Swear Not By The Moon Quotes

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Bran was the only person I knew who could use words like "blackguard" and make them sound like swear words-but then he could have said "bunny rabbit" in that tone of voice and weaken my spine with the same shiver of fear.

And a face above mine, white and beautiful, eyes as large as the moon. You saved me. A hand on my cheek, cool and dry. Why did you save me? Words welling up on a tide: No, the opposite. Eyes the colour of a dawn sky, a crown of blond hair, so bright and white and blinding I could swear it was a halo.

You are the sun I revolve around, the stars that mark me, the moon rising through me. I’m lost without you. If you won’t have me, I’ll break, I swear to God. I know it’s selfish, and I’m sorry. Let me serve you. Have me as yours. Let me live under you.

You think I'm playing at some game? You think iron will keep you safe? Hear my words, manling. Do not mistake me for my mask. You see light dappling on the water and forget the deep, cold dark beneath. Listen. You cannot hurt me. You cannot run or hide. In this I will not be defied. I swear by all the salt in me: if you run counter to my desire, the remainder of your brief mortal span will be an orchestra of misery. I swear by stone and oak and elm: I'll make a game of you. I'll follow you unseen and smother any spark of joy you find. You'll never know a woman's touch, a breath of rest, a moment's peace of mind. And I swear by the night sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to despair, I will slit you open and splash around like a child in a muddy puddle. I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance. You are an educated man. You know there are no such things as demons. There is only my kind. You are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me. -Bast

I swear, the reason for full moons is so the gods can more clearly see the mischief they create.

You also would love to hang out with Logan. And don’t even try to deny, you think Logan is super-hot. I know you. You like him, and he likes you. He was insanely worried about you last night. He’s either head over heels for you or he’s your guardian angel. He was insanely worried about you last night. If I didn’t know you had just met, I would swear he was in love with you.” Meredith said in an excited tone.

If you are a monster, stand up. If you are a monster, a trickster, a fiend, If you’ve built a steam-powered wishing machine If you have a secret, a dark past, a scheme, If you kidnap maidens or dabble in dreams Come stand by me. If you have been broken, stand up. If you have been broken, abandoned, alone If you have been starving, a creature of bone If you live in a tower, a dungeon, a throne If you weep for wanting, to be held, to be known, Come stand by me. If you are a savage, stand up. If you are a witch, a dark queen, a black knight, If you are a mummer, a pixie, a sprite, If you are a pirate, a tomcat, a wright, If you swear by the moon and you fight the hard fight, Come stand by me. If you are a devil, stand up. If you are a villain, a madman, a beast, If you are a strowler, a prowler, a priest, If you are a dragon come sit at our feast, For we all have stripes, and we all have horns, We all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns And here in the dark is where new worlds are born. Come stand by me.

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair, and stars in her soul.

The dead do walk and haunt and crawl into your bed at night. Ghosts sneak into your head when you're not looking. Stars line up and volcanoes birth out bits of glass that foretell the future. Poison berries make girls stronger, but sometimes kill them. If you howl at the moon and swear on your blood, anything you desire will be yours. Be careful what you wish for. There's always a catch.

For Jenn At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. But my lungs remember the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat. And I knew life would tremble like the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek, like a prayer on a dying man's lips, like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone… just take me just take me Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday. You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess and hope she knows you can hit a baseball further than any boy in the whole third grade and I've been running for home through the windpipe of a man who sings while his hands playing washboard with a spoon on a street corner in New Orleans where every boarded up window is still painted with the words We're Coming Back like a promise to the ocean that we will always keep moving towards the music, the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain. Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open. The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks. Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert, then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun. I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun. I know the heartbeat of his mother. Don't cover your ears, Love. Don't cover your ears, Life. There is a boy writing poems in Central Park and as he writes he moves and his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart, and there are men playing chess in the December cold who can't tell if the breath rising from the board is their opponents or their own, and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subway swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn, and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun with strip malls and traffic and vendors and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.

...one had to expect very little—almost nothing—from life, Aaron knew, one had to be grateful, not always trying to seize the days like some maniac of living, but to give oneself up, be seized by the days, the months and years, be taken up in the froth of sun and moon, some pale and smoothie-ed river-cloud of life, a long, drawn-out, gray sort of enlightenment, so that when it was time to die, one did not scream swear words and knock things down, did not make a scene, but went easily with understanding and tact, and quietly, in a lightly pummeled way, having been consoled–having allowed to be consoled–by the soft, generous, worthlessness of it all, having allowed to be massaged by the daily beating of life, instead of just beaten.

The moon changes each night but she does so in an understandable rhythm. And just as the tides ebb and flow and the moon waxes and wanes, our bodies’ hormones ebb and flow and our energies wax and wane. Our bodies are more like the rivers than like the rocks, more like the oceans than like machines. The more we can respect the cycles and changes and needs of our bodies, the more we can move with the flow of our lives. In other words, swear by the moon. Or, trust your body.

I swear by the night sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to despair, I will slit you open and splash around like a child in a muddy puddle. I’ll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance.” Bast leaned closer until their faces were mere inches apart, his eyes gone white as opal, white as a full-bellied moon. “You are an educated man. You know there are no such things as demons.” Bast smiled a terrible smile. “There is only my kind.” Bast leaned closer still, Chronicler smelled flowers on his breath. “You are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me.

It was like staring into the face of a familiar stranger. You know, that person you see in a crowd and swear you know, but you really don't? Now she was me - the familiar stranger. She had my eyes. They were the same hazel color that could never decide whether it wanted to be green or brown, but my eyes had never been that big and round. Or had they? She had my hair - long and straight and almost as dark as my grandma’s had been before hers had begun to turn silver. The stranger had my high cheekbones, long, strong nose, and wide mouth - more features from my grandma and her Cherokee ancestors. But my face had never been that pale. I’d always been olive-ish, much darker skinned than anyone else in my family. But maybe it wasn’t that my skin was suddenly so white ... maybe it just looked pale in comparison to the dark blue outline of the crescent moon that was perfectly positioned in the middle of my forehead. Or maybe it was the horrid fluorescent lighting. I hoped it was the lighting. I stared at the exotic-looking tattoo. Mixed with my strong Cherokee features it seemed to brand me with a mark of wildness ... as if I belonged to ancient times when the world was bigger ... more barbaric. From this day on my life would never be the same. And for a moment — just an instant—I forgot about the horror of not belonging and felt a shocking burst of pleasure, while deep inside of me the blood of my grandmother’s people rejoiced.

If you howl at the moon and swear on your own blood, anything you desire will be yours. Be careful what you wish for. There's always a catch.

I love you, baby. Every part of you. I love the way you link life to lyrics, how you smile at the moon and love like the ocean,

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair and stars in her soul.

I swear on Annie’s grave,” Gary repeated to Mel, “this ain’t my fault. They were like this when I picked ’em up at the station.

Real love isn't ambivalent. I'd swear that's a line from my favorite best-selling paperback novel, "In Love with the Night Mysterious", except I don't think you've ever read it. Well, you ought to, instead of spending the rest of your life, trying to get through "Democracy in America." It's about this white woman whose daddy owns a plantation in the Deep South, in the years before the Civil War. And her name is Margaret, and she's in love with her daddy's number-one slave, and his name is Thaddeus. And she's married, but her white slave-owner husband has AIDS: Antebellum Insufficiently-Developed Sex-organs. And so, there's a lot of hot stuff going down, when Margaret and Thaddeus can catch a spare torrid ten under the cotton-picking moon. And then of course the Yankees come, and they set the slaves free. And the slaves string up old daddy and so on, historical fiction. Somewhere in there I recall, Margaret and Thaddeus find the time to discuss the nature of love. Her face is reflecting the flames of the burning plantation, you know the way white people do, and his black face is dark in the night and she says to him, "Thaddeus, real love isn't ever ambivalent.

Norman picked up a sketch, glanced at it, then put it back down on the table. "I saw Bea Williamson this morning," he said in a low voice. "Lurking about looking for cut glass." "Oh, of course," Mira said with a sigh. "Did she have it with her?" Norman nodded solemnly. "Yep. I swear, I think it's almost gotten ... bigger." Mira shook her head. "Not possible." "I'm serious," Norman said. "It's way big." I kept waiting for someone to expand on this, but since neither of them seemed about to, I asked, "What are you talking about?" They looked at each other. Then, Mira took a breath. "Bea Williamson's baby," she said quietly, as if someone could hear us, "has the biggest head you have ever seen." Norman nodded, seconding this. "A baby?" I said. "A big-headed baby," Mira corrected me. "You should see the cranium on this kid. It's mind-boggling.

