Vow Of Hell Quotes

It just goes to show you: you can put nine insane miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he'll haunt you.

Lale makes a vow to himself: I will live to leave this place. I will walk out a free man. If there is a hell, I will see these murderers burn in it.

I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.” I’d set the world on fire, including myself, if it meant saving her.

And what tools did Alex have? A little magic. A talent for misfortune. The ability to take a beating. It would have to be enough. 'This is my home,' she vowed, and nothing will take it from me.

I left that church with rich and royal hatred of the priest as a person, and a loathing for the church as an institution, and I vowed that I would never go inside a church again. [Eugene V. Debs, describing his teenage reaction to a hellfire lecture by a priest]

I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want. But I'm also not going to take a vow of chastity and pine away for you, or whatever the hell it is that men do in romance novels these days. I have needs. I'd rather satisfy them with you, but if you don't want me I suppose I'll just have to find someone else. Might take me a while, but I'll make do. I always have before.

Oddly, she felt safe... as if the patient would protect her because of the vow he'd given her, and Red Sox would do the same because of his bond with the patient. Where the hell was the logic in that, she wondered. Gimme an S! A T! An O! A C! Followed by a K-H-O-L-M! What's it spell? HEAD FUCK. The patient leaned down to her ear. "I can't see you as the cheerleader type. But you're right, we both would slaughter anything that so much as startled you.

It just goes to show you: you can put nine thousand miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he'll haunt you.

In middle school I played against you once. And lost. I was so frustrated that I continued practicing even after I retired... And then when I entered high school, hell yeah, I laughed. The guy I vowed to defeat no matter what was standing right in front of me as one of my own teammates. But now it's pointless to hold a grudge. Rather, I wanted to make you recognize me. (Takao Kazunari)

You are fearless. You are strong. You do not cower in the faces of gods nor kings. You are fated for greater battles than this, so you do whatever it takes, and you fight like hell.” “I will,” I vowed. “Remember who you are, Diem Bellator.” He clasped the medallion at my neck. “But remember you are a phoenix, too. We do not fear the flames, for the hotter we burn, the higher we fly.

To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation

I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said to them. “We were not there,” Ser Gerold answered. “Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Ser Oswell. “When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.” “Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.” “I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege,” Ned told them, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.” “Our knees do not bend easily,” said Ser Arthur Dayne. “Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.” “Ser Willem is a good man and true,” said Ser Oswell. “But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.” “Then or now,” said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm. “We swore a vow,” explained old Ser Gerold. Ned’s wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three. “And now it begins,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light. “No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.

I didn’t know I was swearing fealty to a lunatic.’ For a moment Artt can’t catch his breath. ‘I see now you won’t rest till you’ve made this island a hell on earth,’ Cormac says. ‘I release myself from my vows.

Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed offerings to idols, swore oaths that the killer of souls might come to their aid and save the people. That was their way, their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts they remembered hell.

The important things in life always happened by accident. At fifteen she didn’t know much, in fact, with each passing year she was a lot less clear about most things. But this much she did know. You could worry yourself sick trying to be a better person, spend a thousand sleepless nights figuring out how to live clean and decent and honest, you could make a plan and bolt it in place, kneel by your bed every night and swear to God you’d stick to it, hell, you could go to church and promise properly. You could cross your heart seven times with your eyes tight shut, cut your thumb and squeeze it and pen solemn vows on a rock with your own blood then throw it in the river at the stroke of midnight. And then, out of the black beyond, like a hawk on a rat, some nameless catastrophe would swoop into your life and turn everything upside down and inside out forever.

My Angel, My greatest hope is that you never have to read this. Vee knows to give you this letter only if my feather is burned and I’m chained in hell or if Blakely develops a devilcraft prototype strong enough to kill me. When war between our races ignites, I don’t know what will become of our future. When I think about you and our plans. I feel a desperate aching. Never have I wanted things to turn out right as as I do now. Before I leave this world, I need to make certain you know that all my love belongs to you. You are the same to me now as you were before you swore the Changeover Vow. You are mine. Always. I love the strength, courage, and gentleness of your soul. I love your body too. How could someone so sexy and perfect be mine? With you I have purpose-someone to love, cherish and protect. There are secrets in my past that weigh on your mind. You've trusted me enough not to ask about them, and it's your faith that has made me a better man. I don’t want to leave you with anything hidden between us. I told you I was banished from heaven for falling in love with a human girl. The I way I explained it, I risked everything to be with her. I said those words because they simplified my motivations. But they weren't the truth. The truth is I had become disenchanted with the archangels’s shifting goals and wanted to push back against them and their rules. That girl was an excuse to let go of an old way of living and accept a new journey that would eventually lead me to you. I believe in destiny, Angel. I believe every choice I've made has brought me closer to you. I looked for you for a very long time. I may have fallen from heaven but I fell for you. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you win this war. Nephilim will come out on top. You’ll fulfill your vow to the Black Hand and be safe. This is my priority even if the cost is my life. I suspect this will make you angry. It may be hard to forgive me. I promised that we would be together at the end of this and you may resent me for the breaking that vow. I want you to know I did everything to keep my word. As I write this I am going over ever possibility that will see us through this. I hope I find a way. But if this choice I have to make comes down to your or me, I choose you. I always have. All my love, Patch

It just goes to show you: you can put nine thousand miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he’ll haunt you.

He knew that if Michelle entered into the walls of the Vatican, she’d corrupt every single clergyman within, causing them to forsake their vows in trade for a few moments with her. With one glance men would happily follow her to the bowels of hell and swim across the lake of fire to get to her.

Qhuinn climaxed on his next swallow, the orgasm shooting out of him before he could think of any kind of boring and unattractive distraction, the pleasure cresting with such power, he sagged in his own skin. Blay's chuckle was erotic as hell. Whatever, payback was going to be a bitch, Qhuinn vowed to himself.

LOVE Love is contraband in Hell, cause love is an acid that eats away bars. But you, me, and tomorrow hold hands and make vows that struggle will multiply. The hacksaw has two blades. The shotgun has two barrels. We are pregnant with freedom. We are a conspiracy.

We, as licensed protectors of the species and members in good standing of the master-class of the race, by the power invested in us by those who wish to survive and reproduce, vow to enforce the fiction that life is worth having and worth living come hell or irreparable brain damage.

You already know I love you,” Park said, shaking his head impatiently. “So today I promise, I vow that I know you love me, too. I never doubt it. How could I when I feel it all the time? I feel it when you make me laugh and then watch with that pleased little look on your face. I feel it when you touch me like I’m special and when you can’t touch me anymore because you’re over-full of sensations, but let me stay by you anyway. I feel so safe in loving you, because I know you love me, too. And it’s the greatest gift of my life.” “You love me,” Cooper said. “Obviously.” And it was, wasn’t it? Park pulled Cooper closer, arms around his waist. “So if you’re the Moon, fine. I’m the sky. If you’re a human, I’m your wolf. If you’re a prickly, sarcastic, awkward, independent, randy-as-hell, secretly good-hearted porcupine, well, then I’m Oliver Park.” “I can’t believe I’m being slandered in my own vows.” “Whatever happens next, whoever we are or whoever they think we are, it doesn’t matter. Because the way we love is already the stuff of legends.” Cooper couldn’t help smiling. “Well. I guess if you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like such a bad life,” he said, leaning in to kiss him, and felt Park’s body sigh into his like it was coming home. No, not a bad life at all.

But when the springtime turns to dust (A thousand shades of blood and rust) And everything is ash and stone (Contagion writ in blood and bone) Then what exists to have and hold? (What story, then, has not been told?) Let this be my sacred vow (O Mother Mary hear me now): I will not fail, I will not fall (Though Heaven, Hell and Chaos call). We are the children of the Risen. This world our home, this prayer our prison.

Dearly weird and motley beings, we're gathered here today for . . . yada, yada, yada. Seth say something profound and sweet to Lydia." Savitar "My Lydia is like a star rising to guide me through the darkest night." Seth "Look, kid, I can say the words for you, but I think she'd rather hear them from your lips. Ignore the assholes in the chairs. If one of them laughs, I'll gut him for you." Savitar Lydia laid her hand against his cheek and kissed his lips. "Hey, hey, hey!" Savitar snapped. "You're jumping ahead, woman. It's your turn to make a vow to him." "Love is paitent. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It does not proud. It is not rude. It is not self seeking. It is not easily angered> It keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, it always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." Lydia "Yeah, okay,beings . . . now you ." Savitar "Alright then, to the handful here, let me present Mr. and Mrs. Demigod jackal beings." Savitar "You know this would be much easier if some of us had last names." Savitar to Seth and Lydia "Would you stop ruining this for them?" Ma'at "I'm not ruining it, Mennie, I'm making it memorable," Savitar

It’s hard to believe we’re worthy of affection, that another person can see past the flaws we magnify in our minds and love us regardless

he would never let her go. He would give her nothing less than forever and hell itself could not prevent him from keeping his vow.

To be fair he is Lord Byron," Jane said. "I don't know many people who haven't slept with him at one time or another." -- Jane Fairfax

I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.

Pigeon?” “Yeah?” A few moments passed, and then he sighed. “Nothing.” Travis hesitated. “I can’t shake this feeling,” he said under his breath. “What do you mean? Like a bad feeling?” I said, suddenly nervous. He turned to me with concern in his eyes, “I have this crazy feeling that once we get home, I’m going to wake up. Like none of this was real.” I slid my arms around his waist, running my hands up the lean muscles of his back. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He looked down to his wrist, and then glanced to the thick silver band on his left finger. “I just can’t shake the feeling that the bubble’s going to burst, and I’m going to be lying in my bed alone, wishing you were there with me.” “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Trav! I’ve dumped someone for you—twice—I’ve picked up and went to Vegas with you—twice—I’ve literally gone through hell and back, married you and branded myself with your name. I’m running out of ideas to prove to you that I’m yours.” A small smile graced his lips. “I love it when you say that.” “That I’m yours?” I asked. I leaned up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. “I. Am. Yours. Mrs. Travis Maddox, forever and always.” His small smile faded as he looked at the boarding gate and then down to me. “I’m gonna fuck it up, Pigeon. You’re gonna get sick of my shit.” I laughed. “I’m sick of your shit, now. I still married you.” “I thought once we got married, that I’d feel a little more reassured about losing you. But I feel like if I get on that plane….” “Travis? I love you. Let’s go home.” His eyebrows pulled in. “You won’t leave me, right? Even when I’m a pain in the ass?” “I vowed in front of God…and Elvis…that I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” His frown lightened a bit. “This is forever?” One corner of my mouth turned up. “Would it make you feel better if we made a wager?” “What kind of husband would I be if I bet against my own marriage?” I smiled. “The stupid kind. Didn’t you listen to your dad when he told you not to bet against me?” He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re that sure, huh? You’d bet on it?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. “I’d bet my first born. That’s how sure I am.” And then the peace returned. “You can’t be that sure,” he said, the anxiousness absent from his voice. I raised an eyebrow, and my mouth pulled to one side. “Wanna bet?

From that day, I vowed never to squander a moment's care over the good opinion of others. May they rot in hell. You have heard of my abstemiousness in matters of food and sex. Here is why: I punished myself. If I caught my thoughts straying to another's opinion of me, I sent myself to bed without supper. As for women, I likewise permitted myself none. I missed no few meals, and no small pleasure, before I brought this vice under control.

For the first time ever, someone was sharing in this pain with me. A virtual stranger. And I didn’t know what the hell to do with how damn good that felt. I’d vowed to never let anyone in. I didn’t understand why I’d broken that vow with her.

There is no way to overpower, outrun, or outsmart the mad dog of hopelessness because it's simply more vicious than I. The only thing to do is let it attack, go limp in its jaws, and be shaken. But I notice one promising pattern. If I play dead, it will eventually let me go. I start thinking of the dog of hopelessness as an obstacle that will reappear on every curve of the spiral staircase. He'll always be there waiting and snarling, but with every go-round, I'll be more confident and less fearful. Eventually, I'll learn the tricks that will allow me to breeze right past him. But the mad dog of hopelessness will always be there. My spiral staircase of progress means that my pain will be both behind me and in front of me, every damn day. I'll never be "over it," but I vow to be stronger each time I face it. Maybe the pain won't change, but I will. I keep climbing.

I don’t know any other couple who has been to hell and back more than the two of us. I feel like everything we’ve been through has only made us stronger. We’ve had to learn to work together. To be a team. To support each other and stand by each other.

O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment. If you were civil, and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals, and love Hermia; And now both rivals, to mock Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes With your derision! None of noble sort Would so offend a virgin, and extort A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.

Give the wilding an axe, why not?" He pointed out Mormont's weapon, a short-hafted battle-axe with gold scrollwork inlaid on the black steel blade. "He'll give it back, I vow. Buried in the Old Bear's skull, like as not. why not give him all our axes, and our swords as well? I mislike the way the clank and rattle as we ride. We'd travel faster without them, straight to hell's door. Does it rain in hell, I wonder? Perhaps Craster would like a nice hat instead." Jon smiled. "He wants an axe. And wine as well." "See, the Old Bear's clever. If we get the wildling well and truly drunk, perhaps he'll only cut off an ear when he tries to slay us with that axe. I have two ears but only one head.

Just don't fall in love with a guy before you know anything about him. Talk to his friends. Find out what you can about his family life. If he won't share his life with you before you marry, there's no reason to think he'll share it with you after the vows tie you to him." Sharon

What would you have me do? A knight doesn’t look for a princess among the garbage.” “My Sam had no use for me when he first met me.” That Maddie couldn’t believe. “You are Sam’s princess in the tower.” “I was Sam’s pain in the—” Bella smiled and tapped her behind, leaving the word unsaid.

