Zara Quotes

A pixie's true skin color is blue. Cookie Monster, Grover, and other lovable Muppets are also blue. Do not confuse the two. Muppets don't kill you. Usually.

Zara: It's just a registry... Kit: Am I the only one who's read X-Men and realizes why this is a bad idea?

Zara, sympathy is just a good excuse to buy greeting cards and make sorry eyes and secretly gloat over how glad you are that you aren't the person whose crap is hanging out for everyone to see.

Where'd the dog go?" I ask, sounding panicky. "That wasn't a dog, Zara," he says, words whisper strong. I jerk my head up. "What was it then? A cat? A gerbil? A geriatric hamster?

Because he's three thousand times the human being you'll ever be,' said Alec. 'Now get out of here before I risk his life by waking him up so he can turn you into a garbage fire. Something that would match your personality.' 'Oh!', said Zara. 'So rude!

Issie?“ After a second her voice comes out small and tired. “I'm not here.“ “Oh.“ I back up so I can stare at the bathroom door. No feet. “Then I should probably freak out because the toilet is talking back to me, huh? A little too many pain meds for Zara today.

If I see Zara come up riding the Loch Ness monster, we’re going home,

I've learned that it helps to talk about [anxiety]. Unfortunately I think most people would still get more sympathy from their colleagues and bosses at work if they show up looking rough one morning and say 'I'm hungover' than if they say 'I'm suffering from anxiety.' But I think we pass people in the street every day who feel the same as you and I, many of them just don't know what it is. Men and women going around for months having trouble breathing and seeing doctor after doctor because they think there's something wrong with their lungs. All because it's so damn difficult to admit that something else is...broken. That it's an ache in our soul, invisible lead weights in our blood, an indescribable pressure in our chest. Our brains are lying to us, telling us we're going to die. But there's nothing wrong with our lungs, Zara.

He likes you, Zara. He took care of you. That's what men do when they take a shine to you.

Allow me to get this straight,” Zara said, staring past Jameson and straight to me. “You, to whom my father left virtually everything, want the one and only thing he left to me?

Pixies have to be invited in, like vampires. I read it on the Internet." "Well, there you go," I mutter. "Then it must be true.

I stomp toward her and point. I've SO had it with her. "That is SO not nice." You don't even talk like a queen." She glares at me. Nick raises an eyebrow at me. "You're a QUEEN?" I walk to the edge of the bed, stand just a few inches away from her. Power rolls off of her. "Okay, please refrain from your insidious comments, which are obviously geared to inflict harm upon my psyche. I do not appreciate it." Nick cracks up. "Well, you ARE the same Zara.

Zara White, since when has love ever not mattered?

And this time Zara White," he says, " this time it is my turn to rescue you." - Astley

It's a lot easier to understand things once you name them. It's the unknown that scares me most. - Zara

I love you,” she says. “I love you,” I say. And then we hang up, because nothing else needs to be said after that. I want to give Zara her life back. Even if I feel I deserve something like this, I don’t deserve it at her expense.

the PE teachers are into strudel," Issie says. '"I'm not sure why. It's so gooey." Gooey is good," Nick says. "Seriously?" I ask him. "You like strudel." "I like a lot of things that aren't good for me." He smiles slowly at me. My mouth must be hanging open because he starts laughing. "You made her blush!" Issie says. "Don't blush, Zara. He's just teasing.

. . . One of the most human things about anxiety is that we try to cure chaos with chaos. Someone who has got themselves into a catastrophic situation rarely retreats from it, we're far more inclined to carry on even faster. We've created lives where we can watch other people crash into the wall but still hope that somehow we're going to pass straight through it. The closer we get, the more confidently we believe that some unlikely solution is miraculously going to save us, while everyone watching us is just waiting for the crash." . . . So Zara asked, without any sarcasm, "Have you learned any theories about why people behave like that, then?" "Hundreds," The psychologist smiled. "Which one do you believe?" "I believe the one that says that if you do it for long enough, it can become impossible to tell the difference between flying and falling.

Zara. We all need to rescue and we all need to be rescued.

