Khanh, first of her name, mother of bunnies > Books: jericho-fucking-barrons‎ (62)

Melody stopped and tossed her head, eyes sparkling. “And I thought better of you. Jealousy is unbecoming on you, dear sister. It is not my fault he finds me beautiful.”

She had not hitherto allowed herself to hope, but if Melody’s affections had truly transferred to Captain Livingston, that would remove the most immediate obstacle to Mr. Dunkirk. It left her plainness and her awkward carriage, but to a man such as him, might these things be overlooked in favour of her talent?

Though she knew that she should aid her sister in making a match, Jane could not stomach the games that Melody played.

There, a combination of glamour and paint contrived to turn the hall into a nymph’s grove. Though yet incomplete, the illusion teazed the spectators with scents of wild-flowers and the spicy fragrance of ferns. Just out of sight, a brook babbled.

I have you in a corner, India. If you’re thinking that my father wouldn’t like it...you’re right. Not only would he not like it; he would destroy your reputation without a second thought.”

"A wife is an investment, like any other, and I take care of my possessions."

Dear Lady Xenobia,
I think I’ll call you Lady X. It has such an exotic sound to it; I feel as if I am writing to the madam of a prosperous brothel. (I’ve never done that before, in case you’re wondering.)
Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,
I am named after a queen who conquered all of Egypt, not after a brothel owner.
Lady Xenobia

She took a deep breath and twisted all her hair around itself. Most of her hairpins seemed to be mysteriously missing.
“I pulled them out in the carriage,” Dautry said, watching her fruitlessly pat her head.
“Why on earth did you do that?”
“I was bored.”

“My father said that in the event of tribulation or strife, I was to be sent to you.” She stopped again.
“He did not fuss, and neither did I,” said Rose, and up went that little nose again. “I don’t like to be unclean, and I didn’t care for the insects living in the straw. But I did not complain.”
“Or cry. At least,” she added, “until I reached your house, when I succumbed to exhaustion.”

“Better married to Mr. Dautry than never married at all.” Lala had been beset by suitors all season, but her father had rejected every one. She knew why: he had decided that her beauty was worth a huge settlement. In short, no one had bid high enough to pay off his debts.

As he turned to meet my gaze, his full lips lifted in a welcoming smile, and his dimples made a rare appearance.

“Damn you, man, you do not need to announce me!” a roar came from the hallway.

"I have a standing appointment with her, which you bloody well know. We do not need to go through this every damn time, Sherman!” Marcus shouted, his voice much closer than before.

Sprawled over the rest of the couch, with his head on my husband’s thigh, was the large form of his lover, Henry Fletcher.

His amber eyes shone like topaz as they fixed on the point where Henry’s lips touched my skin, and the intensity I saw in them unsettled me.

What I would give to have a man look at me that way.

“Do you ever feel as though you made the wrong decision, Katherine?” he asked, his voice desperate and his beautiful face tormented in the dim light.

“Is it possible?”
It only took half a second for his eyes to come sliding back, and I watched as he dragged them down over my jaw, my throat, my breasts, my waist, and then back up again. “It’s possible,” he said on an exhale.

“We can’t just dive into this,” he said, his rumbling voice slow and lethargic.

Yes we can! I wanted to shout.

“I can tell you what I’d like to happen,” Henry offered, a lazy smile on his face. We both looked at him, waiting. “I want Kit to spread her legs, I want you to lean back into her, and I want you both to watch as I suck you off.”

About your husband.

Together the notes read, “I know a secret about your husband”. No, Henry hadn’t sent it, and neither had John. So that begged the question, who had? And why?

“Who did you send for?” I asked.

He eyed me a moment before responding. “James.”

I needed to lose control. I needed to find a person or a pastime to surrender myself to. I needed to be helpless to someone or something, turn my mind off, allow myself to feel, to want, and follow through without fear of the repercussions.

“Are you all right, Kit?” John asked, his voice sounding far away.

Has he been calling my name all this time? I wondered. It took me several attempts before I finally managed to answer him with a strangled, “Yes.”

“Do you want us to continue?” he pressed.

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again. She was nothing compared to you. I’ve never fe

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again. She was nothing compared to you. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before—”

The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to vomit that weird eggplant tapenade I had for dinner, and everyone wil hear, and no one will invite me to watch the mimes escape from their invisible boxes, or whatever it is people do here in their spare time.

“Where have you been all my life?” I ask the beautiful panini. “How is it possible I’ve never had a sandwich like this before?”

Mer is next in line, and I transcribe her speech phonetically.

Oon ploss see voo play.

My dream is to study film theory in California. I want to be our nation’s greatest female film critic.

I wonder if Matt is a better kisser now that he has someone more experienced to practice on. He was probably a bad kisser because of me.

Oh, no.

I’m a bad kisser. I am, I must be.

Someday I’ll be awarded a statue shaped like a pair of lips, and it’ll be engraved with the words WORLD’S WORST KISSER.And Matt will give a speech about how he only dated me because he was desperate, but I didn’t put out, so I was a waste of time because Cherrie Milliken liked him all along and she totally puts out.

Oh God. Does Toph think I’m a bad kisser?

"You’re beautiful.”

I trip and fall down on the sidewalk.

I look away as he takes my hand and helps me up. “I’m fine. Fine!” I say, brushing the grit from my palms. Oh my God, I AM a freak.

“You’ve seen the way men look at you, right?” he continues.

“If they’re looking, it’s because I keep making a fool of myself.”

Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.

"I said you were beautiful. I slept in your bed!”
“You never made a move! You had a girlfriend!”
“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know. With me being there, I thought you’d know.”

It’s nice holding hands. Comfortable.