According to Keltar legend, each Druid born into the clan was destined for a soul mate, a perfect match in heart and mind, as well as body, coming together with an explosive, incendiary passion that could not be denied. If the Keltar male exchanged the sacred Druid binding vows with his true love, and his mate willingly returned them, they could bind their souls together for all eternity, in this life and forever beyond. The vows linked them inextricably. ’Twas said if a Keltar gave the vows and they were not returned, he would be forever incomplete, missing a part of his heart, aching for the love of a woman he could never have, eternally bound to her, through this life and all his future existence, whether in the cycle of rebirth, heaven, hell, or even an eternal Unseelie prison. If aught must be lost . . . the legendary vows began, ’twill be my life for yours. . . .

Hastings is going to go to a half-wit,” the duke moaned. “All those years of praying for an heir, and now it’s all for ruin. I should have let the title go to my cousin.” He turned back to his son, who was sniffling and wiping his eyes, trying to appear strong for his father. “I can’t even look at him,” he gasped. “I can’t even bear to look at him.” And with that, the duke stalked out of the room. Nurse Hopkins hugged the boy close. “You’re not an idiot,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re the smartest little boy I know. And if anyone can learn to talk properly, I know it’s you.” Simon turned into her warm embrace and sobbed. “We’ll show him,” Nurse vowed. “He’ll eat his words if it’s the last thing I do.

This is the last time we run, lass, I swear it,” he vowed hoarsely, grabbing her hand. “But this time, we have to run like hell.” - Tadhg to his Maggie

I would do everything, risk everything to save him. If God hindered me in any way then I vowed that I would die with him and to hell with God.

I know he thinks he’s looking at his wife, and not me, but how lucky can a woman be to have a man look at her that way? Like he’ll destroy the world as long as she stays safe?

With any luck, he’ll be the one begging. Preferably on his knees. 

Ryder’s mouth pulled up in one corner. “That depends on whether we can agree to apply the Vegas rule.” Vegas? Hell, yes. “Yes. I solemnly vow this is Vegas.

Years later Eli will tell me that he fell in love with me right then, and in this movie-like memory I always see it—how we can’t quite break eye contact, the flush along the shell of his ear when I sit next to him on the couch minutes later, the way his eyes linger on me when Adam and I bicker over control of the TV, the steady bounce of his knee. The beautiful, shy smile he gives me over the pizza we have for dinner later. He’ll hold on to it for years, but eventually that spark will become a wildfire. And then we’ll burn it all down.

I don't believe in life after death. (...) The Lords have shown me that darkness exists. That you don't have to die in order to burn. And then you came along (...) I can see you, touch you, and kiss you (...). I can love you (...) You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven (...) I made a vow to protect you, and I'll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.

The wolf howled under the leaves As he spat out the bright feathers Of his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself. Lettuce and fruit Wait only to be picked; But the spider in the hedge Eats only violets. Let me sleep! Let me boil On the altars of Solomon. The broth runs over the rust, And flows into the Kidron. ——— At last– O happiness, O reason– I removed from the sky the blue that is black, and I lived, a glitter of gold in the light of nature. From joy I took an expression as clownish and distracted as possible: It is found again! What? Eternity. It is the sea merged With the sun. My eternal soul, Observe your vow In spite of the night And the day on fire. So you free yourself From human approbation, From common aspirations! You fly with . . . − Never any hope. Nul orietur. Science and patience, The torment is certain. No more tomorrow, Embers of satin, Your ardour Is your duty. It is found again! − What? − Eternity. It is the sea merged With the sun.

It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man: drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy purse,—nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration;—put but money in thy purse.—These Moors are changeable in their wills:—fill thy purse with money: the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse.—If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst; if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.

But I knew Charlie. I loved her — truly loved her — not for who she used to be or whatever fantasy Reese had of her in his head. I’d seen her sick. I’d danced with her on her best days and helped her stand on the days she couldn’t bear the thought of it. I’d built a home with her, built a life with her, and neither hell nor high water could keep me from keeping the vows I’d made to her the day we were married.

It’ll be a cold day in hell if I ever sleep with you again, Zane Windsor.” I bridge the remaining distance between us and place my index finger underneath her chin. “It does seem rather chilly today, doesn’t it?

FatherMichael has entered the room Wildflower: Ah don’t tell me you’re through a divorce yourself Father? SureOne: Don’t be silly Wildflower, have a bit of respect! He’s here for the ceremony. Wildflower: I know that. I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere. FatherMichael: So have the loving couple arrived yet? SureOne: No but it’s customary for the bride to be late. FatherMichael: Well is the groom here? SingleSam has entered the room Wildflower: Here he is now. Hello there SingleSam. I think this is the first time ever that both the bride and groom will have to change their names. SingleSam: Hello all. Buttercup: Where’s the bride? LonelyLady: Probably fixing her makeup. Wildflower: Oh don’t be silly. No one can even see her. LonelyLady: SingleSam can see her. SureOne: She’s not doing her makeup; she’s supposed to keep the groom waiting. SingleSam: No she’s right here on the laptop beside me. She’s just having problems with her password logging in. SureOne: Doomed from the start. Divorced_1 has entered the room Wildflower: Wahoo! Here comes the bride, all dressed in . . . SingleSam: Black. Wildflower: How charming. Buttercup: She’s right to wear black. Divorced_1: What’s wrong with misery guts today? LonelyLady: She found a letter from Alex that was written 12 years ago proclaiming his love for her and she doesn’t know what to do. Divorced_1: Here’s a word of advice. Get over it, he’s married. Now let’s focus the attention on me for a change. SoOverHim has entered the room FatherMichael: OK let’s begin. We are gathered here online today to witness the marriage of SingleSam (soon to be “Sam”) and Divorced_1 (soon to be “Married_1”). SoOverHim: WHAT?? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE? THIS IS A MARRIAGE CEREMONY IN A DIVORCED PEOPLE CHAT ROOM?? Wildflower: Uh-oh, looks like we got ourselves a gate crasher here. Excuse me can we see your wedding invite please? Divorced_1: Ha ha. SoOverHim: YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK, COMING IN HERE AND TRYING TO UPSET OTHERS WHO ARE GENUINELY TROUBLED. Buttercup: Oh we are genuinely troubled alright. And could you please STOP SHOUTING. LonelyLady: You see SoOverHim, this is where SingleSam and Divorced_1 met for the first time. SoOverHim: OH I HAVE SEEN IT ALL NOW! Buttercup: Sshh! SoOverHim: Sorry. Mind if I stick around? Divorced_1: Sure grab a pew; just don’t trip over my train. Wildflower: Ha ha. FatherMichael: OK we should get on with this; I don’t want to be late for my 2 o’clock. First I have to ask, is there anyone in here who thinks there is any reason why these two should not be married? LonelyLady: Yes. SureOne: I could give more than one reason. Buttercup: Hell yes. SoOverHim: DON’T DO IT! FatherMichael: Well I’m afraid this has put me in a very tricky predicament. Divorced_1: Father we are in a divorced chat room, of course they all object to marriage. Can we get on with it? FatherMichael: Certainly. Do you Sam take Penelope to be your lawful wedded wife? SingleSam: I do. FatherMichael: Do you Penelope take Sam to be your lawful wedded husband? Divorced_1: I do (yeah, yeah my name is Penelope). FatherMichael: You have already e-mailed your vows to me so by the online power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride. Now if the witnesses could click on the icon to the right of the screen they will find a form to type their names, addresses, and phone numbers. Once that’s filled in just e-mail it off to me. I’ll be off now. Congratulations again. FatherMichael has left the room Wildflower: Congrats Sam and Penelope! Divorced_1: Thanks girls for being here. SoOverHim: Freaks. SoOverHim has left the room

You know it’s rude to stare at your trainer like that, right?” he chuckles darkly. “You’re not just my trainer though, are you? You’re my husband, and I’m pretty sure gawking at your hotness whenever the hell I want to was one of our marriage vows.

Mmm,” Bree licked the ice cream scoop and tossed it into the sink. “Let’s just say that for the sake of the baby, Alessandro and I have reached a sort of…an...agreement, I guess.” “Does that mean I can’t punch him anymore? ‘Cause that was fun.” “Yes. It does. Sorry.” “So are you two…” “No. Hell no. Not after him using Rebecca Malford as a scratching post,” Bree grumbled, her stomach clenching tight at that little reminder. “He’s what? Alessandro and that...viper?” “That’s right.” Bree clenched her teeth. “Rebecca and Alessandro? Oh my God. Mental bleach! I need mental bleach!” Meggie rubbed her temples. “Yeah, keep doing that for another week and you might be where I am right about now.” “Oh, he’s a smooth one, that’s for sure,” Meggie said with a sudden smile. “What’s with that look?” “You’re so jealous,” Bree snorted, turning away from her and taking a seat opposite of Will. “That’s ridiculous.” “And so true.

The Lords have shown me that darkness exists. That you don’t have to die in order to burn. And then you came along ...” I place both of my hands on her wet face, and she blinks, allowing the first tear to run down her cheek. “I can see you, touch you, and kiss you.” I wipe it away with my thumb. “I can love you.” My eyes drop to her plump lips, and her bottom one trembles. “You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.

I regret ever falling for you and thinking my love for you would be enough, that we could get through anything together. I regret believing in us the way I did and risking it all for you.” I run a hand through my hair and draw a shaky breath. “You know what I regret the most? I regret asking you to dance with me at that gala. I should’ve let you go, should’ve moved on from my childish crush on you, and heeded my grandmother’s warnings. Hell, if I could go back in time, I would’ve left you alone on prom night and wouldn’t have consoled you. I wish I never kissed you, never brought you to a place I’d only ever wanted to share with my wife. All of my regrets have one thing in common, Celeste. You.” She looks away and wraps her arms around herself, her posture vulnerable. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Zane.” Her voice is soft, defeated, and for once, there’s no malice in her tone. The way she looks at me cuts through all my defenses, and fuck, it makes me want to take back every single word I just uttered.

Give me your word as a Tribesman that you won’t double-cross me.” Even I know how valuable such a vow is. “I don’t trust you otherwise.” “You have my word.” He shoves me forward, and I stumble, just catching myself from falling. Swine! I bite my lip to keep from saying it. Let him think he’s cowed me. Let him think he’s won. Soon, he’ll realize his mistake: He vowed to play fair. But I didn’t.

Mary.” Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. “Lassiter?” “I’m over here.” “Where?” She looked all around. “Why is your voice echoing?” “Chimney.” “What?” “I’m stuck in the fucking chimney.” She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. “Lass? What the hell are you doing up there?” His voice emanated from somewhere above her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” “What are you—” An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. “You’re stuck!” she exclaimed. “And thank God no one lit this fire!” “You’re telling me,” he muttered in his disembodied voice. “I had to blow out Fritz’s match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I’m not doing this again, even for her.” Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. “Lassiter. Why can’t you free yourself by dematerializing—” “I’m impaled on a hook that’s iron. I can’t go ghost. And will you just take this?” “What?” “This.” He turned his hand toward her and there was…a box…in it? A small navy blue box. “Open it. And before you ask, I already cleared it with your pinheaded hellren. He’s not jel or anything.” Mary sat back and shook her head. “I’m more worried about you—” “Justopenthefuckingthingalready.” Taking off the top, she found a slightly smaller box inside. That was velvet. “What is this?” As she lifted the lid, she…gasped. It was a pair of diamond earrings. A pair of perfectly matched, sparkly, diamond… “A mother’s tears,” Lassiter’s slightly echo-y voice said softly. “So hard, so beautiful. I told you everything was going to be all right. And those are to remind you of how strong you are, how strong your love for your daughter is…how, even in the worst of times, things have a way of working out as they should.” Blinking away tears, she thought of her crying in the foyer in front of the angel, crying because all had been lost. “They’re just beautiful,” she said hoarsely. -Lassiter & Mary

Don’t you see? The most important person here is Josiah.” A gust of wind blew her hair away from her face, revealing a fierceness in her he had never seen before. “He is who you must protect with your life. The fate of the entire kingdom hinges on him retaking the throne. If it comes down to a choice between any of us, you must choose him.” Davianna gripped his hands and held his gaze. “That is the vow I would have from you, Prince. Promise me.” “Bloody Hell,” he murmured. —Prince Peter ben Korah and Davianna ben David

Alessandro shrugged and pushed the blade in, dragging it down the man’s skin, making him cry out. He struck him again with his fist, blood spurting onto Alessandro as well. “Did Arturo tell you that the mother of my child was in that limo? She’s carrying my baby inside of her, and that her son was in the limo too? I’m sure he did. I’m sure he left explicit instructions as to who exactly you were supposed to dispose of, didn’t he?” “He’ll kill me. I swear, he’ll kill me,” the man cried, tears mixing in with his blood. “Next, I’ll take an eye, you snivelling little shit!” Alessandro growled, raising his bloody blade to the man’s left eyeball. The unmistakable scent of urine filled the air. Alessandro stepped back in disgust and turned to Jason and his other man, Marty, two of the best Dardano soldiers, loyal and efficient. They took his cue and slipped on their brass knuckles. “Just say the words, ol’ boy, and we’ll stop this,” “Fuck you,” the man shouted. Alessandro smirked. “Such defiance for a man who just pissed himself.” He crossed his arms as Marty and Jason went to work. It only took a minute. “All right. Okay! Stop! Stop! Fine, I’ll talk!

Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent’st the Emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons, And here’s thy hand in scorn to thee sent back. Thy grief their sports! thy resolution mock'd, That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father’s death. [Exit.] Marc. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death. Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe. [Lavinia kisses Titus.] Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starvèd snake. Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? Marc. Now farewell, flatt’ry; die, Andronicus. Thou dost not slumber. See thy two sons’ heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here, Thy other banished son with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs. Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand, Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes. Now is a time to storm. Why art thou still? Tit. Ha, ha, ha! Marc. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed. Besides, this sorrow is an enemy And would usurp upon my wat’ry eyes And make them blind with tributary tears. Then which way shall I find Revenge’s cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be returned again Even in their throats that hath committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about That I may turn me to each one of you And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, And in this hand the other will I bear. And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these arms. Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight. Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. Hie to the Goths and raise an army there. And if you love me, as I think you do, Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt.

There are hints of child sacrifice in Genesis and Exodus, including Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac. Human sacrifice was long associated with Canaanite and Phoenician ritual. Much later, Roman and Greek historians ascribed this dastardly practice to the Carthaginians, those descendants of the Phoenicians. Yet very little evidence was discovered until the early 1920s, when two French colonial officials in Tunisia found a tophet, with buried urns and inscriptions in a field. They bore the letters MLK (as in molok, offering) and contained the burned bones of children and the telling message of a victim’s father reading: “It was to Baal that Bomilcar vowed this son of his own flesh. Bless him!” These finds may have coincided with the time of Manasseh, implying that the biblical stories were plausible. Molok (offering) was distorted into the biblical “moloch,” the definition of the cruel idolatrous god and, later in Western literature, particularly in John Milton’s Paradise Lost, one of Satan’s fallen angels. Gehenna in Jerusalem became not just hell, but the place where Judas invested his ill-gotten silver pieces and during the Middle Ages the site of mass charnel-houses. CHAPTER 5

Even if fate decreed that we had a bond, I definitely don’t recognize it. I don’t even like you.” “If we had no bad blood between us, would you . . . like me?” “I’d be attracted to you, but there’s no way I’d want anything permanent with you—bad blood or not.” “What the hell’s so wrong with me?” His eyes flickered, and the hint of uncertainty he’d just revealed was drowned out by a surge of arrogance. “I’m strong, I can protect you, and I’m rich. And I vow to you, lass, once you experience what it’s like to share my bed, you will no’ ever want to leave it.” His eyes bored into hers as he said the last, and despite herself, his utter confidence in this area affected her, forcing herself to wonder what tricks a twelve-century-old immortal would’ve picked up over the years. She inwardly shook herself. “MacRieve, when I settle down it’s going to be with a male that has—oh, I don’t know—a sense of humor, or of modesty. How about a lack of scathing hatred towards witches? Maybe a zest for life? Too much to ask that he’s born in the same millennium?” “Some of these things canna be changed, but know that I was no’ always so . . . grave as I am now.” “It doesn’t matter. We’re just too different. I need a male who will get along with my friends, my witch friends, who’ll be current enough to know the difference between emo rock and jangle pop, and who’ll be able to get me through the ice world in Zelda.” MacRieve was no doubt speculating in what ice dimension this mysterious land of Zelda was. He finally said, “These differences are surmountable—” “And the age difference? You keep talking about how young I am, but all you’re doing is reminding me how old you are. Any minute now you’re going to say something really lame like ‘When I was your age . . .,’ and I’m just not going to be able to keep from laughing at you.

Never, not in her wildest dreams, had she dared to imagine that she'd be that important to someone. As if she was air and without her, he couldn't breathe. "I love you too," she whispered. "And I forgive future Sailor for being a dumbass." Linking her arms around his neck, she spoke through the storm inside her. "In fact, I think future Sailor is going to be an incredible man I'll adore more with each and every day." "Yeah?" His lips kicked up in that familiar smile, but there was a question in his eyes, a quiet hunger. "What's he going to do?" Ísa knew what he was asking her, what he needed her to tell him. "He's going to be a man who works hard but who has time for the people he loves. And he definitely has time to get up to wicked things with a certain redhead." "I like this guy's priorities already." "He's also the kind of father who takes a turn doing the school run because he enjoys spending time with his child." It was scary doing this, laying out her dreams, but Sailor had given her everything. Ísa would be brave enough to give him the same back. "He has time to play with his baby, and to kiss his wife, and even if he forgets things now and then, or if he gets a little busy for a while, it's all right because his wife and child and all the members of his family know they're loved beyond measure." Perfection had never been what Ísa wanted. "Because when it matters, he's there. He sees the people who love him." Demon-blue eyes solemn, Sailor said, "I can do that." It was a vow. "I can be that guy." "You already are." Ísa whispered. "You're my dream, Sailor." But Sailor shook his head. "You ain't seen nothing yet, spitfire. I'm going to court the hell out of you." After a meditative pause, he added, "Nakedness during said courting is optional but highly encouraged." He was wonderful. And he was hers.

It was while he was fixing the footage Max had given him that the doubts about the disc Bernardo had played for him began to plague him with ever growing strength. Alessandro couldn’t contemplate his father doing something so cruel but…Bernardo would certainly know how. Hell, Bernardo had taught him how to fiddle with electronics when he was still a teenager. And he wanted Alessandro under his control, under his roof. Knowing that Alessandro was trying to keep his family together and that entailed moving into their own house, out from the Dardano mansion, would Bernardo try to turn him with false information?

Can I trust him again? Even after all he said? If I do and I'm wrong, the cost is too high. My life. "You'll wait for me to agree to go back with you?" I want to be clear on this point. "You won't force me in any way? Or reveal yourself to anyone, no matter what?" "I'll wait," he promises. "However long you need." He'll wait. But he'll be lurking about. Nearby. Watching. And I won't always know it. Funny how things change. In the beginning, I thought I could never stay here. Now I don't want to leave. Mostly because of Will, but also because I've decided to give Mom and Tamra what they want. A chance. It can't be all about me. If I'm strong enough, smart enough, my draki can make it. And of course, Will can help with that. A few kisses. A smile. A brush of his hand and my draki is revived. And I no longer have to hide it from him. I can last through high school. For Mom, for Tamra. After graduation, I can go with Will when he cuts free from his family. Just two more years. We'll figure out the specifics. The how and where. For the first time since coming here, I feel the stirrings of hope. I won't let Cassian ruin that. "You're going to wait forever," I vow. "I won't change my mind." Cassian's mouth curves enigmatically. Like he knows something I don't. He's eighteen, but in that moment I can believe he has several more years than that on me. "Things change all the time. People change. I'll take my chances." I shake my head. "You'll see. I won't change my mind." And then he'll go. Because he can't wait forever. No matter what he says. He's got a pride to lead. He's not going to hang around here for two years. No matter how interesting I am to him. "We'll see." I glance at the blinking clock on top of the TV. "You better go before my mom gets home." "Right." He moves to the door. "Bye, Jacinda." I don't return the farewell. Don't want to pretend we've reached a level where niceties exist between us. We're not friends. Not even close. And we never will be.

Vulnerable Love (The Sonnet) Choose me if you feel something, not because it's convenient or glorious. I have neither the interest nor the strength, to go out again and look for someone else. If you choose me, you are stuck with me, through thick and thin, through everything. It won't always be clear and sunny, sometimes it'll be blue, sometimes boring. True love is not something you find, True love is something you nurture together. Once you rediscover yourself in someone, Never turn your back, come hell or high water! Any ape can find escape in romance novels, It takes a human to be the living pillar of love. While every robot seeks emotional maturity, Be the human who cherishes vulnerable love.

Come see my mommy, Becky!” Will said and Bree stopped in her tracks. “Oh hell no!” she exclaimed staring at ‘Becky’. Rebecca, the bane of Bree’s existence. The blonde woman smiled mockingly at Bree. “How ya doing?” “What?” Bree asked but the question was directed at her brother and not the skank in front of her. “So how was Paris?” Rebecca asked moving right past Bree to practically press her body against Alessandro. “Seriously, what?” Bree demanded, glaring at Brian. "Hey, Alessandro. Great to see you again." “Stop talking. Stop talking now before I ram your botoxed head through this table!” Bree hissed lunging at her. Brian grabbed her quickly and held her back. “Sorry. Bree’s a little bit touchy about that whole Vegas thing I guess. But hey, looks like it all worked for the best, huh?” Rebecca winked at Alessandro

It seemed slightly bitchy, but you have to respect that level of I-have-no-fucks-left-to-give-about-silverware-that-doesn’t-even-belong-to-me. With that one spoon drop she told everyone at the party, “If you aren’t going to take care of your shit then I’m sure as hell not going to take responsibility for it.” That’s when I decided I adored that woman and her attitude. I’d probably feel differently if I was a foundling left on her doorstep, but I was not. I was a woman who had just seen another woman pass the spoon test, a test I didn’t even know existed and that no one else had studied for. And it was then that I vowed to never take personal responsibility for other people’s spoons/attitudes/stupidity, because frankly I have enough to worry about with my own shit. I suspect this is one of those life lessons that no one ever really gets to use, but still, I’m ready. Just try to hand me a spoon.

A new legend swept Oregon, from Roseburg all the way north to the Columbia, from the mountains to the sea. It traveled by letter and by word of mouth, growing with each telling. It was a sadder story than the two that had come before it--those speaking of a wise, benevolent machine and of a reborn nation. It was more disturbing than those. And yet this new fable had one important element its predecessors lacked. It was true. The story told of a band of forty women--crazy women, many contended--who had shared among themselves a secret vow; to do anything and everything to end a terrible war, and end it before all the good men died trying to save them. They acted out of love, some explained. Others said they did it for their country. There was even a rumor that the women had looked on their odyssey to Hell as a form of penance, in order to make up for some past failing of womankind. Interpretations varied, but the overall moral was always the same, whether spread by word of mouth or by U.S. Mail. From hamlet to village to farmstead, mothers and daughter and wives read the letters and listened to the words--and passed them on.

I’m so sorry,” he said between kisses. “For what I said that night. For leaving you earlier. I never meant-“ “I know,” she whispered, wrapping a leg over his lip and shinnying up his body. Her lips grazed his ear. “I know. Just don’t leave me again.” “Never.” The word burst out like an oath or a prayer, and God help him, he meant it. “Never,” he repeated, looking straight into her glimmering eyes. Then he sealed the vow with a kiss, deep and desperate and true. “Oh God,” he groaned when their lips finally parted. She kissed him again, working her warm, slender fingers under the collar of his shirt to stroke the chilled flesh of his shoulders and back. He buries his face in her neck, inhaling the beautiful scent of her. He’d forgotten how roses smell sweetest after a rain. Trailing light kisses down to her collarbone, he began carrying her toward the bed. “Make love to me, Gray.” She didn’t need to ask. They both knew what was going to happen. But Gray felt the significance of her words. He might have bedded ladies and whores the world over, but for the first time in his life, he was going to make love to a woman. And not just a woman. His woman. And this idea that should have been so unthinkable, so frightening-to his surprise, Gray found it wildly arousing. They tumbled together onto the narrow bed, and she began pulling his shirt free of his trousers. He rose up on his knees and impatiently yanked it over his head. He peered at her frock in the darkness. Bloody hell. Stripes. Gray started to roll her over, looking for laces or hooks or some other ridiculous device contrived by the devil to thwart men.

Sebastian encountered Cam in the hallway outside the reading room. “Where is he?” he demanded without preamble. Stopping before him with an expressionless face, Cam said shortly, “He’s gone.” “Why didn’t you follow him?” White-hot fury blazed in Sebastian’s eyes. This news, added to the frustration of his vow of celibacy, was the last straw. Cam, who had been exposed to years of Ivo Jenner’s volcanic temper, remained unruffled. “It was unnecessary in my judgment,” he said. “He won’t return.” “I don’t pay you to act on your own damned judgment. I pay you to act on mine! You should have dragged him here by the throat and then let me decide what was to be done with the bastard.” Cam remained silent, sliding a quick, subtle glance at Evie, who was inwardly relieved by the turn of events. They were both aware that had Cam brought Bullard back to the club, there was a distinct possibility that Sebastian might actually have killed him— and the last thing Evie wanted was a murder charge on her husband’s head. “I want him found,” Sebastian said vehemently, pacing back and forth across the reading room. “I want at least two men hired to look for him day and night until he is brought to me. I swear he’ll serve as an example to anyone who even thinks of lifting a finger against my wife.” He raised his arm and pointed to the doorway. “Bring me a list of names within the hour. The best detectives available— private ones. I don’t want some idiot from the New Police, who’ll foul this up as they do everything else. Go.” Though Cam undoubtedly had a few opinions to offer on the matter, he kept them to himself. “Yes, my lord.” He left the room at once, while Sebastian glared after him. Seeking to calm his seething temper, Evie ventured, “There is no need to take your anger out on Cam. He—” “Don’t even try to excuse him,” Sebastian said darkly. “You and I both know that he could have caught that damned gutter rat had he wanted to. And I’ll be damned if I’ll tolerate your calling him by his first name— he is not your brother, nor is he a friend. He’s an employee, and you’ll refer to him as ‘Mr. Rohan’ from now on.” “He is my friend,” Evie replied in outrage. “He has been for years!” “Married women don’t have friendships with young unmarried men.” “Y-you dare to insult my honor with the implication that… that…” Evie could hardly speak for the multitude of protests that jammed inside her. “I’ve done nothing to merit such a lack of tr-tr-trust!” “I trust you. It’s everyone else that I hold in suspicion.