The most important thing is love," said Leigh-Cheri. "I know that now. There's no point in saving the world if it means losing the moon." Leigh-Cheri sent that message to Bernard through his attorney. The message continued, "I'm not quite 20, but, thanks to you, I've learned something that many women these days never learn: Prince Charming really is a toad. And the Beautiful Princess has halitosis. The bottom line is that (a) people are never perfect, but love can be, (b) that is the one and only way that the mediocre and the vile can be transformed, and (c) doing that makes it that. Loving makes love. Loving makes itself. We waste time looking for the perfect lover instead of creating the perfect love. Wouldn't that be the way to make love stay?" The next day, Bernard's attorney delivered to her this reply: Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free. Leigh-Cheri went out in the blackberries and wept. "I'll follow him to the ends of the earth," she sobbed. Yes, darling. But the earth doesn't have any ends. Columbus fixed that.

in his open palm. His eyes never leave mine. “I want you, Arianna Johnson, like no man has ever wanted a woman before. I’m sure of it. I want to give you the life you dreamed of, the one you shared with me. I want to give you a home on the ocean, one that will be ours, where the back deck faces the ocean, so we can sit outside at night while the sun sets, but only so we can watch the way the moon bounces off the water the way you love. I want to come home and cook for you while you sit back and watch our little one in your arms.

Goddess,” he said, his breath on my mouth, “have me, please. I was wrong. You’re not the sea under my sky. You are the sun I revolve around, the stars that mark me, the moon rising through me. I’m lost without you. If you won’t have me, I’ll break, I swear to God. I know it’s selfish, and I’m sorry. Let me serve you. Have me as yours. Let me live under you.

I’ve never heard you swear before,” said Jesse, sounding a little better. “At least not like that.” “Power words. Without which mechanics the world over would be lost.

Sorry. I know you don't feel exactly the way I do, Bella. I swear I don't mind. I'm just so glad you're okay that I could sing–and that's something no one wants to hear

Let’s swear to the moon to never betray each other.” He spoke each word earnestly. She studied his solemn expression and replied, “I swear to the moon to never betray each other.

Hells, Nori-girl, if the Ell called me on it in council, I'd have to swear by the second moon that you couldn't tell a man from a mudsucker.

School Prayer' In the name of daybreak And the eyelids of morning And the wayfaring moon And the night when it departs, I swear I will not dishonor My soul with hatred, But offer myself humbly As a guardian of nature, As a healer of misery, As a messenger of wonder, As an architect of peace. In the name of the sun and its mirrors . . . And the uttermost night . . . And the crowning seasons Of the firefly and the apple, I will honor all life ---wherever and in whatever form It may dwell---on Earth my home, and in the mansions of the stars.

long ago, there’d been choices he could have made that would have sent him on a different path. But those days were dead, and the future held only nights, a stretch of darkness that led down to the eternal dark. He would meet Vorcan, eventually, and he’d swear his life to the Guild Master, and that would be that, the closing of the final door. And his sense of outrage at the injustices around him, the corruptions of the world, would wither in the unlit tunnels beneath Darujhistan. In the exactness of the methods of assassination, his final victim would be himself.

It is like a beautiful sunset you see once in your life, one you swear you will never forget as long as you live. And you never do forget, but you never have a reason to restore the memory—so it remains hidden inside. Until one day, for no apparent reason, you remember that sunset. You recall the way your skin felt as the sun brushed across it, the way the colors painted the sky. You wonder why it took you so long to go back to that place again, swearing you won't take so long next time. Only you do forget the memory and you may or may not ever relive it again.

CAMILLO                                              Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon As, or by oath remove, or counsel shake The fabric of his folly, whose foundation Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue The standing of his body.

O, swear not by the moon, th'inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Robin Hood. To a Friend. No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Ofthe leaves of many years: Many times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases. No, the bugle sounds no more, And the twanging bow no more; Silent is the ivory shrill Past the heath and up the hill; There is no mid-forest laugh, Where lone Echo gives the half To some wight, amaz'd to hear Jesting, deep in forest drear. On the fairest time of June You may go, with sun or moon, Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you; But you never may behold Little John, or Robin bold; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair hostess Merriment, Down beside the pasture Trent; For he left the merry tale, Messenger for spicy ale. Gone, the merry morris din; Gone, the song of Gamelyn; Gone, the tough-belted outlaw Idling in the "grene shawe"; All are gone away and past! And if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave, And if Marian should have Once again her forest days, She would weep, and he would craze: He would swear, for all his oaks, Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes, Have rotted on the briny seas; She would weep that her wild bees Sang not to her---strange! that honey Can't be got without hard money! So it is; yet let us sing Honour to the old bow-string! Honour to the bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn! Honour to the Lincoln green! Honour to the archer keen! Honour to tight little John, And the horse he rode upon! Honour to bold Robin Hood, Sleeping in the underwood! Honour to maid Marian, And to all the Sherwood clan! Though their days have hurried by Let us two a burden try.

PIERROT: Of course not. There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by. "Mutton!"—now there's a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust. COLUMBINE: Well, eat it, then, For Heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.

Look not too long in the face of the fire O man!...believe not the artificial fire, when its redness makes all things look ghastly. Tomorrow, in the natural sun, the skies will be bright; those who glared like devils in the forking flames, the morn will show in far other, at least gentler relief; the glorious, golden, glad sun, the only true lamp - all others but liars! Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia's dismal swamp, nor Rome's accursed Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the millions of miles of deserts and of griefs beneath the moon. The sun hides not the ocean which is the dark side of this Earth, and which is two thirds of this Earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true - not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was The Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe. 'All is vanity'. ALL. The wilful world hath not got hold of unchristian Solomon's wisdom yet. But he who dodges hospitals and jails, and walks fast crossing grave yards, and would rather talk of operas than hell; calls Cowper, Young, Pascal, Rosseau, poor devils all sick of men; and throughout a carefree lifetime swears by Rabelais as passing wise, and therefore jolly; - not that man is fitted to sit down on tomb stones, and break the green damp mould unfathomable wounderous Solomon.

Bast's eyes were now the pale blue-white of lightning, his voice tight and fierce. "And I swear by the night and sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to despair, I will slit you open and splash around like a child in a puddle. I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance.

I want you, Arianna Johnson, like no man has ever wanted a woman before. I’m sure of it. I want to give you the life you dreamed of, the one you shared with me. I want to give you a home on the ocean, one that will be ours, where the back deck faces the ocean, so we can sit outside at night while the sun sets, but only so we can watch the way the moon bounces off the water the way you love. I want to come home and cook for you while you sit back and watch our little one in your arms.

Well, she’s a deepspace mulebitch, all right,” Pytha murmurs in a monotone delivery that erodes punctuation and inflection. “Probably packing a hundred million credits of iron. Slag me but that’s a crew I’d like to be on.” “Must you swear so early in the morning?” I ask. “Shit, sorry, moon boy. Forgot to mind my fucking manners.

When—notice that I do not say if, being granted almost as much stubbornness as you, by Gird's grace—when you find that you can swear your honor to Gird's fellowship, it will be my pleasure to give and receive your strokes. Is that satisfactory, or have you more conditions for a Marshal-General of Gird, and Captain-Temporal of the High Lord?" Paks

They say mountains don't really move when you fall in love. I don't believe them, because I swear I saw mountains move the moment I fell in love with you. And I swear I feel the ground shake every single time we touch. And when we kiss, hot liquid stars tumble from the sky, searing my skin. Don't tell me there is no such thing as magic. Our love has proven them wrong.

I'm fine." I ground my teeth. "I swear if I hear that from you or Solange one more time I'm duct-taping your mouths shut." "Can I duct-tape yours shut?" I grinned. "Like that would stop me.

