Hunting Ground

Women are the bloodthirsty sex," said Ric sadly. "We get the reputation, but it is only because the women stand behind us, and say, 'Kill it. Squish it.

My grandfather would have loved to have met you," he told her huskily. "He would have called you 'She Moves Trees Out of His Path.' " She looked lost, but his da laughed. He'd known the old man, too. "He called me 'He Who Must Run into Trees,'" Charles explained, and in a spirit of honesty, a need for his mate to know who he was, he continued, "or sometimes 'Running Eagle.' " " 'Running Eagle'?" Anna puzzled it over, frowning at him. "What's wrong with that?" "Too stupid to fly," murmured his father with a little smile.

If it would benefit you, I would kill every wolf here. But there are things that you need to do -- and interfering with that is not protecting, not in my book. The best way for me to protect you is to encourage you to be able to protect yourself.

His grandfather had often told him that he tried too hard to move trees when a wiser man would walk around them.

To make great art, you had to expose your soul, and some things should be left safely in the dark.

I would slay dragons for you,” he told her. “I suspect that finding an unoccupied bedroom will be easier.

Your woman tells me you will hunt me down and eat my marrow while I live." "Did she?" Charles looked at her, and she saw the approval in his face. She doubted anyone else would have read anything at all. His voice was a caress, just for her. "Would you like that, love?

Anna gave Charles a shy kiss on the cheek and strolled out of the room without a backward glance. Until she reached the doorway, and then, in full view of the curious who'd had the courage or discourtesy to linger in the auditorium after he'd dismissed them, she kissed her palm and blew it to him. And despite... or because of their audience, he caught it in one hand, and pulled the hand to his heart. Her smile dropped away, and the expression in her eyes would feed him for a week. And the expressions on the faces of the wolves who knew Charles, or knew his reputation, would make him laugh as soon as no one was watching.

Charles could care less about shoes - and he suspected he wasn't alone among men in his feelings. Shoe, no shoe, he didn't care. Naked was good, though over the past couple of weeks he was beginning to think that dressed in his clothes was a decent second best.

Charles looked at her thoughtfully. "People talk to you," he said. "That could be useful.

He loved her beyond all reason and didn't expect her to love him back. He was just waiting for her to wise up.

I don’t fool you, do I? Those others”—he waved a vague hand to indicate their missing comrades—“they think I’m all that—but you know better, don’t you.” “Know what?” she’d asked. He leaned forward, smelling of beer and cigarettes. “You know I’m a fraud. I can feel the beast inside me, screaming to get out. And if I loose it, it will pull me up to greatness despite myself.” “So why not let it free?” She hadn’t been a werewolf then. The world had been a gentler place, the monsters safely in their closets, and she had been brave in her ignorance. His eyes were old and weary, his voice slurring a bit. “Because then everyone would see,” he told her. “See what?” “Me.

She tried to imagine what Charles would do if another man came up to him and said, "You bring me joy.

my grandfather would have loved to have met you," Charles told her huskily. "He would have called you 'She Moves Trees Out of His Path.'" She looked lost, but his da laughed. He'd know the old man, too. "He called me 'He Who Must Run into Trees,'" Charles explained.

She gave him a happy look as he followed her out on the water-soaked wooden walk. "This could be fun," she said, then turned, took a running step, and did a couple of back flips—like a middle-school kid at recess. He stopped where he was, lust and love and fear rising up in a surge of emotion he did not, for all his years, have any idea how to deal with. "What?" she asked, a little breathless from her gymnastics. She brushed her wavy hair out of her face and gave him a serious look. "Is there something wrong?" He could hardly tell her that he was afraid because he didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. That his sudden, unexpected reaction had brought Brother Wolf to the fore. She threw his balance off; his control—which had become almost effortless over the years—was erratic at best.

The Elders were closer to the Maker of All Things and should be deferred to whenever they made their will known.

She was on the far side, leaving two cold feet of mattress between them. He knew that she'd fall asleep like that... and then gradually move over until she was plastered against him. Then he could go to sleep, too.

Zealots are one-trick ponies. They love nothing so much as their own cause. Don’t get in their way without expecting to be hurt.

Charles was most comfortable by himself or, if that wasn't possible, with his pack in the wild. Talking for hours in a crowded auditorium was not on any list of things he enjoyed—or things he was good at. At least no one had died. Yet.

Charles sat in lone splendor on a huge couch in the middle of Angus's spacious living room--while the other ten or twelve people present made themselves at home on the other side of the room. Anna surveyed the scene. "Okay," she said. "Who's been being a grouch?

The best way for me to protect you is to encourage you to be able to protect yourself.

You don’t have the courage of a half-bred mongrel.

Reincarnation?” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen any evidence that it’s real. But I’ve never seen anything that disproves it either. I believe the afterlife is better than what we have here—and it would take something extraordinary to make someone willing to come back.

She was his and he hers.

If fourteen people believe they were Cleopatra in a former life, does that mean that Cleopatra had split personality disorder?

Anna stabbed her with the dagger she'd concealed in Tom's jacket. Under the ribs and through the heart--just like her favorite forensic TV show had taught her.

There was another pause, then the Marrok said in that light pleasant tone that warned everyone who knew him that all hell was about to break loose.

Suddenly I don’t feel so bad at being rescued by a rabbit,

If you touch me, Charles will hunt you down and eat your marrow while you are still alive to scream.” She called upon her two acting classes and let her mouth turn up. “I’ll be happy to watch.” She licked her lips. The smile dropped off his face, and he growled.

My French friend tells me that someday, if I work at it, I may no longer be flattering myself when I say I can speak a very little French.