I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I’m not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.

I mean I didn’t SLEEP sleep with him. Obviously. But I slept with him.

I slept with a boy! I burrow back down into my sheets and grin.

He slowly turned around. “What is love? In English.”
I raised my brows. “Love, in English, is love?”
“What is it in Spanish?”
I was so enthralled by h

He slowly turned around. “What is love? In English.”
I raised my brows. “Love, in English, is love?”
“What is it in Spanish?”
I was so enthralled by his hypnotic eyes, I could barely remember. “Amore?”
He shook his head ever so slightly. “No. Love in Spanish is you.”

The thing was, I didn’t do love. That wasn’t my thing. That was the reason why I didn’t date, I only got laid when I needed to blow some steam or have some fun. Love was scarier than deep space.

“You are special, Estrella,” Mateo said, his eyes softening as he gazed at me.

“Ugly?” Mateo said in fervent disbelief. “No. You are terribly beautiful, Vera. So beautiful that it hurts. You would outshine her like the star you are.”

“You already are the other woman!” he yelled right back. His words smashed into me, blowing me to smithereens. He cupped my face in his hands. “You already are, whether you want to be or not. You’ve bewitched me, Vera. You’ve blinded me. You’ve made me forget my vows. And all you had to do was shine.”

“Well…you’re married,” I said unevenly, wishing my heart would slow the fuck down, feeling completely exposed even in the dark of night.
“And so are many of them.”
“It would be inappropriate...”
“How do you know? Is this inappropriate?”

I shook my head adamantly. “It’s wrong. I don’t want to be the other woman. I’ve seen my dad go for the other woman, I can’t put his daughter through that,” I said. “Or his wife,” I quickly added.

"But Isabel convinced him to give it all up. To get away from the lifestyle she considered too wild.”
“Wild?”
She smirked. “Oh yes. Our players are known for being a little wild and crazy. Lots of sex and fights and drinking. Mateo was no different than the rest. And Isabel, with her Duchess grandmother and her socialite status, she didn’t want that."

I lie down beside her and try to absorb everything she’s just told me about dead nannies, and about Tyler and Jesse almost killing each other over

I lie down beside her and try to absorb everything she’s just told me about dead nannies, and about Tyler and Jesse almost killing each other over nothing. I’m glad I want to be a music journalist because I think I would suck at being an investigative one.

Despite how rude he’s just been to me I have been conditioned by my mother to be polite at all times and so I smile at him in apology. He notices but doesn’t smile back at me, rather his eyebrows raise a fraction as though he’s taking my apology and wringing it by its neck before handing me back its broken corpse.

You want unicorns and rainbows and Care Bears in the sky and Twilight-style declarations of eternal love? Well— newsflash— it ain’t gonna happen, Ren.

Also, unlike Edward Cullen, the voice in my head pipes up, Jesse most certainly hasn’t fallen in insta-love with me and isn’t torturing himself over the fact that he can’t be with me in case he eats me.

He has dark, quiffy hair and wide-spaced eyes, though his skin is tanned as opposed to diamond sparkly white. He has a very square jaw with a dimple in the center of his chin but alas no jet pack. I note that his eyebrow is cocked and the smile on his face is half sneer, half smirk as if he’s laughing at Eliza but she doesn’t seem to realize.

Robert Pattinson—if you genetically spliced him with Buzz Lightyear.

“I guess you could call it that. They hook up every summer, but it’s not like it’s Facebook official or anything.”

There are guys with attitude, and then there’s this guy. He needs his own special category in Urban Dictionary.

“Like, what are you doing?”

“Like, I’m renting a bike,” I answer. I’m still vaguely amused by the overuse of the word like. I thought it was something that Hollywood scriptwriters used to emphasize vacuity in female characters. Turns out that’s actually the way Sophie speaks.

“Did you make out with Jeremy last night?” she asks from her position perched on the bath.
“So you didn’t make it to first base? Or second? If you get to fourth base on a first date that makes you a dirty skanky ho.”

“Did you and Tyler hook up last night?”
“What?” Paige says. “It looked like you were about to bone him right there and then.”

“No. He’s hooked up with Summer one time I think and maybe a few local girls—they put out way more: total skanks. But last summer he was dating this college girl. Total cougar. He got major props.”

“Tyler’s the biggest player on the whole East Coast,” Eliza adds. “As if I’d get with that.” She rolls onto her back and wriggles her hips into the sand. “And anyway, I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

With trepidation I open up my e-mail. Megan has sent me about a thousand messages all asking a variation of did you pull Jeremy?

I’m a size ten to twelve with normal-size boobs—not ginormous, but not flat either. I have an average body with curves that, according to Will, are sexy.

Eliza stares at it sitting on my plate and I realize that I must have committed some monumental carb faux pas. I reach for the butter and start to slather the bread with it, thinking bite me.

For lunch Matt went and bought up half the supermarket—dumping a pile of crisps (they call them chips just to confuse me), cans of Coke (no diet), and sandwiches onto a towel between us, which all the girls complained about and refused to eat (carbs).

Eliza spins to face him and starts wriggling her way down him as though he’s a greased pole.

Megan thinks anything with a Y chromosome is hot. She’s perpetually in heat. Even she admits as much (with a tonguelolling emoticon for emphasis).

She holds her hair over her shoulder and starts gyrating her hips and butt against a guy who has stepped into the ring of light. His hands, feeling their way along Eliza’s sides, are moving fluidly, but he isn’t groping at her.

Eliza then wraps her arms around his neck and leans pouting toward him, but the bottle is in the way and she clashes her nose against it.
Classy move, I think to myself, smirking.

