Years from now I'll look back and remember today as the day I met him. I'll look back and remember the exact moment my life began to include him. I will remember it forever.

He gave a hard smile and the oxygen in my lungs evaporated. “We both know I’m not a gentleman.” “Yeah. Okay, let me out. I’m tired.” “There’s something else,” he said, and I groaned. “What now?” “This.” He stepped closer to me, so close that the containers were sandwiched between us. His eyes looked down into mine, intent and golden, like a lion. “Oh, no, you don’t!” I hissed, dropping everything. I pushed hard against his chest; it was like shoving a tree. “Yes,” he said very softly, leaning down. “Yes, I do.

He seems so.. English sometimes, kind of distant or reserved, but then he'll look at me, and his eyes see right through to my soul.

I feel like a fox in a henhouse full of Catholic girls.

Over my dead body, I thought. Yes, even immortals use that phrase. It has extra oomph for us.

I didn't know where this stuff was coming from - all of a sudden I was a little magickal sprite, bonding with my stone, feeling my earth roots, la la la... All I can is describe the way it felt. And that was how it felt. So sue me. Was I swaying? I felt like I might be swaying.

I-just want you. I want you so bad, all the time. I know I shouldn't, I know I can't, I know it's wrong... but even when you're pissing me off, when you're reminding me of pain and despair and torture-it's there, the wanting. I'm tired of fighting it. I fight so many things, all the time, every day. I don't want to fight this. Not anymore.