Sometimes I hate this language with its false words like sunset. The sun does not set. It doesn't rise either. It just stays there in one place, yet we get all romantic, huddling on beaches to watch its so-called departure, when it is we who turn away from it, which is a good thing-if the sun could turn, it would never come back, it'd just keep going, look for some better planet to nourish. Moonlight is another lie. It's a luminescent echo. The moon is a politician whose speeches are written by the sun. I long for a world where witnesses in court must place their hands on a dictionary when they swear. A world where an archer must ask an arrow's permission before loading it into a crossbow. A world with inverted flashlights that shoot out beams of darkness, so you can go to the beach and sabotage sunbathers, rob them of their shine. A world where people eat animals they wish to emulate. But who the hell am I? I'm just the spark from two people who rubbed their genitals together like sticks in a forest one October night because they were cold. I'm just burning the firecracker at both ends. Every morning I get up and swallow my weirdness pills. I know the glass is half full, but it's a shot glass, and there are four of us, and we're all very thirsty. I know it's easy not to cry over spilled milk when you've got another carton in the fridge.

Odette, because of you, I laugh, I smile, and I dare to dream of a future that is worthy of poets. The reasons that brought us together weren’t the best or the most romantic, but I am glad for them nevertheless, and I swear to you that from now until the day I die, your dreams are my dreams. Your joy is my joy. Your pain is my pain, and I will never betray you. You are now my body, my mind, my soul, and my heart. You are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars.

He was curiously calm. Men were supposed to go mad with grief when their children died, he knew. They were supposed to tear their hair out by the roots, to curse the gods and swear red vengeance. So why was it that he felt so little? The boy lived and died believing Robert Baratheon his sire. Jaime had seen him born, that was true, though more for Cersei than the child. But he had never held him. “How would it look?” his sister warned him when the women finally left them. “Bad enough Joff looks like you without you mooning over him.” Jaime yielded with hardly a fight. The boy had been a squalling pink thing who demanded too much of Cersei’s time, Cersei’s love, and Cersei’s breasts. Robert was welcome to him. And now he’s dead.

He vows her to be his own honeylamb, swears they will be papa pals, by Sam, and share good times way down west in a guaranteed happy lovenest when May moon she shines and they twit twinkle all night combing the comet's tail up right and shooting popguns at the stars.

Are these black cats like the hare?" "No. They're smaller; they only want me to play with them. Fly away with them to a place on the other side of the moon. There's a garden there, all silvery-gold, and the cats and hares dance and jump round and round. They can jump so much farther than they can on earth; it's like flying, and they love it so. Sometimes I've felt as if I'd like to dance and jump through the air too, they looked so happy, and I've thought maybe if I did I wouldn't be afraid any more, but when I look they're all dancing round a Figure that sits still in the middle of the garden. A big black Figure with a hood on. And It hasn't got any face. Its face is so awful that It keeps it covered. And then I get so terribly afraid. And everything stops." "And you see all that in the picture?" "I don't know." She hesitated again. "I think it's partly dreams. After I've thought they were at the windows - the cats and the big hare. They sit there and watch, you see, after I've gone to sleep. But they don't come often. I don't usually know what's there." She came closer and whispered, her blue eyes earnest and weird, "I don't think it's an animal hare. I think it's Aunt Sarai's hare, that maybe it came from hell. It isn't swearing to say that word just as the name of a place, is it? That's why people used to be so scared of witches' black cats, isn't it, because they thought they weren't earth-cats, they were from the devil? Mother says there isn't any hell or any witches. But Aunt Sarai was a witch; that's why she can come back. I think they've all been witches here; the house is mad because mother wouldn't be; that's why it wants me now." Carew said, "It was all dreams, Betty. There is no hell. There is no garden on the other side of the moon. It's a dead world, full of volcanic craters, with no air for anything to grow in or breathe. A hare frightened you and, being nervous, you've had nightmares about it - pictures that fear paints on your mind just as an artist would on canvas, with paints and brushes. "Every dream is now a movie we make for ourselves in our sleep...

I looked up from the ground and glared at Scarlett, who helped Steven stand up. “You bitch.” I growled, sitting up. She looked back at me and walked over to where I was. I kept my glare on her, and just as I was about to stand up, her foot came and hit me in the face. I flung back around and my vision started to blur as my head hit the ground. I heard the squishing noise of Scarlett’s heels against the wet ground and her say her last words to me: “See you in a while, Aiyanna. We’ll do lunch.” And then they were gone, just like that. That’s when I couldn’t hold on any longer and I let the blackness consume me.

I leaned against the SUV he was working on. “So….” “So?” he asked, looking back down at the tablet. “How rich are we?” He snorted. “Get back to work.” And I was going to do just that, except that Kelly Bennett decided to appear right at that moment. Wearing a deputy’s uniform. Tight green pants with a tan button-up shirt that pulled against his torso. He had a mic clipped near his shoulder and a black utility belt around his waist. He wasn’t carrying a gun, but I barely noticed because at that exact moment, I discovered my legs decided to quit working and I tripped and fell into the side of the SUV. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. “Sorry,” I said quickly, using the SUV to pull myself back up. And immediately hit the top of my head on the open hood. “Son of a bitch.” “What are you doing?” Gordo asked slowly. I laughed wildly. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just… don’t even worry about it.” He turned toward the front of the garage. “Oh no,” he said when he saw who was standing there. “Not this again.” He pointed the tablet at Kelly. “I swear to god, if I find an animal carcass brought here at any point, I will make both your lives a living hell. Do you understand me? I’m getting too old for this shit.” “I can’t believe we have to watch this all over again,” Chris said to Tanner. “It was bad enough the first time. Remember when Robbie figured out that he wanted to put himself all over Kelly?” “Yeah,” Tanner said. “How could I forget? We had to tell Ms. Martin that her side mirror was broken by accident instead of telling her the truth, that Robbie got a weird wolf boner and forgot his own strength.” “Maybe it’ll be like it was with Ox and Joe,” Rico said, tapping a socket wrench against his hand. “Mini muffins, you know? I ate, like, ten of them.” Chris looked scandalized. “You did what? That was one of their mystical moon magic presents! You don’t touch another man’s mystical moon magic present, Rico. They could have killed you, or worse, gotten confused and made you their mate.” He frowned. “Are there werewolf threesomes? That sounds complicated. Too many limbs. I don’t know anything about being a wolf.

Silver sparkles from inside caught in the air and rolled in the wind past her. She took a deep breath, and it made her stand up straighter. Sugar and vanilla and butter. That relentless scent had been following her around all her life. Sometimes she could see it, like this, but most of the time she felt it. When she was a kid, she could be sitting in class at school, or walking her dog Chester, or in the middle of a dreary violin lesson with her older brother, and the smell would suddenly appear out of nowhere and make her inexplicably restless. Even now, sometimes she would wake up at night and swear someone was baking a cake in the house.

Oh—so you’ve never noticed anything missing in the Ten Commandments?” He ran through the list in his head, but he already sensed where she was going with it. She nodded. “There’s no commandment against rape. Or against slavery, or torture, or child abuse, or spousal abuse. There are commandments against theft and swearing, but none against atrocity.

And I see the way Ellie shines, in your presence. Her whole life, she’s done that. Lit up for you. Part of me hates that, that my beautiful daughter is happiest when she’s with a man — a particular man — but I see her happiness and I can’t be upset about it, as long as you keep your fucking word this time and don’t hurt her.” “Yes, ma’am. I will not…I won’t hurt her. I swear it.

Lies can be wrung out of a witness as easily as truth. Yes, after a few hours with the Enquiry’s . . . instruments, I am sure she will be willing to swear that she had swallowed an antidote, or indeed that she had flown to the moon if that would make the pain stop. But, here and now, you can see she is telling the truth. There was no betrayal. There was no poison. There was no murder.

Bad tactics, and whoever this Caladan Brood is, he’s shown himself adept at making us pay for our mistakes.” “Caladan Brood,” Calot murmured. “I swear I’ve heard that name somewhere before. Odd that I’ve never given it much thought.” Tattersail’s eyes narrowed on Tayschrenn. Calot was right: the name of the man commanding the Tiste Andii alongside the Crimson Guard did sound familiar—but in an old way, echoing ancient legends, perhaps, or some epic poem.