“Eliza’s perfecting her Ice Queen routine.” Summer laughs, trying to break the tension.
“Better than perfecting a skanky ho routine,” Eliza snaps back, looking in Paige’s direction.

She is short and not as skinny as the other three, but her boobs are quite enormous, which I imagine makes her exceedingly popular with the boys.

Her breasts are having their own conversation with him, one hand rests on her jutting hip bone and the other plays with a loose lock of hair.

“Do you want me to put some sunscreen on your back?” he asks instead.

He’s in his forties and big in that way I imagine only American men can be, with a tanned face, thick graying hair and teeth so white they shine like headlights.

Carrie and Mike are both wearing tan trousers—I didn’t think they were the type of couple to go in for matching, but they’re American and what do I know about how Americans dress?

"The mysterious, messed-up, bad boy with secrets. If I didn’t love him myself, I think I’d have to kill him for being such a cliché.”

I glance upward. He’s still glaring at me, but not with irritation. He looks instead like he wants to kill me. His fingers twitch around the wrench. Unconsciously I have edged back toward the door.

But Jesse is so off-limits that if he were a place, he’d be a nuclear testing site. And Jeremy doesn’t make me not quiver. He kind of does. Is that enough? I’m so confused right now.

He is wearing jeans that fit well, but he swaggers a little in them and I wonder if he learned that in prison. He’s also wearing a white T-shirt that has a few grease marks smeared across it but which shows his muscles to obscene perfection. His whole attitude screams do not mess with me.

None of the girls was asleep, drugged, playing, waiting.
They were dead.
They had been killed here.
She wanted to be horrified. It seemed sick to be j

None of the girls was asleep, drugged, playing, waiting.
They were dead.
They had been killed here.
She wanted to be horrified. It seemed sick to be jealous, too, but she was. It hurt to know he’d loved so many other girls; that she was not special, not unique.

“I’m not allowed to ride in my friends’ cars. I’m not allowed to get my license until I’m eighteen. I’m not allowed to date. Not allowed to watch R-rated movies. Not allowed to go for walks after dark. Not allowed to play with sharp objects. The list goes on and on.”

It was one in the morning and she was alone in a strange city, with her duffel bag next to her, a play cracked open in front of her—and she had nowhere to go.
This was not the triumphant homecoming she’d imagined.

Casinos were open all night. She’d figured she could sit in the café, maybe doze off with her head on the table, and no one would care. But now that she’d been there three hours, Mira was starting to think her predicament was obvious. That some gambler would see a “helpless” girl in a frilly blouse and shorts and hit on her. Or some slot-playing grandma would spot a “runaway” and call the police. Or both.

She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, and when she pulled it away, Mira saw that the cloth was full of sodden flowers: shiny-wet violets, tiny daisies, delicate pink bleeding hearts. All fresh and flecked with blood.

Mira’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. Sometimes this place was just too weird.

Her cheek burned like she’d been lying in the sun too long, and she stood perfectly still, not wanting to break the spell.

His hand grazed her breast, and her breath caught in her throat.

...the bolt on the door had been breached, and the door had been flung open and slammed hard against the wall. A slender, dark figure moved swiftly through the room—
And pounced on the bed.

Mira settled back and did her best to calm down. Maybe Felix would punch Blue for her later.

She wanted to do something, to show him she could be natural at this, but—she couldn’t. Her body had gone rigid with apprehension.

She wandered out into the empty suite, trying hard not to cry. Her embarrassment from last night came flooding back.

Mira pouted at him. It was obvious there was something he wasn’t telling her.

There are things I need to do here, and I intend to do them.”

“Um, little animals flock to him like he’s made of candy.”

“What’s all this curse talk?” Mira murmured to Freddie.
“Just a joke,” Freddie said, flashing an unconvincing smile.

“You know, you are the most...despicable person I’ve ever met.” Mira’s fingers tightened around the Cinderella’s Secret bag. “You don’t even know me, but you insist on being a jerk to me every chance you get.”

“I didn’t say he wants to like you. Just that he does. Maybe because you act like you don’t like him, so he feels a little safer."

“Would you like me to carry your bag?” Freddie asked. He looked a little guilty—but hopeful, too.
“No.”
“But I’d like to do you favors.”

She threw her arms around his neck, swayed toward him, off balance, and kissed him violently, possessively. Come back, she thought. Stay with me.
“I bought—a sexy nightgown,” she said. “Do you want to see it?”

But the one thing she hadn’t expected to find was a kiss that could destroy her. A kiss that—if it hadn’t ended in time—could have been her last.
She shivered all over at the memory. Both terrified and wanting it to happen again.

He sighs and slows to a stop. “There are a lot of things about the world we live in that you don’t understand. Things you’ll find out in time.”

He sighs and slows to a stop. “There are a lot of things about the world we live in that you don’t understand. Things you’ll find out in time.”

“You are my husband, Declan Burke. I am your wife, Emma. We were married in a small ceremony with only our closest friends atop our mountain.”
“Yes, Emma, that’s right. You were absolutely beautiful.”

His arms wrap around tight and hold me as if I would run away and he could not bear it. But I will not. Not ever. I want to be with him always.

I told you to lie, She says coolly. You don’t understand yet, but you will.
I only understand that I am at war with myself, and I do not know why. One way or another, I will win.

When I look down, I find I am bound to the table by Velcro straps. Instinctively, I jerk and the bindings burn and pinch my wrists.
“What are you doing?” I ask, panicked.
“I’ll remove them when I think you’re no longer a danger to yourself.”

Those take you out of the building, She tells me. Probably to other floors, too. They’re teleportation units. Teleport. Teleporting. Teleportation. You know, teleporters.
They split you into a million different pieces and send your bits to your destination. You tell it where you want to port and it sends you there. Get it? Tell—a—port.

