Prisoner of Night (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #16.5)

by J.R. Ward

“Fuck you,” she breathed.

What an asshole

She told herself she measured every shift of his muscle, swing of his arm, stride of his leg, for signs he was going to wheel around and attack her. But that wasn’t the only reason she was watching him. His body was still wet. Still glistening. Still full of deadly promise— Not now, she told her damn libido.

Lmao

After three years of not noticing anything of the opposite sex, now was absolutely, positively not the time to get back on that train. And he was not the right male, at any rate. And goddamn it, she was not that kind of a female— The male had an ass that went on for days. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays.

Hahahahah

Cool, clean . . . clear. It was the first uncontaminated water he had had since he had been hit on the head in his quarters at his father’s facility and woken up in Chalen’s castle of horrors. Laying his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes and tried not to weep.

Poor thing:/

she had learned the hard way that giving people insight into your heart and soul was like loading a gun and handing it over to an enemy.

Duran looked at his female— The female, he corrected in his head. He looked at the female. At Ahmare.

Lol..

I still don’t think I had a right to take his life. A person’s heartbeat is their own property. Even thieves and murderers get that gift from the Creator.

There was a long pause as their eyes met. Then the Shadow holstered that gun and turned away to the refrigerator. “You hungry?

That whole thing was cheesy and boring

Odd the parallels in life, he decided as he walked out. When he’d left her the last time, he’d known he was going to see her again and had dreaded it. Now, he knew he wasn’t going to . . . and he dreaded that, too.

Why did people always learn things about themselves too late, he thought.

She’d known her brother was dealing drugs.

I’m so bored reading this right now.