Voles-tu, mon petit papillon.” Illium laughed at Galen’s instruction to “fly, little butterfly

God, you’re sexy when you talk Psy.

You try to leave and I will hunt you down." Relief poured through her, but she smacked at his thigh with the back of her brush. "Like a rabid dog? Very romantic.

You refused to fall in love with anyone else, Dmitri.” A whisper with the impact of a gun-shot. “So I had to come back for you . . . husband.

Bluebell, you couldn’t take me if I was blindfolded and had both hands tied behind my back.” “Bluebell?” Illium narrowed his eyes. “That’s it, Barbarian.

She wished he’d stop touching her. Not because she didn’t like it but because she liked it far too much. It made her hunger for things that could never be hers. And if someone went hungry for too long, they started to starve. Started to hurt.

I'm the hunter," Elena reminded him. "I should go first." "Of course you may go first. When I am dead.