In a cage of wire-ribs The size of a man’s head, the macaw bristles in a staring Combustion, suffers the stoking devils of his eyes. In the old lady’s parlour, where an aspidistra succumbs To the musk of faded velvet, he hangs in clear flames, Like a torturer’s iron instrument preparing With dense slow shudderings of greens, yellows, blues, Crimsoning into the barbs: Or like the smouldering head that hung In Killdevil’s brass kitchen, in irons, who had been Volcano swearing to vomit the world away in black ash, And would, one day; or a fugitive aristocrat From some thunderous mythological hierarchy, caught By a little boy with a crust and a bent pin, Or snare of horsehair set for a song-thrush, And put in a cage to sing. The old lady who feeds him seeds Has a grand-daughter. The girl calls him ‘Poor Polly’, pokes fun. ’Jolly Mop.’ But lies under every full moon, The spun glass of her body bared and so gleam-still Her brimming eyes do not tremble or spill The dream where the warrior comes, lightning and iron, Smashing and burning and rending towards her loin: Deep into her pillow her silence pleads. All day he stares at his furnace With eyes red-raw, but when she comes they close. ’Polly. Pretty Poll’, she cajoles, and rocks him gently. She caresses, whispers kisses. The blue lids stay shut. She strikes the cage in a tantrum and swirls out: Instantly beak, wings, talons crash The bars in conflagration and frenzy, And his shriek shakes the house.

Uh… not sure buying the entire store for that boy is good, Chace. If he’s living on the street, the rest of the homeless population in Carnal will fall on him like vultures,” I remarked. Then he turned to me. “Got one homeless guy in town, darlin’. He calls himself Outlaw Al. He celebrated his seven hundredth birthday this year and looks it. You talk to him, he’ll swear he was the one who shot Billy the Kid. Every feral cat in Carnal will claw you soon as look at you but of any day or night, one or a dozen of ‘em will be curled into Al like he’s their Momma. He has two teeth. And I don’t see good things for his dental future since Shambles and Sunny built a small lean-to behind La-La Land so he’ll have some protection from exposure. He was much obliged for this effort. Moved in while Shambles was still hammering in the nails. He mostly stays there except when it’s his time to howl at the moon. And Shambles gives him baked goods he doesn’t sell. I think our kid’ll be good.

I’ll start in the air,” I said, far more steadily than I thought I could, considering. I knelt to tie the shirt around his thigh, cinching it tight above the wound; he stiffened but let me finish the knot. “The air first, the airship, and then-then I’ll dive.” “You can’t swim,” broke in Armand. “You told me that you can’t.” “Maybe I can now. If I’m a dragon.” “Don’t be an idiot! If you can’t swim, you can’t swim, Eleanore! You’ll drown out there, and what the bloody hell do you think you’re going to do anyway to a U-boat? Bite it open?” I stood again. “Yes! If I must! I don’t hear you coming up with a better-“ “You’ll die out there!” “Or we’ll all die here!” “We’re going to find another way!” “You two work on that. I’m off.” I fixed them both with one last, vehement look, the Turn rising inside me. Remember this. Remember them, this moment, this heartbreak, these two boys. Remember that they loved you. Armand had reached for my shoulders. “I forbid-Eleanore, please, no-“ “No,” echoed Jesse, speaking at last. “You’re not going after the submarine, Lora. You won’t need to.” Armand and I paused together, glancing down at him. I stood practically on tiptoe, so ready to become my other self. Jesse climbed clumsily to his feet. When he swayed, we both lunged to catch him. “Armand will take me to the shore. I’ll handle the U-boat.” “How?” demanded Armand at once. But I understood. I could read him so well now, Jesse-of-the-stars. I understood what he meant to do, and what it would cost him. I felt myself shaking my head. Above us, the airship propellers thumped louder and louder. “Yes,” said Jesse, smiling his lovely smile at me. “I already sense your agreement. Death and the Elemental were stronger joined than apart, remember? This is our joining. Don’t waste any more time quarreling with me about it. That’s not your way.” He leaned down to me, a hand tangled in my hair. His mouth pressed to mine, and for the first time ever I didn’t feel bliss at his touch. I felt misery. “Go on, Lora-of-the-moon,” he murmured against my lips. “You’re going to save us. I know you will.” I glared past him to the harsh, baffled face of Armand. “Will you help him? Do you swear it?” “I-yes, I will. I do.” I disentangled Jesse’s hand, kissed it, stepped back, and let the Turn consume me, smoke rising and rising, leaving the castle and all I loved behind me for the wild open sky.

I love you, baby. Every part of you. I love the way you link life to lyrics, how you smile at the moon and love like the ocean, far and wide, and without apology. I love how selfless you are, how honest and kind, even though life hasn’t been so kind to you lately. I love how you try to be brave for your family because you don’t want them to hurt, even when doing so hurts you a little. I love you so much I want to come home to you, wake beside you, and spend a lifetime worshiping you. I want the house you spoke of and the family in your dreams. I don’t only want to be the man you need, but the one you want. The one you can’t live without. I want to love you for a lifetime, and even more after that. But most of all, I just want the chance to make you mine again. Because I’m yours. Always. No matter what.

All the while, he was conscious of the sound of water. Dahlia was taking a shower. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, his imagined insisted on conjuring up a vivid picture of Dahlia naked, wet, her hair slick and her face turned up to the hot spray. He closed his eyes against the image and groaned softly. Where had all his self-discipline gone? His tremendous control? He couldn’t blame energy, sexual or otherwise, for his fantasies. It was the glimpse of her bare bottom, the curve of her hip. Her bare breasts gleaming at him in the sun. Or maybe it was her smile. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, Nicolas could swear it was for him alone, no one else. And then there was her skin . . . “Hey! Lover boy! Stop mooning around and hit the shower. You smell like a swamp rat, and it just doesn’t do a thing to put me in the mood.” Dahlia stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her like a sarong. Her hair was up in a towel and she was dripping water all over the floor. She’d obviously come downstairs straight from her shower to scold him for his indiscretions, but changed her mind. “You’re not helping me with my overactive imagination,” he pointed out as he walked toward her.

Violet’s not getting out of our sight,” Arion adds. There’s a moment of just staring…like everyone is trying to silently argue. “No one naked in my car,” Mom states when I just stand in my spot, waiting on them to hurry through the push and pull. You really can tell how thick the air is when too many alphas are in the room at one time, but weirdly it never feels this way when it’s just the four of them. Unless punches are thrown. Then it gets a little heavier than normal. Arion pulls on his clothes, and threads whir in the air as I quickly fashion Emit a lopsided toga that lands on his body. Everyone’s gaze swings to him like it’s weird for him and normal for me to be in a toga. Awesome. Damien muffles a sound, Emit arches an eyebrow at me, and Arion remains rigid, staying close to me but never touching me. All of us squeezing into a car together while most of them hate each other…should be fun. The storm finally stops before we board the elevator, and it’s one of those super awkward elevator moments where no one is looking at anyone or saying anything, and everyone is trying to stay in-the-moment serious. We stop on the floor just under us, after the longest thirty-five seconds ever. The doors open, and two men glance around at Emit and I in our matching togas, even though his is the fitted sheet and riding up in some funny places. He looks like a caveman who accidentally bleached and shrank his wardrobe. I palm my face, embarrassed for him. The next couple of floors are super awkward with the addition of the two new, notably uncomfortable men. Worst seventy-nine seconds ever. Math doesn’t add up? Yeah. I’m upset about those extra nine seconds as well. Poor Emit has to duck out of the unusually small elevator, and the bottom of his ass cheek plays peek-a-boo on one side. Damien finally snorts, and even Mom struggles to keep a straight face. That really pisses her off. “You’re seeing him on an off day,” I tell the two guys, who stare at my red boots for a second. I feel the need to defend Emit a little, especially since I now know he overheard all that gibberish Tiara was saying… I can’t remember all I said, and it’s worrying me now that my mind has gone off on this stupid tangent. I trip over the hem of my toga, and Arion snags me before I hit the floor, righting me and showing his hands to my mother with a quick grin. “Can’t just let her fall,” he says unapologetically. “You’re going to have to learn to deal with that,” she bites out. She has a very good point. I don’t trip very often, but things and people usually knock me around a good bit of my life. The two guys look like they want to run, so I hurry to fix this. “Really, it’s a long story, but I swear Emit—the tallest one in the fitted-sheet-toga—generally wears pants…er…I guess you guys call them trousers over here. Anyway, we had some plane problems,” I carry on, and then realize I have to account for the fact we’re both missing clothing. “Then there was a fire that miraculously only burned our clothes, because Emit put all my flames out by smothering me with his body,” I state like that’s exactly what happened. Why do they look so scared? I’m not telling a scary lie. At this point, I’ve just made it worse, and fortunately Damien takes mercy, clamping his hand over my mouth as he starts steering me toward the door before I can make it…whatever comes after worse but before the worst. “Thank you,” sounds more like “Mmdi ooooo,” against his hand, but he gets the gist, as he grins. Mom makes a frustrated sound. “Another minute, and she’d be bragging about his penis size in quest to save his dignity. Did you really want to hear that?” Damien asks her, forcing me to groan against his hand.

