When was the last time you lost an argument?" He pretended to think about it. Then, leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "A few hours ago when you refused to stop the car and crawl into the backseat with me.

Option 1: Attempt to back out. Probable result: Death after painful torture. Option 2: Do the job and hope. Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good)

Once, he'd used it in song, but the songs in his heart had gone silent long ago, and he knew that one day so would his voice. A man with nothing inside him eventually had nothing to say.

In my time,” he said, “they believed in witches. Are you a witch, Honor, that you make me say these things to you?” Causing him to rip open wounds that had stayed safely scabbed over for so long that, most of the time, he managed to forget they existed. Her hands, so very, very gentle, continued to hold his face as she tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “I’m no witch, Dmitri. If I was, I’d know how to fix you.

He'd been so angry at her -always pushing his buttons, that girl. But then he'd taken her into his arms, and all that anger had blazed into a darker, hotly possessive need that had urged him to bend his head, bite down on the throbbing pulse in her neck, leave a mark.

Our memories make us... even the darkest of them all.

Honor?” “Yes.” “I’m going to do things to you now that a good girl definitely shouldn’t let a man do to her.