I recognize the acronym from one of my earlier dreams with Toni. “WTC?”
“Women’s Training Center. Where all our young women are prepared for marriage.”

“You know what I am talking about. Why do you insist on keeping my past a secret from me? If you are trying to protect me, stop. I do not need your protection. I need the truth before this gets any worse."

“The women who are fertile these days,” he continues while he stands and moves to one of his bookcases, “are only fertile into their late twenties, early thirties at most. It isn’t disease or genetics, just the unfortunate way things have progressed.”

He slaps his hands to his knees and stands. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Birth control is illegal. Abortion is illegal, with a very severe punishment. Emma, pregnancy is not a choice. I’m sorry.”

A couple of nurses arrive, take our vitals, and clean up our scrapes and cuts. One uses some kind of laser to heal my knuckle.

“What are you?” he whispered into her strawberry-scented curls. Damn. He breathed in deeply. He could inhale that smell all night. His body reacted

“What are you?” he whispered into her strawberry-scented curls. Damn. He breathed in deeply. He could inhale that smell all night. His body reacted to it like cats to catnip.

"Mr. Rock-Star-National-Geographic"

“It seems young Dillan has also been part of several, and I mean several, ad campaigns for designers like Calvin Klein and Armani, to name two."

"He was once approached to star in a movie."

"He’s even rumored to have dated every young Hollywood starlet and emerging singer you can name."

"You know that Taylor Swift song—”
“The one about the guy who dumped her?” Kyle asked.

“Dillan’s also the son of the legendary duo of archeologists: Dr. Jarvis Sloan and Dr. Lillian Sloan.”
“You mean the two who proved Atlantis is really in South America and not in Spain?"

“As I was saying,” she continued. “Rumor has it Dillan was responsible for unearthing a lost civilization in the Amazon.”

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” He sighed like he tasted the meaning behind the words.

The cat on his lap purred. “You like Frost, huh?” He glanced at the contented feline. “I know. The man can rhyme.”

...her nose scrunched up and the tops of her cheeks tinted pink. She clutched the handle of the feather duster so hard its feathers quivered. Her lips contorted.

Those unique aquamarine eyes he could stare into all day. They reflected her heart and soul. And her blushes that stopped his heart every time.

He shifted moods from zero to sixty in less than three seconds. I was beginning to see that he said mean and snarky things as a defense mechanism.

An entire succubus population in one school? They made him feel like fresh meat ready for the taking.

“I’d like a piece of him,” he heard the woman say. He tried not to cringe. Or run. Cougars were known to give chase.

The second we touched, a spark zinged up my arm.
“Ye-aw!” I jumped out of my seat. All eyes in the room immediately focused on me.

He smirked. “What happened to compromise? You know the meaning of that word, don’t you? Or should I get a dictionary?”
I let out a keening growl and threw the tub of glue at him without thinking twice about it. The jerk had it coming.

His arms tightened around me. I sighed at his body heat against mine. It felt like a blanket on a rainy day—comforting and safe. Nothing like the arrogant Dillan I knew.
“No.” A hint of pleading crept into his tone. “Not yet. Don’t move yet.”

“I need to suck out the poison.”
Ignoring his continued protests, she bent over him and sucked at the wound she’d created.

The utter menace in Garret’s expression made him look like a man who knew people who specialized in making annoyances disappear, no questions asked.

“Il-lu-me-na-ri. My family...we protect people. Simply, we are what stand between you and chaos. Humans aren’t the only race in this world. Many of those we protect you from still consider you as food. In the Illumenari we call them Supernaturals. Basically everything that goes bump in the night."

"He was a love sick puppy with nothing but you on his mind. It was sickening to hear him talk about you all the time. Just ask any of his teammates."

She baffled the hell out of him. Selena Fallon. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the electricity their contact created.

I was gangly and awkward—coppery curls that broke brushes, a complexion like I’d never heard of the sun, and long limbs meant for banging into things.

She wrinkled her nose. “The freckles are still there.”
“No, no, no, no! They’re a feature that brings out the sea in your eyes! You’re beautiful.”

Another thump.
This would be the point where the audience would scream at me to run back to the house. But, like in horror movies, the heroine—i.e. me...moved to investigate.

What could be going on in that brain of hers to challenge a group of undead with a stick?

“Rainer!” He moved further into the house, not having the patience for his uncle’s mind games. “You dick, I know you’re home.”

“You’re trouble, and I don’t do trouble.” He opened the book again and continued reading like I’d been dismissed. Well, his highness had another thing coming.

“What?” Her words didn’t sink in fast enough. He was too distracted by the way the setting sun brought out golden highlights in her copper curls.

I whispered my disappointment at how Constance let herself fall into Dillan’s trap.

“Do you see how you’ll lose?” he continued, his voice seething. “And I will win.”
“I reckon I can stop you,” came Jake’s voice.

In the nick of time,

“Do you see how you’ll lose?” he continued, his voice seething. “And I will win.”
“I reckon I can stop you,” came Jake’s voice.

In the nick of time, as always.

“Injun girl don’t speak English?”
No matter his age though, he was a rude bastard.
“Of course I speak English,” I snapped, refusing to be intimidated. “You’ve been hearing me speak all day.”
He scratched at his sideburns. “I tend to tune out when a woman’s speaking.”

“Savages,” Jake snarled, holding up the hand and inspecting it while Avery and Tim were now trying to hold him down. He eyed me with hate. “Your kind of savages.”