Sometimes the sun is covered by dense layers of dark clouds. A person looking up would swear that there is no sun. But still the sun shines. At night, when there is no light, still the sun shines. During rain or hail or hurricane or tornado, still the sun shines. Does the sun ask itself, "Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?" No, it burns and it shines. Does the sun ask itself, "What does the moon think of me? How does Mars feel about me today?" No, it burns, it shines. Does the sun ask itself, "Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies?" No, it burns, it shines. In this country in the coming years, I think that there will be a terrible storm. I think that the skies will darken beyond all recognition. Those who walk the streets will walk them in darkness. Those who are in prisons and mental institutions will not see the sky at all, only the dark out of barred windows. Those who are hungry and in despair may not look up at all. They will see the darkness as it lies on the ground in front of their feet. Those who are raped will see the darkness as they look up into the face of the rapist. Those who are assaulted and brutalized by madmen will stare intently into the darkness to discern who is moving toward them at every moment. It will be hard to remember, as the storm is raging, that still, even though we cannot see it, the sun shines. It will be hard to remember that still, even though we cannot see it, the sun burns. We will try to see it and we will try to feel it, and we will forget that it warms us still, that if it were not there, burning, shining, this earth would be a cold and desolate and barren place. As long as we have life and breath, no matter how dark the earth around us, that sun still burns, still shines. There is no today without it. There is no tomorrow without it. There was no yesterday without it. That light is within us—constant, warm, and healing. Remember it, sisters, in the dark times to come.

Well, she’s a deepspace mulebitch, all right,” Pytha murmurs in a monotone delivery that erodes punctuation and inflection. “Probably packing a hundred million credits of iron. Slag me but that’s a crew I’d like to be on.” “Must you swear so early in the morning?” I ask. “Shit, sorry, moon boy. Forgot to mind my fucking manners.” Pytha is in her late fifties, with distant, pale blue eyes and skin the color of a walnut. Like all Blues, she still harbors the neurodevelopmental sculpting that enhances human-to-computer interaction but impairs communication outside her sect. She doesn’t have the social niceties of the Palatine shuttle pilots.

Did red hair somehow react to the sun, as certain species of fish only breed under a full moon?

Our souls collided long before we were born wrapped in human skin. Now, all these light years later we meet again, this time with eyes and mouths and flesh and skin. We touch, we kiss, we laugh, we love. Soul on soul, flesh on flesh. When we kiss it is as if every language converges into one universal tongue, and I swear I hear angels applaud and see the devil smiling. Galaxies intersect, even heaven and hell unite. The sun, the stars, the moon, oh how we mesh, we do!

I swear it on my name and my power. I swear it by my good left hand. I swear it by the ever-moving moon.

Marionettes dance afield beneath masterly hands— I stumble among them crossed by the strings in tangled two-step and curse all these fools in their mad pirouette— I shall not live as they do oh, no, leave me in my circled dance— these unbidden twitchings you see I swear on Hood’s Grave is artistry in motion S

AFTER MAYAKOVKSY by Denis Johnson It's after one. You're probably alone. All night the moon rings like a telephone in an empty booth above our separateness. Now is the hour one answers. I am home. Hello, my heart, my God, my President, my darling: I'm alarmed by the alarm clock's iridescent face, hung like a charm from darkness's fat ear. This accident that was my life will have its witnesses: now, while the world lies wholly motionless and sorry in a crapulence of stars, now is the hour one rises to address the ages and history and the universe: I swear you'll never see my face again.

Your own name isn’t half-bad. Bet you don’t know what Loretta means.” Rachel folded the dough over, then glanced up with a teasing grin. “Your momma and me picked it, mainly for the meaning.” “It’s a variation of Laura, isn’t it? Laurel wreath or something?” “That’s the common meaning. But in your ma’s name book, there was another.” “Well? Give over.” Loretta waited, watching her aunt. “What’s it mean? Flat-chested and scrawny?” Rachel threw back her head and chuckled. “Flat-chested and scrawny? Loretta Jane, I swear, no one can say you have too high an opinion of yourself. It means little wise one.” The color washed from Loretta’s face, and she planted her feet on the floor to stop the chair from rocking. “It means what?” “Little wise one.” Rachel’s smile faded. “You feelin’ peaked? What’s wrong?” Loretta set her sewing aside and pushed to her feet. “Nothing, Aunt Rachel. N-nothing.” Glancing dazedly around the room, Loretta pressed the back of her wrist to her temple, a feeling of unreality surrounding her. “I, um, think I’ll get a breath of air.” After hurrying from the house, Loretta struck off across the yard to lean on the fence, her favorite spot because it afforded her a view of the rise. Little wise one. Still numb with shock, she stared off into the distance, remembering the night Hunter had recited his song to her. The People will call her the Little Wise One… She studied the rise, truly believing, for the first time, that she and Hunter were destined to be together. She tried to remember all the words to his song. They came to her in snatches. Between them will be a great canyon that runs high with blood. A silly legend, she had once called it. Now she knew better. Too much of it had already come to pass for her to scoff. A canyon of blood. Loretta curled her hands into fists. Hunter would return to her. She didn’t know when, or how, but suddenly she felt certain the song, once the bane of her existence, had become her greatest hope.

Loretta snuggled deeply into silken furs, trying to escape the persistent hand that shook her shoulder and the voice that called to her. Not her name, anyway. Blue Eyes. What kind of name was that? “Blue Eyes, you will be awake now. Home…you wish for home?” Home. Amy and Aunt Rachel. The gray down quilt. Pork slab and eggs for breakfast. Coffee on the porch when the sun peeked over the horizon and streaked the sky with crimson. Home. To laughter and love and safety. Oh, yes, she wished for home. “Be awake, little one. This Comanche will take you back. Loh-rhett-ah? Wake up, Hoos-cho Soh-nips, Bird Bones, you must eat and grow strong so you can go home. To your people and your wooden walls.” Loretta opened her eyes. She rolled onto her back and blinked. A dark face swam above her. Funny, but blinking didn’t bring him into focus. She reached out, curious, then thought better of it. “You will make the honey talk with me? We will make a treaty between us, one with no tiv-ope, writing. You will eat and grow strong, and I will take you to your people.” Honey talk. All lies, according to Hunter. Loretta peered up. She ran her tongue across her lips and tried to swallow. “H-home?” she croaked. “Huh, yes, Blue Eyes. Home. But you must eat so you can live to go back. And drink. For three days. Until you are strong again.” His fingertips grazed her cheek and trailed lightly into her hair. “Then this Comanche will take you.” “You will?” she rasped. “It is a promise I make. You will eat and drink?” Loretta closed her eyes. She had to be dreaming. But oh, what a lovely dream it was. To go home. To have Hunter volunteer to take her there. No need to worry that his wrath would rain upon her family. “No tricks. You swear it?” “No tricks.” His voice echoed and reechoed inside her head, loud, then like a whisper. She fought to open her eyes. The darkness was surrounding her again. “Then I will eat.

Holy Mother, you near shot my foot off, you damned fool woman!” “Next time, I won’t miss.” Henry sputtered, so mad he looked fit to bust. “Rachel, I swear, I’ll give you the hidin’ of your life for this.” “Touch her, Uncle Henry, and I’ll knock you senseless with a chunk of firewood,” Loretta inserted. “And if she don’t do a good job of it, I’ll finish it for her!” Amy yelled from the loft ladder. “Good for you, Ma! Give the old wart toad what for!” Rachel returned the Spencer to the rack. “Well, Henry? It sounds like three to one. You gonna apologize to Loretta Jane or not?

