I remembered Nahadoth's lips on my throat and fought to suppress a shudder, only half succeeding. Death as a consequence of lying with a god wasn't something I had considered, but it did not surprise me. A mortal man's strength had its limits. He spent himself and slept. He could be a good lover, but even his best skills were only guesswork - for every caress that sent a woman's head into the clouds, he might try ten that brought her back to earth.

Fortunately, where reason failed, blind panic served well enough.

Funny thing, employment. If you keep doing it, you keep getting paid.

We worship Him not because He is the best of our gods, but because He is, or was, the greatest killer among them.

But when I got angry, my nerves sought an outlet, and my mouth didn't always guard the gates.

There's truth even in tainted knowledge, if one reads carefully.

Rising from the dead? Glowing at sunrise? What did that make him, the god of cheerful mornings and macabre surprises?