped in the body of a twenty-year-old. All I need is some cats.” “Cats are awesome,” he said. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak stray cats into the house, just for a night or two. I’d keep them in my room and bring up bowls of milk and cans of tuna for them.” “Aw, you were a sweet little boy, weren’t you?” she asked, loving how he was opening up to her. The closeness, the sharing, the way his big body was lying on her legs and hips, leading him to prop his head up on her lower stomach—both her heart and her body reacted. “Maybe for about five minutes.” He winked. “Mostly, I was a hell-raiser. Growing up, we didn’t live in the best neighborhood. Drug dealers on the corner, gang activity trying to pull in even the younger kids, crack house one block over. All that. Trouble wasn’t hard to find.” He shrugged. “Army straightened me out, though.” “Well, we lived in a nice neighborhood growing up and here my father was the freaking drug dealer on the corner. Or close enough, anyway.” Jenna stared at the ceiling and shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get serious.” His thumb stroked along her side, sliding the cotton of her borrowed shirt against her skin in a way that almost tickled. “Don’t apologize. Our histories are what they are, you know?” She nodded and gave him a little smile. “Yeah.” Shifting off her, Easy stretched out alongside her and propped his head up on his arm. “I’m thirty, Jenna,” he said out of nowhere. And he was telling her this because? He thought their age difference was too great? He thought she was too young? He was worried she would think he was too old? Probably D) all of the above. Thing was, all she saw when she looked at Easy was a guy she really freaking liked. One who’d saved her life, helped make her sister safe, and gave her a sense of security she hadn’t felt in years. He was hot as hell, easy to talk to, and one of the kindest guys she’d ever known. Maybe some of that was because he was older. Who knew? “And I need to know this because?” she asked, resting her head on her arm. The muscles of his shoulders lifted into a shrug, but his face was contemplative. “Because there’s clearly something going on between us.” Heat rushed across her body. She held up a hand, and he laced his fingers between hers. “When I look at you, I don’t see a bunch of differences, Easy.” “What do you see then?” Warmth flooded into Jenna’s cheeks, and she chuckled. He’d said that she was beautiful, after all, so why couldn’t she give him a compliment in return? “A really hot guy I’d like to get to know more.” A smug smile slipped onto his face, and she might’ve rolled her eyes if it weren’t so damn sexy. “Really hot, huh?” “Well, kinda hot, anyway.” “Nuh-uh,” he said, tugging her hand to his chest. “Can’t take it back now.” Cheeks burning and big smile threatening, she rolled onto her side to face him. They lay there, side by side, her chest almost touching his, looking at each other. Tension and desire and anticipation crackled in the space between them, making it hard to breathe. “What do you see when you look at me?” she whispered, half-afraid to ask but even more curious to hear what he’d say. Did he mostly see someone who was too young for him? Or a needy girl he had to save and babysit?

Transformative learning gives us an awareness of the basic structures within which we know, think, and act in the world. This shift does not rid us of old contexts, it simply stops defining who we are. That is the single most powerful attribute of Landmark’s work.

Kenzie Denune pedaled the bicycle harder, her thighs burning from the exertion. Thanks to a car that refused to start, she was going to be late for her job interview at Iverson Loch Manor. Grunting and pounding from the shrubs ahead, near the road's edge, snagged her attention. Naked shoulders glistened in the afternoon sun. Back muscles bulged and undulated with every thrust. “Bloody hell. Come fer me. Come.” In all of Mathe Bay in the Scottish Highlands, only one deep masculine voice had the power to raise the hair on her arms like this. A man with braided russet-colored hair that brushed broad shoulders inked with a bear's claw marks, woven into an intricate tribal design - Bryce Matheson. Damn him to hell. Who's he shagging in broad daylight? Out in the open, no less. Has he no shame? ... “I canna keep pounding at ye like this all bloody day. Me back is about to give out.” Bryce moaned and groaned again, obviously in the throes of ecstasy. The bear-shifting bastard. She eased up on the brakes to whiz past his love nest of bushes and brambles. “I'll not give up until I get ye wild cherry. Let me push both me thumbs and most of me fingers in here and....." My God, what's he doing to her? Kenzie couldna resist one fleeting glance over her shoulder. Her front wheel plunged into a pothole and the bike pitched... as she toppled across the grit. The force of the impact, combined with the slant of the narrow road, caused her to roll toward Bryce and his current conquest. No! No, God, no!

In his second letter to the Corinthians Paul employs another term in an attempt to give expression to the “debt” he has: “Therefore, knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade men” (2 Cor 5:11). Green interprets correctly, “This…is not the craven fear of the underdog, but the loving fear of the friend and trusted servant who dreads disappointing his beloved Mastef” (1970:245). Here also is to be found the reason why Paul dreads the possibility that “after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor 9:27).

Taking her hands in his, he sank down to kneel before her. “I know we already are engaged, but I never went about it properly. Lydia Price, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” Gasps permeated the room as Vincent reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a small jewel case. He flicked the box open to reveal a golden ring filigreed with Celtic knots and adorned with a large diamond surrounded by a rainbow of other jewels. Lydia’s heart lodged in her throat even as unmitigated happiness warmed her body. “When?” The word escaped aloud before she was aware. “Now.” From another pocket in his waistcoat, Vincent withdrew a small sheaf of papers. “I have with me a marriage contract and a special license. I’ve also managed to procure a parson at this late hour.” Everyone’s gazes flew to the stranger, whose identity was now revealed. The parson yawned as if in emphasis of the inconvenience. All eyes shifted to Lydia, awaiting her reply. Her knees quaked beneath her gown, threatening to give out and topple her. “Please, Lydia,” he said achingly. “I cannot bear another night of you not being mine.” “Yes.