Holy Mother, you near shot my foot off, you damned fool woman!” “Next time, I won’t miss.” Henry sputtered, so mad he looked fit to bust. “Rachel, I swear, I’ll give you the hidin’ of your life for this.” “Touch her, Uncle Henry, and I’ll knock you senseless with a chunk of firewood,” Loretta inserted. “And if she don’t do a good job of it, I’ll finish it for her!” Amy yelled from the loft ladder. “Good for you, Ma! Give the old wart toad what for!” Rachel returned the Spencer to the rack. “Well, Henry? It sounds like three to one. You gonna apologize to Loretta Jane or not?” She shrugged. “I reckon you can leave, if that strikes your fancy. But if you’re stayin’, you’ll apologize before you have your breakfast.” Henry doubled his fists, trembling. Loretta moved toward the hearth and grabbed a chunk of wood, just in case she needed it. Amy swung off the ladder, ready to do the same. “I swear, I don’t know what the world’s comin’ to,” Henry rasped. “Women lippin’ off and threatenin’ a man like they don’t got good sense! I could take on the three of you and roll a smoke while I was at it.” “Then make like a frog and hop to it,” Amy challenged. “Otherwise, you tell Loretta you’re sorry like Ma says.” Henry hesitated, as if he were considering his options, such as they were. “As if I’d really hurt a baby!” he snorted. “If Loretta Jane don’t got the sense to know better, then I surely do apologize.” “Accepted,” Loretta murmured. Henry jerked up his left suspender and raked his hand through his hair, looking at the hole Rachel had shot in the puncheon. “What in hell you gonna tell people happened to your floor, missy?” Rachel smiled. “Why, I’ll tell them how quick you got in and fixed it, Henry. We can’t have holes in the floor, can we?

What did you say?” Henry grated. “I said shut up, Henry.” Rachel’s voice was still soft, but the glint in her eyes was fighting mean. “I’ve put up with your cussedness for nigh on nine years. No more. You apologize to Loretta Jane this instant.” “Or you’ll do what?” Rachel lifted a challenging brow. “Well, I reckon you’re too big for me to grab you by the heels and bash your brains. Guess I’ll have to blow them out. Now apologize. I won’t have that kind of talk in my house.” “Your house?” “That’s right.” Henry did an admirable job of trying to appear amused. Placing his hands on his hips, he bent one knee and eyed the rifle. “Rachel, darlin’, you have a gun right now. Here shortly, you’re gonna have to put it down and cook. And when you do, I’m gonna beat the sass plumb out of you. Now I suggest you be the one to apologize. If you do it convincin’ enough, maybe I’ll forgit this ever happened.” Loretta figured the bluff would probably work. Aunt Rachel had never been long on guts, and Loretta didn’t see her getting a goodly supply in the space of ten minutes. Rachel surprised her, though. Instead of apologizing, she set her jaw and raised her chin. “Henry, if you touch me when I’m cookin’, I’ll rip you from stem to bow with my butcher knife. I’ve had it up to my gullet with you.” “Give me that gun!” Henry stomped toward her. Rachel took quick aim. The explosion of noise nearly scared Loretta out of her skin. Henry jumped straight up, clearing the floor by several inches. “Holy Mother, you near shot my foot off, you damned fool woman!” “Next time, I won’t miss.” Henry sputtered, so mad he looked fit to bust. “Rachel, I swear, I’ll give you the hidin’ of your life for this.” “Touch her, Uncle Henry, and I’ll knock you senseless with a chunk of firewood,” Loretta inserted. “And if she don’t do a good job of it, I’ll finish it for her!” Amy yelled from the loft ladder. “Good for you, Ma! Give the old wart toad what for!” Rachel returned the Spencer to the rack. “Well, Henry? It sounds like three to one. You gonna apologize to Loretta Jane or not?

Your own name isn’t half-bad. Bet you don’t know what Loretta means.” Rachel folded the dough over, then glanced up with a teasing grin. “Your momma and me picked it, mainly for the meaning.” “It’s a variation of Laura, isn’t it? Laurel wreath or something?” “That’s the common meaning. But in your ma’s name book, there was another.” “Well? Give over.” Loretta waited, watching her aunt. “What’s it mean? Flat-chested and scrawny?” Rachel threw back her head and chuckled. “Flat-chested and scrawny? Loretta Jane, I swear, no one can say you have too high an opinion of yourself.

For pity’s sake, do I have to fucking do everything?!“ Maris pushed to her feet, flinging the glass of ratafia into the fire, and the flames surged. “Go pack a bag right now, you fucking child, and go after her. You have an invitation to the ball, Silas. Go claim your bride. And I swear to the moon, if you bollocks this up, I will push you from the roof. You’re too stupid to wear the title.

I love the way you link life to lyrics, how you smile at the moon and love like the ocean, far and wide, and without apology. I love how selfless you are, how honest and kind, even though life hasn’t been so kind to you lately. I love how you try to be brave for your family because you don’t want them to hurt, even when doing so hurts you a little. I love you so much I want to come home to you, wake beside you, and spend a lifetime worshiping you. I want the house you spoke of and the family in your dreams. I don’t only want to be the man you need, but the one you want. The one you can’t live without. I want to love you for a lifetime, and even more after that. But most of all, I just want the chance to make you mine again. Because I’m yours. Always. No matter what.

I swear if David Bowie pops out now singing about babes with power, I am so outta here.

I swear on the power of the moon and the Wolf that lives inside my limbs that I'll set Roary Night free,

I swear on the power of the moon and the Wolf that lives inside my limbs that I'll set Roary Night free," she snarled, lifting the knife and scoring a deep slash down the centre of her palm. "Rosa," Dante hissed in shock, but she ignored him, her gaze fixed on the silver crescent hanging low in the sky as she continued with her vow. "Whatever it takes, whatever I have to sacrifice to make it so, I will right this wrong and repay the debt I owe him. Blood for blood. A life for a life. Let the moon curse me if I ever sway from this path and end my life if I fail." She raised her clenched fist towards the heavens, blood trickling between her fingers as she glared at the moon and a silvery glow seemed to pour from her skin, bathing her in moonlight which sent a shiver running down my spine.

I am yours, in this life, in your next, and the one after that till the sun ceases to rise. I am yours, till the moon fails to shine. I am yours. I will love you in any form you come back to me in, and I will look and I will look for you and only you in every human I meet. I will love you in every form you take. I vow on my undead heart, I will never drink and be full from another. I vow to lay my life down in place of yours, at your request with no hesitations. I, Maksim Alexandrovich Romanov the first, son of King Alexandro, swear my hunger to you, my heart to you, and my soul. I would pledge my life to you, but you are my life.

I swear there are somehow more stars above Havenfall than there are elsewhere, and the moon always seems to hang low. As if the heavenly bodies can sense the doorways at Havenfall and are huddling in close, hoping to catch a breeze from another world.

How do I feel abaout her? my knuckels run up her cheek, my palm flattening against it later, and she blinks slowly.....I love you baby. Every part of you. I love the way that you link life to lyrics, how you smile at the moon, and love like the ocean: far and wide and without apology. I love how selfless you are, how honest and kind- even though life hasn't been so kind to you lately. I love how you try to be brave for your family bc you don't want them to hurt, even when doing so hurts you a little. I love you so much that I want to come home to you, wake beside you and spend a lifetime worshipping you. I want the house that you spoke of and the family in your dreams. I don't ONLY want to be the man that you need, but the one that you want, the one that you can't live without. I want to love you for a lifetime and even more after that. But most of all, i just want the chance to make you MINE again., because I'm YOURS, ALWAYS, no matter what.

I’m not easy or simple or entirely light. My sunshine dances the tango with my tornado by the light of a blood-red moon. I am daisy chains and cauldron fire. I am the space where shame is shed. I like my desire fast and hard and my sacred so holy you’ll swear for the rest of your life that your body turned cathedral under my hands. If you come to me, come ready to be revealed. Offer me bare skin, not armor. Bring me the whole and holy of you and arrive ready for worship. I am a crystal-clear mirror. Beware, you will not leave me without bearing witness to your own beauty. I fear there’s a damn good chance you’re not ready for what happens next.

I swear, since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare. A house of love with no limits, a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon, a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.

The world needs more men like you,” she added, plenty loud enough for those close by to hear over the sounds of a pub in full swing. Grinning at the hoots and hollers that got, she scooped up the tray and skirted the table, taking an order from the three men at the next table as she ducked by. Hardy eased forward just enough to crowd her pathway back to the bar. “Sounds like someone from your little Down Under adventure left a bad impression of men on you. Mate,” he added pointedly, copying the bit of Aussie accent that crept into her voice now and again, usually when she was cheering or swearing. So, fairly often.