Be thou joyous, Prince! Whose lot is set apart for heavenly Birth. Two stamps there are marked on all living men, Divine and Undivine; I spake to thee By what marks thou shouldst know the Heavenly Man, Hear from me now of the Unheavenly! They comprehend not, the Unheavenly, How Souls go forth from Me; nor how they come Back unto Me: nor is there Truth in these, Nor purity, nor rule of Life. "This world Hath not a Law, nor Order, nor a Lord," So say they: "nor hath risen up by Cause Following on Cause, in perfect purposing, But is none other than a House of Lust." And, this thing thinking, all those ruined ones—Of little wit, dark-minded—give themselves To evil deeds, the curses of their kind. Surrendered to desires insatiable, Full of deceitfulness, folly, and pride, In blindness cleaving to their errors, caught Into the sinful course, they trust this lie As it were true—this lie which leads to death—Finding in Pleasure all the good which is, And crying "Here it finisheth!" Ensnared In nooses of a hundred idle hopes, Slaves to their passion and their wrath, they buy Wealth with base deeds, to glut hot appetites; "Thus much, to-day," they say, "we gained! thereby Such and such wish of heart shall have its fill; And this is ours! and th' other shall be ours! To-day we slew a foe, and we will slay Our other enemy to-morrow! Look! Are we not lords? Make we not goodly cheer? Is not our fortune famous, brave, and great? Rich are we, proudly born! What other men Live like to us? Kill, then, for sacrifice! Cast largesse, and be merry!" So they speak Darkened by ignorance; and so they fall—Tossed to and fro with projects, tricked, and bound In net of black delusion, lost in lusts—Down to foul Naraka. Conceited, fond, Stubborn and proud, dead-drunken with the wine Of wealth, and reckless, all their offerings Have but a show of reverence, being not made In piety of ancient faith. Thus vowed To self-hood, force, insolence, feasting, wrath, These My blasphemers, in the forms they wear And in the forms they breed, my foemen are, Hateful and hating; cruel, evil, vile, Lowest and least of men, whom I cast down Again, and yet again, at end of lives, Into some devilish womb, whence—birth by birth—The devilish wombs re-spawn them, all beguiled; And, till they find and worship Me, sweet Prince! Tread they that Nether Road. The Doors of Hell Are threefold, whereby men to ruin pass,—The door of Lust, the door of Wrath, the door Of Avarice. Let a man shun those three! He who shall turn aside from entering All those three gates of Narak, wendeth straight To find his peace, and comes to Swarga's gate.

We may have to mask your scent.” He looked at her soberly. “Did Olivia tell you anything about scent marking?” “Scent marking?” Sophie wracked her brain, trying to remember. It seemed vaguely familiar though she couldn’t remember exactly what it involved. Still, how bad could it be? “Oh, uh, sure. Scent marking.” She nodded. “Good. Because in the last extremity, if I hear the sniffers around this cabin, I may have to scent mark you—to mask your scent with my own.” “Can you do that? I mean, is your scent that much stronger than mine, especially when they’re focused on me?” Sylvan looked down at his hands. “Normally it isn’t but right now…ever since the trip we took in the transport tube…” Sophie thought of the warm, spicy scent that seemed to go to her head, the way it made her react to him… “It’s your mating scent, isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice, not daring to look at him. “Yes.” He sounded ashamed. “But why…” She risked a sidelong glance at him. “Why is it coming out now? I, uh, thought it only happened during the claiming period. But you’re not, um, claiming me or anything. I mean, we’re not… you know.” “I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on either. We haven’t even been dream sharing. Well, that is, I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a few dreams of you. But nothing out of the ordinary.” He glanced at her. “Have you…had any strange dreams?” “No.” Sophie shook her head and a look of mingled disappointment and relief passed over his stern features. “I have been, uh, having problems with my art, though,” she admitted in a low voice. “Problems with your art?” He frowned. “What do you mean?” “I paint,” Sophie explained. “You know—with a paintbrush and easel?” She made a painting motion in the air and his eyes widened. “That was what I dreamed. That you were painting a picture of…of me.” Sophie nearly choked. “But I have been! You’re all I’ve been able to paint lately. Even when I try not to, you always sneak in there. It’s so annoying.” Then she realized what she’d said. “Uh, I mean—” “It doesn’t matter.” Sylvan cut her off, shaking his head. “So we have been dream sharing, in a way.” Sophie felt herself go cold all over. “Does…does that mean you’re going to try to…to claim me? The way Baird claimed Liv?” Oh my God, if he does, if he claims me, then he’ll want to bite me! That’s the way his people do it. She had horror-movie visions of being held down under his muscular bulk, held down and pierced multiple times and in multiple ways. God, his teeth in my throat at the same time he’s inside me, filling me, holding me down and biting and thrusting. He’s so big, so strong—I’d never be able to get away. The horror she felt must have showed on her face, because Sylvan’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Don’t worry, Sophia. Even if I wanted to claim you, I couldn’t.” “Oh right.” She felt a small measure of relief. “Your vow.” “My vow,” he agreed. “Sylvan,

At that moment Elizabeth would have said or done anything to reach him. She could not believe, actually could not comprehend that the tender, passionate man who had loved and teased her could be doing this to her-without listening to reason, without even giving her a chance to explain. Her eyes filled with tears of love and terror as she tried brokenly to tease him. “You’re going to look extremely silly, darling, if you claim desertion in court, because I’ll be standing right behind you claiming I’m more than willing to keep my vows.” Ian tore his gaze from the love in her eyes. “If you aren’t out of this house in three minutes,” he warned icily, “I’ll change the grounds to adultery.” “I have not committed adultery.” “Maybe not, but you’ll have a hell of a time proving you haven’t done something. I’ve had some experience in that area. Now, for the last time, get out of my life. It’s over.” To prove it, he walked over and sat down at his desk, reaching behind him to pull the bell cord. “Bring Larimore in,” he instructed Dolton, who appeared almost instantly. Elizabeth stiffened, thinking wildly for some way to reach him before he took irrevocable steps to banish her. Every fiber of her being believed he loved her. Surely, if one loved another deeply enough to be hurt like this…It hit her then, what he was doing and why, and she turned on him while the vicar’s story about Ian’s actions after his parents’ death seared her mind. She, however, was not a Labrador retriever who could be shoved away and out of his life. Turning, she walked over to his desk, leaning her damp palms on it, waiting until he was forced to meet her gaze. Looking like a courageous, heartbroken angel, Elizabeth faced her adversary across his desk, her voice shaking with love. “Listen carefully to me, darling, because I’m giving you fair warning that I won’t let you do this to us. You gave me your love, and I will not let you take it away. The harder you try, the harder I’ll fight you. I’ll haunt your dreams at night, exactly the way you’ve haunted mine every night I was away from you. You’ll lie awake in bed at night, wanting me, and you’ll know I’m lying awake, wanting you. And when you cannot stand it anymore,” she promised achingly, “you’ll come back to me, and I’ll be there, waiting for you. I’ll cry in your arms, and I’ll tell you I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, and you’ll help me find a way to forgive myself-“ “Damn you!” he bit out, his face white with fury. “What does it take to make you stop?” Elizabeth flinched from the hatred in the voice she loved and drew a shaking breath, praying she could finish without starting to cry. “I’ve hurt you terribly, my love, and I’ll hurt you again during the next fifty years. And you are going to hurt me, Ian-never, I hope, as much as you are hurting me now. But if that’s the way it has to be, then I’ll endure it, because the only alternative is to live without you, and that is no life at all. The difference is that I know it, and you don’t-not yet.” “Are you finished now?” “Not quite,” she said, straightening at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “There’s one more thing,” she informed him, lifting her quivering chin. “I am not a Labrador retriever! You cannot put me out of your life, because I won’t stay.” When she left, Ian stared at the empty room that had been alive with her presence but moments before, wondering what in hell she meant by her last comment.

It was discussed and decided that fear would be perpetuated globally in order that focus would stay on the negative rather than allow for soul expression to positively emerge. As people became more fearful and compliant, capacity for free thought and soul expression would diminish. There is a distinct inability to exert soul expression under mind control, and evolution of the human spirit would diminish along with freedom of thought when bombarded with constant negative terrors. Whether Bush and Cheney deliberately planned to raise a collective fear over collective conscious love is doubtful. They did not think, speak, or act in those terms. Instead, they knew that information control gave them power over people, and they were hell-bent to perpetuate it at all costs. Cheney, Bush, and other global elite ushering in the New World Order totally believed in the plan mapped out by artificial intelligence. They were allowing technology to dictate global control. “Life is like a video game,” Bush once told me at the rural multi-million dollar Lampe, Missouri CIA mind control training camp complex designed for Black Ops Special Forces where torture and virtual reality technologies were used. “Since I have access to the technological source of the plans, I dictate the rules of the game.” The rules of the game demanded instantaneous response with no time to consciously think and critically analyze. Constant conscious disruption of thought through television’s burst of light flashes, harmonics, and subconscious subliminals diminished continuity of conscious thought anyway, creating a deficit of attention that could easily be refocused into video game format. DARPA’s artificial intelligence was reliant on secrecy, and a terrifying cover for reality was chosen to divert people from the simple truth. Since people perceive aliens as being physical like them, it was decided that the technological reality could be disguised according to preconceptions. Through generations of genetic encoding dating back to the beginning of man, serpents incite an innate autogenic response system in humans to “freeze” in terror. George Bush was excited at the prospects of diverting people from truth by fear through perpetuating lizard-like serpent alien misconceptions. “People fear what they don’t know anyway. By compounding that fear with autogenic fear response, they won’t want to look into Pandora’s Box.” Through deliberate generation of fear; suppression of facts under the 1947 National Security Act; Bush’s stint as CIA director during Ford’s Administration; the Warren Commission’s whitewash of the Kennedy Assassination; secrecy artificially ensured by mind control particularly concerning DARPA, HAARP, Roswell, Montauk, etc; and with people’s fluidity of conscious thought rapidly diminishing; the secret government embraced the proverbial ‘absolute power that corrupts absolutely.’ According to New World Order plans being discussed at the Grove, plans for reducing the earth’s population was a high priority. Mass genocide of so-called “undesirables” through the proliferation of AIDS4 was high on Bush’s agenda. “We’ll annihilate the niggers at their source, beginning in South and East Africa and Haiti5.” Having heard Bush say those words is by far one of the most torturous things I ever endured. Equally as torturous to my being were the discussions on genetic engineering, human cloning, and depletion of earth’s natural resources for profit. Cheney remarked that no one would be able to think to stop technology’s plan. “I’ll destroy the planet first,” Bush had vowed.

Then he was striding toward me. His mesmerizing gaze pinned me in place as he cupped my face. When his lips covered mine, I gasped. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, groaning into the contact. His hands tightened on my face. His sexy groans made my toes curl, muddling my thoughts. Block that out! I was Aric’s wife. I’d wronged him in the past, had consigned him to misery for hundreds—no, thousands—of years. I needed to make this right. Like penance. There was something vaguely threatening about his words. Misgivings about this arose. Too fast. “If you have feelings for him, fight them,” Aric commanded me. “By going to him, you’d be stoking them once more. Don’t you understand? He can find another woman—I cannot. If you choose him, you’ll be consigning me to a hellish fate. As you’ve done again and again. No, this will be even worse, because I’ve had a greater glimpse of what I’ll be missing.” “I just want to talk to him. I’m leaving this weekend,” I said in an unwavering voice. “No, you will not.” His arrogant demeanor back in place, he said, “Understand me, I’m not surrendering the one woman who was born for me alone. Not to a human, not to anyone.” “You can’t keep me here against my will any longer. What are you going to do? Put that cuff back on me?” I held up my hand to stop him. “I understand why you did it. But I won’t be a prisoner anymore.” He snatched up his shirt, threading his arms into the sleeves. “You say you keep your promises now? You made a vow before gods to be my wife. In this life, you will keep your promises to me—before you ever honor one to him!” “You can’t stop me from leaving. I have my powers back. I earned my powers back.” With a cruel curve of his lips, he said, “You promised never to harm me, Empress. Know that you’ll have to kill me before I would ever let you go.” As he strode out the door, I said, “And know that you’ll have to put that cilice on me to keep me prisoner again.” He whirled around, fury in his expression. “You refused—twice—to beg me for your own life, but you’d beg for his?” I whispered, “Yes.” With a calculating gleam in his eyes, he said, “This isn’t an impossible task you ask of me. I could call in ancient favors, contact old allies. They could be here in mere hours. We’d ride out as one.” “T-truly?” “On one condition: you’ll become my wife in truth, mine in every way. Beginning tonight. Comply, and I’ll take on an army for you.” My lips parted with shock. “How can you do this to me?” “Deveaux is lost to you in one way or another. He’ll either be slaughtered by the Lovers—or saved by my female, by her sacrifice.” He offered his hand. “Come with me, and begin this.” “Don’t, Aric! Don’t destroy what I do feel for you.” “I’ll take”—he seized my hand, yanking me close—“what I can get.” Despite myself, I shivered from the contact, from his husky voice. His hold on me was firm, proprietary. Because he believed I was about to become his. The red witch in me whispered, Death thinks he has you at his mercy. But the Empress doesn’t get collared or caged—or controlled. Take his head and pay the Tower. Shut up! “Please, Aric. I’ll grow to hate you for this. I don’t want to feel that way about you. Never again. Don’t force me to do this.” “Force?” Unmoved, he led me toward his bedroom. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. Just as you can’t force me to save your lover’s life. We each make sacrifices to get what we want.” With my heart pounding, I crossed the threshold into his dark world. Black walls, black ceiling, black night beyond his windows. Yet outside I thought I saw . . . a single fluttering snowflake. Like a sign.