Jake raised his hand in a greeting, though his other one was now resting on his revolver at his hip. “Can you speak to them? They look like they eat pine nuts just like you.”

“Picking anything up, Pine Nut?”
I ignored my new nickname.

I was hit with the intense aroma of rotting flesh, carried on a hot burst of air.
I opened my eyes.
A pair of pale blue eyes, lit by firelight, were leaning over me. A bloody mouth sneered.

There were over a dozen monsters standing outside the cabin, staggered about, all of them facing us with expressions of hunger and mindless hate. Their mouths were open, drooling, with grey tongues lolling around beside black gums.
All of them wanted to eat us.

“Is it?” He took a step closer to me. “Are you capable? If you ask me, I think inviting you along was the worst idea Isaac ever had, and the whole thing about you being a great tracker is a load of horseshit.”
"I never claimed to be a good tracker.”

“Damn it, Tim, what’s the use in having a mountain guide if she can’t even talk to the locals?”
“I never said I was a guide,” I said quickly over my shoulder.

Many times I led everyone to a cliff face or an impassable river before we had to double back and find the way again. I knew they were getting impatient with me but I was trying my very best.

Jake rounded the corner, his revolver aimed straight at Hank, his dark eyes staring him down the barrel.

I quickly twisted around to see Trouble thundering toward me with Jake astride him, rifle pointing right at the creature’s mangled face.

Jake’s eyes flared and he quickly twisted at the waist, barely lining up his sight, and pulled the trigger.

It was going to eat me alive.
“Eve, don’t move!” Jake yelled, as if I could.

I screamed for Jake as the knife came down again.

[Removed] was lying in the snow in a pool of his own blood, his heart having been ripped out and eaten by the same creature, man, monster that Jake just decapitated, while [Removed] was unconscious in Tim’s arms having lost her whole damn hand to another one of the monstrosities.

Jake looked around, his hand flexing on the handle of the axe. “I’ll go gather up the horses, while you guys get the first aid kit and fix her up best you can.

“When I first saw you,” he said, “I hated you. I hated you, Eve, because I reckoned you were the prettiest damn woman I had ever seen and there was no way you could ever be mine."

And for as long as she could remember, Izzy had been waiting—with dwindling faith and increasing impatience—for that part of her life to begin.

Her cravings for romance were gone. Now she’d settle for bread. What fairy tales were left over for a plain, impoverished, twenty-six-year-old woman who’d never even been kissed?

This castle didn’t welcome or enchant.
It loomed.
It menaced.
She almost worried it might pounce.

There were things in nature that took their beauty from delicate structure and intricate symmetry. Flowers. Seashells. Butterfly wings. And then there were things that were beautiful for their wild power and their refusal to be tamed. Snowcapped mountains. Churning thunderclouds. Shaggy, sharp-toothed lions.

This man silhouetted before her? He belonged, quite solidly, in the latter category.

“That’s it,” he said, at length. “You’re leaving this place the same way you came in.”

He ducked, caught her by the legs, and threw her over his shoulder—with the ease of a man who’d tossed many a woman over his shoulder. This was definitely not his first go at lady-tossing.

He bounced her weight, plumping her backside with his forearm. “There’s so little to you.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “There’s a great deal to me, Your Grace. More than you know. More than anyone supposes. You can carry me outside, if you like. I’ll come back in. Again, and again. As many times as it takes. Because this is my castle now. And I’m not leaving.”

She poked around, making busy clanging noises. “I don’t suppose there are eggs? If I do say it myself, I make a very good pancake.”
Oh, no. This just grew worse and worse.
I make a very good pancake.
Appalling.
What was even more appalling was that Ransom found himself suddenly hungry for a very good pancake. Starving. Ravenous. Damn it, he was faint with yearning for a very good pancake.

Get out now. The threat is coming from inside the castle.

The armored riders dismounted in unison, and the carriage doors opened, spilling forth about a dozen young ladies in medieval dress. Banners waved briskly in the morning breeze.

Once again, she woke to darkness, her heart pounding with terror and her throat scraped raw.
Strange noises assailed her from all sides.

“There’s a rule about sunsets in this castle, Miss Goodnight.”
“There is?”
“Yes.” He turned her to face him. “And a man and a woman standing in this very place are compelled to heed it. No choice. There’s only one thing to be done.”
“What’s that?”
Her pulse stumbled. Surely he couldn’t mean to...
He lowered his head and made his voice a seductive whisper. “Duck.”
Duck?

“Oh, no.” She stiffened. “Those can’t be...”
They were.
Bats.
An entire colony of them had been roosting in the highest reaches of the canopy. Now they took wing one by one, then ten by ten...and then hundreds all at once.

The Lord Archers of the world didn’t want Izzy to be a grown woman with her own set of likes and dislikes, dreams and desires. They wanted her to be the wide-eyed young girl of the stories. That way, they could continue to read and reread their beloved tales, imagining themselves in her place.

He might be wealthy, powerful, angry, and big. But on at least one score, Izzy had him outmatched. Buoyancy. She knew how to handle prickly creatures, and she knew how to make the best of a less-than-ideal situation.
When thrown in the pond, she learned how to swim.

But was this truly all that was left of him? A cruel, unfeeling brute who would cast a defenseless young woman out into the night?
He didn’t want to believe that. Not yet. He didn’t surrender anything lightly, and that included what few shards remained of his broken soul.

It was so foreign to him, this unsolicited tenderness. Incomprehensible. And much as he craved it, it scared him like hell. With every caress he permitted, he was piling up debts he could never repay.
You don’t deserve it, came that dark, unforgiving echo. He’d heard the words so many times, they were part of him now. They lived in his blood, resounding with each hollow beat of his heart. You don’t deserve this. You never could.

