Serpent & Dove

I loved her. Despite everything. Despite the lies, the betrayal, the hurt. Despite the Archbishop and Morgane le Blanc. Despite my own brothers. I don't know if she returned that love, and I didn't care. If she was destined to burn in Hell, I would burn with her.

I was no one's sacrifice. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

There are some things that can't be changed with words. Some things have to be seen. They have to be felt.

Why the fuck is everyone in this kingdom trying to murder my wife?

Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from you.’” He trailed his fingers down my arm in slow, torturous strokes. My head fell back on his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed, as his lips continued to move against my neck. “‘Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.

Love makes fools of us all, darling.

Death couldn't take him away from me. He was me. Our souls were bound.

Maybe men can learn a thing or two from women.

Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.

Such a love was not something of just the heart and mind. It wasn't something to be felt and eventually forgotten, to be touched without it in return touching you. No . . . this love was something else. Something irrevocable. It was something of the soul.

You're to be my wife." Catching up to her in two strides, I reached out to grab her arm, but stopped short of touching her. "That means you'll obey me." "Does it?" She raised her brows, still grinning. " I suppose that means you'll honor and protect me, then? If we're adhering to the dusty old roles of your patriarchy?" I shortened my pace to match hers. "Yes." She clapped her hands together. "Excellent. At least this will be entertaining. I have many enemies.

I-I've never seen anyone savor anything the way you do everything. You make me feel alive. Just being in your presence - it's addictive. You're addictive. It doesn't matter you're a witch. The way you see the world . . . I want to see it that way too. I want to be with you always, Lou. I never want to be parted from you again.

I leaned back, studying her as she finished my bun. A bit of icing covered her lip. Her nose was still red from the cold, her hair wild and windblown. My little heathen.

I like you, Ansel, but this had better be something good. Emilie and Alexandre just had a moment, and I swear if they don't kiss soon, I will literally die.

Wicked are the ways of women—and especially a witch. Their guile knows no bounds.

I never said it was your god. Your god hates women. We were an afterthought.

She was burning, Reid. I don't know how, but she took away that witch's pain. She gave it to herself.” He exhaled heavily. “That's why I didn't tell you. Because even though I knew Lou was a witch, I knew she wasn't evil. She burned at the stake once. She doesn't deserve to do it twice.

Idiocy is oft mistaken for sentimentality.

I've been thinking," he said finally. "A dangerous pastime.

That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return. —Albert Camus

There was only one way such a story could end -a stake and a match.

Death couldn’t take him away from me. He was me. Our souls were bound. Even if he didn’t want me, even if I cursed his name, we were one.

What's your favorite color?” “Blue.” She rolled her eyes. “Boring. Mine's gold-or turquoise. Or emerald.” “Why doesn't that surprise me?” “Because you aren't as stupid as you look.” I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. She didn't give me time to decide.

Every aspect of Reid was precise, certain, every color in its proper place. Undiluted by indecision, he saw the world in black and white, suffering none of the messy, charcoal colors in between. The colors of ash and smoke. Of fear and doubt. The colors of me.

Ran into the wrong end of a knife.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

If this woman is to be my wife,” he said, swallowing hard, “you will not touch her again.

If there was a God, he or she had a shit sense of humor.