Salaar Sikandar nay pichlay aath saalon mai Imama Hashim kay liye her jazba mehsoos kiya tha. Hiqaarat,tazheek,pachtaawa,nafrat,mohabbat sab kuch......Magar aaj wahan bethay pehli baar ussay Imama Hashim say hasad horaha tha.Thi kiya woh......?Aik aurat.....Zara si aurat....Asmaan ki hoor nahi thi....Salaar Sikandar jesay aadmi kay saamnay kiya auqaat thi uss ki. Kiya mera jesa I.Q Level tha uss ka?Kiya meray jesi kamiyaabiyaan theen us ki?Kiya meray jesa kaam karsakti thi woh?Kiya meray jesa naam kama sakti thi?Kuch bhi nahi thi woh aur uss ko sab kuch plate mai rakh kar day diya aur main......Main jis ka I.Q Level 150+ hai mujhay saamnay ki cheezain dekhnay kay qaabil nahi rakha?Woh ab aankhon mai nami liye andheray mai wind screen say baahar dekhtay hue barbara raha tha."Mujhay bus iss qaabil kardiya kay main baahar nikloon aur duniya fatah kar loon.Woh duniya jis ki koi wuq'at hi nahi hai aur woh....woh...."Woh ruk gaya.Ussay Imama per ghussa araha tha.Aath saal pehlay ka waqt hota tu woh ussay "Bitch" kehta,tab Imama per ghussa anay per woh ussay yehi kaha karta tha magar aath saal kay baad aaj woh zabaan per uss kay liye gaali nahi la sakta tha.Woh Imama Hashim kay liye koi bura lafz nikalnay ki jurrat nahi kar sakta tha.Siraat-e-Mustaqeem per khud say bohat aagay khari uss aurat kay liye kaun zabaan say bura lag nikaal sakta tha?Apnay glasses utaar kar uss nay apni aankhain masleen.Uss kay andaaz mai shikast khoordagi thi."Pir-e-Kamil(S.A.W.W)......Siraat-e-Mustaqeem....Aath saal lagay thay,magar talash khatam hogayi thi.Jawab mil chuka tha.

All choices are fraught with peril, but inaction is the most perilous of all.

Sometimes, there are monsters inside of us all, even in the ones we think are the most good." ~Zara White

Emma rolled her eyes. “Zara, Clary and Jace weren’t related.” “Yeah, well, they thought they were, and that’s the same!” Zara screamed

People are always looking into the dark, Zara. We're afraid of what we might see. It might be the dark outside, it might be the dark of our own souls, but I figure it's better to get caught looking than to never know. You get me?

I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I said. “My name’s Zara. I’m strong, I’m fast, and I totally kick ass. It’s great to be me...but that means right now it sucks to be you.

When I am with you Zara, I’m so much better…You have magic and you give it all to me.

Livvy stared at Diego for most of the meal, probably thinking about their plan to stop Zara, but it was clearly making Diego nervous, since he tried twice to cut his steak with his spoon.

You're following me," I finally say. "Why?" "Because I'm trying to reclaim what's mine." "I'm not yours." "You are.You always have been.You always will be." "That's crap." "Is it? Look inside youself, Zara. I think you'll find what's true." "I don't know what's true anymore. But I know you're starting to sound like a bad ripoff of Darth Vader in an old Star Wars movie. And I know you're trying to hurt me." He shakes his head and listens to air. "Never." "Which part? The Darth thing or the hurting thing?" "Both.

What?" he asked. "Nothing. Your bony hands of death amuse me, that's all." "Wait until yours look the same," he said, preparing to scythe. "Wait - what?" She batted the sapphire blade out of his hands. "What do you mean? Is that why everyone around here has such creepy fingers?" "Yeah." He bent down to pick up his scythe. "I don't know why it happens, though. Probably the same weird reason our hair goes all wonky." "What?" she barked, knocking his scythe to the ground once more. "Stop that!" "What happens to our hair?" He gestured to the disaster atop his head. "You think I want to look like a drunken hedgehog all the time? It's from hanging out in the ether so much. It messes with your follicles or something. Doesn't happen to everyone, but I can assure you that Ferbus's wasn't always the color of a prison jumpsuit, Zara wasn't born Silvylocks, and Mort's been rocking the electrocution look for years. Look, yours has gotten straighter already." Lex ran a hand through her hair. It had lost some of its poofyness. There had been so many other circuses of insanity to deal with that she hadn't even noticed. It was calm, manageable, even - she shuddered to think it - sleek and shiny. "Oh my God," she said in disgust. "I'm a shampoo commercial.