If not for her, this room would still be filled with rats and bats. If not for her, he’d be sitting unshaven and drunk in the great hall, morosely counting his steps to nowhere. And if not for her, he would have no reason to fight this battle at all.

She growled in frustration. “I know I’m not. It makes no sense at all. I’m not a silly little girl who dreams of knights. I’m a woman. A woman who’s inconveniently, completely, and for the first time in her life, in lust. Just burning with desire for the worst possible man. A profane, bitter, wounded duke who refuses to leave her house. Oh, you are dreadful.”

Her grip tightened on his shirtfront. “You’re not going to ruin my first kiss. I won’t let you. You’re going to kiss me again, right now. And make it better.”
He shook his head, incredulous. “It’s over. It’s already done. Even if I did kiss you again, it wouldn’t be your first kiss anymore.”
“It counts,” she said. “So long as it’s part of the same embrace, it all counts as one.”
Bloody hell.

Somehow, he’d wound a lock of her hair about his finger. There it was. Right This Moment. And he had no recollection of doing it, either.
What was he coming to, when a woman sat in his lap, he gave her a stern what-for...and then ten seconds later, oopsy-daisy and la-di-dah, he went and twirled a finger in her hair?
That was not ducal behavior.

Two girls.
One beautiful and strong.
One plain and powerless.
Only one shall be queen…
And the other shall serve her.

Marie was starting to be a bit of an embarrassment to the whole court. The princess, instead of acting like a girl on the cusp of a great romance—awaiting the appearance of her soon-to-be-beloved—was sulking around the palace, holed up in her room, eating sweets and not speaking to anyone.

The peace of the empire depended on her taking the Prussian prince as her bridegroom. The sooner she accepted her fate, the easier her life would be.

When she was a child, she’d always wanted what was the princess’s. Even at seventeen years old, it was a hard habit to break.

Ronan was nothing if not ambitious.She would be married at the end of the London Season—and she determined right then and there that she would make not just a good match, but the best match; perhaps even catch the eye of the Kronprinz of Prussia himself.
Ronan was nothing if not ambitious.

Unlike his vaunted older brother, he had no taste for womanizing, no desire to father a litter of bastards. He vowed that once he was married he would never take a mistress.
Wolf, the Beast of Berlin, was more Labrador than fox when it came to the ladies.

He had just proposed they play a game where they take their clothes off.

Leo leaned over and kissed her again, and now he was on top of her, kissing her again, and she wriggled underneath him, and found she was crying. She was crying without making a sound, the tears streaming down her face as he kissed her, just like the first time, when she had been unable to ask him to stop.

"Not everyone is created equal.”
I pursed my lips. “I don’t think I’m special.”
Roth looked at me again. “But you are. You’re a half demon that is al

"Not everyone is created equal.”
I pursed my lips. “I don’t think I’m special.”
Roth looked at me again. “But you are. You’re a half demon that is also half Warden."

...the Wardens went public ten years ago. The Alphas had ordered the Wardens to come out of the shadows. To humans, Wardens had come out of their stone shells. After all, the gargoyles adorning many churches and buildings had been carved to resemble a Warden in his true skin.

Zayne said I looked like the long-lost sister of the elf in Lord of the Rings. That was a huge confidence booster. Sigh.

No—not a mass, but a huge freaking snake at least ten feet long and as wide as I was.
The thing spun toward me, rising halfway up. Its eyes burned an unholy red.
“Don’t be scared of Bambi,” the demon said. “She’s only curious and maybe a little bit hungry.”
The thing was named Bambi?

“You don’t? I was following you.”
“Oh, so you’re a demon and a stalker?” I swallowed hard. “Because that’s not creepy or anything.”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing the curve of my cheek. “Let me suggest more appropriate places. I have this piercing—”

Roth let out a low breath. “Your mother was known by many names...And because of that, you’re on Hell’s Most Wanted List.”

Zayne’s grip relaxed. “Shut up.”
Roth came to his feet fluidly. “I don’t think I like your tone.”
“And I don’t like your face,” Zayne returned.
The amount of testosterone the two were throwing off was ridiculous.

Stacey only blinked, looking like she was coming out of some kind of bizarre trance. I scribbled hobag across her notes. She laughed and wrote virgin ice princess across mine.

Stacey started to tug her shirt up as a shield, but must’ve realized there wasn’t enough material there.

Stacey was saying as she threw herself into her seat. “I didn’t sneak out of the house dressed like this for no good reason.”
“No doubt.” I eyed her short skirt and then her cleavage. “We wouldn’t want your boobs to go to waste.”

“Great!” Stacey chirped, backing off and gesturing wildly behind Roth. She was doing something with her hand and mouth that I knew Roth would be oh so down for.

I dumped the stuff in the garbage can, shoulders stiff. “I’m not going to jump on you and suck out your soul, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Danika gasped. “That’s not what I meant—not at all. It’s just that you look like you need something and I want to help.”

Every so often the Church of God’s Children held a rally against the Wardens and then made headlines. They’d been doing it ever since the public had found out about the Wardens’ existence.

The world would descend into chaos if humans knew demons were ordering their morning coffee right alongside them.

Zayne’s eyes flicked up. They seemed brighter than usual. “You’re...perfect just the way you are.”

“Wow, he is so checking you out.”
“Huh?” I looked at Stacey. “Who?”
She glanced over her shoulder as she pulled me closer. “The guy you almost plowed into—Gareth Richmond. He’s still checking you out."

The line of his jaw hardened. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong? I told you to stop and you wouldn’t—”
“You were being a tease.” His voice dropped low. “And since when do demons really get a say in anything?”

