Just don't go out fighting. I don't need to know where you're going, that's your biz. But if you get yourself killed, I got ninety-nine problems and you're the biggest one of them." Rehv to John

Saxton was indeed clear on things: Blay was still in love with Qhuinn— and probably always would be. “Why?” he said to his lover. “Because I want you for however long I have you.

In the center was a tiny handprint in red paint.

Phury nodded. "And if she lives with us, we get to keep the cat.

He didn’t even know what it was, Vishous.” “The tux?” V lit a hand-rolled. “Of course he didn’t. He’s a real male.

But then, gifts are like beauty, are they not. It is in the eye of the recipient that they find their seat, not in the hand of the giver.

I think you and he need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.” Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—” “With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would suggest otherwise.