Venom 2 Quotes

Was I interrupting? I thought it was over." Rhys gave me a smile dripping with venom. He knew-through that bond, through whatever magic was between us, he'd known I was about to say no. "At least Feyre seemed to think so.

My invite must have gotten lost in the mail," she said venomously. "But I don't mind crashing this party. -Maximum Ride talking to Max II

Venom’s pupils contracted the instant before he slid his sunglasses back on. She couldn’t help it. “Why isn’t your tongue forked?” “Why can’t you fly?” A smirk. “Those things on your back aren’t accessories you know.

I keep telling myself That you’re just a girl. Another leaf blown across my path Destined to pass on And shrivel into yourself Like all the others. Yet despite my venom You refuse to wither Or fade. You remain golden throughout, And in your gaze I am left to wonder if it is me alone Who feels the fall.

I’m not even pissed at the rumormongers. I’m pissed at whoever invented the Internet and handed the assholes in the world a platform on which to spew their venom.

This was perfect. I was about a ten on the poison scale. If he needed venom, I could inject it directly into his neck.

There are other ways around it, she had added with such quiet venom. We might not be able to deal with him, but there are some friends that I made across the sea …

I know you love her. I’ve never seen you act this crazed in your life. I get that. But Nan hates her. If you love Blaire then protect her from the venom that is dripping from your sister’s fangs. Or I will.

My mother always says that love is like a snakebite, a venom slowly spreading through your veins.

I don’t know what you’re referencing, madam,” the chairman says, his voice raised over mine. “I’m talking about menstruation, sir!” I shout in return. It’s like I set the hall on fire, manifested a venomous snake from thin air, also set that snake on fire, and then threw it at the board. The men all erupt into protestations and a fair number of horrified gasps. I swear one of them actually swoons at the mention of womanly bleeding.

Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune!" I cried with all the venom of Charlton Heston. Oberon asked. "It's a Shakespearean word for whore." <"Cool word! It rhymes with trumpet. And pump it. Why didn't the Black Eyed Peas use it in their song? Aren't rappers always looking for cool new rhymes? They should kick it old school with the Bard.>

Someone should have mentioned to him that Karma was a venomous witch.

I told you not to trust a wolf,” he continued. His words dripped like honeyed venom. “Because it would only ever want to break you.” Darren let out a small, harsh laugh. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m the wolf, Ryiah. I guess what I really should have told you was to never trust a prince, but that’s not quite as memorable.

Men don’t fall in love with women like you, Blaire.” He burns me with his gaze. “They lose their fucking minds.

Who says I would have?" I knew he meant it cruelly, that it was a weak moment and all he wanted was for me to feel as much pain as he did, but there wasn't enough venom in his words for them to sting. He just wasn't capable of it.

Johanna glances over at Finnick, to be sure, then turns to me. “How’d you lose Mags?” “In the fog. Finnick had Peeta. I had Mags for a while. Then I couldn’t lift her. Finnick said he couldn’t take them both. She kissed him and walked right into the poison,” I say. “She was Finnick’s mentor, you know,” Johanna says accusingly. “No, I didn’t,” I say. “She was half his family,” she says a few moments later, but there’s less venom behind it.

My love, my darling, not a day goes by when I don’t remember,” he murmurs hoarsely.

Leaving the group, he reclined on a couch, drank morosely, and watched people. He noticed the games they played with one another. They put on masks of civility, all while spewing their venom.

Love can be many things. Cruel. Exhilarating. Deceitful. Jealous. Hateful. But at its purest form, love can be redeeming—forgiving.

I’m a survivor. I‘m strong because I’ve been weak. I have sharp edges because I’ve been broken.

And the biggest joke was that I fell in love with her—the most beautiful lie of all. Her kisses were deceit that tasted like the sweetest venom, her laugh a lure to my demise, and her body the damn devil’s playground.

She began to realize some decisions cannot be undone no matter how hard you try.

Anyway, how about some champagne?” “Blaire, champagne won’t make your problems go away.” “You’re right. However, champagne makes everything better.”      