What I have been doing lately from my WIP "In Hiding" is available on my website. *Strong language warning* Wayne sat in the hygienic emergency room trying to ignore the bitch of a headache that began radiating at the back of his skull. His worn jeans, a blood-stained t-shirt, and his makeshift bandage sat on a nearby chair. The hysteria created by his appearance in the small hospital ward had died down. A local cop greeted him as soon as he was escorted to the examination room. The conversation was brief, once he revealed he was a bail enforcer the topic changed from investigation to shooting the bull. The experienced officer shook his hand before leaving then joked he hoped this would be their only encounter. The ER doc was a woman about his age. Already the years of long hours, rotating shifts and the rarity of a personal life showed on her face. Her eyelids were pink-rimmed, her complexion sallow; all were earmarks of the effect of long-term exhaustion. Wayne knew it all too well as he rubbed his knuckle against his own grainy eyes. Despite this, she attended to him with an upbeat demeanor and even slid in some ribbing at his expense. He was defenseless, once the adrenaline dropped off Wayne felt drained. He accepted her volleys without a response. All he mustered was a smile and occasional nod as she stitched him up. Across the room, his cell toned, after the brief display of the number a woman’s image filled the screen. Under his breath, he mumbled, “Shit.” He intends for his exclamation to remain ignored, having caught it the doctor glanced his direction with a smile. Without invitation, she retrieved his phone handing it to him without comment. Wayne noted the raised eyebrow she failed to hide. The phone toned again as he glanced at the flat image on the device. The woman’s likeness was smiling brightly, her blue eyes dancing. Just looking at her eased the pain in his head. He swiped the screen and connected the call as the doctor finished taping his injury. Using his free uninjured arm, he held the phone away from him slightly, utilizing the speaker option. “Hey Baby.” “What the hell, Wayne!” Her voice filled the small area, in his peripheral vision he saw the doc smirk. Turning his head, he addressed the caller. “Babe, I was getting ready to call.” The excuse sounded lame, even to him. “Why the hell do I have to hear about this secondhand?” Wayne placed the phone to his chest, loudly he exclaimed; “F***!” The ER doc touched his arm, “I will give you privacy.” Wayne gave her a grateful nod. With a snatch, she grabbed the corner of the thin curtain suspended from the ceiling and pulled it close. Alone again, he refocused on the call. The woman on the other end had continued in her tirade without him. When he rejoined the call mid-rant, she was issuing him a heartfelt ass-chewing. “...bullshit Wayne that I have to hear about this from my cousin. We’ve talked about this!” “Honey...” She interrupts him before he can explain himself. “So what the hell happened?” Wisely he waited for silence to indicate it was his turn to speak. “Lou, Honey first I am sorry. You know I never meant to upset you. I am alright; it is just a flesh wound.” As he speaks, a sharp pain radiates across his side. Gritting his teeth, Wayne vows to continue without having the radiating pain affect his voice. “I didn’t want you to worry Honey; you know calling Cooper first is just business.” Silence. The woman miles away grits her teeth as she angrily brushes away her tears. Seated at the simple dining table, she takes a napkin from the center and dabs at her eyes. Mentally she reminds herself of her promise that she was done crying over this man. She takes an unsteady breath as she returns her attention to the call. “Lou, you still there?” There is something in his voice, the tender desperation he allows only her to see. Furrowing her brow she closes her eyes, an errant tear coursed down her cheek.

the darkness, Lale makes a vow to himself: I will live to leave this place. I will walk out a free man. If there is a hell, I will see these murderers burn in it.

The pads of his fingers draw slow, gentle circles around it, almost like he’s telling the organ it’s okay and vowing he’ll keep it safe.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister queen and smiled. Clever boy. Aye, and they both loved cleverness. Kit winked at Will over his Queen’s diamond-studded shoulder, and Will’s knees half melted before he quite forced his gaze back to Elizabeth. Damn honor, he thought. And damn vows.

But my father didn’t scare me, and neither does my older brother. For that matter, neither does anyone else. After what I’ve been through, the devil himself could show up demanding my soul, and I’d tell him to kiss my sweet ass and fuck off back to hell.

the road to Hell is paved with the bones of faithless priests and that the way is lighted by lampposts that are bishops who, in life, violated their vows without remorse and now burn eternally.

If I could drink I’d toast to fucking up the plans of shitty men. Can we celebrate with chocolate?” “Hell yeah,” I agree. Scott takes the mound with a group of kids surrounding him. He catches me looking, and winks at me. I blush and look away. Wren bumps her shoulder against mine. “He’s even better than chocolate.” I shake my head. “He’s too young.” Wren shrugs. “Someone thought I was too young once. Too wrong for him. Sometimes what seems like the wrong choice is the best one. At least he’ll be a hell of a lot of fun.

And instead of him finding me less incredibile as time wore on, he’d asked me to marry him. Which for a woman in the Parker family was as rare as knowing for certain who your father was. So as I walked in on Sam’s arm, as ready as I’d ever be to take my wedding vows, I should have felt like a mountain climber finally bursting onto a craggy peak after years of standing at the bottom, asking, ‘How the hell do I get up there?’ Instead I felt more like a failed football manager carrying the weight of the fans’ woes upon him. I tried to catch Francesca’s eye as I came down the aisle. I wanted to show her I understood, that it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared; that we could make this work. But she refused to look up, her teenage face pointed to the floor, her body locked in a fragile battle between antagonism and anguish. I wanted to pause, to ask the tiny

Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous. My sweet girl. I’d kill an army for you. I’d burn down empires and lay all their gold at your feet.

He continues in a softer tone. “And her zia will explain to her how this is all for the best, and how family comes first, and how, if her new husband proves to be anything like her zia’s late husband Enzo, he’ll find himself the victim of an untimely death, too.” He pauses. “A meticulously planned death with no witnesses or evidence of foul play. An ‘accidental’ death so well executed, it even fooled the police.” Without missing a beat, I say, “I didn’t kill my husband.” He smiles. “I’ve never met anyone who can lie as well as you do.” “It’s a gift.

I glance back up at her face to find her stony gaze turned to withering heat. It’s a look that could melt steel. I’ve never seen such hot, wordless fury. It makes the burning lakes of fire in the deepest pits of hell look like cozy bubble baths in comparison. All that heat and hate she’s blasting at me goes straight to my dick, which throbs in excitement. Figures. The fucker only ever wants what he can’t have.

You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.” I’d set the world on fire, including myself, if it meant saving her.

Something in the way he says wife sends shivers down my spine, and not in fear. Lord, help my vagina around this man. Even if I hate him, she sure as hell has her own fan club going.

Iris glanced sidelong at Attie. “You’re worried he’ll get stranded?” “No. I’m worried we’ll be stranded if he doesn’t make it back.” But Attie continued to stare down the street, her fingers gripping the iron scrollwork of the gate. “I’m going for a walk.

That was also the day I vowed to never again set foot in a church or to pray. I no longer believed in God’s will.

We’re supposed to uplift, love, guide, help, and forgive. We’re supposed to lead and feed. We aren’t equipped nor do we have the power to send someone to heaven or hell. We’re planted to produce, not prune. We’re planted to yield, not yoke folk. We’re planted to birth, not burden. God is the farmer and it’s Him who’ll remove the weeds. What we need to be worried about is if we’ll make it to the barn or the fire.

As they disappear into the darkness, Lale makes a vow to himself: I will live to leave this place. I will walk out a free man. If there is a hell, I will see these murderers burn in it.

I will kill my father,” Darius vowed. “And the Heirs and I will take his place as rulers of this kingdom and-” “Wait, what? As a Councillor to the Vega queens, you mean?” I looked up at him in confusion and his expression twisted in disgust. “No,” he scoffed. “Of course not. I don’t intend to let them take the throne just because we’re friends now. Where the hell did you get that idea?” I pushed myself up to sit with a growl. “Are you fucking with me right now? You’re in love with a Vega. You and the other Heirs have been working with Darcy for months and-” “And what? You thought I was just going to stand aside and give them a clean shot at my father? Let them take the throne like I’m some sort of weak Fae who couldn’t claim it myself? They might be powerful, but they aren’t stronger than the Heirs so why the hell would we just give it to them? That’s not how it works,” he said in disbelief.

To me, the heart of all successful human interactions is we look at each other and we know we’re about to attempt something that is difficult/ impossible. And we look in each other’s eyes, and we shake hands, and we both vow to die before we quit. And that’s what I thought we did. This is such a simple idea to me. The vows are “til death do us part”—God agrees with me. The vow is not to your partner—the vow is to the weakest part of yourself. How could you not quit if that’s one of the options? The reason you say you’re gonna do it or die is because death is what happens when you don’t do it. Your mind is trying to protect you from hard things, to defend you from pain. The problem is, all of your dreams are on the other side of pain and difficulty. So, a mind that tries to seek pleasure and comfort and the easy way inadvertently poisons its dreams—your mind becomes a barrier to your dreams, an internal enemy. If it was easy, everybody would do it. The reason we make vows is because we know we’re about to do a hell walk. You don’t have to vow to do easy things. No one ever said, “I vow to eat every ounce of this crème brulee—I swear to the wide heavens that I will not leave one speck on my plate! And I vow to skip my run tomorrow morning, and I vow to sleep in!” We wouldn’t need to make vows if it was easy. The reason the vows are so extreme—“in sickness and in health, till death do us part”—is because life is so extreme. Nothing else can keep us there. That’s the point of devotion. I’m not against divorce, and I’m not against surrendering in a battle, but it has to be at the end of the battle—not while you’re putting your armor on, not the first scary moment, not the first casualty. In my experience, most people get divorced too soon, before they’ve extracted the lessons that will keep them from doing the exact same things in their next relationships. I’m still not totally sure what I was thinking. Maybe it was pain; maybe it was delirium. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe I didn’t need to think, because I was clear. I could see the North Star through the fog. On February 19, only five days after I received my divorce papers, I called Jada. I hadn’t seen her, or heard from her, in months. The phone seemed to ring forever. Click. “Hello?” “Whatup, Jada. It’s Will.” “Heyyyy!” she said. Her voice seemed to still echo with the magic of our night at the Baked Potato. “How you doin’?” “I’m good. Better now that I’m talkin’ to you.” In hindsight, I probably could have given her a little more context, or warning. “Hey, are you seeing anybody?” I said. Jada hesitated—partly stunned, partly confused. “Um, no. Why?” “Cool, you’re seeing me now,

I’d never wanted to fuck someone’s insecurities more than I do yours.” He bit my earlobe softly, hands running up and down my arms. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Ariadne. What to you seems fat, to me looks grabbable, kissable, and so utterly soft, I want to lose myself in your curves. The sweet arch of your ass has been calling my name since you first walked out on me, hips swinging like you knew where my eyes strayed.

You’re a lion, not a mouse, Ariadne. You are what you exude; bleed power and people will treat you with respect.

If someone disrespects you, they’re disrespecting me, Ariadne. I defend what’s mine, even against my brother.

Make no mistake, Spitfire. This isn’t a vow of love.” I whispered into her mouth, making her eat my words as our teeth clashed, prompting cheers and claps. “Keep that in mind, or it will turn into a vow of hell.

I vow right here to never take death for granted, that even if people’s lives end, I’ll pray for them and the families of those who loved them. Everyone deserves to be remembered, even if it’s to imagine their soul burning in the pits of hell.

Fucking hell,” Dante grits out. “You want me to be your god, baby? Because I’d love to see you on your knees for me.

Raylan is tempting in a way that terrifies me. I’ve never been so aroused by a man. I’ve never felt this desperate. I’m used to being pursued. I’m used to having the upper hand. I have no advantage with Raylan. If I let go right now, if I give in to this desire, I’ll be completely out of control. I’ll be in totally uncharted territory. I don’t understand my desire for him or how I feel about him as a man. Sometimes he drives me insane. And sometimes I admire him, against my will. None of that is normal for me. None of it is comfortable. He scares me. My only protection is pretending I don’t want this. Pretending I’m committed to another man. But I can’t lie to Raylan. He’s too honest, too open. And too damn perceptive. He’ll know if I lie. It’s pointless. “I broke up with him.

You don’t break a horse. Not in the way you’re saying. You could beat a horse, and whip it, and yell at it, and eventually you could break its spirit, but what the hell good would it be then? It’d be scared of you, skittish and jumpy. It’d probably startle when you least expected it and throw you off so you break your neck.

When she told me she wasn’t available to meet until now, I had one of my men follow her. Out of curiosity, of course. Not that I’ll mention it to her, because I’m certain hell will freeze over if I insinuate she has one kind bone in her body.

It seems we’re both going to hell, Lake,” I say as I push back my hair, which I’ve been wearing down all week. “If that’s where you are, then that’s where I’ll be as well.

I think I might like you a little, Lake,” I say as I rub my thumb over his. He chuckles. “Well, I know I’m absolutely in love with you, Red.” I try to hide the smile. Then to hell we go. Together.

I only nod my head because I love it when he ties me up. Hell, I love it when he does everything to me.

Do you think I’m stupid? Ha! Hell no.

It fills me with a strange satisfaction that I can tease him from his screen saver every day. Also, with the knowledge that he’ll shoot a man if he so much as peeks at his phone. Not that I care if anyone else sees.

You’re the only one out of your fucking mind, Anya. You’re crazy and beautiful and intelligent. And icy as all hell, but I fucking love those things about you.

Alek, you’ve put me through hell.” “I know I’m not easy, but I will give you everything you ask of me, Lena.

She glances down, and a devilish smirk comes across her face. Fuck me. If I wasn’t already going to hell, I’m certainly going now. “You like what I’m wearing?” “I’d prefer if you weren’t wearing anything at all.

