He pulls me around and kisses me. “You’re Mac,” he says. “And I’m Jericho. And nothing else matters. Never will. You exist in a place that is beyond all rules for me. Do you understand that?” I do. Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
He wasn’t just masculine and sexual, he was carnal in a set-your-teeth-on-edge kind of way; he was almost frightning.
Basque and Celt. Criminals and barbarians. I didn’t think there could be a more primitive pairing of genes.
No way. I’m not going in there. I draw the line at grave-robbing, Barrons. It’s not your pen.
Do your thing, Ms. Lane. you might be criminally young, but the night is not.
I don’t believe Barrons is out to destroy mankind. I don’t think he particularly cares much for mankind, but I don’t think he has any deep-seated desire to see us all wiped out.
I was stunned to see that he looked stunned himself, which was an exorbitant display of emotion for Barrons.
I hope when I’m ninety-five the only things I want are free: love, family, a good home-cooked meal.
The two of you are getting downright chatty, aren’t you, Ms. Lane? When did you last see him? what else did he tell you? I’m asking the questions tonight. If an illusion of control comforts you, Ms. Lane, by all means, cling to it.
He goes for stark versus accessorized, dark over bright, jewel tone instead of pastel, carnal over flirty.
You mean you have to be epic already, for it to make you more epic?
Gazelles didn’t lie down with lions, at least not unbloodied and alive.
Barrons had just given me the most carnal, sexually charged hungry look I’d ever seen in my life, and I was pretty sure he didn’t even know he had done it.
He was on me before my brain processed the fact that he was coming for me.
Beautiful women rarely possess sufficient depth of character to survive without their pretty feathers.
I began peering into the corners of the room, making sure all the shadows were cast by objects and obeying known laws of physics.
I don’t know about you, but I call impromptu vomiting harm.
I wondered what one wore to visit a vampire. The chic red sweater set didn’t go so well with my darker hair, and I was afraid it might be construed as a flirtatious invitation to color me bloodier.
Holy water at my wrists and behind my ears; my version of Eau de Don’tbiteme.
You need me as much as I need you. That makes us equal partners in my book. Well, your book is just wrong.
We were watching Barrons. Why were you watching Barrons? Barrons needs watching.