Life becomes beautiful when we learn to appreciate what we have and be thankful for it. Life becomes beautiful when we stop coveting things we don’t have and are grateful for what we do have. Life is beautiful when we choose to make it beautiful.

There’s no room for logic when the heart is involved. To love is to lose all sense of reason.

Control. Precision. He exuded it, like the colorful stripes on a venomous snake.

Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune!" I cried with all the venom of Charlton Heston. Oberon asked. "It's a Shakespearean word for whore."

I hate you for making me love you, and I hate myself because I can’t stop.

I want to know how to live without you,” he utters angrily.

To love you is to self-destruct, Blaire, but I seem unable to stop.

Her beauty was enough to get her into most any situation she desired and her tongue—sharp and venomous—was enough to get her out again.

… Thou art a dreaming thing; A fever of thyself—think of the Earth; What bliss even in hope is there for thee? What haven? every creature hath its home; Every sole man hath days of joy and pain, Whether his labours be sublime or low— The pain alone; the joy alone; distinct: Only the dreamer venoms all his days, Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve.

I’m looking at you and it’s him I want.

Give me a thousand lives and a thousand eternities, and I would still find you and make you mine. Always.

There is no such thing as constructive criticism,” says John Gottman. “All criticism is painful.” He is correct. We never like to hear that there is something “wrong” with us, or that something needs changing, especially if this message is coming from the loved one we most depend on. Psychologist Jill Hooley’s work at Harvard measures the impact of critical, hostile comments made by loved ones and shows just how venomous disparagement by those we rely on can be. This censure may even trigger relapse of mental illness, such as depression.

I hope one day you wake up and realize that all those people and memories don’t determine who you are. You get to do that.” “You

Simple. I saw a man who wanted more.” “You’re wrong. I want everything.

Don’t ever let the demons of your past tarnish your present.

He’d been infected with vampire venom, and she’d been infected with stupidity.

But I would let you suck me dry, little viper—I’d drink poison from your mouth, lick venom from your tongue.

Her kisses were deceit that tasted like the sweetest venom,

There are some who say that Time is itself a hammer; that each slow second marks another tap that makes big rocks into little rocks, waterfalls into canyons, cliffs into beaches. There are some who say that Time is instead a blade. They see the dance of its razored tip, poised like a venomous snake, forever ready to slay faster than the eye can see. And there are some who say that Time is both hammer and blade. They say the hammer is a sculptor's mallet, and the blade is a sculptor's chisel: that each stroke is a refinement, a perfecting, a discovery of truth and beauty within what would otherwise be blank and lifeless stone. And I name this saying wisdom.

But then again love is a dirty, bloody, messy game. Love doesn’t give a fuck about rules or honesty. And as much as love can make one feel alive and want to change for the better, it can also kill you and, with it, your dreams. All in the blink of an eye.

I’m jealous of every man who looks at you. I’m jealous of every man who’s touched you before me. I want you to be mine and only mine.” He

I will forget you, Blaire. I will. I will conquer my love for you even if it costs me my own soul.

Why is it every time I think I’m moving on and things seem to be going well, you come back into my life and fuck with everything? Reminding me of what I can’t have?

We all believe we are the center of the universe, but we forget we are merely specks among the stars. Moving through the streams of possible futures, sometimes colliding.

She was soothing chaos. Like that first taste of anesthesia, before you lost your senses.  Or the venom that numbed you before it killed you. I really couldn’t decide which.   The verdict was definitely still out on that.

As we all know, the spine ridges of adult cats are highly poisonous. If you are coming to see a kitten that you have adopted, it is important that you check for the location and severity of the spine ridge before attempting any petting. Also, keep your hands away from their mouths. A few of them have developed their venom sacks. We lost two cat adopters already this month, so...let's just be careful people.

I saw you and thought to myself, ‘If there’s a God, please let me make love to her at least once before I die.