Stop shaking. I didn’t tell you I was going to skin you alive and fuck your corpse.” “Fucking hell,” I mumble, managing to get the key close to the door. “You do that?” He smiles, and I can’t help but be mesmerized by it. In a horrific way. “Skin people? Sure, I’ve done it once or twice. But fucked a corpse? No. I like my women to scream, and dead women can’t scream.

Fucking hell, she’ll be the death of me.

How dare he? He really has some nerve. Who the hell does he think he is? My mouth was literally around his cock and he pulled back all because she tried calling.

You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.

There’s been an offer for your hand. An important alliance.” For my hand? As in … marriage? What the hell is he talking about? He continued to push closer until he had my back pressed against the wall. “You will not fuck this up for me.” His hand cupped my throat, his thumb coarsely drifting back and forth over my windpipe. “You will agree to this union, but I want you to understand that your departure from this house does not keep you from my reach. If you spread a single word about whatever it is you think you know, there won’t be a rock you can hide under where I won’t find you.” His hand tightened—not hard enough to bruise, just enough to crystalize my blood into ice at the threat of my thinning airway. I kept as still as possible, pleading with my body to cooperate. “I’ll know it was you. You don’t have to speak to be a rat,” he growled.

Who the hell is Alek? And how much trouble is Cinita in?

Alek Ivanov is a dick. No, worse. He’s a lovestruck dick who’s involved me in his fixation. But he’s also a wealthy asshole who made my life a hell of a lot easier.

I know better than to get out of a car with a strange man in the middle of nowhere, where he could kill me, and my screams would be muffled by the noises above. Nope. He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out a knife, I gasp. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die here. How the hell did I end up in this situation?

She tried to steal my car. Fucking tried to steal it and then spun out, making the back end hit the concrete column and crash. Fucking hell.

After that, I started wearing gloves, because if I touched anyone…” His body trembles of its own accord. “It’s just like going back to that moment, being dirtied, sullied. I don’t mind killing or bleeding, but touching someone is like my personal hell. Until you,” he confesses.

For all the hell she caused me, the one and only good thing she’s done is lead me to you. You are the only thing I need in my life. Tell me what you need from me, what else I can give you, and I’ll give you everything.

I vow it. Yours. All of it. Anything. You are my reason for everything now. Both my sanity and insanity. You drive them. Steer them well, my specter, because once I let go, I really will unleash a hell you couldn’t even fathom in that pretty little head of yours. So call my name. I will come to you and go to my knees, then await your command. I am yours, Sirena. Forever.

I vow to make it my pesonal goal in life to make yours a living hell. Until death do us part.

I can love you.” My eyes drop to her plump lips, and her bottom one trembles. “You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.” I’d set the world on fire, including myself, if it meant saving her.

This fucking box is going to be the death of me. I want to throw it across the room, but if anything, he’ll demand I get on all fours to crawl and bring it back to him.

Finish yourself off. Because when you leave, I am going to do exactly that for myself.” Like hell, she will.

It baffles me how she has this powerful and deadly man wrapped around her finger. And yet, I wouldn’t expect anything less of my sister. Hell, even I wouldn’t screw with her.

The dead in the tale have not found rest for a variety of reasons—lack of penance, unfulfilled vows, misdeeds that must be set right, will provisions that have not been respected by their heirs, a message to deliver28—and they come from purgatory, hell, or some unspecified third region located on the earth, which reflects folk beliefs in which the otherworld was thought to be the tomb, the mound, or a hollow mountain.

While we sat at the bar, Dave told me the most important advice about talking to women I had ever received, and that was to be as relaxed as possible and not fear rejection. Dave then began hooking up with some girl who looked like a hybrid of Rosie O’Donnell and Miss Piggy, leaving me alone to ponder his words.” “When I was in 8th grade, there was this girl named Sandra who I used to ride the school bus with. Sandra was about 5’2, 120 lbs, and looked like the Hamburglar. She was the prettiest girl in my class.” “In my mind I was the life of the party and felt as though I could do no wrong when it came to interacting with the opposite sex. That was until Marissa caught me red handed hooking up with some girl who looked like a combination of John Madden and Andre the Giant, tapping me on the shoulder and kicking me square in the nuts.” “I was starting to feel bad about how I treated women. Oh wait, no I wasn’t. The girls at Binghamton were nothing more than a bunch of dumb sluts that just wanted to get drunk and suck dick, and besides, they were all going to make a lot more money than me in the future. So I may as well catch brains while these bitches were dumb enough to blow me.” “Out of all the people I could’ve stumbled into blackout drunk, why did it have to be THE MOOSE? As son as she saw me her 300 lb frame waddled over, and she jammed her tongue down my throat, devouring me as though I were a Big Mac. This was embarrassing. Here I was making out with some girl who looked like Eric Cartman in a dress, and everybody was watching. My life was effectively over.” “After annihilating Ruben’s toilet, I looked over my shoulder for some much-needed toilet paper, when to my shock and dismay there was not a single sheet of paper in sight. There’s no way in hell I was rejoining the party covered in poop and I would have wiped my ass with anything. That’s when I noticed his New York Yankees bath towel.” “I spent the rest of my week off getting completely shitfaced with Chris, and that’s when I realized I might be developing a drinking problem. At Bar None, hooking up with some girl who looked like the Loch Ness Monster; this shit had to stop. Alcohol was turning me into a drunken mess, and I vowed right then and there to quit drinking and start smoking more weed immediately.” “I got a new roommate. His name was Erick and he was an ex-marine. Erick and I didn’t know each other, but he knew Kevin, and he also knew that I didn’t shower and that last semester I left a used condom on the floor for two weeks without throwing it away. Eric therefore did not want to live with me.” “Believe it or not, I got another job working with the disabled. See, Manny was nice enough to hook me up with a position as a job coach at the Lavelle School for the Blind. The kid’s name was Fred and he was blind with cerebral palsy. Fred loved dogs and I loved smoking week. Bad combination, and I was fired with 3 days left in the program after allowing Fred to run across the street into oncoming traffic, because I had smoked a bowl an hour earlier. Manny and I never spoke again.” “My life was a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. Here I was living this carefree existence, getting drunk, boning bitches, and playing Sega Genesis in between. Oh wait, what am I talking about? My life was awesome. It’s the rest of my life that’s going to suck.

Come in,” she called without thinking. The door opened, and Caleb stepped inside. “I want to apologize for last night,” he said, his hat in his hands, his expression as innocent as an altar boy’s. “The truth is, I don’t think we should get married.” Lily was beginning to get disturbing ideas about the rolling pin in her hands. His disclaimer came as no surprise to her, of course; she’d known he was an out-and-out scoundrel all along. “Oh?” “We’d do nothing but fight. And make love, of course. I think we’d better just stay away from each other from now on.” Lily had prayed to hear these words that very morning. So why did they hurt so much? “What if I’m pregnant?” Caleb shrugged as though they were talking about the possibility of a splinter or a stubbed toe. “I’d take care of you both, of course.” “Like you took care of Bianca, I suppose.” Caleb’s grin was infuriating. “Yes.” Lily began tapping her palm with the rolling pin. “But you don’t think we should be married.” “Absolutely not,” Caleb replied firmly. “What if I think we should be?” He grinned. “If you propose to me, Lily-flower, I might reconsider. You’d have to be suitably humble, of course.” Lily made a strangled sound of rage and rounded the table, wielding the rolling pin like a battle ax. Caleb easily wrested it from her hand and tossed it aside before pulling her into his arms. She squirmed, but there was no escaping, and when he caught her chin in one hand and forced her head back for his kiss she was lost. When it was over, and Lily was breathless, Caleb set her away from him. “When you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Lily glared up at him. “I’ll dance in hell before I’ll come crawling to you, Caleb Halliday!” He laughed, more in amazement than good humor. “If I didn’t think you might be carrying my baby, I’d turn you over my knee right here and now and blister your behind!” “I’m not carrying your baby!” Lily stormed out of the house toward the woodshed, bent on getting kindling for the cook stove. Caleb followed, cornering Lily against a sawhorse, and said a possessive hand on her abdomen. “We’ll see about that in a few months,” he vowed.

A birthday fuck with a super-hot detective equaled bliss in his book. He wasn’t going to ruin the night by letting his issues control him. Besides, the guy tasted divine. What the hell was that? Peaches? Damn it all to hell, now he’d never be able to eat the fruit without thinking of Connelly. He clutched the collar of Connelly’s T-shirt and deepened the kiss. If he was giving up one of his favorite foods for the rest of his life, the night better be fucking worth it. When Connelly’s hands palmed his ass he thought they were on the right track. When, out of nowhere, Connelly swatted it then started kneading with both hands, Z vowed to give up every fucking fruit known to man—if only the night would last forever.

Tis the season, you lot. Cheer up. At least the man can change a dirty nappy. If he and Sophie have anticipated their vows, he’ll need to be handy in the nursery. Now, shall I beat you at cribbage seriatim or both at the same time?” “And what if there are to be no vows?” St. Just asked. Valentine answered as he crossed his knife and fork very precisely across his plate. “Then he’ll need to learn how to disappear from Sophie’s life and never show his miserable face in the shire again. We won’t have him trifling with her.” Westhaven resumed his place at the table. “But his family seat is in Kent,” St. Just said. “He can’t very well avoid that for the rest of his life, particularly not after he inherits.” Westhaven smiled, not a particularly pleasant smile. “Exactly so. Valentine, fetch the cards; St. Just, we’ll need decent libation. As I see it, we really don’t have very many options.

She stepped toward the gap; one slipper slid on crumbling masonry. Stifling a gasp, Patience leapt forward onto the corridor flags. And collided with a man. She opened her mouth to scream- a hard hand clamped over her lips. An arm like steel locked about her waist, trapping her against a long, hard frame. Patience relaxed; her panic flowed out of her. There was only one body within ten miles like the one she was pressed against. Reaching up, she pulled Vane's hand from her lips. She drew breath to speak, opened her lips- He kissed her. When he eventually consented to stop, he only lifted his lips a bare fraction from hers. And breathed: "Quiet- sound travels very well in the fog." Patience gathered her wits. And breathed back: "I saw the Spectre- there was a light bobbing about." "I think it's a lantern, but it's gone or shielded now." His lips touched hers again, then settled, not cool but warm against hers. The rest of him was warm, too, an oasis of heat in the chilly night. Her hands trapped against his chest, Patience fought an urge to snuggle closer. When he next lifted his head, she forced herself to ask, her words still no more than a whispered breath: "Do you think he'll come back?" "Who knows? I thought I'd wait for a while." He followed up the tantalizing brush of his breath against her lips with a much more satisfying caress. Patience's head spun. "Maybe I'll wait, too." "Hmmm.

Ellie! No!” He rushed to her. “God, no! You can’t be leaving me! Don’t!” He grabbed her face and covered her mouth in a hard, desperate kiss. Her eyes flew open in stunned disbelief; she stopped breathing. He released her mouth but not her face, which he held in his hands, his fingers threaded into her hair. “You can’t go, Ellie, you can’t. Don’t you know how much I love you? God, I’d be nothing without you. I never thought I’d get to feel like this again, but you brought me back to life. You took the loneliness away and brought laughter back into my life. Ellie, you’re everything to me—I can’t make it without you. If you leave, I don’t know what I’ll—” She just stared at him, a slight smile on her face. “Really? You don’t say.” “Listen, I know I’m not a good romantic, I know that. I realized just a little while ago that I—Oh, hell, I told you how responsible I was, not how much you light up my life. I told you about my vow and how I could stick to it, not how life without you would be all gray and sad and awful. I didn’t tell you everything you mean to me. I promised myself I’d take care of that tonight, for sure. I was almost too late.” “Tell me now,” she said. “Now?” he asked, dropping his hands from her face. “Right now,” she insisted. “But I haven’t prepared!” “I know. That’s the whole idea,” she said. “I’m listening.” He cleared his throat. “Ellie. Dammit, you saved my life. I was a wallowing, pathetic, self-pitying—” He stopped talking at the sound of her soft laughter. “You’re not supposed to laugh at my attempts to be romantic.” “Noah, that wasn’t romantic. That made me wonder what I ever saw in you. Start over.” He grabbed her face in his hands again. “I want to be with you forever. I want to lie beside you every night, holding you close, whispering to you that I love you more than anything in the world, that you turned my whole world upside down just when it needed to be turned upside down. I want to make forever promises to you out loud, in front of God, and I want you to promise to be my woman, my wife, my one and only love, my best friend and my conscience. You’re never easy, Ellie, but you’re sure never boring…” “I don’t know about that last part,” she commented. “God, I love you so much. If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d go after you, that’s what I’d do. I’d find a way to get you back. You know we’re perfect together. I know you feel it because I can feel you feel it.” He grinned roguishly. “We sure fit together perfect, don’t you think? You told me you loved me—tell me again.” “I love you, Noah. I tried not to. I usually screw up love situations. But, apparently, we have that in common.” She grinned. “A good start.” “You won’t leave me?” “Why would I leave you? I adore you. And unless I’m completely stupid, you just asked me to marry you.” “I did. We should give the kids some time to get used to the idea. And we should find a house that can hold us, but as soon as we can work out the details, we should get married.” “Okay,” she said. “Am I late for rehearsal?” “We were waiting for you,” he explained. “Then Walt said he saw you struggling with luggage and thought maybe you weren’t coming, that you were leaving.” She laughed a bit. “Noah, these are Vanni’s hand-me-downs. I thought I had time to unpack them before the rehearsal.” He was shocked silent for a moment, absorbing this, then he grabbed her and kissed her hard. And he said, “I have a feeling I bit off more than I can chew with you.” “No question about that, Your Holiness.” *