Fear was a wicked monster clinging to every insecurity, whispering the harshest things. And salvation could also be dirty.

If you worked hard for it, if you didn't give up, even when you found your way and you thought you had everything, life found a way to give you more. [Zara]

Onion ring?" Zara said, handing her a leftover carton. As everyone knows, the offer of an onion ring is not to be taken lightly. Onion rings are far more valuable than their throwaway side dish counterparts -- french fries and potato chips -- and, as such, have brought about numerous reconciliations throughout history.

You’re young enough,” Zara said, her voice almost wistful, “to believe that money solves all ills.” Spoken like a person so rich she can’t imagine the weight of problems money can solve.

I lean back down and press my lips against his" you're going to be safe. i swear.i'll keep you safe." his lips move beneath mine." I love you." his eyes are strong for a second, intense Nick eyes."I will always love you no matter what." "we'll always love each other," i say

Thank you for getting me," I try to say. My lips are so tired they don't want to move. "Anytime,Zara.Really.I mean it." He seems to be smelling my hair. "I know you hate me and everything but we should be friends," I tell him, closing my eyes. "I don't hate you," he says. "That's not it at all." "What is it then? Are you a victim of parthenophobia?" "Parthenophobia?" "Fear of girls." "You are so strange." He moves back even closer to me, this wicked glint in his eyes like he's trying hard not to snort-laugh at me. His hand presses against the side of my head. Nobody has ever touched me like this before, all gentle and romantic, but strong at the same time. "I'm not afraid of girls." "Then why haven't you kissed any?" For a second his eyes flash. "Maybe the right one hasn't come around yet.

You can wait as long as you like, pretty one, it won't make any difference. He will never see you as anything more than some victim he has to protect. Why he thinks it his duty to protect you from the inevitable, I do not know... unless he knows something we do not...

Is the sex good?” … “I hope it’s good but not great,” Krystal remarked. “Sex slave to an alpha. Bad news.” This time my head didn’t jerk. I blinked again. “I’m a sex slave to an alpha and I have no complaints,” Lauren muttered, grinning at Zara. “Me either,” Zara replied, grinning back. “I’ve had mine longer than all of you,” Nina announced. “And I’m of a mind that there will never be a time to complain.

Conversation is the sexiest foreplay, the perfect prelude to sex, the fiery banter that gets you heated, the stimulation of the mind that transmits to the body. Conversation is a give and take. Just like sex itself. And the best give and takes — the best conversations — lead to the best sex.

If you keep pretending you’re not hurt, how can you heal? True love doesn’t expect you to deny you’re in pain.

I've never needed a knight. I can wield my own damn sword when I need to.

Yes, I’m happy, Zara. Not all the time, but I’ve learned that you don’t have to be happy all the time. But I’m happy… enough. Is that what you came here to ask?

In the elevator up to Kelley's apartment, Emira checked her phone. OH OKAY BYE BITCH, Zara texted. TRAP TRAP TRAP TRAP GET THAT L.L.BEAN DICK GUR.

I think I want to keep you and I think I don’t ever want to let you go, Zara Rose.

I want you in my bed, Zara. Underneath me until I'm buried so far inside you, you won't ever think to call me a friend again, you won't know your own name, just how it feels to squeeze down around me as I pound you. I'm being upfront, so we're clear.

Making her happy was his vocation. Sure, he loved making money, thrived on it sometimes. The chase was his adrenalin. Being top dog, another high. Even when it brought headache after another. But his girl’s being happy with everything they both could possibly need? Rider had no ceiling on what he wouldn’t do for Zara and Harper.

In a fair world, Zara would be able to harness the power of her grief. She would use it to shatter every glass and plate in this restaurant. She would use it to scream so loud that everyone in the city could hear her. She would use it to tear open the world and reach back through time and pull Savannah from the jaws of the universe.

I sunk to my knees in the spot he had left me. I felt a part of me had just been lost. I was fraught with so many emotions, confused by them all; however, I was hurt more than anything. Hurt to hear him call himself a monster. A monster? Of all the things I thought he was, a monster was not one of them.