In order for a person to work at a church legally as an independent contractor, we believe it is prudent to consider the following guidelines:   ·       The church cannot substantially direct the person’s duties; the church can only give them overall tasks to complete.   ·       The church cannot control or set their hours that they work.   ·       Since their “company” provides the service, they can send anyone to do the job.   ·       They cannot have an office at the church that is their primary office.   ·       It cannot be their only source of income.   ·       The church needs to have a written contract in place including cost, delivery of Services, duration (i.e. six months, one year, etc.) and a termination clause.   ·       They cannot participate in any employee benefits plans (insurance, retirement plans, etc).   ·       The contractor must provide annual proof of worker’s comp and liability insurance naming the church as additionally insured or the church could be held liable in the event of a claim.   ·       The church must issue a 1099 at the end of the year for all contract wages paid if the total amount for the year exceeds $600.00 to one contractor. We strongly recommend that no payments are made until an accurate and fully completed W-9 is completed by the contractor and on file at the church.        Given these requirements, many workers such as those in the nursery, kitchens, and other service areas are not 1099 contractors, but employees.     Regarding interim pastors, there is disagreement over whether they should receive a W-2 or 1099. Factors such as length of service, who supervises them, and whether they are a contractor, come into play in the decision on how to report their salary. For the best practice we recommend always using the W-2 to report salaries, but seeking tax and legal counsel would be wise to avoid any future IRS issues.      While there are advantages to the church to pay independent contractors who regularly work for the church such as avoiding the need to pay the employer's part of the FICA tax and the ease of terminating their services, we would recommend against their regular use.      We recommend against the use of independent contractors (that regularly work at the church) because we believe it can create the following problems for the church:   ·       Less control over the position   ·       Leaves the church open to an IRS challenge, which the church only has a 50/50 chance of defending, not to mention the cost and hassle of litigation   ·       In the event of insurance claims, the church may encounter issues with worker’s compensation coverage or liability insurance coverage such as sexual misconduct, etc.   ·       The church is open to contract disputes with the independent contractor   ·       Based on how the individual/company is filing their taxes, it could bring an unwanted tax audit to the church        Our conclusion is that we do not see enough cost-saving advantages for the church to move in this direction. It also creates unnecessary red flags for the IRS. The other looming question is, why is this such an important issue for such a small incremental (if any) tax break for the individual? Because the independent contractor will have to pay employer FICA, we don’t see any large tax advantage for this shift. They can claim mileage and some home office expense (maybe), but it just does not amount to enough to place the church at risk.      Here are some detailed guidelines

managed to snag the last available table and all three ordered the special with sweet tea to drink. “It’s like Thanksgiving,” Shiloh said. “Not for me. Thanksgiving was working an extra shift so the folks with kids could be home for the day. Christmas was the same,” Bonnie said. Abby shrugged. “The army served turkey and dressing on the holidays. It wasn’t what Mama made, but it tasted pretty damn good.” Since it was a special and only had to be dipped up and served, they weren’t long getting their meal. Abby shut her eyes on the first bite and made appreciative noises. “This is so good. I may eat here every Sunday.” “And break Cooper’s heart?” Bonnie asked. “Hey, now! One night of drinking together does not make us all bosom buddies or BFFs or whatever the hell it’s called these days.” Abby waved at the waitress, who came right over. “I want this plate all over again,” she said. “Did you remember that we do have pie for dessert?” the waitress asked. “Yes, I’ll have two pieces, whipped cream on both. What about you, Shiloh?” She blushed. “I shouldn’t, but . . . yes, and go away before I change my mind.” “Bonnie?” Abby asked. Bonnie shook her head. “Just an extra piece of pie will do me.” “So that’s two more specials and five pieces of pie, right?” the waitress asked. “You got it,” Abby said. “I’m having ice cream when we finish with hair and nails. You two are going to be moaning and groaning about still being too full,” Bonnie said. “Not me. By the middle of the afternoon I’ll be ready for ice cream,” Abby said. “My God, how do you stay so small?” Shiloh asked. “Damn fine genes. Mama wasn’t a big person.” “Well, my granny was as wide as she was tall and every bite of food I eat goes straight to my thighs and butt,” Shiloh said. “But after that wicked, evil stuff last night, I’m starving.” “It burned all the calories right out of your body,” Abby said. “Anything you eat today doesn’t even count.” “You are full of crap,” Shiloh leaned forward and whispered. The waitress returned with more plates of food and slices of pumpkin pie with whipped cream, taking the dirty dishes back away with her. Bonnie picked up the clean fork on the pie plate and cut a bite-size piece off. “Oh. My. God! This is delicious. Y’all can eat Cooper’s cookin’. I’m not the one kissin’ on him, so I don’t give a shit if I hurt his little feelin’s or not. I’m comin’ here for pumpkin pie next Sunday if I have to walk.” “If Cooper doesn’t want to cook, maybe we can all come back here with him and Rusty next Sunday,” Abby said. “And if he does?” Shiloh asked. “Then I’m eating a steak and you can borrow my truck, Bonnie. I’d hate to see you walk that far. You’d be too tired to take care of the milkin’ the next day,” Abby said. “And you don’t know how to milk a cow, do you?” Bonnie’s blue eyes danced when she joked. Abby took a deep breath and told the truth. “No, I don’t, and I don’t like chickens.” “Well, I hate hogs,” Shiloh admitted. “And I can’t milk a cow, either.” “Looks like it might take all three of us to run that ranch after all.” Bonnie grinned. The waitress refilled their tea glasses. “Y’all must be the Malloy sisters. I heard you’d come to the canyon. Ezra used to come in here pretty often for our Sunday special and he always took an extra order home with him. Y’all sound like him when you talk. You all from Texas?” “Galveston,” Abby said. “Arkansas, but I lived in Texas until I graduated high school,” Shiloh said. The waitress looked at Bonnie. “Kentucky after leavin’ Texas.” “I knew I heard the good old Texas drawl in your voices,” the waitress said as she walked away. “Wonder how much she won on that pot?” Abby whispered. Shiloh had been studying her ragged nails but she looked up.

Also, the Bible does not explicitly say that it was only due to the water’s recession (which all sides agree is indeed a factor) as to why mountaintops were seen. The text says “the tops of the mountains were seen” (Genesis 8:5). This involves two things: water level (1) and visibility (2). This second factor that is often overlooked is the conditions that may affect visibility. The warmer ocean water (which is expected from the Flood with continental shifting, rising basalts from the mantle, and possibly some nuclear decay would surely generate heat and volcanism) gives off vapors and mists that form low-lying fog and clouds. Hence, visibility would likely be rather low. Genesis 8:5 may well be discussing the state of visibility and atmospheric condition regarding clouds and fog from the heated ocean just as much at it discusses water level.