Because the world is unkind, and eventually, it will swallow you whole, turning your hopes into shattered dreams, and your dreams into nightmares.

if my story ends with no knight in shining armor in sight, I’m okay with it because I don’t need one to save me. I have myself. And that’s good enough for me.  

She was all venom and claws now.

The terror is strong because we don't act like the riot." Pigpen spits likes he's a viper showing his fangs full of venom. "My old man--he's Riot.

But the label thing is just part of being human, right? We like to categorize people, so everyone gets labels slapped on them whether they're right or not." I'd never thought about it that way before, but it was true. We even label ourselves; Bad at math. Flirt. Clueless. "They're never right," Ian said, a hint of venom in his voice. "Labels aren't big enough for people. And once you try to categorize someone, you stop looking for who they actually are.

Sometimes people walk out of your life never to return, and all you have left are bitter memories and what ifs. And though you try to move on and forget them, they become regrets that cut deeper than the sharpest knife, slashing you over and over again.

He’s danger inviting you to play with him as he taunts you with tempting smile. And you know you will be hurt for having done so, but you won’t be sorry – no, never sorry. He looks like a man who was born to rule and fuck.

Living life as only half humans until one day we meet a woman who completes us, who gives meaning to our pathetic existence and makes it worthwhile, enriching it with her laugh, with her smell, and the taste of her body. Days

When Evangeline had been infected with vampire venom, he had been there to make sure she didn’t feed on anyone and complete the transformation into a vampire. She’d never thanked him because she still felt embarrassed about the way they’d been tangled together that night. And she had no idea what to think of the way Chaos had smoothed her slip down before leaving. He was a monster for sure, but it seemed he was also a gentleman. A gentleman monster.

Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside her for too long. "Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed." A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. "What does my going to the village have to do with us?" "I know there are women--" He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. "Who put such nonsense in your head?" She didn't say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tears constricting it. "Finlay," he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. " 'Tis no secret that he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom." "It's not too difficult to believe. You are a man." "Aye," he said softly. "But I've not had another woman, Elizabeth." Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe ... He cradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand. "How can I when I want someone else?" He hasn't been with a woman ... he wants me.

He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.” She

She broke my heart.

I can feel it. My heart once weakened by my love for her has finally grown quiet.

you must know that relationships aren’t cut and dry. There’s so much beauty in a marriage, but there can also be so much pain.

There’s so much that has happened between us. Maybe we’ll be able to let it go and put it behind us, maybe we won’t. But right now he’s here with me. And that’s all that matters.

For a brief moment, a veil is removed from Lawrence’s eyes and I am able to see a sliver of his soul – beautiful yet full of naked yearning and pain that it takes my breath away.

I knew I would love her for the rest of my life. Emilia was my first love. My only love. She said love was fatal. She wasn’t lying. Our love was a disaster. But never experiencing a love like ours would have been a tragedy. Our love was the purest venom. It seeped through my veins and embedded deep within my soul. Though it nearly killed me, I had to let her go.

I once yearned for love like everyone else, but it was the lack of love that made me realize that, by opening my heart to people, I was allowing them to weaken me. I was allowing them to take parts of me until all that was left was a girl with nothing else to give, with nothing inside of her but broken dreams.

it seems like we all knew that it was a borrowed moment, a temporary delight—a daydream that would eventually come to an end. I think that’s when I learned that good things never last. So, in silent agreement, we laughed harder, we held each other closer, and we pretended to be the perfect family for a little longer.

She's my soulmate. My better half. My best friend...and the only reason I'm wasting my valuable time to warn you.” My voice was laced with venom. “I don't think you deserve the warning I’m about to give you, but your daughter is a better person than I am.

She pulled off her blouse and threw it at him, her hands shaking badly. She needed to shock him into silence, because she couldn’t handle much more of his venom, plus she was willing to do anything to get him, to make him want her as much as she wanted him, and if it meant stripping down to nothing then she’d do it, because he was already stripping her nerves raw." (Beth with Dante).