I never understood until recently that it's possible to miss what you never had.

It had been impossible to get away from her own darkness. Or so she thought. Here she was basking in the light of a beautiful bad man.

He was a drug, and she needed a fix, a huge fix. A very lengthy fix.

What about trans women?" Zara asks, writing the question in her document. "How does that work?" "Of course I have written invocations for trans women," Emer says. "Demons do not care about bodies. They only care about souls.

Come here, Zara.” His voice low and sinful. She knew that look in his deep-set eyes as he unravelled his hair and spread out his sweatpants covered legs in front of him. There was nothing wholesome or good about her bad biker-man. And not when he was heeling his hand over his hardness. “Come here to your man so I can wrap your pretty pussy around my cock.” And he pulled out his angry-looking cock to rest on his abs, a hard bat of need just for her.

In Norwegian that would be 'hun ma dra. Kanskje er hun gravid.'" Astley sttempts to smile. i can't help teasing him. "Which? Asking to go to the bathroom or dissing me because I'm pregnant." "you are with child?" his eyes open wid, all mock terrified. "No! Shut up. You know I'm not." I punch him in the arm and then lead him into the stairwell, shutting the door behind us. "Okay. Seriously, Astley, what happened to you? Why is your head bleeding?

This might be for you to accept today: They won’t get it. Stop torturing your soul over their delusions.

I can love her and still want something more for my life. Love and regret are mutually exclusive.

Zara: You need a shoulder to cry on, Eli? Find someone else.

I think I want to keep you,” he says with a faint trace of a smile. “I think I want to keep you and I think I don’t ever want to let you go, Zara Rose.

Why do we allow the painful destruction of our most precious &valuable resource: our children, our future? Why do we have the right to live when they do not?" - Zara Heritage

You know, Sir Devlan. Many women might find the quiet type endearing," I say. "I admit, a man of few words has an attractive quality." His head turns toward me. "But seeing how you're one of the few people I have to converse with, your lack of conversational skills can be obnoxious.

Rider thought she looked possessed and fucking beautiful. Finally, he understood why she'd needed to do this. Take your power back, baby. His fucking girl. Fuck. Rider might be in awe of her inner strength. She had a gorgeous monster inside of her.

I realized that I had to rebuild my foundation. I had a choice about how to see my life: I could look only at the negative or I could emphasise the positive. It took all the energy I could muster to accept that my miscarriage had happened for a reason.

I want to go upstairs, to Zara’s apartment. I want to fall into her arms. I want to tell her I’m scared. I want to tell her I don’t want her to become my mother. I want to tell her I think she already has.

That is how they are. That is how the Cold Peace has made them. Afraid of what is new and different, and filled with hatred like ice. She may seem ridiculous, Zara Dearborn, but do not make the mistake of underestimating her and her Cohort.” He looked back at the window. “Hate like that can tear down the world.

But you are so beautiful, too. So fucking beautiful, inside and out. And you’re funny and kind and your recklessness makes you interesting. And you deserve love, Zara. Whether you believe it or not, you deserve it.

But I see everything you could be. Everything you already are, even if you don’t know it yet. I see more than what you want people to see, Zara. I see past your bullshit, and that’s what I want. What you really are.

Never, and I mean ever, bow your head to anyone, Zara. Not even me. Not like this. You are a fucking queen, and you make them kneel before you.” His face is stern, yet he’s staring into the depths of me nobody has ever.

This woman. The one right in front of him making keen moaning noises. He wanted her so fucking badly. All the time. She was a thirst in his throat, and goddamn, most of the time he thought he was stroking out, what with his heart thumping when she laughed. She made him work hard to get her smiles, so her laugh... fuck... golden.

Boundaries we set for our life are important, life-saving even. A lot of hurt comes from allowing others to guilt us into breaking them.

Their tears should be what they caused while playing and not when been abused.

Once upon a time, when my addled state didn’t know better, I stupidly believed the phenomenon of our gazes connecting had the power to stop the world from spinning.

