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Some things are destined to be— it just takes us a couple of tries to get there.
it was a platinum setting to anchor a diamond existence.
and abruptly that stare had something hot added to the gentle shyness. It had taken a lot to kill that kindness. But true to her assassin’s nature, she’d managed to strangle the warmth out of—the way he looked at her.
she shut off her thoughts and gathered her will around her like a suit of armor.
It was a question of putting one foot in front of the other until something broke.
Life had beaten the shit out of him, but instead of folding, each strike and blow had forged him harder and stronger and tougher. He was straight steel now, nothing lingering of the boy he’d once been.
Here was the thing: People felt the way they did and it wasn’t their fault or yours if the connection was one-sided. It just . . . was.
Even more than being among the other little boys, he’d wanted a family, a real mother and a father, not just guardians who were paid to raise him. He’d wanted to be owned. He’d wanted someone to say, You’re mine.
No weakness. She showed him no weakness. And it wasn’t just about wanting to appear strong so he would think twice about tangoing with her again. Her nature refused to relent to him or anyone else. She would die fighting. It was just how she was hardwired: She was invincible—and that wasn’t her ego talking. The sum of her experience was, no matter what was done to her, she could handle it.
She was losing faith that there was going to be a happy reunion with those fuckers. Funny how your life could be interrupted: You left a house expecting to come back, but then the path you were on took you left instead of around again to the right.
That was what happened when people died, though. What had been a possession became litter—unless the shit was adopted by someone else.
Having led a violent life, it was entirely unsurprising that she was going to meet a violent end . . . but true to form, she was sure as fuck going to take out a pound or two of flesh with her on the way to the exit.
Which was the problem with a successful raid. Your target took your threat seriously and went deep underground.
It went without saying that they’d rather stay and wait to see what showed up. But there was no negotiating with the dawn.
“Far better to be uninterested than unfulfilled. One is a relief. The other an emptiness with heavy weight.”
Mulling over what had been exchanged, it was hard to understand how they could have opinions of such total opposite regard—and both be in the right.
Only time and the vagaries of fortune would bear out whether his faith was well- or misplaced.
captivation. Had it all just been about pretty things to him? Was he that shallow? If he someday had a big, lovely house with countless rooms filled with fine things, would he be light of heart? No, he thought. Not if there was no one under the lofty ceilings. He missed people of like minds living together, a community held within stout walls, a group that was family both by blood and choice.
In the end, he just held her with care because that was all he had to offer.
“No drugs!” The answer leaped out of her mouth. “I’d rather be terrified . . . than helpless. . . .”
In fact, she felt as though there were two of her in the room, the mad one on the table screaming her head off and crying bloody tears . . . and a calm, sane one in the far corner, watching herself and John. Would the two parts of her cleave together again? Or would she be ever thus, wrenched asunder?
It was as if in the heat of her meltdown they had been melded together. This was more than emotion. It was a matter of soul.
When he turned toward her, he froze, his brows shooting up. And even though the java had been on the way to his mouth, he immediately put it out for her to take. Man, didn’t that just sum him up in a nutshell.
“You putting on that suit just to impress the home team?” “No.” There was a long silence and then one word: “Who.”
As the world grew wavy and his chest constricted into a fist, he blinked fast and tried to keep the tears off his cheeks.
Indeed, the human mind appeared to suffer from a crippling need to fabricate in the absence of concrete proof. Which made sense, given that race’s self-referential understanding of the world and their place in it: Anything that didn’t fit was forced into the superstructure, even if that meant creating “paranormal” elements.
but whenever their paths had crossed, he’d always been particularly . . . well, kind. Which was why she always avoided him. She dealt much better with toughness than she did with anything tender.
“You’re not half the male you could be because of what was done to you. You’re twice what anyone else is because you survived.”
For a brief moment, he entertained a fantasy that he lived as he had once done, in a castle full of rooms and doggen and lovely appointments, in a luxurious place where he could open his doors to friends and family and have those whom he loved safe and secure and tended to. Perhaps he would find a way to have that again. Although given that he had no family and no friends, it was hardly something to pursue with alacrity.
“The worst thing that can happen is that I die in the pursuit of an innocent—and that is the very best way to go. And if ’tis a trap, I will guarantee you I shall take out a legion on my way unto the Fade.”
It was a case of nature over character : The latter made them a bad bet; the former made them utterly predictable.
about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake, but the thing was, when you couldn’t rely on morality, you could absolutely bank on narcissism: It made the bastard utterly predictable.
“Watch. Your. Tone. In my fucking house.”
“I just know what it’s like to love her. It’s not her fault that she’s the way she is, but it makes for hell on other people, trust me.”
And wasn’t it just as well that he couldn’t see his reflection. Because he was living a lie, and in quiet moments like this he knew it with such conviction he got sick to his stomach.
“Coming to the rescue again, Blaylock?” “Call it a compulsion.”
In retrospect, her outburst had been a victory for honesty, but not the best strategy.
Hell no, you do not get to run. After what you put me through, you do not get to run the fuck out of here just because you can’t deal with shit you created. I couldn’t run from today. I had to stay caged here and you can damn well return the favor.
Besides, the story of the two of them was written in the language of collision; they were ever crashing into each other and ricocheting away—only to find themselves pulled back into another impact.
As her male went down, she leaped over him with a war cry.
Going face-to-face, she looked into his eyes and hissed. “You don’t go after what’s mine. Now be a good boy and gut yourself.”
John glanced over to Xhex and winked. And then he was out like a light.
Lacking any true vigor, her weaving gait was that of the desperate but injured and he let her go for as long as she could.
“He shall never forgive me.” “It was not your fault.” “Fault is not the quandary, the outcome is,” she said bleakly.
In many ways, more than she took comfort in adding up, she was naught but this echo on the surface of the pool, an image that lacked depth and substance . . . and would leave nothing of permanence in her wake when she departed.
“I am well aware of the construction of your heart and you have not a cruel chamber within it. Which in truth is why I feel as though I may speak with such candor to you.”
You are a gentle soul.” Layla got to her feet, her smile now saddened. “Yes, I am. But I would rather my heart be broken than unopened and I know that one must ask if one is to receive.”
What actually had happened was just a ghost they could sense, but never capture.
and forced him to take a cold, hard look at the shaggy fabric of his life: The shit wasn’t pretty and all the threads he’d started and could neither clip free nor stitch together suddenly became more than he could bear.
I love you, she mouthed in the shadows. “Let’s go,” she said roughly.