She was in the back of the pub, delivering another round to the guys playing pool at the table Hardy and Perry had left behind for a rousing game of darts, when a hush fell over the folks crowded around the bar and the front door to the place. A man’s deep, accented voice boomed through the sudden hush. “I was told I might find her here, mate,” the man was saying to someone. “Kerry? Kerry McCrae. Her uncle owns the place, yeah?” If Kerry’s heart had clutched in her chest before, it stopped functioning altogether the moment that voice reached her ears. This is why you don’t let yourself think about him, because then you won’t stop thinking about him. And now you’re hearing things. Even as she thought the words, knowing rationally that there was no way she’d heard his voice, not for real, some small part of her understood that the impossible had actually just happened. She looked up, a fierce expression on her face, one meant to forestall even the remotest possibility that he was indeed right there. In the pub. Her pub. Looking for her. It didn’t work, of course. Because he was there. And she thought her heart might beat right through her chest wall. So much for being fearless. Someone--she didn’t even notice who--took the badly wobbling tray of drinks from her hand as she went toward him, seemingly without even moving her feet. It was like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe this whole night had been a dream and she was in bed, right now, and would wake up any second and laugh at herself, then swear at herself, for letting him into her dreams. Again. But it sure didn’t feel like she was dreaming.

I’m taking thirty to shower and give myself a full body lift. You’ll thank me later,” she parroted back to her sister. “Says the sister who was born looking like an Olympian. Wah-wah.” Kerry stood and stretched, stifling a groan as every muscle in her body protested. So much for the restorative powers of sleep. She grabbed her last fresh pair of khaki shorts, decided which of her already worn T-shirts was the least questionable, made a mental note to take her laundry basket with her when she left, then sighed as she caught sight of her restless night, wild-child hair once again in the mirror. If only Cooper could see your oh-so-sexy self now, she thought, he’d book the next flight out. “Kerry?” “Well,” she said, making a face at herself in the mirror, “if there was an Olympic even for bed head, I’d take the gold right now, no question. Even the Russian judge would have to cave and give me a ten.” “I’d say give me a break, but come to think of it, I have seen you in the morning.” “Bite me.” “Oh, and because you brought it up,” Fiona added, her voice dripping with sugar once again, “make sure you book some extra time to tell us every last detail about your dead-sexy Aussie fiancé.” “He’s not my--” “Hurry!” Fiona interrupted as group laughter echoed through the phone from somewhere behind her; then she hung up. Kerry looked at the dead phone, then tossed it on the bed, mumbling swear words in several languages under her breath.

Do you have your keys?” Kerry abruptly asked. Hannah looked surprised, then alarmed. “Kerry, don’t go and do--” “I just need to take a drive. Clear my head. Think. Cooper is in his element here and likely will be for a good long while. If he asks--” “If?” Hannah said, lawyering up again, clearly not on board with Kerry’s sudden wild hare. “If he asks,” Kerry repeated evenly, “tell him I’ve gone for a drive and will be back for dinner.” She looked Hannah square in the eyes. “I promise. I just need some space. I have a lot to think about.” “It doesn’t all need thinking out today,” Hannah reminded her. “If I don’t get a handle on it now, it’s only going to pile on and be that much more complicated and confusing. I don’t want to get pushed or overwhelmed and do something I’ll regret.” She took the keys Hannah begrudgingly handed her. “Thank you. I won’t put a scratch on her, I swear.” “It’s not her getting banged up I’m worried about,” Hannah said. Kerry impulsively pulled her sister in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For loving me despite what a confusing pain in the ass I can be.” Hannah hugged her back, then let her go. “I do love you,” she said to Kerry’s retreating back. “But if you’re not here by dinner, I’m going to tell Cooper to run, run fast.” Kerry tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Good luck with that. I already tried.

What in the seven hells were you doing this morning?” Deep demanded, striding over to her. Kat was immediately on the defensive. “I don’t know what you’re upset about but you can just back off. You two went out and left me here in a strange house, in a strange town, on a strange planet where I don’t even know the language. I had to muddle through on my own.” “We’re very sorry, my lady.” Lock, who had been speaking rapidly in Twin Moons dialect with the tall woman, came over to where Kat was still sitting with the mostly empty bowl. “We had to run some errands and we didn’t think you’d be up before we got back.” “Oh, she was up, all right. Up and giving the vendors at the market a show,” Deep snarled. “What are you talking about?” Tired of craning her neck to look up at him, Kat stood and put a hand on her hip. Of course she still had to look up, just not quite as far. “I’m talking about the way you were showing yourself out the window this morning—the entire township is talking about it.” Deep glared at her. Kat frowned. “I couldn’t find any clothes when I first got up but I wrapped a sheet around myself. I looked out the window and some people waved at me so I waved back. What’s the big deal?” “The ‘big deal’ is that you shouldn’t be showing your body to strangers.” Deep eyed her possessively, making her feel suddenly naked. “I wasn’t,” Kat protested, wishing the weird, feathered shirt she’d put on was longer. “I was very careful to keep the sheet wrapped around me the entire time, I swear.” Lock cleared his throat. “Apparently, the light shining in the window rendered your sheet, ah, transparent.” “What?” Kat felt a heated blush sweep over her. “Are you serious? So all those guys who were waving and smiling at me weren’t just being friendly?” “They’d like to be a whole lot more than friendly,” Deep growled. “Do you know how often the average male here on Twin Moons gets to see an elite? Almost never. And to see an elite without her clothing, her lush curves revealed, her—

The father, for his part, had waited until they arrived, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of people and the cries of the shoeshine boys and the importuning of beggars, he explained that it was book by a journalist that had come out a couple of years ago but was still selling, that the guy was uncouth but the book, from what he had heard wasn't bad. Elaine tore off the wrapping paper, saw a design of nine blue frames with trimmed corners, and inside the frames saw bells, suns, Phrygian caps, floral sketches, moons with women’s faces, skulls and crossbones and dancing demons, and all seemed a bit absurd and gratuitous, and the title, Cien años de soledad, exaggerated and melodramatic. Don Julio put a long fingernail over the E of the last word, which was backwards. ‘I didn’t notice till I’d already bought it’, he apologized. ‘If you want we can try to exchange it.’ Elaine said it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t going to get on the train with nothing to read because of a silly typo. And days later, in a letter to her grandparents, she wrote: ‘Send me something to read, please, I get bored at night. The only thing I have here is a book that the señor gave me as a going- away present, and I’ve tried to read it. I swear I have tried, but the Spanish is very difficult and everybody has the same name. It’s the most tedious thing I’ve read in a long time, and there’s even a typo on the cover. It’s incredible, it’s in its fourteenth printing and they haven’t corrected it. When I think of you reading the latest Graham Greene, it doesn’t seem fair.

I swear, since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare. A house of love with no limits, a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon, a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.

O, swear not by the moon! The inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.” — Juliet,  William Shakespeare's      Romeo & Juliet

In the dim light he could see tears shimmering on her pale cheeks. He bent his head to catch their saltiness with the tip of his tongue. “Ah, Blue Eyes, ka taikay, ka taikay, don’t cry. Has my hand upon you ever brought pain?” “No,” she whispered brokenly. Determined to finish what he had begun, Hunter swept her slender body into his arms and strode to the bed. Lowering her gently onto the fur, he stretched out beside her and gathered her close, his manhood throbbing with urgency against the confining leather of his pants. He half expected her to struggle, and perhaps if she had, he could have continued, his one thought to consummate their marriage, to put her fears behind them and ease the ache in his loins. But instead of fighting him, she wrapped her slender arms around his neck and clung to him, so rigid with fear that she felt brittle, her limbs quivering almost uncontrollably. In a voice thick with tears, she said, “Hunter--would you do one thing for me? Just one small thing. Please?” He splayed a hand on her back and felt the wild hammering of her heart. “What thing, Blue Eyes?” “Would you get it over with quickly? Please? I won’t ever ask again, I swear it. Just this time, please?” Hunter buried a smile in her hair and closed his eyes, tightening his arms around her. His father’s voice whispered. Fear is not like dust on a leaf that can be washed away by a gentle rain. The words no sooner came to him than a dozen forgotten memories did as well. For an instant the years rolled away, and Hunter saw himself running hand in hand with Willow by the Stream through a meadow of red daisies, their laughter ringing across the windswept grass, their eyes shining with love as they drank in the sight of one another. He remembered so many things in that instant--the love, yes, but mostly he remembered the friendship he and Willow had shared, the trust, the silliness, the laughter. Ah, yes, the laughter…He and his little blue-eyes had laughed together so few times that Hunter had difficulty recalling when they had. Suddenly he knew that without the laughter, their loving would fall far short of what it should be. Especially for her. In a voice that rasped with frustration as well as tender amusement, Hunter said, “You have such a great want for me that we must hurry, yes?

