Man" Rhage muttered, "someone hit this place with the Hallmark stick." Until it broke.

You are in a prison with no bars. I worry about you.

In the Old Language, she hissed, “If any harm shall befall him, I will come after you, and find you where you sleep. I do not care where you lay your head or who with, my vengeance shall rain upon you until you drown.” That last word was drawn out, until its syllable was lost in more growling. Dead silence. Until Doc Jane said dryly, “Annnnd this is why they say the female of the species is more dangerous than the male.

Stop it. Do not feel safe with him. The Stockholm Syndrome is not your friend.

Can you drive any faster?" Tohr demanded. "I got the pedal to the medal" The angel looked back. "And I don't care what I have to mow over

Blay didn’t shake the hand that was offered. He reached over, took a hold of the fighter’s face, and drew Qhuinn in for a kiss. It was supposed to be only a split-seconder— like their lips were the ones doing the handshake thing. When he went to pull back, though, Qhuinn captured him, and held him in place. Their mouths met again… and again… and once more, their heads tilting to the sides, the contact lingering. “You’re welcome,” Blay said roughly. Then he smiled a little. “Can’t say it was all a pleasure, though.

You never realized how thick your fog was until it lifted.