Avery, did the ever-delightful Thea Calligaris happen to mention that her uncle is married to my aunt?” Zara’s last name was Hawthorne-Calligaris. “I hear Zara and your uncle are looking for ways to challenge the will.” Xander gave every appearance of talking to Thea, but I got the distinct feeling that he was really issuing a warning to me. Don’t trust Thea.

I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to study.” “We’ve all got to study,” Zara said. “But it’s Christmas. The Drome will be all decorated and everybody will be there.” “Exactly, which means the light rail will be packed and security will take forever.

One of them doesn’t want you, Zara. One of them only wants to see if he can take you away from the other. That’s part of the appeal.” She levels me with her gaze, and I feel her next words like an arrow to the heart. “Once he gets you, he’ll drop you, and it’ll hurt like hell when he does.

He motions to the glue brush. "Can I have some?" I start to grab it so I can pass it to him. He reaches for it at the same time. Our fingers touch, and the moment they do the fluorescent lights overhead flicker and then fizzle out. Everyone moans, even though we can all still see. There's enough light from the outside filtering in, just not enough for us to really focus on the finer details. Nick's fingers stroke mine lightly, so lightly that I'm almost not sure the touch is real. My insides flicker like the art room lights. They do not, however, fizzle. I turn my head to look him in the eye. He leans over and whispers, "It will be hard to be just your friend." The lights come back on. "Just a little brownout." The art teacher smiles and holds out her arms. "Welcome to Maine, Zara. Land of a million power failures." Nick's breath touches my ear. "I heard you didn't drive to school. I'll bring you home after cross-country,okay?" "Okay," I say, trying to be all calm, but what I really want to do is leap up and do a happy dance all over the art room. Nick is driving me home.

By the sound of things, you know nothing about mathematics.' 'You can put it like that. I'm utterly useless.' 'Useless is such a harsh word, you are merely... inexperienced. So I thought we could start at the beginning.' 'I'm not that stupid. I know how to add, subtract and multiply-' 'I don't mean that kind of beginning...

I’m not weird, I’m an introvert.

Stop telling people to reconcile, when you have no idea what it took for them to break free.

I will not be violent," I chant-mutter. "I will not be violent. I am peaceful and good. I do not want to give anyone the finger.

I'm bookbrained-the act of book obsession common in writers. Not to be confused with bookbrains, a delicacy for zombies when eating the former.

From her, I’ll take anything I can fucking get. And set the whole fucking world alight for a chance to have more.

The more you repress something, the stronger that desire is fueled.

People - even the ones who love you - can be a weight around your neck. You just have to choose which weights you want to carry.

You're everythin' I want, Icy. Believe it, you're it for me, for the long haul, my old lady, want you on the back of my bike squeezin' me with your legs, holdin' my waist, I wanna fuck you every night, make you feel good, have you screamin' my name, wanna see that smile and know it's just for me ‘cause I make you happy. I want every last thing from you and to give you more back, you and me every day. Need you to know this goin’ in, where my heads at. It’s you.

The digital age is Heraclitus on steroids: change is a daily constant. In almost every professional environment, we are expected to use and master tools that did not exist a decade ago, or even last year. For better or worse (and frankly, it is often for worse), organizations have access, essentially, to infinite amounts of data, and what might as well be an infinite variety of ways to sort through and act on that data. At the same time, ideas can be turned into reality at unprecedented speed. The thing Amazon, Facebook, and no less hot firms, including Zara, have in common is they are agile (the new-economy term for fast).

As it becomes easier to monitor informal consumer networks, the winners will be companies that figure out what’s working fastest – and do it more (and figure out what’s not working – and kill it). Zara, a fast-growing retailer in Europe, changes its clothing line every three or four weeks. By carefully watching what’s working and what’s not, they can evolve their lineup far faster than the competition can ever hope to.

My mother looked back at me while my father drove. Her long auburn hair was shimmering in the flickers of light passing through the window from the oncoming highway traffic. Looking at her I admired her flawless, pearlescent skin. Her hazel eyes were flecked with bits of blue and teal like a true Mer. My mother was beautiful, and I looked nothing like her.

