The Old Language really was beautiful, Blay thought. Staring at the symbols, for one brief, ridiculous moment he imagined his own name across Qhuinn's shoulders, carved into that smooth skin in the manner of the mating ritual. Never going to happen. They were destined to be best friends...which, compared to strangers, was something huge. Compared to lovers? It was the cold side of a locked door.
J.R. WardIndeed, Xcor stayed away for the wrong reason, the bad reason, an unacceptable reasonโin spite of all his training, he found himself choosing Throeโs life over ambition: His anger had taken him in one direction, but his regret had led him in another. And the latter one was what won out.
J.R. WardButch repositioned the Sox cap, and as his wrist passed by his nose, he got another whiff of himself. "Ah, V. . . listen, there is something a little weird going down on me." "What?" "I smell like men's cologne." "Good for you. Females dig that kind of thing." "Vishous, I smell like Obsession for Men, only I'm not WEARING any, you feel me?" There was silence on the line. Then, "Humans don't bond." "Oh, really. You want to tell that to my central nervous system and my sweat glands? They'd appreciate the news flash, I'm sure.
J.R. WardIโm on the benevolent side of antisocial. I donโt mind people, but Iโd prefer not to have a lot of them around.
J.R. WardI must confess. Of all of the brotherhood, he was the one I loved first and he remains the one I love the most. For me, he is just the...one.
J.R. WardIt was a universal truth among males that anytime you saw a guy get it in the nuts, you experienced a shot of phantom pain in your own croquet set. As Lassiter crouched beside the Brotherโs pretzel of a body, he was feeling a little nauseous himself, and he took a moment to cup what hung between his legsโjust to reassure the boys downstairs that however much of an iconoclast he was, some things were sacred.
J.R. Ward