There will be an oath swearing at the rising of the next full moon,” she said, “for you and for some of the other girls who are recently arrived. It is a sacred time. And this is a sacred vocation. Do not ever dare to think otherwise. Be proud, and be thankful to the Fates that they have brought you here to become a gladiatrix. Bring honor on this house. Bring honor on yourselves. Win. Be valiant. Now go.

I’ll do anything.” Hunter was about to tell her he would find Amy, that she need not beg, but her last words stopped him. He was not a stupid man. He searched her pale face. “I’ll be your woman. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I’ll stay with you. Freely. If you’ll find Amy and bring her back to me. I promise, Hunter.” Her desperation made him feel ashamed. She had come to him for help; he couldn’t turn her away. He needed no reward for finding her sister. Yet he wanted this woman. And she was here, offering herself to him. His gaze riveted on the faded bruise along her cheek. If he sent her back to her adoptive father, how many more bruises would she receive? “You make lies of your promises, Blue Eyes.” “Not this time. I swear it, Hunter. I swear it before God, I’ll be your woman. Anything for Amy.” He caught her chin. “You make a God promise? You will lie with me in my buffalo robes?” Loretta closed her eyes. The words stuck in her throat. She was sacrificing her self-respect. Her own people would forever scorn her if they knew. But what choice did she have? “Yes, I’ll lie with you.

You make lies of your promises, Blue Eyes.” “Not this time. I swear it, Hunter. I swear it before God, I’ll be your woman. Anything for Amy.” He caught her chin. “You make a God promise? You will lie with me in my buffalo robes?” Loretta closed her eyes. The words stuck in her throat. She was sacrificing her self-respect. Her own people would forever scorn her if they knew. But what choice did she have? “Yes, I’ll lie with you.” “You will see into me when you speak.” She lifted her lashes. His eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. “I’ll lie with you, I swear to God.” “You will not fight the big fight when I put my hands upon you?” “No.” “And you will eat? You will stay beside me? Forever into the horizon?” “Yes.” He brushed his thumb across her mouth, remembering how sweet her lips had tasted. A slow smile creased his dark face. “You will say it before your God.” Loretta blinked and met his gaze. “I swear it before God--I’ll eat and I’ll stay beside you, forever into the horizon.” “You will not fight the great fight?” “No, I won’t fight.” He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Ah, Blue Eyes, it is a good bargain this Comanche has made.

I swear it before God--I’ll eat and I’ll stay beside you, forever into the horizon.” “You will not fight the great fight?” “No, I won’t fight.” He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Ah, Blue Eyes, it is a good bargain this Comanche has made.

You make a God promise? You will lie with me in my buffalo robes?” Loretta closed her eyes. The words stuck in her throat. She was sacrificing her self-respect. Her own people would forever scorn her if they knew. But what choice did she have? “Yes, I’ll lie with you.” “You will see into me when you speak.” She lifted her lashes. His eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. “I’ll lie with you, I swear to God.” “You will not fight the big fight when I put my hands upon you?” “No.” “And you will eat? You will stay beside me? Forever into the horizon?” “Yes.” He brushed his thumb across her mouth, remembering how sweet her lips had tasted. A slow smile creased his dark face. “You will say it before your God.” Loretta blinked and met his gaze. “I swear it before God--I’ll eat and I’ll stay beside you, forever into the horizon.” “You will not fight the great fight?” “No, I won’t fight.” He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Ah, Blue Eyes, it is a good bargain this Comanche has made.” “You’ll go find her?” “I will find her, and I will bring her to you, eh?” Loretta hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled in a rush, so relieved that she felt weak. Hunter bent his head and pressed his face against her hair. The next instant she felt his lips on her neck. She also felt his hand on her posterior. Frustrated by her high neckline and her full skirts, he made a fist in the calico. “So much wannup. Where are you, Blue Eyes?

For a girl, how about Nicole? It means a girl who’s victorious for her people.” “Oh, I like that,” Loretta whispered. “Hunter would love that.” Rachel smiled. “Nicole Wolf. If she has her daddy’s eyes, Indigo would go perfect with it. Nicole Indigo Wolf.” “Doesn’t sound right,” Amy argued. “Indigo Nicole Wolf! That, I like.” “Indigo Nicole.” Tears burned behind Loretta’s eyelids. A girl victorious for her people. “Yes, that’s beautiful, for both worlds.” “Your own name isn’t half-bad. Bet you don’t know what Loretta means.” Rachel folded the dough over, then glanced up with a teasing grin. “Your momma and me picked it, mainly for the meaning.” “It’s a variation of Laura, isn’t it? Laurel wreath or something?” “That’s the common meaning. But in your ma’s name book, there was another.” “Well? Give over.” Loretta waited, watching her aunt. “What’s it mean? Flat-chested and scrawny?” Rachel threw back her head and chuckled. “Flat-chested and scrawny? Loretta Jane, I swear, no one can say you have too high an opinion of yourself. It means little wise one.” The color washed from Loretta’s face, and she planted her feet on the floor to stop the chair from rocking. “It means what?” “Little wise one.” Rachel’s smile faded. “You feelin’ peaked? What’s wrong?” Loretta set her sewing aside and pushed to her feet. “Nothing, Aunt Rachel. N-nothing.” Glancing dazedly around the room, Loretta pressed the back of her wrist to her temple, a feeling of unreality surrounding her. “I, um, think I’ll get a breath of air.” After hurrying from the house, Loretta struck off across the yard to lean on the fence, her favorite spot because it afforded her a view of the rise. Little wise one. Still numb with shock, she stared off into the distance, remembering the night Hunter had recited his song to her. The People will call her the Little Wise One…

I was just thinking I can’t imagine them being thrilled with you taking off like this, halfway around the world no less, leaving them shorthanded and--then I thought, oh no, something must have happened, because why else would you--” She broke off, shook her head, and seemed to look sightlessly at her hands, still gripping the steering wheel. “Because why else would I what?” She finally looked at him, and along with that goodly dose of agitation and not a little honest confusion, he saw that sliver of vulnerability again. “Because what else would cause a man I knew to be perfectly sane and fully committed to running one of the biggest cattle stations in the Northern Territory alongside his big, loud, boisterous, and very close-knit and beloved family--to up and run halfway around the world chasing after a…after--” “You?” She blinked, closed her mouth, opened it again, then simply shook her head and looked away. A beat passed, then another. “So, they’re all okay?” she asked him anyway, back to staring at her hands. “Big Jack? Ian? Sadie?” She glanced at him. “Little Mac?” He lifted his hand, palm out. “All safe and sound, I swear. Last I checked anyway.” His grin settled back to a quiet smile. “The only one who’s lost anything is me.” She ducked her chin; then he saw her pull herself together. And when she raised her eyes to his once more, she was all Kerry McCrae. Bold, confident, smart, and more than a little smart-assed. Potent combination, that. Or so he’d learned. When she’d first come to their station, hired on by his father, Big Jack, as a jackaroo--or jillaroo, as the female ranch trainees were called--Cooper had told his dad and his two siblings that the American wouldn’t last a fortnight. A wanderer who’d gone a bit troppo more than likely, traipsing around the world for kicks, thinking station life was some romantic outback romp, was about to find out she’d bitten off more than she could chew. He bit back a grin at the memory of how she’d taken on Cameroo and every single member of the Jax family, wrapping them around her like they were a comfortable, well-worn coat. And the only chewing that had been done was by him, eating his words. “You know, a more prudent man might have wanted to use that newfangled thing called a phone, or to shoot off an e-mail on that fancy laptop Sadie was so excited about finally getting for her schoolwork,” Kerry said, more quietly now. “Find out if the other party even remembered his name, much less if she was interested in doing anything more with him than trying to herd ten thousand head of cattle all over the godforsaken outback.” “Twenty thousand. And you just told your entire town you loved Australia and its godforsaken outback.” She nodded but said nothing; there was not even a hint of that earthy, easygoing smile that was usually never more than a breath away.