ŷ������

“Well,�� I say brightly, “we’re getting on splendidly, aren’t we? Glad to see you’re all becoming friends over your mutually violent desires.”
― Elizabeth May, The Falconer

“Well,�� Gavin drawls, “at least now I know what to do if that ever happens. I’ll throw a jar of honey and run like hell.”
― Elizabeth May, The Falconer

“She leaned a shoulder against the tunnel wall and thought of Kellan. A Dragon King. A dragon and a King.
A gorgeous man who kissed as if there were no tomorrow and made love skillfully, adeptly. He could have let her die. Instead, he took her on a journey that opened her eyes to an entirely new world both beautiful and frightening.”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“There are two exits out of this room. Choose one.��
Derrick chuckles. “What a glorious comeuppance.”
― Elizabeth May, The Falconer

“I've changed my mind. Stop inadequately playing human," I say. "Drop her hand and step away. Take a very big step.”
― Elizabeth May, The Falconer

“I have heard people say that men and the Fae are as different as dogs and wolves. While this is an easy analogy, it is far from true. Wolves and dogs are only separated by a minor shade of blood. Both howl at night. If beaten, both will bite.
No. Our people and theirs are as different as water and alcohol. In equal glasses they look the same. Both liquid. Both clear. Both wet, after a fashion. But one will burn, the other will not. This has nothing to do with temperament or timing. These two things are profoundly, fundamentally not the same.
The same is true with humans and the Fae. We forget it at our peril.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“Why?"
He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she'd just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place. "Because... you're you.”
― Anne Bishop

“What do you want?"
"You." His voice was soft, low. His eyes were intense and watchful.”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“She drank in the sight of him, the power, the virility, the sheer sexiness. She knew just how well those lips of his kissed, how gentle and coaxing his hands could be, and how mouth-watering his body was.”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“Keeping up with him would require running, and there is no dignity in running after any man for any reason, injured or not.”
― Suzanne Johnson, Elysian Fields

“You aren't meant to be a prisoner. You're powerful and incredible."
"You've no' seen me in dragon form."
"I don't have to. I see the man before me now.”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“His mouth descended on hers in a fierce kiss.
He seized, he captured.
He dominated.
And she loved every second of it.”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“Jean Laffite was a sexy bad boy with a gentleman's manners and an air of barely suppressed danger. Every girl's secret dreamboat in other words. We always say we want a nice, hardworking, decent guy but we're lying to ourselves. - DJ Jaco”
― Suzanne Johnson, River Road

“I never counted on you, lass. You are strong, honorable, clever, shrewd, beautiful, and resilient. You doona ever quit, and you doona ever give up. So why give up on me?”
― Donna Grant, Darkest Flame: Part 4

“Eden Ashe > Quotes > Quotable Quote(edit)
“She shifted in his pocket, pressing her back against his chest. "It's iron."

Instead of walking into the elevator, he glanced down at her. If he kept craning his neck this way, he was going to have a hell of a nasty headache by the time he made it home. Not to mention the looks he was getting from his taff for talking to himself, he was going to end up in a psych hold if this kept up....��

"We're on the tenth floor. I'm not taking the damn stairs...."

"...I'm not talking to myself. I have a fairy in my pocket who's afraid of elevators.”
― Eden Ashe

“How do you weigh a soul?
Is it heavy with love or hate?
Does it deny the things it's done?
Does it even remember its own name?
Does it miss those it has loved?
Does it long for the life it's lost?
How do you weigh a soul?
After it has paid the highest cost,
Does it lose the will to live?
Without a physical shell
Does it sense without hands
That can touch and truly feel
Does it need sustenance to last?
A cold drink or warm meal
How do you weigh a soul?
Are souls even real?”
― Ashley Jeffery, Soul Eater

“She shifted in his pocket, pressing her back against his chest. "It's iron."

Instead of walking into the elevator, he glanced down at her. If he kept craning his neck this way, he was going to have a hell of a nasty headache by the time he made it home. Not to mention the looks he was getting from his taff for talking to himself, he was going to end up in a psych hold if this kept up.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“A low, purring rumble reverberated in his chest, his voice tight when he spoke. "Ah, hell, You're naked.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“The woman had a body wet dreams were made of, and he couldn't remember being this goddamn hard in his life.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“Sex is still on the table. We just keep the yucky love stuff out of it."
...
"Now where is this table you speak of to have sex on? You should take me there. Now.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“He looked so frustrated and perfectly serious, and yet here we were talking about his missing seal pelt.”
― Katherine McIntyre, By the Sea

“It was time to confront the old bat with the damage she'd caused this time. Then, he promised himself, he'd strangle her for meddling in affairs that were none of her business, and kidnapping a goddamn innocent fairy.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“Katenia, are you drunk?"