Hands separated him and he felt the cool air waft over his hole before Logan’s hot tongue covered it and licked softly. “Oh God,” he yelled and he shifted up and grabbed his legs so he could watch what Logan was doing to him. The position was awkward and he could only hold it long enough to watch Logan flick his tongue back and forth over the wrinkly skin a few times before he collapsed back on the bed, his hands biting into his legs as he pulled them farther up to give Logan more room to work.

What are you doing?” asked the woman, pulling her hand away in dismay when Tom reached out to untie the captain’s laces. The first mate hesitated and looked up at Baltsaros. The captain’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at the whore with a blank expression that Tom knew hid a very dangerous temper. “Continue,” nodded Baltsaros without shifting his eyes from the woman. Moving quickly to obey, the first mate pulled the leather laces apart and eased his fingers into the opening. The captain’s cock spilled out into his hand, and Tom let out a pleased sigh before ducking his head to pull it into his mouth. He moaned softly around the cock between his lips, the simple act of putting his mouth to the captain making his own erection bob up eagerly. He tongued it slowly for a moment, savouring the feel and taste of the wide, smooth head before opening his jaw to take Baltsaros deeper. The captain let out a low growl of pleasure, and his hand cupped the back of Tom’s head, pushing him further. Baltsaros liked being rough with him, and it drove Tom wild to be used by a man who knew exactly how to control pain and pleasure to suit his needs; it was freedom like no other to give himself over completely to the captain.

qualitative market research in Myanmar Address Ramakrishna Paramhans Ward, PO mangal nagar, Katni, [M.P.] 2nd Floor, Above KBZ Pay Centre, between 65 & 66 street, Manawhari Road Mandalay, Myanmar - Phone +95 9972107002 +91 7222997497 Subjective Statistical surveying in Myanmar: Revealing Bits of knowledge for Business Development In the present globalized commercial center, understanding buyer conduct and market elements is urgent for organizations to flourish. Myanmar, with its quickly developing economy, presents special open doors and difficulties for organizations hoping to lay out areas of strength for an in the district. As organizations look to acquire an upper hand, the meaning of subjective statistical surveying in Myanmar couldn't possibly be more significant. This article digs into the significance of qualitative market research in Myanmar and how it tends to be instrumental in driving business development in the powerful Myanmar market. Myanmar, previously known as Burma, has seen critical political and monetary changes as of late, prompting expanded unfamiliar speculation and development across different areas. This change has brought about shifts in buyer inclinations, buying power, and market patterns. To explore this advancing scene effectively, organizations should participate in thorough subjective statistical surveying to acquire nuanced experiences into buyer conduct, inclinations, and social impacts. qualitative market research in Myanmar centers around understanding the "whys" behind buyer conduct, digging into the basic inspirations, feelings, and insights that drive dynamic cycles. Dissimilar to quantitative exploration, which gives mathematical information and factual examination, subjective examination offers a more profound comprehension of customer perspectives and inclinations, making it priceless for organizations looking to fit their techniques to the Myanmar market. One of the critical benefits of subjective statistical surveying in Myanmar is its capacity to uncover social subtleties and context oriented factors that impact buyer conduct. Given Myanmar's different ethnic gatherings, dialects, and cultural standards, a nuanced comprehension of nearby traditions and customs is fundamental for organizations meaning to resound with the interest group. Subjective examination procedures, for example, inside and out interviews, center gatherings, and ethnographic investigations empower scientists to dive into these social complexities, giving organizations noteworthy bits of knowledge for item improvement, promoting methodologies, and brand situating. Also, subjective examination assumes a significant part in distinguishing arising patterns and market holes that may not be obvious through quantitative information alone. By connecting straightforwardly with buyers and key partners, organizations can acquire subjective experiences into advancing business sector elements, possible undiscovered portions, and moving customer inclinations. This, thus, enables organizations to adjust their contributions and methodologies proactively, remaining on the ball in Myanmar's quickly changing business sector scene. As well as illuminating vital business choices, subjective statistical surveying encourages a more profound association among organizations and the nearby local area. By effectively including Myanmar purchasers in the examination cycle, organizations show a promise to understanding and tending to their requirements, cultivating trust and brand reliability simultaneously. This human-driven approach is especially relevant in Myanmar, where individual connections and local area ties hold huge influence over customer conduct.

In this regard I saw a sudden surge of private outreach surrounding each family and each child in need. Waves of individuals began to form personal relationships, beginning with those who saw the family every day—merchants, teachers, police officers on the beat, ministers. This contact was then expanded by other volunteers working as “big brothers,” “big sisters,” and tutors—all guided by their inner intuitions to help, remembering their intention to make a difference with one family, one child. And all carrying the contagion of the Insights and the crucial message that no matter how tough the situation, or how entrenched the self-defeating habits, each of us can wake up to a memory of mission and purpose. As this contagion continued, incidents of violent crime began mysteriously to decrease across human culture; for, as we saw clearly, the roots of violence are always frustration and passion and fear scripts that dehumanize the victim, and a growing interaction with those carrying a higher awareness was now beginning to disrupt this mind-set. We saw a new consensus emerging toward crime that drew from both traditional and human-potential ideas. In the short run, there would be a need for new prisons and detention facilities, as the traditional truth was recognized that returning offenders to the community too soon, or leniently letting perpetrators go in order to give them another chance, reinforced the behavior. Yet, at the same time, we saw an integration of the Insights into the actual operation of these facilities, introducing a wave of private involvement with those incarcerated, shifting the crime culture and initiating the only rehabilitation that works: the contagion of remembering. Simultaneously, as increasingly more people awakened, I saw millions of individuals taking the time to intervene in conflict at every level of human culture—for we all were reaching a new understanding of what was at stake. In every situation where a husband or wife grew angry and lashed out at the other, or where addictive compulsions or a desperate need for approval led a youthful gang member to kill, or where people felt so restricted in their lives that they embezzled or defrauded or manipulated others for gain; in all these situations, there was someone perfectly placed to have prevented the violence but who had failed to act. Surrounding this potential hero were perhaps dozens of other friends and acquaintances who had likewise failed, because they didn’t convey the information and ideas that would have created the wider support system for the intervention to have taken place: In the past perhaps, this failure could have been rationalized, but no longer. Now the Tenth Insight was emerging and we knew that the people in our lives were probably souls with whom we had had long relationships over many lifetimes, and who were now counting on our help. So we are compelled to act, compelled to be courageous. None of us wants to have failure on our conscience, or have to bear a torturous Life Review in which we must watch the tragic consequences of our timidity.