Such incidents usually move me to try to find relief in the building of a maxim. It is a good way, because if you have luck you can get the venom out of yourself and into the maxim; then comfort and a healed spirit follow. Maxims are not easy to make; they do not come in right shape at the first call; they are creatures of evolution, of development; you have to try several plans before you get one that suits you, or even comes fairly near to suiting you.

I hope that my feet will carry me to a place where binding memories don't exist, where I can be free of my past. But then again, running away, or wanting to escape, won't solve a thing. It's not my past that holds me prisoner. It's my fucking heart.

Bring her back to me, Blaire.” “She doesn’t exist. That girl was just an illusion.” “No, she isn’t. She’s here, in my arms, pretending to be someone else, letting bullshit get to her.” He tightens his hold on me. “My beautiful, wild thing. They are dust at your feet. They can’t touch you. Don’t let them.” Drawing back slightly, he smiles. “I won’t let them.

I find the blonde woman, her hair up in a perfect ballerina bun, or whatever the fuck those are called,

No. I’m here, after all. Wanting you more than ever and it’s fucking killing me.” He tightens his grip. “I hate you for making me love you, and I hate myself because I can’t stop.

Magic does not belong to Shénnóng. It is not unique to one god or the other. Those are human terms, human rules. All magic is the same. It is only the vessel that shapes it.

Arrested by a sudden thought. "Christopher, do you have a map of London?" "I am a scientist," said Christopher, not a geographer! I don't have a map of London. I do have a beaker of Raum venom," he added, "but it's in my shoe, and will be difficult to reach." "Does anyone have questions about that?" James said, glancing around. "No? Good. All right, a map-

She once was heaven and now she's the hell I'm burning in.

Kitty puke on cookie sheets!” The

Good girl? Good girls get run over in life; you need to be a bit of a badass to make it in this world.

That isn’t hard, Blaire. Not when anything is better than you.” Our

Never forget, she told us. The world began with a dream. Our lives are the same. Keep dreaming, my daughters. The world is greater than you know.

You only walked away from that attack because I took the venom into my body through that magical bond.

huffed out. “Tell me the truth. Did you actually invite her over?” Her voice held a tinge of the venom that had done in Cleopatra, so not her. “No! Christ almighty! Were you spying on me?” “I wouldn’t have

Hell,huh? Well,hopefully we'll be able to disprove that theory soon.Besides, if it were hell,would I be here with you?" "I don't know,if hell called for an eternity of annoyance instead of torment,maybe." "I like you more every day.But neither of us qualifies for hell. We're victims." He smiled, the last word laced with venom. "And if we're occasionally wicked,well, certainly we'd be justified." i wondered if he was trying to comfort me about Vivian,but he stared into the distance as though anticipating future wickedness. What did he want me to light on fire this time? I didn't think I was up for more destruction.

You don't know shit," Ronan said. There was the very briefest of pauses. It was true that this sort of venom was not unusual from Ronan. But it had been a very long while since it had been used so forcefully on Blue. She drew herself up, everything prickling. Then, Gansey said, very slowly, "Ronan, you're never going to talk to Jane like that again." Both Adam and Blue stared at Gansey, who concentrated his gaze on his napkin. It wasn't what he said but how he looked at no one when he said it that made the moment strange. Blue, feeling oddly warm around the cheeks, told Gansey, "I don't need you to stand up for me. Don't you" - this was directed at Ronan - "think I'll let you talk to me like that. Especially not just because you're mad I'm right." As she whirled towards the front, she heard Adam say, "You're such a dick," and Noah laugh.