"No, it's my breasts. I've yet to adjust to my new size.”
― Eden Ashe, Ever Mine

“...She squeezed Niall's hand and bleakly said, "I don't want you hurt."
"Oh, Serena, that's all I have to know." And with that, he kissed her so passionately, she felt as though she had fae transported to the moon and back...”
― Terry Spear, The Winged Fae

“Oh, what had she done?"
He'd startled her; that was the problem. It was all his fault he was lying on the ground, looking rather cherub like, his blond hair curling about his ears, his bright blue eyes closed now, his masculine lips parted slightly as he slept the sleep of the dead.

She studied his masculine lips. And thought just how much havoc she could wreak if she kissed him. Served him right for startling her so.
Without analyzing whether she should do it, and just because she could, she pressed her mouth against his and gently kissed his lips, meaning only to give a quick peck and that was it....
His lips curved up under hers and for a second, she thought he was awake, smiling at her kissing him....
Her thoughts reverted to the kiss and immediately the human faery tale Sleeping Beauty and the prince giving the princess a kiss to wake her sprang to mind. Why ever did humans make up such nonsense anyway?”
― Terry Spear, The Winged Fae

“I’d pulled my unruly blond hair out of its usual ponytail for the occasion, loaded on some makeup to play up my teal eyes, and poured myself into a little black skirt, short enough to show off my legs while not offending Lafitte’s nineteenth-century sensibilities.

It must have worked, because the pirate was giving me that head-to-toe appraisal guys do on instinct, like they’re assessing a juicy slab of beef and deciding whether they want it rare, medium, or well-done. “You really are lovely, Drusilla.�� The timbre of Lafitte’s voice shivered down my spine, and I fought the urge to check out the biceps underneath that linen shirt.

Holy crap. This was just wrong. I should not be absorbing his lust.”
― Suzanne Johnson, Royal Street

“I grabbed a shard of glass and spun around, brandishing it in front of me. It was a pretty, stippled blue piece, nice and sharp.

“Hold on, tiger. I give up.��

A bear of a man stood in front of me, hands raised in mock surrender�� well, except for the shotgun in his right hand. He towered well over six feet and was shaped like a linebacker, one who’d gone a little too long between haircuts. Dark curls hugged the collar of a basic black T-shirt that almost camouflaged a black shoulder holster holding some type of nasty-looking black handgun. It all matched his black jeans and boots. He looked like the poster child for an upscale GQ mercenary. The only shred of color on him was his eyes, and they were dark brown. Mr. Monochromatic.

He laid the shotgun on the table near the door and stepped back, hands up, watching me from beneath hooded lids. A lesser woman would have noticed the thick muscles moving under his tanned skin when he raised his arms, or the T-shirt that fit just snugly enough to send a girl’s thoughts to the Promised Land. Good thing I don’t notice stuff like that.

“If you want to search me for more weapons, I’m game.��

My eyes shot back to his, and I felt my cheeks flush, hot and bothered on the way to angry. Leave it to a guy to open his mouth and ruin a perfectly good moment.”
― Suzanne Johnson, Royal Street

“A weathered black and silver Dodge pickup towing a small motorboat pulled up behind us, and Alex circled back to greet the driver. I couldn’t see who sat behind the crusted and dirty windshield, but Alex stood at the driver’s window and pointed down the block where the boulevard disappeared into floodwater.

The truck pulled ahead, maneuvered a deft U-turn, and backed toward the water. Alex motioned for me to follow. By the time I lurched my way to the truck, he and the pickup driver were sliding the boat down the trailer ramp. Sweat trickled down my neck, and if I hadn’t been afraid of being poisoned by toxic sludge, I’d have made like a pig and wallowed in the mud to cool off.

I kicked at a fire hydrant, trying to jolt some of the heaviest sludge off my boots, and heard a soft laugh behind me. With a final kick that sent a spray of brown gunk flying, I turned to see what was so funny. I needed a laugh.

A man leaned against the side of the pickup with his arms crossed. He was a few inches shorter than Alex, maybe just shy of six feet, with sun-streaked blond hair that reached his collar and a sleeveless blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His tanned legs between the bottom of the shorts and the top of sturdy black shrimp boots were scored with scars, bad ones, as if whatever made them meant to do serious damage.

He’d been grinning when I turned around, flashing a heart-stopping set of dimples, but when he saw my eyes linger on his legs, the grin eased into something more wary.”
― Suzanne Johnson, Royal Street

“I’ll do most of the talking,�� Alex said. “But don’t be afraid to ask Melinda Hubert questions-trust your instincts.��
My instincts said to stay home and let him handle it. “So, will we play good cop/bad cop? I want to be the bad cop. I’m not the warm. nurturing type.��
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Really?��
Jerk. “So what should I do?��
“Stop watching cop shows for one.”
― Suzanne Johnson, River Road

“Strong hands slipped over her shoulders as Alex joined us, standing so close, I could feel his body heat radiating up my back��.He squeezed my shoulders a little hard for it to be a show of solidarity. I’d probably have bruises. He was marking his territory.”
― Suzanne Johnson, River Road