The Shadows

Rhage cleared his throat. “My lord and ruler, Wrath, son of Wrath, blooded father of Wrath, I present you with Throe, Piece of Shit.

Phury Syndrome—a condition whereupon one brother was so fucked-up that the other fell into a black hole trying to save him.

She is . . . the moon in my night sky. And that is the beginning, middle, and end of it. There is no more to be told than that, and never shall I speak of her again.

This is calm, cool, and collected, you little bitch. You don’t want to see me pissed off.

I know what it’s like to not have hope,” Qhuinn said roughly. “But destiny can surprise you.

I don’t believe I’m better than anyone else. With beating hearts and open minds, we are all the same.

Your very best look, my queen, is the one you were born with. As far as I’m concerned, perfection can’t be improved upon by either man nor God.” Leaning in, he kissed her softly. “Just thought you’d want to know what your male’s been thinking as I’ve been staring at you.” Selena started to smile, especially as she realized that sometimes “I love you” could be said without those particular three words lined up in a row. “See?” she said softly. “I told you this was going to be the best night of my life.

Trez blew out his breath. “You know what my fantasy is? It ain’t porn. It’s good news. For once in my fucking life, I’d love to have some good news.

Memories were especially dear, when they were all you had left of a loved one to hold on to.

Rhage’s stare narrowed, but he refused to look at the angel. “Isn’t there a Saved by the Bell marathon you have to go watch?” “Don’t hate on Zack. He’s like your little fucking brother, beauty queen.” Lassiter wandered over, the gold he had on creating an aura around his blond-and-black head and his long body—or maybe the glow actually was an aura.

Be present. Love her until the end. Never her leave her side until the last breath. That was how he was going to honor her with his heart and his soul, even though he wasn’t worthy.

We’re separated, but not lost or truly apart. Do not mourn me, my love. I have not died. . . .

Traditional laws and cultural norms are flimsy mantles of power and influence. Democracy, however, when it is truly exercised, is a stone fortress that cannot be surmounted, blown asunder, or burrowed under.

These were gym towels. They were supposed to be thin and mean, the terry-cloth equivalent of coyotes. When you were sweating like a pig and couldn’t feel the bottoms of your feet from exertion, you didn’t want to pat yourself down with a Pomeranian.

McDonald’s, he thought. Why couldn’t she have wanted Mickey D’s. Or Pizza Hut. Taco Hell—

They sat side by side in silence—because sometimes that was all you could do for someone you loved: There were paths that had to be walked alone. And that just sucked.

Democracy, however, when it is truly exercised, is a stone fortress that cannot be surmounted, blown asunder, or burrowed under.

Rhage glanced over in the relative silence. “You are a genius.” “Harold Ramis is.” “I’m sorry?” “You ever see Stripes? My favorite movie of all time. I based this thing on Bill Murray’s ride.

I'll be here waiting for you and for whoever else you love. That's what the other side is. It's just love

If deaths came in threes . . . he thought numbly. Who was going to be the third one?

Rarity went hand in hand with reverence.

In all the time they’d known the guy, iAm had never paid any particular attention to the females. Or the males. Personally, Rhage had always thought the poor bastard was suffering from Phury Syndrome—a condition whereupon one brother was so fucked-up that the other fell into a black hole trying to save him.

Rhage re-formed on the lawn of Darius’s former mansion and strode up to the front entrance. The second he came into the house, he heard a series of gasps, and glanced to the left. In the parlor, there were a number of civilians clustered in an awkward, standing group, like they didn’t feel comfortable sitting on all the fancy silk-covered furniture—and their eyes were popped large at the sight of him. Yeah, his reputation still preceded him. Geez, you’re a slut for a couple of centuries, and people just can’t let that shit go after you get properly mated.

Longest. Elevator. Ride. Of. His. Life. As Trez stood next to Selena in a glass-walled torture chamber, he was resolutely facing the closed doors—and praying for some kind of Dr. Who time warp thingy that had him stepping out of the goddamn thing rightfuckingnow. Eyeballs locked on the glowing line of numbers above the chrome doors, he wanted to vomit. L . . . 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. “44” had yet to light up because they were in the screaming-fast, liver-in-your-loafer, express part of the joyride. “Oh, you should look out here,” Selena said, pivoting toward the all-access pass to vertigo. “This is so much fun!” A quick glance over his shoulder and he nearly hurled. His beautiful queen had not just gone over to the glass, but put her palms on it and leaned into the ever-higher view. Trez snapped back around. “Almost there. We’re almost at the top.” “Can we go down and come up again? I wonder what the descent is like!” Actually, maybe they should head back to the lobby. He was fairly sure he’d left his manhood there when this rocket ride had ignited.

snagged a Tootsie Pop—then saw that it was orange, and traded that for a grape one.

He came into her life wearing a Syracuse ball cap and blue jeans that had holes in them.

Never met Ahhh, don't know him, don't care how big he is-if he's standing in our way? I'ma murder the son of a bitch" ~ Trez 'The Shadows' page 205

It appeared, after decades of being without a tribe, that he and his brother had found theirs.