I saw how you treated that woman yesterday, and we’ll have none of that in this house.” Betty’s face—Olive could suddenly see this distinctly—looked as though she was twelve years old again and sulking. “And stop sulking,” Olive said. “Honest to God, it’s time you grew up.” Betty shifted her rump on the chair and said, “You told me we weren’t going to discuss politics.” “Damn right,” said Olive. “And that woman is not politics. She’s a person, and she has every right to be here.” “Well, I don’t like the way she looks, that stuff she wears, it gives me the creeps. And it is politics,” Betty added. Olive thought about this, and finally she sighed and said, “Well, in my house you are to be nice to her, do you understand?” And Betty got up and started to do some laundry.

Suraj solar and allied industries, Wework galaxy, 43, Residency Road, Bangalore-560025. Mobile number : +91 808 850 7979 Understanding the idea of sun oriented streetlamps Sun powered streetlamps have arisen as a feasible and effective lighting arrangement, particularly in metropolitan regions like Bangalore. By bridling the force of the sun, these lighting apparatuses offer various benefits over customary matrix based frameworks. In this article, we dive into the universe of sun powered streetlamps, investigating their advantages, evaluating factors, provider determination best practices, and future innovation patterns. Whether you are a mortgage holder, entrepreneur, or city organizer in Bangalore, understanding the complexities of sunlight based streetlamps can assist you with pursuing informed choices towards a greener and more savvy lighting arrangement. ### 1. Prologue to Sun based Streetlamps #### Understanding the idea of sunlight based streetlamps Hi, brilliant personalities! How about we shed some light on sun oriented streetlamps. These clever creations bridle the force of the sun to enlighten our roads, making them eco-accommodating as well as financially savvy. ### 2. Advantages of Sun powered Streetlamps in Bangalore #### Natural benefits of sun oriented streetlamps By changing to, Solar Street Light Price in Bangalore we're giving contamination a dimmer switch. These lights decrease fossil fuel byproducts and assist with keeping our city's air cleaner and fresher. #### Monetary advantages for Bangalore inhabitants and organizations Who doesn't cherish saving a couple of bucks? Sunlight based streetlamps cut power bills as well as require negligible upkeep, saving the two occupants and organizations in Bangalore some well deserved cash. ### 3. Factors Influencing Sun oriented Streetlamp Costs #### Nature of sunlight based chargers and battery frameworks Very much like a decent sunscreen, quality matters with regards to sunlight based chargers and batteries. Putting resources into first class parts guarantees dependable execution and productivity. #### Establishment and support costs Introducing sunlight based streetlamps resembles sowing seeds for reserve funds. While beginning expenses might shift, the drawn out benefits offset them, with insignificant upkeep expected to keep those lights radiating brilliantly. ### 4. Correlation of Solar Street Light Price in Bangalore #### Cost range examination of sunlight based streetlamps in Bangalore From financial plan cordial choices to grand models, there's a sunlight based streetlamp for each wallet size in Bangalore. Contrasting costs and highlights can assist you with tracking down the ideal fit for your necessities. #### Deciding the best incentive for cash With regards to sun oriented streetlamps, it's about the sticker price as well as the profit from venture. Finding a harmony among cost and quality guarantees you get the best value for your money in Bangalore. In this way, that's essentially it - a focusing manual for sun powered streetlamps in Bangalore. We should light up the roads, each watt in turn! 5. Best Practices for Picking Sun based Streetlamp Providers Exploring trustworthy sun oriented streetlamp producers With regards to picking a sun oriented streetlamp provider, getting your work done is significant. Search for makers with a strong standing for quality items and dependable help. You need a provider that has insight in the business and a history of following through on their commitments. Inspecting client criticism and tributes Client input can give important experiences into the exhibition of a sun based streetlamp provider. Look at surveys and tributes from past clients to measure fulfillment levels. Positive criticism is a decent pointer that the provider is reliable and follows through on their responsibilities.

As we step into the great hall, I shift my way carefully around until I stand beside Reed. He gives me a fraction of a smile before it disappears, and he flicks stern eyes away from me as though it’s a crime to meet my gaze. “We're not supposed to talk. You should go back to Prince Tyton’s side and do as he instructs.” Scowling, I send a sidelong look to the prince. “Who said we’re not allowed to speak to one another? No one told me.

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PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER I’ve explained a lot of concepts in this chapter, so I want to recap it all into something a little more tangible. Step #1: The first step is to figure out what type of show you want to have. If you’re a writer, then you should start a blog. If you like video, then you should start a vlog on one of the video platforms. Lastly, if you like audio, then you should start a podcast. Step #2: Your show will be you documenting the process of achieving the same goal that your audience will be striving for. As you’re documenting your process, you’ll be testing your material and paying attention to the things that people respond to. If you commit to publishing your show every day for a year, you’ll have the ability to test your material and find your voice, and your dream customers will be able to find you. Step #3: You’ll leverage your Dream 100 by interviewing them on your show. This will give you the ability to build relationships with them, give them a platform, give you the ability to promote their episode on your show to their audience, and get access to their friends and followers. Step #4: Even though this is your own show, you’re renting time on someone else’s network. It’s important that you don’t forget it and that you focus on converting it into traffic that you own. Figure 7.11: As you create your own show, focus on converting traffic that you earn and control into traffic that you own. And with that, I will close out Section One of this book. So far, we’ve covered a lot of core principles to traffic. We: Identified exactly who your dream client is. Discovered exactly where they are congregating. Talked about how to work your way into those audiences (traffic that you earn) and how you buy your way into those audiences (traffic that you control). Learned how to take all the traffic that you earn and all the traffic that you buy and turn it all into traffic that you own (building your list). Discussed how to plug that list into a follow-up funnel so you can move them through your value ladder. Prepared to infiltrate your Dream 100, find your voice, and build your following by creating your own show. In the next section, we’ll shift our focus to mastering the pattern to get traffic from any advertising networks (like Instagram, Facebook, Google, and YouTube) and how to understand their algorithms so you can get unlimited traffic and leads pouring into your funnels.

