You hated my rainbows, now you don't like my leather. Is there anything you like on me?

Barrons, Jericho: I haven't the faintest fecking clue. He keeps saving my life. I suppose that's something.

You hated my rainbows, now you don't like my leather. Is there anything you like on me?

raking a hand through his hair, he forced his attention to the text she'd left on the coffee table, refusing to dwell on the disconcerting fact that a part of him had taken one look at the lass in such proximity to his bed and said simply: Mine

Don't celebrate yet, Ms. Lane. Don't believe anything is dead until you've burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.

I've tried to move [the sidhe-seers] during times of peace and quiet and had the luck of a broken mirror nailed beneath an upside-down horseshoe with a ladder nearby that a black cat just walked under.

If you already know the answer, Ms. Lane, don’t waste my time. You just wasted a month of it.” -Barrons