Propping the mirror against the wall near the door, he waved a hand at it and clipped, "Drustan: Cian MacKeltar. Cian: Drustan MacKeltar." "Dageus," Drustan's voice was soft as velvet, never a good sign, "why are you introducing me to a mirror?

I don't believe Barrons is out to destroy mankind. I don't think he particularly cares much for mankind, but I don't think he has any deep-seated desire to see us all wiped out.

He wasn't just masculine and sexual, he was carnal in a set-your-teeth-on-edge kind of way; he was almost frightning.

Oh, for heaven's sake, she thought with droll exasperation, this certainly explains a lot. It's no wonder I haven't been able to keep my hands off the blasted man since the day I met him. He's an artifact! A Celtic one at that!

What have you stuffed in your pants, MacKeltar?" she demanded. "Nothing that wasn't God-given," he replied stiffly. Gwen stared. "There's no way that's part of you. You must have gotten a sock or something stuck. Oh, my." She pried her gaze from his groin.

Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it's none of your business, I have lost. Many things.

We were watching Barrons. Why were you watching Barrons? Barrons needs watching.