We’ll fight them. We took down my dad. We’ve taken down so many since then. We’ll take down these jokesters too.” “I will never let anything happen to you,” Nick growls into my hair. “I will die before you get hurt again. So help me God, Zara. I will die." “Me too.” “What?” “I will die before I let anyone hurt you or Issie or Dev or Gram or . . .” I stop and pull my head away from his chest so I can look up at him. “This list is getting kind of long and melodramatic, isn’t it?” He laughs. His hand moves slowly up my spine. He starts leaning down for a kiss. “Yeah. It is.

I love you, more than I’ll ever find adequate words to describe. Every breath I take starts and ends with you. For as long as I live, I won’t deserve you. But I’m still a selfish bastard who wants you and wants nothing more in the world than for you to say you’ll be mine for the rest of our lives.

You like me?” I repeat, because, well, I want to be really, really sure that I heard him right. This is not the sort of thing you want to get wrong. He nods and says, “Very much.” “You like me very much?” He lets go of my hands and touches my check. “Too much.” “Too much?” Trying to keep my voice calm, I say, “No such thing.

I intend to extract a kiss from those bee-stung lips of yours for every minute of that time—when the time is right. I will kiss you till you beg for mercy. Then I’ll kiss you elsewhere, right between your legs. I intend to eat you for hours, until you beg for my cock. And then I will fuck you until you pass out from screaming my name. And if you think those are just words, that I don’t intend to rock your fucking world, then I feel sorry for you. Because the reality will blow your goddamn mind.

Then my cell phone buzzes again. I can’t quite get it out of my pocket because my arm is so bloody. Astley reaches down and pulls it out for me. “You’re blushing,” he says. “You just reached in my pocket. It’s kind of intimate.” He smiles a wicked smile and hands me the phone. “There is candy in here as well.” “Skittles,” I explain. “I like them.

Like it!” I exclaimed. “It is lovely — wonderful! It is worthy to rank with the finest Italian masterpieces.” “Oh, no!” remonstrated Zara; “no, indeed! When the great Italian sculptors lived and worked — ah! one may say with the Scriptures, ‘There were giants in those days.’ Giants — veritable ones; and we modernists are the pigmies. We can only see Art now through the eyes of others who came before us. We cannot create anything new. We look at painting through Raphael; sculpture through Angelo; poetry through Shakespeare; philosophy through Plato. It is all done for us; we are copyists. The world is getting old — how glorious to have lived when it was young! But nowadays the very children are blase.

I don't give my secrets away for free." He slid one hand around her waist, pulling her close. Zara melted against him, hands sliding up and over his shoulders. "Will you tell me for a kiss?" "Possibly." He drew his finger down, following the edge of her top where it dipped low between her breasts. Her skin was soft, her perfume so lush and sensual it clouded his senses. She leaned up, feathered kisses along his jaw. "Can it be now?" He meant to give her a soft kiss, a gentle kiss, testing the waters to see if she truly wanted to come on this ride with him. But the moment their lips met, something snapped inside him. Four days of longing and fantasies. A lifetime of loneliness. A need so fierce, he twisted his hand in her hair and claimed her mouth in a fury of passion and desire. Zara groaned and melted against him. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, taste the sweetness of chocolate in her mouth. Never comfortable with public displays of affection, he didn't care if the entire world saw them so long as she kept kissing him and never stopped.

Yet with the rise of AI, robots, and 3-D printers, cheap unskilled labor will become far less important. Instead of manufacturing a shirt in Dhaka and shipping it all the way to the United States, you could buy the shirt’s code online from Amazon and print it in New York. The Zara and Prada stores on Fifth Avenue could be replaced by 3-D printing centers in Brooklyn, and some people might even have a printer at home. Simultaneously, instead of calling customer service in Bangalore to complain about your printer, you could talk with an AI representative in the Google cloud (whose accent and tone of voice would be tailored to your preferences). The newly unemployed workers and call center operators in Dhaka and Bangalore don’t have the education necessary to switch to designing fashionable shirts or writing computer code—so how will they survive?

I just”—she hesitates—“I couldn’t go back to the beginning. I couldn’t let myself get stuck again.” Sam is beginning to understand, but it still stings him, how easily she says this, how easily she’s carried on without them. “Is that how we made you feel, then? Stuck? Like we trapped you? I trapped you?” “I’m just saying I always came last. I gave up my career, my body, five years of my life. I saw a glimpse at something close to happiness and I took it.