Ambrose's injured left arm, but Ambrose rammed Regal into the ring post to badly disorientate him. Then, Ambrose ruthlessly kneed Regal's head into an exposed turnbuckle, causing Regal to bleed from the ear; the match was then ruled a no contest. After the match, Regal stared down Ambrose, then applauded him and turned his head to allow Ambrose to hit him with the Knee Trembler. Afterwards, the FCW locker room stormed the ring to separate Ambrose from a fallen Regal while commentators questioned whether Regal would ever be able to wrestle again. Ambrose made his main roster debut on November 18, 2012 at the Survivor Series pay-per-view alongside Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins, where they assaulted Ryback during the triple-threat main event for the WWE Championship, leading to CM Punk pinning John Cena to retain his title. The trio declared themselves "The Shield" and vowed to rally against "injustice". They denied working for Punk, but routinely emerged from the crowd to attack Punk's adversaries, including Ryback, The Miz, Kane and Daniel Bryan, who had attempted to save Kane. This led to a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match being set up for the TLC payper-view pitting the three men of the Shield against Ryback and Team Hell No (Kane and Bryan), which Ambrose, Reigns and Rollins won in their debut match. The Shield continued to aid Punk after TLC; during Punk and Ryback's TLC match for the WWE Championship on the January 7 episode of Raw, they attacked Ryback, which resulted in Punk retaining his title. During the Royal Rumble event where the Rock challenged for Punk's WWE Championship, match, a blackout occurred and the Rock was

Lightly, he fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. When her lips parted in surprise, he knew he should have pulled away. But at that moment, his hand instinctively came down on her shoulder in a possessive gesture. Without looking away, she backed out of his grasp. "Ruairi..." "Ravenna, before I change my mind, I verra much want to kiss ye right now." God help her. His words would be her undoing. Ravenna wondered what it would be like to feel the warmth of Ruairi's lips, the strength of his touch. She forced herselt to settle down. She needed to stop thinking - now. Because no matter how much she tried to deny it, she wanted him to kiss her too. His hands slipped up her arms, bringing her closer. Ravenna vowed not to become too involved with him. She couldn't. She shouldn't. Oh, bloody hell. He lowered his mouth to hers, and his lips were more persuasive than she cared to admit. The sweet taste of ale lingered on his breath. His kiss was urgent, and she was shocked at her own response to his touch. He seared a path down her neck, her shoulders, and then his lips recaptured hers. Ruairi took her mouth with savage intensity, forcing her lips open with his thrusting tongue. Her knees weakened, and if not for the support of his hand at her back, she would have fallen.

They say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Oh, it is not just paved but more engraved with our pinky promises and solemn vows. We give our word to be more frugal with our credit cards, to commit to those yoga classes in the morning or to finally reach the appointment for sight testing scheduled one month ago. Well, I think some black magic is going around or dementors have been knocking on our doors lately because all these promises become vanished over night. Giving up our long-term projects and ideas for that sweet flavor of immediate gratification, my friends, this is not called Alohomora but procrastination. Seriously now, why do we lose the battle against procrastination leaving the lava flow of emotions taking over our plans so frequently?

Yes, us. And the vow I just made. Hell, Rosa, it's about your home branded on my body.

You’re a pirate?” Obviously. Still, hard to believe. He pressed forward, forcing on her a series of blows meant to test her strength and will. She parried and blocked his every move with an aptitude that amazed. “Aye. A pirate, and captain of the Sea Sprite,” she boasted, a wry smile upon her full lips. Indeed, she appeared very much a pirate in her men’s garb—a threadbare, brown suit with overly long sleeves she’d had to roll up. Her ebony hair had been pulled back in a queue and was half hidden beneath a rumpled tricorn. Also, like her men, was her look of desperation and the grim cast to her countenance that bespoke of a hard existence. “We offered you quarter,” she said as she evaded his thrust with ease. “Why didn’t you surrender? You had to know we outnumbered you.” He didn’t answer. In all honesty, he’d thought they could defeat the pirates, if not with cannon fire, then with skill. After hearing of all the pirate attacks of late, they’d hired on additional hands, men who could fight. If it hadn’t been for the damn illness… “It’s not too late. You can save what’s left of your crew. Surrender now, Captain Glanville, and we’ll see that your men are ransomed back.” A wicked gleam brightened her eyes as if victory would soon be hers. He should do as she asked. It would be the sensible thing, but pride kept him from saying the words. Not yet. He still had another opponent to defeat, and so far she hadn’t been an easy one to overcome. Despite his steady attack, she kept her muscles relaxed, her balance sure. Her attention followed his movements no matter how small, adjusting her stance, looking for weaknesses. “How do you know I’m Captain Glanville?” When work was at hand, he didn’t dress any differently than his men. “I know much about you.” Stepping clear of two men battling to their left, she blocked his sword with her own and lunged with her dagger. He jumped from the blade, avoiding injury by the barest inch. This one relied on speed and accuracy rather than power. Smart woman. “What do you want from us?” he asked, launching an attack of his own, this time with so much force and speed, she had no choice but to retreat until her back came up against the railing. “We only just left London four days ago. Our cargo is mainly iron and ale.” Her gaze sharpened even as her expression became strained. His assault was wearing her down. “I want the Ruby Cross.” How the hell did she know he had the cross? And did she believe he’d simply hand it over? Hand over a priceless antiquity of the Knights Templar? Absurd. He swung his sword all the harder. The clang of steel rang through the air. Her reactions slowed, and her arms trembled. He made a final cut, putting all his strength behind the blow, and knocked her sword from her hand. Triumph surged through his veins. She attempted to slash out with her dagger. He grabbed her arm before her blade could reach him and hauled her close, their faces nose to nose. “You’ll never take the cross from me,” he vowed as he towered over her, his grip strong. The point of a sword touched his back. Thomas tensed, he swore beneath his breath, self-disgust heavy in his chest. The distraction of this one woman had sealed his fate. Bloody hell.

He didn’t call on Monday. “Pay up,” she said. “He’ll call,” Mike said. “He took a pinky pledge.” Mike made a good point, but how long could even a sacred vow sealed by the tiniest and most loyal of digits forestall the inevitable? They decided to give it a month. Tuesday morning the phone rang. “Hello,” said an increasingly familiar British voice. “Oh, hello,” Becky said, and thought both “darn” and “hooray!” at the same time. She hated to lose a bet. “Yes, hello,” said Felix. Becky cleared her throat. “Did you go skiing?” “Yes, you know, we did.” “Have a good time?” “Mm hmm.” “Good. Sounds . . . fun.” “So, what do we do now, swap stories about our exes? Watch a reality show on the telly and narrate to each other in scandalized voices? ‘Can you believe she said that? I can’t believe she just said that.’ ” “You don’t have many friends, do you?” “I have thousands of fans, dozens of itinerant co-workers, a handful of acolytes, three stalkers, and a wife.” “You have no idea how this friend business works, do you?” she asked. “Ha!” Felix said. “Ooh, that was a nice ‘ha.’ Full of derisive laughter and effectively evading any answer.” “Thank you. I’ve been practicing.” “Yeah. So, um, you have no idea how this works, do you?” “I know there’s talking involved, don’t I? And phone calling. I’m not such an amateur as all that.” “Felix, are you really sure you want to be friends?” “What do you mean, am I sure? I took a pinky pledge.

The Lord is constantly teaching us. I know He has me in His right pocket and I’m very safe there. I love to see Him really work in my life, and I know He’ll use me in His due time.

These were hard times, heart-breaking...Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed offering to idols, swore oaths that the killer of souls might come to their aid and save the people. That was their way, their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts they remembered hell. The Almighty Judge of good deeds and bad, the Lord God, Head of the Heavens and High King of the World, was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he who in time of trouble has to thrust his soul in the fire's embrace, forfeiting help; he has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he who after death can approach the Lord and find friendship in the Father's embrace.

Gareth!  Thank God you're up and about. I was just coming to get you —" "What is it?" "Lucien, the bastard!  He's sent her away!" "'Dammit, Andrew, why the hell didn't you come get me earlier?!" Andrew vaulted down the stairs after him. "I just learned of it this second!  Nerissa went to Miss Paige's room and found her gone, and one of the servants told her Lucien sent her packing back to Boston on the morning stage!  You've got to find her, Gareth, before it's too late!" I'll kill him, Gareth vowed, striding angrily through the Gold Parlour, the Red Drawing Room, the Tapestry Room and toward the Great Hall. "Where is he?" "Outside, on the west lawn." The report of a pistol cracked the mid-morning quiet. Then another. Andrew didn't need to say anything more, for there was only one thing that Lucien ever used the west lawn for. Dueling practice. Another pistol shot banged out in the distance. Gareth saw a footman standing rigidly near the door, pretending not to notice the drama unfolding beneath his nose. "Gallagher? Send word to the stables. I need Crusader saddled immediately." "Yes, my lord." "And get a message to Lord Brookhampton, telling him to summon the Den and have them waiting for me on the green in twenty minutes. Move, man!" Another

How many times do I have to say it?” Sylvan said through gritted teeth. “I have vowed never—” “Never to call a bride,” Baird finished for him. “I know, I know. I just wish you would change your mind, Brother. Wish you could experience the joy I feel when I hold Olivia in my arms.” “I wish it too,” Sylvan admitted in a low voice. “But even if I hadn’t made a sacred vow to the Mother of All Life, I could never call a bride. That part of me is…broken. Damaged beyond repair.” “Don’t you think I was broken too?” Baird demanded, frowning at him. “After what I went through on the Scourge Fathership? Hell, I was shattered into a thousand pieces but Olivia fixed me. I’m telling you, Sylvan, the right female can heal your wounds if you’d just give her a chance.” “No such female exists.” Sylvan stared down at the program clutched tightly in his hand. “Not for me.” Baird

Sylvan didn’t know what in the seven hells was happening to him. First his fangs had come out—not once, but twice. And the second time he hadn’t even noticed. Thankfully he’d been able to force them to retract, though the feeling was akin to having his erect cock bound in a too-tight pair of pants. But now his mating scent was apparently emanating from every pore. He could barely smell it himself—it was too much a part of him. But why else would Sophia have rubbed herself against him like that? Her soft, curvy body. The fullness of her breasts against my chest. Her warm secret scent… She even seemed to like the press of my shaft against her—at least she didn’t move away. He shook his head. No, there was no way the shy, obviously inexperienced Sophia would have made such a wanton display if his mating scent wasn’t out in full force. But it shouldn’t be! I have sworn never to call a bride. Sworn it in the sacred grove before the statue of the Mother herself. Why is this happening to me? He didn’t know. His boots clicked and echoed as he strode along the endless lines of docked vehicles, looking for the shuttle that he and Baird shared. Finally, he found it at the end of a short row of similar craft. It was long and sleek and silver—with a very small enclosed space inside. He threw a glance back at Sophia who was nearly running to keep up with his long strides. What if his mating scent filled the cabin of the shuttle as it had the compartment of the transport tube? Was there any way to suppress it? Sylvan wished he knew but he had never heard of a warrior with his problem before. Usually when a Blood Kindred’s fangs came out and his mating scent began exuding, he was mentally and emotionally ready to claim his bride. But I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. And even if I was, even if I would dream of breaking my vow, Sophia would never have me. He

You really believe that? You think your feelings for her—the need to claim her and bond her to you—will just disappear the minute we hit the ship?” “They have to.” There was something like desperation in Sylvan’s eyes now. “Because I can’t have her. Can’t claim her, no matter how much I want to.” Baird frowned. “Stop this foolishness, Sylvan. Go to the priestess in the sacred grove. Ask to be released of your vow.” Sylvan shook his head. “I can’t.” “You must!” Baird stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t let pride break you. There is no shame in bowing to your body’s demands—just look at you, you’re so deep in need for her you’re not even the same person. You look like hell, Brother. You can’t go on like this.” “I have to.” Slowly, Sylvan began to march forward again. Baird could see his arms trembling with fatigue but he moved with a single-minded determination, a stubbornness that trumped his wounds and weariness. “I have to,” he said again. “Have to go on, no matter what. Go on without her.” “Why?” Baird demanded. “You’ve found the woman you love—now claim her before the need inside you eats you alive.” Sylvan looked at him and there was such a depth of pain in his eyes that Baird ached to see it. “I can’t claim her because she doesn’t want me. She’s rejected my bite over and over again.” “Gods.” Baird didn’t know what to say. The hope, the need, the desire…and then the rejection. The pain worse than death. It’s Feenah all over again. But Sylvan had never been like this the one time he’d tried and failed to call a bride before. He’d never looked this bad, this ragged. It was clear the need to claim Sophia was riding him like a cruel master, spurring him to take her, to bond her. And it was just as clear that Sylvan was determined to fight it. Baird knew his brother—a more honorable male did not exist. So it was no wonder Sylvan refused to bond her against her will. Baird

She had worried for her soul because she'd enjoyed the bedding too. But where she'd accepted that it must be all right because she'd vowed to obey Conall and he'd ordered her to enjoy it, this woman had... well, she'd lost her mind as far as Claray could tell. Mhairi believed that enjoying the bedding was a sin that would see her soul in hell, but that killing so many innocent people would redeem her. It was madness.

Are you troubled by me making ye enjoy it?" Claray flushed, but admitted honestly, "I was at first. But I've resigned meself to it." "Resinged yerself?" he asked with concern. "Should I stop---?" "Nay!" Claray interrupted quickly, and then scowled. "Do no' you dare stop. I love the pleasure ye give me, and if 'tis wrong, then I'll happily serve me time in hell fer it." "Ye will, will ye?" he asked with a faint smile. Claray nodded, and then added, "But I do' think the church is right about this. I love ye, and the loving is an expression of that. 'Tis beautiful and precious." Pausing, she smiled slightly, and added, "Besides, ye ordered me to enjoy it, and Father Cameron did make me vow to obey ye. I can hardly be punished fer keeping vows the church made me make." The concern easing from his face, Conall chuckled and hugged her close. "I do love ye, Claray. Yer beautiful, and clever, and sure to drive me mad and scare me witless at times. But I'd have it no other way." "Neither would I, husband," Claray murmured, hugging him back. "Neither would I.