“I...” I didn’t know. I loved Zayne, but I didn’t know what kind of love that was, and Roth... I thought I could be in love with him, if given time. Or maybe I already was, in a little way. “I don’t know.”

“You shut your stupid mouth! Stupid bitch who believes these things are our friends! Do you feel friendly now?”
“Stupid bitch,” he said again.

Seriously, the elderly that had made it onto the ships had gotten crankier and ruder than I’d ever known them to be on Earth. Like there was some unspoken agreement between all of them that this was all our fault, the young people were to blame, that they deserved better in their twilight years. Lectures from some grouchy, pissed off old-erly hunched over on a cane were not uncommon. ‘Respect your Elders,’ they said. Like they wanted to teach us, to impart their wisdom before it was too late. But in my book it already was too late.

Most of the Gov officials had died in the cataclysmic failure of Earth that had come suddenly after twelve years on the precipice.

Rationing had never been necessary because more ships were built and stocked than had actually taken off.
During that time we’d taken food from other vessels and over-stocked ourselves.

there were beautiful green, yellow and pink dancing lights waving across the sky and illuminating the land below. It looked like the northern lights back home, but it was everywhere.

Straight lines, different patches, like a quilt.
Then I realized what I was looking at. Crops. Huge, rolling fields of crops. Others realized seconds after I did. Then the image got so close the plants became unmistakable. There was obviously food growing in abundance.

Almost immediately we discovered that our landing site was a nesting spot for animals about the size of a pig, with mud-colored shells, hard as diamond. The kid got to be the first to name something in our new world, and he called them Steves.
Chief had ordered a special feast tonight with some of the reserve Steves."

I supposed I was pretty-ish. Somehow, I’d grown into a girl that some boys might like to look at. But it didn’t matter.

“Oh, everyone knows me?” I asked, not understanding.
“You’re only the most popular girl on Reflection,” the girl answered.
That shut me up. I was? Not to my knowledge.

People looked at me first. Everyone assumed I was a leader so I went with it.

I whispered into Chief’s ear. “Let Legacy out, bring him to the depository. Resume removal of the weapons.”

“This girl is providing intel to the creatures after all! Behind your back, Chief!”
Chief’s face became completely composed. “I asked Hope to create those.”

“Chance said you were amazing."

Legacy paused. "The truth is I think you’re amazing."

“You’re so strong, Hope. How can you be that strong?”

I searched its eyes and I thought maybe I saw sadness.

I had no answer. We weren’t their enemy. Each session seemed so different, I couldn’t explain it.

This is a disaster.

[Rylan] wouldn't meet my gaze, and my stomach clenched. But Damian looked straight at me, and his expression was one of confusion, even hurt.

"I almost cried again. I could no longer deny that I was falling for him---so fast and so hard it scared me. But I had feelings for Rylan, too---he was the closest friend I'd had at the palace."

“Kricket,” he grins. “It’s such a powerful name,” he breathes.

“Kricket,” he grins. “It’s such a powerful name,” he breathes.

“What knowledge? Could she predict the future?”
“I don’t know what her gifts were, Kricket. It was never common knowledge.”

“I’m heading straight to Sequelle’s and eating an entire venish.”
“No one can eat an entire venish.”
“I’ll take that wager. No Etharian can eat an entire venish,” Jax replies. “I’ll lay thirty-two fardrooms on it."
“Where are you going to get the money for a wigg?” Wayra laughs.
“I’ll start by taking yours, chester,” Jax counters.
“How many circas of vista did you give her, Trey?” Jax asks, sounding concerned again.

“Can someone please tell me what that little pink, lacy thing is that I keep catching a glimpse of when she bends down?” Wayra asks.

“Five-ten is not that tall.”
“C’mon, you look like a Viking. Those modeling agents would freak for your hollow cheekbones and I bet they’ve never seen a natural blond walk through their lobby doors.”

while pulling my hat from my head, causing my long, platinum-blond hair to cascade around my shoulders.

“My eyes are not freakish!”
Enrique makes a derisive sound. “I’ve never met anyone with violet eyes,” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “If I had eyes like yours, I’d be in New York making some serious cash.”

“So that means she’s smart?”
Jax beams. “Yeah, she’s smart! She’s brilliant! There’s no telling what she can do.”

“You don’t act your age. You ask questions that I’d expect from someone older than you.”

Kissing my hair near my temple he whispers against it, “You’re so brave.”

"It’s like you were a special case from the start.”

“You’re a very important member of our clan,”
“What am I, royalty?”
“No…you’re much higher than that.” he replies, his eyes assessing me.

I examine my reflection in the mirror for the first time in days. I can’t believe that I look almost the same. Apart from a tan, I can’t even tell that I’ve just been pulled through the universe to another one where I’m the enemy to just about everyone.

“You trying to stop her heart, sir?” Jax asks in a concerned tone, coming to me and checking me for injuries.
“No, she’s stopping mine,” Trey replies softly, watching Jax examine me.

Then, I close my eyes, groaning louder than before as water cascades down my hair. “Ohhh, Trey…Trey!” I call out in a raspy tone, like I’ve heard Bridget do in the middle of the night when Eric sleeps over. Finding a dispenser of shampoo, I pour some in my hand, lathering it in my hair. Eliciting what I hope is a sensual sounding gasp, I let my voice strain as I murmur, “Ahhh…” Rinsing my hair, I try the other dispenser that smells like coconut.

Who the fuck are you?
Here on the floor, in my final moments—MacKayla Lane’s last grand hurrah—I see that the answer is all I’ve ever been.
I’m nobody.