I watched my brother and sister interact with their grandparents and their mother. I could see the shared connection that comes only with years of being a family, years of history with one another, and waves of sadness crashed over me. I would never have that connection with them; those years were truly gone. As Pat had missed watching me grow, I had missed seeing my siblings grow, and I still felt like an outsider. Paradoxically, reunion helped in many ways to fill the void, but in other ways it made the void bigger than ever.

I left their house that night feeling very different from when I arrived. I was exhausted and relieved, yet more importantly, I felt more grounded, as if I was finally stepping into my own body. It felt good. At last I had done it. The secret was out and I knew then that how my parents chose to deal with this information was up to them. I simply couldn't carry it all any longer. I had to stop protecting their feelings. They were, after all, grown-ups. It was time for me to heal my sadness and anger, to stop being a victim of this situation, to move on with my life.

He roars, “What have you done?” I don’t answer. My heart beats crazy happy just to see her get across the iron. She’s not burned. She’s still human. “Zara.” His voice is measured. “I need her to maintain control.” “You don’t need to be in control. You’re all trapped. So there’ll be no more stealing boys, no more shooting arrows in the woods, getting people lost. It’s all over.” The metal is cold on my fingers. Devyn grabs more wire, starts another flight. A group of pixies leaps for him, screaming, a wild, chaotic mess. They start clawing at each other, lost in fear and hunger, angry. A pixie in a pink dress shrieks when another wearing a black gown lashes at her, slashing through the skin on her arm. “Zara?” The king tries to be calm and nice. He tries to look human. It doesn’t work. “Do you know what this means? Do you know the power that I’ll lose? The need? We will fight in here. We will kill each other.” “I know,” I say and my voice shakes as I stare at him, this man who is in my blood, but not me. He is not me. Still, I understand his need, his fear. He is stuck in this awful place where there is no moral way to move forward. “I’m so sorry.” And I am.

Without warning, Jay reached over and grabbed her belt. With a hard yank, he pulled her toward him. Her robe slid up her thighs and Zara licked her lips in shameless hunger. Did he know how wet she was? How her breasts ached? How desperately she wanted him? Jay gave a satisfied growl, holding her in place. "The law requires your consent for a search." He pulled her closer, his gaze hot and roaming. "I have to warn you. I am very thorough." "I have nothing to hide." She was burning. Liquid fire rushed through her veins, pooling between her legs. It was like Jay had plucked her deepest darkest fantasies from her mind and was making them all come true. He gave a small, calculating smile. "I don't leave anything untouched, sweetheart." "I'm not your sweetheart." "You will be when I'm done with you." He devoured her with his gaze, his eyes so dark they were almost black. "Robe off. I need to assess the search area." She slid the robe over her arms and lay back on the bed. "How's this?" He inhaled sharply, his gaze raking over her body, and then again more slowly in blatant sexual appraisal. "I see you've decided to make things difficult, but I can't be distracted." "I'm not afraid of you." She arched her back, parted her legs just enough to tease. Did he think he was the one in control? "You should be." His voice dropped to a husky growl.

It was hard to ask someone like Zara about that sort of thing directly, so the psychologist asked instead: “Why do you like your job?” “Because I’m an analyst. Most people who do the same job as me are economists,” Zara replied immediately. “What’s the difference?” “Economists only approach problems head-on. That’s why economists never predict stock market crashes.” “And you’re saying that analysts do?” “Analysts expect crashes. Economists only earn money when things go well for the bank’s customers, whereas analysts earn money all the time.” “Does that make you feel guilty?” the psychologist asked, mostly to see if Zara thought that word was a feeling or something to do with gold plating. “Is it the croupier’s fault if you lose your money at the casino?” Zara asked. “I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison.” “Why not?” “Because you use words like ‘stock market crash,’ but it’s never the stock market or the banks that crash. Only people do that.” “There’s a very logical explanation for why you think that.” “Really?” “It’s because you think the world owes you something. It doesn’t.” “You still haven’t answered my question. I asked why you like your job. All you’ve done is tell me why you’re good at it.” “Only weak people like their jobs.” “I don’t think that’s true.” “That’s because you like your job.” “You say that as if there’s something wrong with that.