You will come upon those who exude life, who burn bright. In their company, how are you to be? Proud to name them friend? Pleased to bask in their fire? Or, in the name of need, will you simply devour all that they offer, like a force of darkness swallowing light, warmth, life itself? Will you make yourself a rocky island, black and gnarled, a place of cold caves and littered bones? The bright waves do not soothe your shores, but crash instead, explode in a fury of foam and spray. And you drink in every swirl, sucked down into your caves, your bottomless caverns. ‘I do not describe a transitory mood. Not a temporary disposition, brought on by external woes. What I describe, in fashioning this island soul, so bleak and forbidding, is a place made too precious to be surrendered, too stolid to be dismantled. This island I give you, this soul in particular, is a fortress of need, a maw that knows only how to ease its eternal hunger. Within its twisted self, no true friend is acknowledged and no love is honest in its exchange. The self stands alone, inviolate as a god, but a besieged god … forever besieged.’ Gothos leaned forward, studied Arathan with glittering eyes. ‘Oddly, those who burn bright are often drawn to such islands, such souls. As friends. As lovers. They imagine they can offer salvation, a sharing of warmth, of love, even. And in contrast, they see in themselves something to offer their forlorn companion, who huddles and hides, who gives occasion to rail and loose venom. The life within them feels so vast! So welcoming! Surely there is enough to share! And so, by giving – and giving – they are themselves appeased, and made to feel worthwhile. For a time. ‘But this is no healthy exchange, though it might at first seem so – after all, the act of giving will itself yield a kind of euphoria, a drunkenness of generosity, not to mention the salve of protectiveness, of paternal regard.’ Gothos leaned back again, drank more from the cup in his hands, and closed his eyes. ‘The island is unchanging. Bones and corpses lie upon its wrack on all sides.’ Arathan

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly that the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are more wonderous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

So if my story ends with no knight in shining armor in sight, I’m okay with it because I don’t need one to save me. I have myself. And that’s good enough for me.

The bond of family is a kind of magic all its own.

Only you … only you…,” he wheezes. “Only you would call the god of nightmares … a scheming rat.

Leonie Barrow's voice was quiet but clear. With Marechal's eyes on her, she said, "Cabal is more dangerous then you can believe, Count. Both the angels and the devils fear him. He's a monster, but an evenhanded one. I know he is capable of the most appalling acts of evil." Her glance moved to Cabal, who was listening dispassionately. "I believe he is also capable of great good. But to predict which he will do next isn't easy or safe." Marechal grimaced. "What is your association with this man? Public relations or something?" "I loathe him," she said with sudden venom. The, more quietly, "And I admire him. You're right; he didn't have to come back. He's taken a big risk, but I know he's taken bigger. I can't tell you whether he's a monster or playing the hero right now, but I know one thing. You made the biggest mistake of your life when you made an enemy of him.

Using the dagger next to him on the nightstand, Dante scored a fresh line on his wrist. He pressed the bleeding cut to Tess’s lips, waiting to feel her respond, wanting to curse to the rafters when her mouth remained unmoving, his blood dripping down, useless, onto her chin. “Come on, angel. Drink for me.” He stroked her cool cheek, brushed a tangle of her honey-blond hair from her forehead. “Please live, Tess . . . drink, and live.” A throat cleared awkwardly from the area near the bedroom doorjamb. “I’m sorry, the uh . . . the door was open.” Chase. Just fucking great. Dante couldn’t think of anyone he’d like to see less right now. He was too entrenched in what he was doing—in what he was feeling—to deal with another interruption, particularly one coming from the Darkhaven agent. He’d hoped the bastard was already long gone from the compound, back to where he came from—preferably with one of Lucan’s size-fourteens planted all the way up his ass. Then again, maybe Lucan was saving the privilege for Dante instead. “Get out,” he growled. “Is she drinking at all?” Dante scoffed, low under his breath. “What part of ‘get out’ did you fail to understand, Harvard? I don’t need an audience right now, and I sure as hell don’t need any more of your bullshit.” He pressed his wrist to Tess’s lips again, parting them with the fingers of his blood by mild force. It wasn’t happening. Dante’s eyes stung as he stared down at her. He felt wetness streaking his cheeks. Tasted the salt of tears gathering at the corner of his mouth. “Shit,” he muttered, wiping his face into his shoulder in a strange mix of confusion and despair. He heard footsteps coming up near the bed. Felt the air around him stir as Chase reached out his hand. “It might work much better if you tilt her head, like th—” “Don’t . . . touch her.” The words came out in a voice Dante hardly recognized as his own, it was so full of venom and deadly warning. He swiveled his head around and met the agent’s eyes, his vision burning and sharp, his fangs having stretched long in an instant. The protective urge boiling through him was fierce, utterly lethal, and Chase evidently understood at once.

