“I’m currently imagining a few creative ways of causing you extraordinary amounts of pain.”
Kingsley raised his chin. Mere inches separated their faces.
“Stop flirting. You know we don’t have time for that.”
“Can I take a moment here to tell you both how cute your accents are when you're angry?"
Wesley and his father both looked at her, Wesley in shock, his father in disgust.
"Okay, that's a 'no' then. Carry on.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts and neither should you, Kingsley.”
”Why not? I’ve been in love with a ghost for thirty years.”
Kingsley strolled over to the armchair and sat on the ottoman between the other man’s knees. Soren narrowed his eyes at him.
“The body’s not even cold yet. Eleanor’s been gone one day and you’re already trying to get me into bed again?”
”Again?” Kingsley laughed and rolled his eyes. “Always. Are you surprised?”
Soren shrugged. “Not really.”
“I would have been an atheist but for you proving to me that both heaven and hell were real, even if they existed only when I was with you.”
“Pourquoi?" Kingsley demanded. "Why? You take her every way you can, every chance you have. Why her and not me?"
Soren hadn't replied, and for that Kingsley had been forever grateful. He knew the answer, but to hear it would have broken the one last unbroken part of his spirit.”
“He wished that the mathematics of the world were like the mathematics of the heart - then his equal love and hate would mean he felt nothing instead of double.”
“Je suis le vôtre. J’étais toujours le vôtre, monsieur. I am yours. I have always been yours, sir. “Oui. Tu es le mien.” Yes, you are mine.”
“God, how he loved Søren. Loved him. Loved him like a father, like a brother, like a friend and a lover…and loved him like the enemy that forced him to be stronger, smarter, wiser, braver. Søren had become everything to him….”
“He was fluent in nineteen modern languages, five ancient languages and the one true universal language—pain.”
“I have nothing in me that you cannot break. I would let you destroy me, and then I would resurrect myself from my own ashes for the honor of being destroyed by you again.”
“You stared at me constantly, followed me everywhere I went. You watched me sleep, Kingsley"
"How did you know that?"
Kingsey shivered as Søren's laugh rippled through the woods.
"I watched you watch me”
“Wesley looked down at her and Nora could barely meet his brown eyes, which bored into her with the fiery love of a guardian angel. God probably had eyes like Wesley's.....anyone who looked into them wanted to immediately apologize for any and all sins ever committed.”
“Nora could hurt his body in beautiful ways. But only Søren could tear open his soul.”
“You can break me again.” “I can’t break you.” Søren shook his head. “I never could. Your body, yes. But there is a core inside you that I could never touch, never reach, never break. It’s the part of you that was never afraid of me.”
“I’ve always wanted to believe God made me this way for a reason.”
“I am the reason.”
“You say you know me, Mr. Railey, but obviously, you don’t. If you did, you’d know I don’t spit out.”
“As a child…I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. I thought I’d been born broken.”
“Broken?” Kingsley could hardly believe his ears. "When I saw you the first time, I felt...healed. If you are broken, then I only pray someday I break too.”
“This is your world, kid. Not mine. You know I don’t belong here.”
“You once told me you loved it down south.”
“I was talking about anal sex.”
“Of course you were.”
“Wesley…never fuck with a sadist. For Søren, torture’s just foreplay.”
“For to get close to Søren meant walking through fire, stepping on glass, crawling through hell.”
“Hell is fine. Surely God wants nothing to do with us, anyway.”
“And…” Søren continued, “it’s safer to be feared than loved. At least where I’m concerned.”
“What is that verse? ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is nether slave nor free, there is neither male nor female…for you are all one in Kingsley’s bed.”
“No commentary, Nora. Please,” he said as he pushed an arm inside the mare.
“I won’t say a single word,” she pledged as she took the horse’s head in her lap. “Except that this reminds me of my last date with Griffin.”
“He had to be a hero for her. He wished the world still had dragons so he had something to slay for her.”
“Don’t make me laugh. You begged for it. Night after night, you begged for it.”
“Of course I did. Pain is the only way you know how to show love.”
