...Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.
J.R. WardHe tasted each one of them. The raw power and majesty of Wrath. The vast strength of Rhage. The burning, protective loyalty of Phury. The cold savagery of Zsadist. The sharp cunning of Vishous.
J.R. WardShe was staying. A little longer. V smiled to himself. So this was what winning the lottery felt like.
J.R. WardBlay said yet again, that old, familiar voice cutting through all of those years of rejection and judgment, giving him not just a rope of acceptance to hang on to, but a flesh-and-blood hand to lead him out of the darkness of his past... And into a future that didn't require lies or excuses, because what he was, and what they were, was both extraordinary-and not hing out of the ordinary. Love, after all, was universal.
J.R. WardI cannae believe you let me touch you.โ His voice grew hoarse. โI shall remember this for all my nights.โ Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment like thisโฆ. โDo not cry.โ His thumb went to her cheeks. โBeautiful female of worth, do not cry.
J.R. Ward