Leta walked to the door and opened it with a ready smile for Colby Lane. And found herself looking straight into the eye of a man she hadn’t seen face-to-face in thirty-six years. Matt Holden matched her face against his memories of a young, slight, beautiful woman whose eyes loved him every time they looked at him. His heart spun like a cartwheel in his chest. “Cecily said it was Colby,” Leta said unsteadily. “Strange. She phoned me and asked if I was free this evening.” His broad shoulders shrugged and he smiled faintly. “I’m free every evening.” “That doesn’t sound like the life of a playboy widower,” Leta said caustically. “My wife was a vampire,” he said. “She sucked me dry of life and hope. Her drinking wore me down. Her death was a relief for both of us. Do I get to come in?” he added, glancing down the hall. “I’m going to collect dust if I stand out here much longer, and I’m hungry. A sack of McDonald’s hamburgers and fries doesn’t do a lot for me.” “I hear it’s a presidential favorite,” Cecily mused, joining them. “Come in, Senator Holden.” “It was Matt before,” he pointed out. “Or are you trying to butter me up for a bigger donation to the museum?” She shrugged. “Pick a reason.” He looked at Leta, who was uncomfortable. “Well, at least you can’t hang up on me here. You’ll be glad to know that our son isn’t speaking to me. He isn’t speaking to you, either, or so he said,” he added. “I suppose he won’t talk to you?” he added to Cecily. “He said goodbye very finally, after telling me that I was an idiot to think he’d change his mind and want to marry me just because he turned out to have mixed blood,” she said, not relating the shocking intimacy that had prefaced his remarks. “I’ll punch him for that,” Matt said darkly. “Ex-special forces,” Leta spoke up with a faint attempt at humor, nodding toward Matt. “He was in uniform when we went on our first date.” “You wore a white cotton dress with a tiered skirt,” he recalled, “and let your hair down. Hair…” He turned back to Cecily and grimaced. “Good God, what did you do that for?” “Tate likes long hair, that’s what I did it for,” she said, venom in her whole look. “I can’t wait for him to see it, even if I have to settle for sending him a photo!” “I hope you never get mad at me,” Matt said. “Fat chance.

You say respect my elders, but what you mean is respecting my betters, is that not right? Are you so full of your own arrogance that you need me to bow and kowtow to you like some throwback fledgling? Or perhaps we should reinstate the role of concubines in our society. Then you may have the pleasure of claiming me and forcing me to fall to my knees, bowing low in respect of your masculine eminence!” Gideon watched as she did just that, her gown billowing around her as she gracefully kneeled before him, so close to him that her knees touched the tips of his boots. She swept her hands to her sides, bowing her head until her forehead brushed the leather, her hair spilling like reams of heavy silk around his ankles. The Ancient found himself unusually speechless, the strangest sensation creeping through him as he looked down at the exposed nape of her neck, the elegant line of her back. Unable to curb the impulse, Gideon lowered himself into a crouch, reaching beneath the cloak of coffee-colored hair to touch her flushed cheek. The heat of her anger radiated against his touch and he recognized it long before she turned her face up to him. “Does this satisfy you, my lord Gideon?” she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing like flinted steel and hard jade. Gideon found himself searching her face intently, his eyes roaming over the high, aristocratic curves of her cheekbones, the amazingly full sculpture of her lips, the wide, accusing eyes that lay behind extraordinarily thick lashes. He cupped her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, his fingertips fanning softly over her angrily flushed cheek. “You do enjoy mocking me,” he murmured softly to her, the breath of his words close enough to skim across her face. “No more than you seem to enjoy condescending to me,” she replied, her clipped words coming out on quick, heated breaths. Gideon absorbed this latest venom with a blink of lengthy lashes. They kept their gazes locked, each seemingly waiting for the other to look away. “You have never forgiven me,” he said suddenly, softly. “Forgiven you?” She laughed bitterly. “Gideon, you are not important enough to earn my forgiveness.” “Is your ego so fragile, Legna, that a small slight to it is irreparable?” “Stop talking to me as if I were a temperamental child!” Legna hissed, moving to jerk her head back but finding his grip quite secure. “There was nothing slight about the way you treated me. I will never forget it, and I most certainly will never forget it!