“It’s not the only way I know how to show love. It’s the only way I chose to with you.”
“Would you choose to be like me, if you had the choice?” “I do choose it. You regret what you are only because you think you must keep others away from you. It will not keep me away.”
“Søren laid out feasts for her that she merely picked at, while Kingsley lapped up the crumbs that fell to the floor.”
“Wesley rolled onto his back and Nora collapsed onto his chest. He let out a puff of air as she scrambled into position. “Are you made of lead?”
“I’m solid muscle and evil. Stop bitching and cuddle me.”
“I’m much younger than I look, I promise.” Nora’s smile broadened. “I’m aging horribly.”
“You never know just what you can do until you try.”
“All it had cost me was everything”
“You were wrong," he murmured ruefully, resting his cheek on top of Amy’s head. "You weren’t safe with me."
"I feel like Psyche kissing Cupid in the dark," Amy said dreamily.
Richard drew Amy’s arms around his back under his cloak.
"Feel. No wings."
Amy could hear the smile in the Gentian’s voice. "Does that mean if I unmask you, you won’t fly away?"
Richard tightened his grip on Amy’s arms. "Don’t even consider it."
"You could give me three trials, like Psyche."
"With what as the prize at the end? Me, or membership in the League?"
Amy managed the difficult feat of looking at him askance with her nose only inches from his. "It would be much easier for me to answer that question if I knew who you were."
"What’s in a name? A Gentian by any other name would—"
"Be an entirely different flower," interjected Amy, swatting him on the arm. "I refuse to be fobbed off with poor imitations of Shakespeare."
"If you don’t like Romeo and Juliet, how about a sonnet?" Richard suggested. "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art—"
"Not that easily deterred."
Amy extricated herself from Richard’s arms – and his cloak, which had tangled around her knees – and hopped off the window seat.
"Damnation," muttered Richard.
"I’ll ignore that,"offered Amy generously. "And we can go straight to the crucial question of how I’m going to help you restore the monarchy”
“Teeth retracting, Lissianna pulled free of Greg Hewitt’s neck and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. The sight of Thomas and her mother staring at her wide-eyed from the doorway was enough to make her stand quickly, her hands moving to straighten her clothes and hair.
“I cannot believe this!” Marguerite stomped into the room. “Sneaking around and unwrapping your gifts before your birthday like you’re twelve instead of two hundred! What were you thinking?”
“Well, technically, it is her birthday, Aunt Marguerite,” Thomas pointed out as he closed the door.
Lissianna tossed her cousin a grateful smile, but said, “I wasn’t sneaking around. I came up to get fresh stockings.” She scooped them up off the bed, and added, “And I didn’t unwrap him.”
Marguerite stared pointedly at the floor.
After glancing down to see the untied bow lying forgotten there, Lissianna grimaced, and admitted, “Okay, I did unwrap him, but only because he was upset, and I hated to leave him distressed.” She paused, then tilted her head, and said, “I take it Bastien’s arrival interrupted you before you could put the full whammy on him? He was upset about being kidnapped and wanted to be untied when I got here.”
“I didn’t kidnap him,” Marguerite said with affront, then peered past Lissianna to Dr. Gregory Hewitt to say, “I didn’t kidnap you. I borrowed you.”
-Marguerite, Thomas, & Lissianna”
“Sometimes I can't tell the difference between living and dead. Sometimes I look at a pretty little girlie and I think to myself, Is she a living, breathing thing? Or is she just a doll? Are those actualy tears she's crying? Are those real creams coming out of her mouth? And it's like a fog in my mind, like I get all confused and frustrated and mixed up, so I start doing things. Start small at first, like maybe with the ears or the lips or the toes. And then move on to the bigger things, and there's blood, so I keeping going and my hands are wet and my mouth is warm and I keep going and then something magical happens, Jasper. It's real magical and special and beautiful. See, they stop moving. They stop struggiling. All the fight just goes away and that's when it's all clear to me: She's dead. And if she's dead, then that means that she used to be alive. So then I know: This was a living one, a real one. And I feel good after that 'cause I figured it out.”
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