Yet in his encounter with Jesus, something dramatic happens: he humbles himself before Jesus, recognizes Jesus’ authority as greater than his own and asks Jesus to heal his servant. Jesus responds with amazement, “I tell you the truth, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith.”5 This must have come as quite a shock to Jesus’ audience. Within the people of God, the community that carried God’s name in the world, Jesus has not found such great faith as he has found here in this outsider—a Roman centurion identified with the powers and structures of Gentile imperial domination that God has vowed to demolish. Jesus finds faith in unexpected places.

When he doesn’t offer any explanation, I say crossly, “I see you’ve hit the mute button again. I wish I had access to that when you won’t shut the hell up.” “Let me have this moment of happiness before you destroy my will to live, please.

After what I’ve been through, the devil himself could show up demanding my soul, and I’d tell him to kiss my sweet ass and fuck off back to hell.

Look who’s talking. You’ve got so many ancient hell witch costumes, I can’t keep up with them all.” I pull away, frame his face in my hands, and gently kiss him on the lips. Looking deep into his eyes, I say, “They’re not costumes.” After a beat, we both start laughing.

You’re strong as hell, I’ll give you that, princess,

Come hell or high water, I'm Nessa's and I'm sure as hell going to make her mine.

The bundle in her arms cried at being jostled. She cried with him. For the nine months that she had carried him in her young womb, the beautiful product of a ghastly, horrific act, she had vowed to herself that she would get him out. She knew what they did to the children born in this hell, how they took them and began grooming them before they could even speak properly. And she had vowed that no matter what happened, her child would not grow up in the hell she had. Somehow, someway, she would get him out or die trying.

Jacques knew, as his body moved gently and lovingly into hers, as his hips thrust forward and he buried himself ever deeper, that his life was changed forever. He would have a home, a family, children; he would have love and laughter surrounding him all the days he chose to remain on earth. He would have her body, her heart, her purity and goodness to temper his predatory nature. His hell had become a paradise that he had somehow, through all his mistakes, managed to reach. Because she could read his mind so easily, because he rarely left her completely, Shea could glimpse his feelings. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and allowed the building explosion to overtake her, Her arms tightened around Jacques, around her anchor, her security. Whatever happened in the future, whatever they were forced to face and deal with, they had one another, and that was all anyone could ask. Jacques lifted them to the heavens, and they soared there together while the water in the pool splashed and receded around them. He framed her face gently with his large hands and looked into her vivid green eyes. “I love you, Shea. I always will,” he vowed softly. “I love you too, Jacques,” she whispered back. He found her mouth, the warm sweetness only she could provide, and took it hungrily. They slipped deeper into their embrace, and the water closed over their heads. Laughing, coughing, they broke apart and swam to the surface, the horrors of the day drowned in the depth of their love.

Actually, despite his earlier vow to one day raid Eastham, Clyde Barrow tried to go straight when he was paroled. He first helped his father make preparations to put an addition onto the service station, then traveled to Framingham, Massachusetts, to take a job and get away from his past in Texas. However, he quickly grew homesick and returned to Dallas to work for United Glass and Mirror, one of his former employers. It was then that local authorities began picking Barrow up almost daily, often taking him away from his job. There was a standing policy at the time to basically harass excons. Barrow was never charged with anything, but he soon lost his job. He told his mother, in the presence of Blanche Barrow and Ralph Fults, 'Mama, I'm never gonna work again. And I'll never stand arrest, either. I'm not ever going back to that Eastham hell hole. I'll die first! I swear it, they're gonna have to kill me.' ... Mrs. J. W. Hays, wife of former Dallas County Sheriff's Deputy John W. “Preacher” Hays, said, 'if the Dallas police had left that boy [Clyde Barrow] alone, we wouldn't be talking about him today.

Do you believe in heaven and hell?” her soft voice asks as I watch her blue eyes fill with tears. “I’ve never really thought about it …” She licks her lips. “But there has to be something better than this, right? So much hate. So much deceit. How does anyone know what’s real or fake?” “No,” I answer her question honestly. “I don’t believe in life after death.” Her eyes search mine, and for once, I hate how vulnerable she looks—almost broken. I want to make her whole. That’s my job as her husband. She belongs to me, and Matt is still controlling her emotions—making her question everything. “The Lords have shown me that darkness exists. That you don’t have to die in order to burn. And then you came along …” I place both of my hands on her wet face, and she blinks, allowing the first tear to run down her cheek. “I can see you, touch you, and kiss you.” I wipe it away with my thumb. “I can love you.” My eyes drop to her plump lips, and her bottom one trembles. “You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.” I’d set the world on fire, including myself, if it meant saving her.

I cannot be with Crue. And I sure as hell will not under any circumstances marry him.

I don’t think Crue intends to be a season, Rya.” “He is until hell freezes over.” “Be careful what you wish for. It might have already.

The last five weeks have been a living hell without her. I don’t know when it happened, but this fiery vixen is all I can think about, even when my engagement ring is on her damn sister’s finger.

Would you have let him go if you weren’t told that you had to marry Crue? Because we know he sure as hell doesn’t want to let you go. Families and contracts aside, I think Crue’s an asshole. But I also think he’s as stubborn as you, and he’s honestly probably the only man in the world who can handle your shit.” “My shit?” I ask, wounded. “You eat men alive in the courtroom.

Because I refused to work with you. I’m not clueless. I know the Unseelie sometimes take Barghests as animal companions.” Kane barks out a laugh, then shakes his head and walks away. “I’ll tell Finn she’s here—and that she thinks we’re murderers who command vicious and powerful monsters. Awesome start to a new partnership, I think he’ll agree.” “Where would you get such an idea?” Pretha asks, ignoring Kane. “Did your prince tell you we were behind the Barghest?” “He didn’t have to.

The exact thing I ran away from all of those years is where I have ended up now. Beside one of the most dangerous men in the world. Possessive. Controlling. A complete asshole. Crue is every one of these things and so much more. But despite that, I sure as hell won’t let him walk all over me.

can see you, touch you, and kiss you.” I wipe it away with my thumb. “I can love you.” My eyes drop to her plump lips, and her bottom one trembles. “You, Blakely Rae Archer, are my heaven.” Letting go of her face, I pick up her left hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing her wedding ring. “I made a vow to protect you, Blake, and I’ll show anyone who tries to hurt you my version of hell.

You know it’s rude to stare at your trainer like that, right?” he chuckles darkly. “You’re not just my trainer though, are you? You’re my husband, and I’m pretty sure gawking at your hotness whenever the hell I want to was one of our marriage vows.” He arches one eyebrow at me. “It was?” “Well, I definitely meant to say it, even if I didn’t.

But you’re not fooling me, Dawson. You’ve got a hot little number under your skin”—she leans in and presses a kiss on my cheek, and I feel her smile—“and I hope she gives you hell.

I’m glad I lost it to you, Dawson. I’m honestly so glad I met you. Thank you. You’ve given me a beautiful gift.” “Likewise. Even when you give me hell.

If I were to hurt his little girl, his princess? Well, there would be hell to pay. And speaking of princesses, Honey in her long white dress with the incredible sparking train, she looks exactly like one. And I can’t wait to rip that material to shreds and see what nice little piece she has on beneath.

He’ll never have that opportunity ever again, and if by chance he does, I’ll cut his fingers off one by one.

Lennon Wells is my own personal hell. I vowed to stay away from her for that reason—but tonight I’m throwing away all sense of logic. All I want is to let her burn me.

Fair warning, Doc. You should probably stop catering to me.” He frowns and pauses his cup. “Why in the hell not?” “Because I’ll get used to it, and if it stops, I will totally resent you for it.” Movement outside the large window of the small café grabs my attention as two women step onto the escalator leading up to the platform. “I promise to always fix your coffee, Jane.” Lucian steals my attention with his decree. “A promise?” I tilt my head, grinning. “Really?” “A solemn vow,” he widens his eyes. “Because only a twat wouldn’t be able to carry out such a simple task to please a woman—especially one so simple.

about the why of it all. Not right now. He wasn’t wasting this moment. Continuing down her thighs, he remembered the feel of them naked around him and the images that flooded into his mind consumed him. He saw her arching back as she orgasmed, her breasts rising up, her nipples— Brrrrrrrrrr. Pause. Brrrrrrrr. Pause. Brrrrrrrr. They separated and he leaned to the side. His phone was going off in his pocket, and thanks to his loose pants, it was vibrating on the seat. Meanwhile, Lydia’s breath was pumping in and out of her, and he made sure to catch a mental snapshot of her with her face flushed and her lips parted. “You better answer it,” she said. “In case it’s Gus.” Fucking hell. They couldn’t have ten minutes alone without cancer barging in? “I’m not finished with you,” he vowed as he reached back and took the phone out. “Who is it?” Daniel frowned at the number. “It’s not Gus. I’ll tell you that much.” FIFTEEN AS DANIEL ANSWERED the call, he watched Lydia ease back onto the Harley’s gas tank and handlebars.

You might be a hunter, baby, but I’m the fucking face god. There isn’t a place in this world you could go to escape me. This hot little body is mine, those claws are mine. That cunt is mine to fuck and taste. Your skin is mine to mark and scar, and your heart mine to protect. So get used to it. Hit me, fight me, bite me, hell, flay the skin off my body, whatever the fuck you need to do to get it out of your system. I’ll take all the pain and anger. I’ll take everything you have, and I’ll still be there begging for more. Do you understand me, Remi? I’m yours.” I punctuate my vow with a kiss on her pounding pulse. “I’m yours, have been since before you were born, waiting in this fucked up world for you to come along. To challenge me, test me, tease me… There is no me without you. I may be a god, a fallen one, but you? You are a goddess. You are the power that runs through me. My blood pumps for you, my heart beats solely for you. Always has, always will.

Maybe, but that didn’t mean this bit didn’t hurt like freaking hell right now. I was like a butterfly fighting my way free of its cocoon, and it was only now I realised what a torturous process that was. What you were, your past, everything, it conspired against your every attempt to fight free. But I would, I vowed,

They will also forgo pleasures of the flesh, if they're true to their vows. I want to make sure that when they're living that life, they never forget about me. And I, in return, will rot in hell. Happily.

Love—love was a balm as much as it was a poison. But it was love that burned in my chest. Right alongside the bond that the King of Hybern hadn’t so much as touched, because he hadn’t known how deep and far he’d have to delve to cleave it. To cleave me and Rhysand apart. It had hurt—hurt like hell to have the bargain between us ended—and Rhys had done his job perfectly, his horror flawless. We had always been so good at playing together. I had not doubted him, had not said anything but Yes when he’d taken me down to the temple the night before, and I’d sworn my vows. To him, to Velaris, to the Night Court. And now … a gentle, loving stroke down that bond, concealed beneath that wasteland where the bargain had been. I sent a glimmer of feeling back down the line, wishing I could touch him, hold him, laugh with him. But I kept those thoughts clear from my face. Kept anything but quiet relief from it as I leaned into Tamlin, sighing. “It feels—feels as if some of it was a dream, or a nightmare. But … But I remembered you. And when I saw you there today, I started clawing at it, fighting, because I knew it might be my only chance, and—” “How did you break free of his control,” Lucien said flatly from behind us. Tamlin gave him a warning growl.

On the Association of First-Class Lawyer’s wall display there was this saying: If you are mortal, I vow that I shall not let you be dragged down to hell. If you are the devil, I shall send you to the most suitable hell. If you must receive a ten-year sentence, I shall not let you be sentenced to eleven. If you must be incarcerated, I shall not let you be condemned to death.

I’ll tell Jamison I can’t keep my life vow. He’ll help me somehow. I’ll get you the best protector in Avalon, I promise, but... it’s not me anymore.’ ‘I don’t want another protector,’ laurel said, her chest feeling hollow, panicked. ‘You don’t understand,’ Tamani said, not looking at her. ‘It;s not about us; I can’t be your fear-gleidhidh... effectively. In hindsight, I should probably never even tried; if I was doing my job right, none of this would have happpened. When I-- when I thought you were dead, I went crazy. I honestly didn’t know myself. I was afraid of who I had become. I cna’t live always knowing that I could lose you at any moment; that I could feel that way again.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s too hard.’ ‘No, no, Tam,’ she said, smoothing his hair, caressing his cheek. ‘You can’t, not now, not--’ ‘I’m not as good as you think I am, Laurel,’ he protested, desperation filling his voice. ‘I don’t trust myself to protect you anymore.’ ‘Then find someone else to fill that role if you have to,’ she said, jaw clenched, ‘but don’t leave me!’ She scooted closer and took his face in her hands, waited while he built up the courage to raise his eyelids at her. ‘Wherever we’re going to go today, I want you with me, and I never want you to leave my side again.’ His ragged breath touched on her face now, her body pulled right against his chest, feeling his essence pull on her like a magnet. ‘I don’t care if you gaurd my and protect me-- all I care is that you love me. I want you to kiss me good night mefore I go to sleep and bid me good morning the moment I wake up. And not just today; tomorrow and the next day and everyday for the rest of my life. Will you come with me Tamani? Be with me?

(Iago:) If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her. Therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.

What the hell is wrong with me? Matthias is a sea of red flags