Muscles contract somewhere above the roof of my mouth, pumping venom into her bloodstream. Kelly cries out, a gasp of pain that turns suddenly to moans of euphoria as the carotids rush the narcotic serum directly to her brain. Her knees buckle, and I reach down to steady her — one arm over her breasts, the other around her waist as I hold her tightly to myself. Then the blood begins to flow, seeping out of the wounds I have made, and I put my lips to her skin and drink. There are no words adequate to describe it. My mind explodes with a wash of light and color, swirling and dancing before my eyes. Then the Sharing truly begins, and I can see inside her: images of her memories, her thoughts, her hopes and dreams, the way she remembers her past and how she imagines her future. Her joys; her grief; that which she loves and that she despises, what stirs her fire and chills her bones. And through it all, I feel the touch of her presence, and I know that she sees the same things inside of me. Blood is more than matter, more than plasma and hemoglobin. Blood is life, the river on which the spirit flows. And as Kelly's blood flows into me, it carries her life with it, until my soul entwines with hers. She has given a part of herself to me, and from this day forth we are bound to each other.

I’m Ghost 1 on the comms. Garcia is 2, Horn is 3, Fitz is 4, Rico is 5, and Tank is 6. When we land, we stay in close combat intervals. Fitz has point, Tank you’re on rear guard. Keep low to the ground. You spot anything, you signal it. And keep your distance. The juveniles can shoot their venom up to thirty feet. You are not to engage unless it’s a last resort. If you see them, we use our R49 grenades first. Complete radio discipline as soon as our boots hit dirt unless you’re about to get your arms ripped off. Understood?” Beckham spoke in a calm yet authoritative voice. It was a tone everyone respected. The members of Team Ghost all dipped their helmets. Apollo even wagged his tail.

Hastings sat down and braced his arm along the back of the chaise, quite effectively letting it be known he did not want anyone else to join them. “You look frustrated, Miss Fitzhugh.” He lowered his voice. “Has your bed been empty of late?” He knew very well she’d been watched more closely than prices on the stock exchange. She couldn’t smuggle a hamster into her bed, let alone a man. “You look anemic, Hastings,” she said. “Have you been leaving the belles of England breathlessly unsatisfied again?” He grinned. “Ah, so you know what it is like to be breathlessly unsatisfied. I expected as little from Andrew Martin.” Her tone was pointed. “As little as you expect from yourself, no doubt.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Miss Fitzhugh, you disparage me so, when I’ve only ever sung your praises.” “Well, we all do what we must,” she said with sweet venom. He didn’t reply—not in words, at least.

Silenus hears a voice above the screams and is amazed to find that both the screams and the voice are his: … Thou art a dreaming thing; A fever of thyself—think of the Earth; What bliss even in hope is there for thee? What haven? every creature hath its home; Every sole man hath days of joy and pain, Whether his labours be sublime or low— The pain alone; the joy alone; distinct: Only the dreamer venoms all his days, Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve. He knows the verse, not his, John Keats’s, and feels the words further structuring the seeming chaos of pain around him. Silenus understands that the pain has been with him since birth—the universe’s gift to a poet. It is a physical reflection of the pain he has felt and futilely tried to set to verse, to pin down with prose, all those useless years of life. It is worse than pain; it is unhappiness because the universe offers pain to all. Only the dreamer venoms all his days, Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve!