If you really want to upset a witch, do her a favor which she has no means of repaying. The unfulfilled obligation will nag at her like a hangnail.
Stories of her children when they were small, their round little bodies barely containing their personalities, which bloomed and glittered and melted into her.
Never had she danced so beautifully; the sharp knives cut her feet, but she did not feel it, for the pain in her heart was far greater.
There was nothing particularly special about her, except that she was good with numbers, and very good at lying, and she made her home in between the pages of books.
But he also knew this centurion, this man of honour, would change her…by giving her love…and love was the most powerful force in the universe.
It wasn't fair to pull her into that vortex, because I couldn't be fixed. And Roxy was a fixer. She thought she could help me, I could see it in her eyes.
Her love was decaffeinated, and mine wasn't. Her love was also black, and mine was creamy and sweet. How could she not want to drink it up?
The king died, and then the queen died of a broken heart. Her secret lover left her for a younger woman.
Susie . . . ” With his hands on her face, he found her eyes. “If you make love with me and then go back to him, you’ll ruin me".
But her life was as cold as an attic facing north; and boredom, like a silent spider, was weaving its web in the shadows, in every corner of her heart.
The witch knew who had killed her and she snatched pieces of time, here and there, from the business of dying, to make her revenge.
The vampire's eyes were open, and he was staring at her intently. It was as though he were trying to speak to her with simply the power of a glare. Alexia did not speak glare-ish.
This was the mark of deep infatuation, he thought: the desire to watch a woman talk just to see her lips move, to be around her.
She realized that her undiluted love had also given him the power to hurt her but she decided that spirit of the soul can always transcend the pain of the ego.
The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day.
...There are no ‘what ifs.’ You have to jump in. You go in all the way or back off completely. Take her in with all that you’ve got or cut her loose.
The Sacred Bombshell knows that her creative feminine energy is a catalyst. She remembers her womb wisdom.
She pressed her mouth to his throat, his shoulder, would have absorbed him into her skin if she'd known a way.
Nine people had died today. And it didn't matter what the FBI had thought of her actions. Her career as a negotiator had ended before it had even begun.
At the same time, we held back. Because she was different. Different. We had no one to compare her to, no one to measure her against.
She wasn’t ready for this kind of distraction he caused her. It was bad enough she found him attractive, but having a attractive man in her home was just asking for trouble.