I smile. “It’s not about you. I was just thinking about Mom and how it’s so weird that she has a boyfriend now. I mean, I guess you could call that a boyfriend. They were already sleeping together. How long do adults wait before they have sex?” Jace shrugs. “I would hope he’s not a one night stand, but who knows. You should be happy for your mom. She deserves someone to make her happy.” “How long should we wait?” I gasp right after the words come out of my mouth. Holy crap, I can’t believe I finally said it. Jace answers without skipping a beat. “Until you’re comfortable. I’ve been ready,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. My heart thuds so quickly in my chest, I fear he’s going to hear it. But I’ve already started the topic that I’ve been dying to talk about, so I’d be an idiot if I didn’t finish it. “Jace, I am ready.” A palpable excitement fills the air as Jace contemplates the weight of what I just said. He takes the remote and turns off the television then shifts on his side to face me. The embarrassed and excited smile on my face is so freaking awkward, but I don’t turn away. Not even when he cups my face in his hands and I feel my cheeks blush under them. I am ready and he needs to know that I want to give my all to him. “Tonight?” he whispers, his eyes staring deeply into mine. I swallow. Then nod.

To live well, it is important to cultivate a happy relationship with your thoughts. The following five ideas are a wonderful recipe for sanity and joy: 1. Your thoughts are not real. Your thinking is not reality; it is an interpretation of reality. No thought has any more authority than what you give it. 2. All thoughts are passing thoughts. Thoughts are transient. They are like leaves in the wind. The only thoughts that stay are the ones you hold on to. 3. You choose your thoughts. No one else does! You can elect to change any thought. You can also choose whether or not to act on any thought. 4. Thoughts have no power. Thoughts are literally electrical mental toys that are powered by you. They have no power of their own. 5. You do not have to take any of your thoughts seriously. The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said, “As soon as you have made a thought, laugh at it.

The biggest shift I see taking place in regard to the anointing, is that we are moving from the old system, where you can burn the wick, and run from conferences, to places, and seminars, and purchase anointing oil. The shift that's taking place in regard to the anointing is going to be the realization that you're going to have to burn brightly without burning out. The only way to do that is to obtain the oil of intimacy for yourself. Also, when it comes to missions, what we have done is we tried to achieve something you only can receive. “Ask of me and I will give it to you,” Psalms 2:8 says. So the whole thing is about asking and receiving; “Ask of me, and I will give you Pakistan, or ask of me, and I will give you like what Heidi is doing in Mozambique, or the different ethno-linguistic people groups. Everything

Guide my hands. I don't wish to hurt you." "Lower," she said when he pressed fingertips to the middle of her back. "Lower," she urged, guiding him downward. "There." He started softly, pressing the pads of his fingers to the muscles he felt. She sighed, a sound that vibrated down his spine, settling with a flickering and tightening heat in his scrotum. He shifted as his blood thickened like honey in his veins. This was too much to ask of him. He was already drunk on arousal and need. It swam through his head like whisky, making his thoughts give way to instinct and consequences appear murky.

When I dream, I leave my body behind and go through a small hole in the terra. From there I call forth our elders from the deep. With their help, I enter the place where the ancestors dwell. It could be done no other way. In my search for wisdom, they have seen fit to open my understanding. What I have learned is difficult to explain with words, but it is my duty to try. They have shown me the significance of living each day in a sacred manner. The world we live in is filled with suffering, and shifting shadows full of malicious intent, but this is precisely what makes love precious. We may rest with the certainty that this life serves merely as a test. That is why a warrior must first align his spirit to the fight. The battle begins within, and soon rages out onto the battlefield. There can be no greater honor, than to walk a righteous path, and join in the war against wickedness. Countless gods await becoming men, that they might be allotted just one more chance, to test themselves in such a way. In waiting, the gods sleep, and in sleeping they dream. In dreaming, they give rise to all the things of this world. Which world then is the dream, and which is reality?” [Heavy-Horse, Peace Chief of the Young Lions]

Outcome Based Education The first time you read this poem I need you to remember something They do not teach you in school Like Doctor’s, Lawyers, Soldiers, Teachers don’t have an oath, not at all Yet, students aren’t footballs They aren’t The student aren’t born dull or bright Teachers make them that way, a plight Obe comes for rescue to make learning, a delight Yet, is content about Obe too abstract to understand? Is the material about Obe too tough to grasp and comprehend? Do a new way to be adopted to explain and define Obe? Its an easy concept once you agree Outcomes are not scores, averages or grade point Only needs is to look education from a new viewpoint Obe is holistic way of enlightening and empowering learners It is a paradigm shift to make them achievers Obe is what they’ll be able to know and do Skills and knowledge they need to have at debut Course Outcome(CO) is what they’ll know after each course This is the skill they will acquire without any force Program Specific Outcomes(PSO) are specific to program, USPs of department, its hologram What they’ll be able to do at time of graduation accomplishment, achievement, acclamations Program Educational Objectives(PEOs) are the achievements they’ll have in their career Indicates what they’ll achieve and how they perform during first few years Program Outcomes (POs) is what they’ll be able to know and do upon graduation Skills, knowledge and behaviour they’ll acquire, will give their career acceleration. Obe wants all learner to learn and be successful 1 paradigm 2 purpose 3 premises 4 principles 5 Practices of obe makes you accountable 1 paradigm what and whether students learn successfully is more important than how and when they learn 2 Purpose maximize condition of success for all students, send fully equipped student into world to make their dreams unfurl 3 Premises All students can succeed and learn maybe not on same day and same way, Success breads success , colleges control condition of success 4 principles clarity of focus on outcomes, expended opportunity to all, high expectation from all, designing curriculum to attain outcome 5 practices define outcome, design curriculum, deliver instruction, document result, determine advancement These are 1 paradigm 2 purpose 3 premises 4 principles 5 Practices for Obe accomplishment ----------------By Dr. Kshitij Shinghal Special thanks to Dr. William Spady and references from his book “ Outcome Based Education: Critical Issues

Outcome Based Education The first time you read this poem I need you to remember something They do not teach you in school Like Doctor’s, Lawyers, Soldiers, Teachers don’t have an oath, not at all Yet, students aren’t footballs They aren’t The student aren’t born dull or bright Teachers make them that way, a plight Obe comes for rescue to make learning, a delight Yet, is content about Obe too abstract to understand? Is the material about Obe too tough to grasp and comprehend? Do a new way to be adopted to explain and define Obe? Its an easy concept once you agree Outcomes are not scores, averages or grade point Only needs is to look education from a new viewpoint Obe is holistic way of enlightening and empowering learners It is a paradigm shift to make them achievers Obe is what they’ll be able to know and do Skills and knowledge they need to have at debut Course Outcome(CO) is what they’ll know after each course This is the skill they will acquire without any force Program Specific Outcomes(PSO) are specific to program, USPs of department, its hologram What they’ll be able to do at time of graduation accomplishment, achievement, acclamations Program Educational Objectives(PEOs) are the achievements they’ll have in their career Indicates what they’ll achieve and how they perform during first few years Program Outcomes (POs) is what they’ll be able to know and do upon graduation Skills, knowledge and behaviour they’ll acquire, will give their career acceleration. Obe wants all learner to learn and be successful 1 paradigm 2 purpose 3 premises 4 principles 5 Practices of obe makes you accountable ----------------By Dr. Kshitij Shinghal Special thanks to Dr. William Spady and references from his book “ Outcome Based Education: Critical Issues

That I-me-mine self is constructed largely in and by the brain’s medial prefrontal cortex. It’s assisted by the medial temporal lobe, the parietal lobe, and the PCC of which we’ll hear more in Chapter 3. This brain network allows us to do things that other animals cannot. We can compose music and calculate math. We have a sense of time that includes past and future, allowing us to delay gratification to meet our goals. We are able to contemplate the very nature of consciousness, using the brain to think about our thoughts. Yet consciousness is always turned on. Whether we’re focusing on a task using the TPN or listening to the rambling of the demon, the engine is running at 2,000 RPM. There’s no easy way of shutting off our thoughts, of getting outside the self. In his book The Curse of Self, psychologist Mark Leary of Duke University shows the many downsides of this perpetual self-awareness. He shows that it leads to many forms of suffering, including “depression, anxiety, anger, jealousy, and other negative emotions.” He concludes that self-awareness is “single-handedly responsible for many, if not most of the problems that human beings face as individuals and as a species.” We can summarize this state in a single word: “selfing.” Meditation quiets self-awareness and gives us relief from selfing. In experienced meditators, the “self” parts of the prefrontal cortex go offline. The jargon for this is “hypofrontality.” Hypo is the opposite of hyper, and hypofrontality means the shutting down of the brain’s frontal lobes. The inner critic shuts up. The negative self-talk about “who I am” and “what I do” and “what other people think of me” ceases. We quit selfing. This gives us a sense of identity beyond the suffering self and all the roles it plays. Psychologist Robert Kegan is the former head of adult psychology at Harvard University. He calls the transcendence of selfing the “subject-object shift.” In altered states, we get out of the subjective selves we normally think we are. To be objective, you can’t be the object you’re contemplating. So when the brain enters a state of hypofrontality and we’re no longer enmeshed in the local self, we gain perspective on it. We realize we’re more than that. To realize it’s an object we’re observing, we have to step out of the suffering self. We see the demon from a distance as we step into an identity that is vastly greater than the one we previously inhabited. 2.8. When we make the subject-object shift we escape the limitations of the finite self. Kegan believes that making this jump is the most powerful way to facilitate personal transformation. He says that after it makes the subject-object shift, “the self is more about movement through different states of consciousness than about defending and identifying with any one form.

Though continental division and shifting in the days of Peleg appears feasible from a superficial reading of Genesis 10:25 in isolation, this concept has some major problems associated with it: 1. When Genesis 10:25 is read within the context of the whole of Genesis 10, the four other verses (5, 18, 20, and 32) speaking of the division clearly emphasize that this was a linguistic and family division of all post-Flood people into different lands (geographical locations). 2. Had the division of continents occurred during the days of Peleg, then the associated catastrophism would have resulted in another worldwide Flood, in violation of God's specific promise to Noah. 3. Had the division of continents occurred during the days of Peleg, then the ark (with Peleg's ancestors) would have had no place to land, as the mountains of Ararat produced by continental collisions would not have yet existed. 4. There is tremendous fossil and geologic evidence for continental division having occurred only during the Flood. We, therefore, gently and lovingly encourage our brothers and sisters in Christ to refrain from claiming the division of continents occurred during the days of Peleg. The phrase "for in his days the earth was divided" in Genesis 10:25 needs to be kept and read within its context of Genesis 10 to give the statement its correct meaning.

Ryker was sprawled across the bedding, ass-up and naked as the day he was born. He let out a sleepy hum and shifted a little before settling back down. Damn. He's chiseled from head to toe, I'll give him that. Wait, I'm freezing my ass off and he's butt naked and content?