With an explosive inhalation, I snap upright in bed, and my eyes fly open—like coming alive after being dead and interred in a coffin.
I am Mac.
And I’m back.

And Barrons—what’s his deal? Doesn’t he want her alive? Why have they all abandoned her when she needs ‘em the most?
Men.
Dude, they suck.

“I was out of my mind. I’d never have done it otherwise.”
Really, his dark eyes mocked, and in them I was demanding more, telling him I wanted it to always be this way.
I remembered what he’d replied: that one day I would wonder if it was possible to hate him more.
“I had no awareness. No choice.” I searched for words to drive my point home. “It was every bit as much rape as what the Unseelie Princes did to me.”

Usually when I got one from physical contact with another person, I saw the last thing that affected them emotionally.

The younger one continued to stare in my direction. The look he gave me made my pulse race; it was like he was seeing through my soul. His muscles strained against his black T-shirt as he stepped toward me. His inky black hair made his amber eyes seem brighter.

My mind was stuck on one thing. It had been an amazing kiss. The best I could ever imagine a kiss being. Even now, in pain, I’d do it again. No doubt. Something in the core of me needed him, and from the looks of him right now, the feeling was mutual.

“The Werewolf’s Bible. It’s basically a guide to everything about being a Were. It explains most of what you’ll be going through.”

It made one half-white, half-Mexican, part-werewolf, part-bruja woman want to scream. I didn’t fit into any nice little box in Los Angeles, and I sure didn’t fit into any of Mr. Hoel’s boxes now that I added a hefty dose of werewolf into the mix.

Only one in a hundred guys can survive the transformation. And almost no girls live through it, more like one in ten thousand.

Axel got in my face. “You can’t actually want to date that guy. He attacked you—”
My cheeks burned. “Attacked is a bit of a harsh word for what happened.” I couldn’t stand by and let them think that about Dastien. “It was an accident.”
“And the next time he hits you?” Mom asked.
My mouth dropped open. Holy crapola. They thought I was in an abusive relationship?

I could’ve died? Did Dastien even think about that?

“I wouldn’t let you out of my sight if I could manage it.”
I tugged on his hand. “Not cool. That’s more than a little stalker-ish, dude.”
He gazed down at me. “I thought girls liked that kind of thing.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of nice.” I grinned.

She was a daughter an old warrior could be proud of, with her matchless beauty and indomitable pride.

Henry couldn’t hide his exasperation. “Name your prize,” he growled, “and if it’s within my power, it’ll be yours for the taking.”
Slowly, [Alaun] raised his goblet. Sipped. “Your daughter.”
...it seemed as if [Lord Henry's late wife] stood at his shoulder, urging him on. “Ah, yes. My daughter, I believe you said? Should you compete in this tournament and be declared its victor, when you leave this castle, my daughter, Eloise, will be in your care.”

...he was not, nor had he ever been, interested in marrying her. It was her body he sought—he had made that abundantly clear from the first; he was the first man to approach her with no interest in her hand and the fortune that went with it. It was a novel situation—she wasn’t sure what she thought of it.

After their visual duel, let alone the little matter of his prize, she should have been quivering with reaction, uncertain, vulnerable to a subtle, more gentle assault. He’d expected to find a woman primed for seduction.
What he’d found was a woman only one step removed from the virago of the woods. Instead of melting into his arms, she’d tried to summarily dismiss him.
He wasn’t used to being dismissed, summarily or otherwise.

“You are not a burden!”
Startled by the force behind his words, she glanced up to see him cast a mute appeal heavenward. He looked down, impaling her with golden spears.
“You are mine! Tis time you understood that.”

“Nay, lord.” She turned to come up on her knees before him. “Come—plant your seed deeply, as do your stallions.” She glanced over her shoulder; her eyes gleamed. “Long, strong—and very slow.”

“Will it hurt?”
“Nay.”

“You’re so much more extraordinary than you give yourself credit for. And I’m not just talking about your mind. Your body too.”

Micah gives her a smile and Dyl returns the favor. Like a prize racehorse, she’s even showing teeth in perfect, pearly order. She’s passing with flying colors.

Beauty. Dyl’s worth is no longer in her looks, it’s in this strand of hair. And I’ll use my own, plain, unspectacular self to help her.

I’m a total embarrassment. My refusal to wear makeup, nice shoes, or tight clothes. My penchant for getting excited over CellTech News, my favorite holo channel. My endless nagging about her flashy dresses and too-shiny lipstick.

I point to myself and silently mouth the words What did I do? to Wilbert.
“My guess is, you’re female and you exist. Probably an alpha female thing, like wolves or rats—”

I’m not shocked by the fact she’s wearing the latest fashion from Hookers-R-Us. It’s her face.

Vera is on my floor, staring at her crotch.
Well, she’s doing yoga, but in essence, that’s what’s going on.

The tattoos. No wonder they keep changing. His body must metabolize the ink so fast that he gets a clean slate every day.

Cy’s not done. He spits on the floor again. “She’s damaged goods.”

It’s a painting of a dismembered hand, fingers stretching to extremes, but cut off at the wrist, leaning against the wall. The one next to it shows a long bone, still smeared with blood, floating in the same pale blue void the hand is in.

It warms his slate eyes just a touch, like cold butter that softens after landing on warm toast.

“Oh, you know. After you passed out, Cy knocked us out of the way to give you mouth-to-mouth. He freaking French-kissed you all the way home, in the name of saving your life. What a goddamned romantic. I had no idea he had it in him.”

Boyfriend is too limited a term for what Cy has become to me. Water? Oxygen? That might do.

I rev the engine afresh, and the char thrusts ahead with a roar. The speed is therapeutic, but does nothing to erase the memory of two very different kisses.