Mathematically: moment = weight 180 lb × arm 85 in. = 15,300 lb-in, or 153 mom/100. Nontabulated Weights For nontabulated weights, it will be necessary to interpolate when using the tabular data. For example, find the mom/100 for a passenger weighing 177 pounds in the rear seat. There are several ways of interpolating, as follows: for a difference of 10 pounds between 170 pounds and 180 pounds, there is a mom/100 difference of 12. A moment/100 difference of 12 for 10 pounds = 1.2 per pound—therefore, for 7 pounds = 7 × 1.2 = 8.4 mom/100, plus the 206 gives 214 mom/100; or for a difference of 7 pounds between 170 pounds and 177 pounds, there will be a mom/100 difference of 7/10 of 12 = 8.4 (say 8), and for a weight of 177 pounds, the mom/100 = 206 + 8 = 214. Note. For nontabulated weights, or for weights outside the table, it is easier to use the mathematical method to find the moment index. Weight-Shift Calculations If, after calculating the weight and balance, you find that the CG is outside the limits of the CG range, it will be necessary to shift some weight to bring the CG position back within limits. Note. The tabulated method shown here does not require the use of a formula. Some instructors prefer to use a formula for weight-shift and weight-change problems. We discuss the formula method at the end of this chapter in the section for commercial pilots. Example 11-5 You have calculated the total weight to be 4,000 pounds with the CG located at 100 inches aft of datum. What is the new CG position if you shift 50 pounds of baggage from the rear baggage area at station 200 to the forward baggage area at station 50?

He wished so hard that someone was there to tell him what to do—to give him an order. He would die if they told him to, or shift and risk it all if they said that was the right thing.

Yet this unlearning is precisely what needs to be done if we are to make the shift from a belief-based Buddhism (version 1.0) to a praxis-based Buddhism (version 2.0). We have to train ourselves to the point where on hearing or reading a text from the canon our initial response is no longer “Is that true?” but “Does this work?” At the same time, we also need to undertake a critical analysis of the texts themselves in order to uncover, as best we can at this distance in time, the core terms and narrative strategies that inform a particular passage or discourse. If we subtract the words “noble truth” from the phrase “four noble truths,” we are simply left with “four.” And the most economic formulation of the Four, to be found throughout Buddhist traditions, is this: Suffering (dukkha) Arising (samudaya) Ceasing (nirodha) Path (magga) Once deprived of the epithet “noble truth” and no longer phrased in propositional language, we arrive at the four keystones on which both Buddhism 1.0 and Buddhism 2.0 are erected. Just as there are four nucleobases (cytosine, guanine, adenine, and thymine) that make up DNA, the nucleic acid that contains the genetic instructions for all living organisms, one might say that suffering, arising, ceasing, and path are the four nucleobases that make up the dharma, the body of instructive ideas, values, and practices that give rise to all forms of Buddhism. ( 9 ) Craving is repetitive, it wallows in attachment and greed, obsessively indulging in this and that: the craving of sensory desire, craving for being, craving for non-being. —THE FIRST DISCOURSE Following Carol S. Anderson (1999), I translate samudaya as “arising” rather than the more familiar “origiṇ” I also

Better not stick around or I might ask you to join me.” Rafe chuckled. “If I thought you were serious, I’d take you up on that. I was just coming in to do a better job washing up. There wasn’t any water at your place and my cuts and scrapes are filthy. Guess it’ll have to wait.” He waved for me to continue. When I arched my brows, he motioned to us, then to the shower. He wanted us in the shower, where no one could hear our conversation. Which was a little extreme. And extremely awkward. He’d given me a lead-in, though, so I used it. “No, you really should get them cleaned,” I said. “And I should take a look at them. I suppose we can accomplish both if you keep your shorts on…and keep your hands to yourself.” He grinned. “Fine by me.” I turned my back and took off my jeans and socks. When I’d finished, he was climbing into the shower. While the view was very nice, my gaze went to his shoulder, to the paw-print birthmark there, a mirror image of the one on my hip. I hadn’t told him about my first shift to cat form. Now, suddenly, I wanted to. Really wanted to. I wanted to share that with him, see his reaction, tease him about beating him to it and hear his laugh-- He turned and waved me into the shower with him. He backed up to give me room, but it was a shower stall--not much room to be had. The hot water beat down, soaking through my shirt. I leaned back into it, forgetting Rafe as I luxuriated in the feeling of hot, clean water. When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. Really watching me. I looked at the water pounding off his lean chest, trickling down to his soaked boxers, and…and I wasn’t thinking it’d be nice to lean over and give him a chaste kiss. Really wasn’t.

Ten Things I Need to Know" The brightest stars are the first to explode. Also hearts. It is important to pay attention to love’s high voltage signs. The mockingbird is really ashamed of its own feeble song lost beneath all those he has to imitate. It’s true, the Carolina Wren caught in the bedroom yesterday died because he stepped on a glue trap and tore his wings off. Maybe we have both fallen through the soul’s thin ice already. Even Ethiopia is splitting off from Africa to become its own continent. Last year it moved 10 feet. This will take a million years. There’s always this nostalgia for the days when Time was so unreal it touched us only like the pale shadow of a hawk. Parmenedes transported himself above the beaten path of the stars to find the real that was beyond time. The words you left are still smoldering like the cigarette left in my ashtray as if it were a dying star. The thin thread of its smoke is caught on the ceiling. When love is threatened, the heart crackles with anger like kindling. It’s lucky we are not like hippos who fling dung at each other with their ridiculously tiny tails. Okay, that’s more than ten things I know. Let’s try twenty five, no, let’s not push it, twenty. How many times have we hurt each other not knowing? Destiny wears her clothes inside out. Each desire is a memory of the future. The past is a fake cloud we’ve pasted to a paper sky. That is why our dreams are the most real thing we possess. My logic here is made of your smells, your thighs, your kiss, your words. I collect stars but have no place to put them. You take my breath away only to give back a purer one. The way you dance creates a new constellation. Off the Thai coast they have discovered a new undersea world with sharks that walk on their fins. In Indonesia, a kangaroo that lives in a tree. Why is the shadow I cast always yours? Okay, let’s say I list 33 things, a solid symbolic number. It’s good to have a plan so we don’t lose ourselves, but then who has taken the ladder out of the hole I’ve dug for myself? How can I revive the things I’ve killed inside you? The real is a sunset over a shanty by the river. The keys that lock the door also open it. When we shut out each other, nothing seems real except the empty caves of our hearts, yet how arrogant to think our problems finally matter when thousands of children are bayoneted in the Congo this year. How incredible to think of those soldiers never having loved. Nothing ever ends. Will this? Byron never knew where his epic, Don Juan, would end and died in the middle of it. The good thing about being dead is that you don’t have to go through all that dying again. You just toast it. See, the real is what the imagination decants. You can be anywhere with the turn of a few words. Some say the feeling of out-of-the-body travel is due to certain short circuits in parts of the brain. That doesn’t matter because I’m still drifting towards you. Inside you are cumulous clouds I could float on all night. The difference is always between what we say we love and what we love. Tonight, for instance, I could drink from the bowl of your belly. It doesn’t matter if our feelings shift like sands beneath the river, there’s still the river. Maybe the real is the way your palms fit against my face, or the way you hold my life inside you until it is nothing at all, the way this plant droops, this flower called Heart’s Bursting Flower, with its beads of red hanging from their delicate threads any breeze might break, any word might shatter, any hurt might crush. Superstition Reviews issue 2 fall 2008

The passage began to widen and slowly move downward, as if they were going into the very bowels of the earth. Shea could feel sweat beading on her body and her lungs laboring. She concentrated on breathing, the only thing that would keep her sane. Jacques realized she was trembling, her fingers twisting nervously in his. His mind pushed through her natural barrier and found her uneasiness, her ridiculous fear of bats and closed-in places. She was uneasy with the Carpathian ability to shape-shift. Even his thinness, as he moved through the cave, made her uncomfortable. Used to being in control of every situation, she was finding it hard to follow his lead so blindly. I am sorry, little one. I am introducing you to things that seem so perfectly natural to me yet must be confusing ad frightening to you. His voice was a soft caress, sending warmth curling through her body. Just his voice could give her strength. She straightened her shoulders and followed him. There’s a bed in here somewhere, right? She tried to inject some humor into the moment. The passageway widened enough to allow Jacques to resume his true form. He immediately did so, hoping to alleviate Shea’s distress. He also sought a comfortable topic for conversation. “What do you think of Raven?” “I thought we had to be quiet.” Shea was looking in every direction for bats.

Jacques realized she was trembling, her fingers twisting nervously in his. His mind pushed through her natural barrier and found her uneasiness, her ridiculous fear of bats and closed-in places. She was uneasy with the Carpathian ability to shape-shift. Even his thinness, as he moved through the cave, made her uncomfortable. Used to being in control of every situation, she was finding it hard to follow his lead so blindly. I am sorry, little one. I am introducing you to things that seem so perfectly natural to me yet must be confusing ad frightening to you. His voice was a soft caress, sending warmth curling through her body. Just his voice could give her strength. She straightened her shoulders and followed him. There’s a bed in here somewhere, right? She tried to inject some humor into the moment. The passageway widened enough to allow Jacques to resume his true form. He immediately did so, hoping to alleviate Shea’s distress. He also sought a comfortable topic for conversation. “What do you think of Raven?” “I thought we had to be quiet.” Shea was looking in every direction for bats. “The bats know we are here, Shea, but there is no need to fear them. I will keep them away from you.” He spoke calmly as if it was an everyday occurrence to control the movements of bats.

His hand slid around to the nape of her neck. Slowly, inexorably, he forced her head down toward his. Shea closed her eyes, wanting, yet dreading his taking her blood. “I’d hate to have to feed you every day,” she muttered rebelliously. And then his mouth touched hers. Featherlight, a skimming brush Shea felt right down to her toes. His teeth scraped her lower lip, teasing, tempting, enticing. Darts of fire raced through her bloodstream. Her stomach muscles clenched. Open your mouth for me, stubborn little red hair. His teeth tugged; his tongue followed with a soothing caress. Shea gasped as much at the tender, teasing note as at the feel of his lips on hers. He took advantage immediately, fastening his mouth to hers, his tongue exploring every inch of her velvet-soft interior. Flames licked at her, swept through her like a storm. Electricity crackled, and Shea knew the full meaning of chemistry. Feeling. Pure and simple. There was nothing else but his mouth claiming hers, whirling her into another world she hadn’t known existed. The ground shifted, and Shea clutched at his shoulders to keep from floating to the clouds. He was sweeping aside every resistance, demanding her response, taking her response, all hunger and desire. Then he was in her mind, white-hot heat, possession. She was his, only his, always his. Smug male satisfaction. Shea shoved at his broad shoulders, then tumbled backward to the floor, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. They glared at one another, until amusement crept into her mind. Low, male, taunting. Nothing showed on his face, not a flicker in the ice of his eyes, but she knew he was laughing at her. It took a moment to realize her robe was gaping open, giving him a generous view of her bare skin. With great dignity Shea dragged the lapels together. “I think we need to straighten something out here.” Sitting on the floor, struggling desperately to get her breathing under control, to throw ice water on the raging fire in her blood, Shea was afraid he wasn’t going to take her seriously. “I am your doctor. You are my patient. This…” She waved a hand, searching for the right words. “This sort of thing is unethical. And another thing. I am in charge here. You follow my orders, not the other way around. Absolutely never, under any circumstances, do that again.” Involuntarily she touched her fingers to her lower lip. “It wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t infected me with some sort of, I don’t know, rabies strain.” She glared at him.

For God did not give us a spirit of fear but a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7 NKJV); and “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” (1 John 4:18 niv). He wanted to show me what perfect love looked like. I hung on to these scriptures like my very life depended on it. I spent hours in prayer and devotion. God showed me I had run into relationships to ward off my fear of being alone, a soul sickness that had haunted me for as long as I could remember. He revealed to me the shame and self-blame I put upon myself for being a failure, a horrible wife, and a terrible mother. A profound sadness began to wrap around me like a heavy coat.

We readers have a strange relationship with the books we love. We want more of our favorite tales, but please make them different from each other, but please don’t fuck them up, and please give us lots, but please don’t go on forever, and please end thousands of pages in a way that’s super tidy and satisfying and give us exactly what we expect, but don’t let us see it coming. Good luck.