Nalini Singh (born February 18, 1945) is an Indian journalist.
I'm the hunter," Elena reminded him. "I should go first. " "Of course you may go first. When I am dead.
He was strong. And his heart, it was breaking.
Our memories make us. . . even the darkest of them all.
The longer you live, the more mistakes you make. And the more sorrows you carry.
Where did you learn your charm—the gulag?
Brenna’s eyes widened. Raising a hand, she brushed his hair gently off his forehead. “Why do I keep telling you things I swore I’d take to my grave?” The contact shot electricity through his nerves. “Because you know I’ll always be your shield against the nightmares.
You," she managed to say hoarsely," are a very bad kitty cat.
The Princess Mahiya, and she is mine.
Your name is written on my heart, Lily
Pups think rules are suggestions.
Zach. You can only call me Mr. Quinn when you're angry.
You refused to fall in love with anyone else, Dmitri. ” A whisper with the impact of a gun-shot. “So I had to come back for you. . . husband.
He'd kill for her, destroy for her, savage anyone who dared attempt to take her from him. And he would never let her go. . . even if she begged for her freedom.
That works fine for me. . . Sienna Lauren Snow.
Take her to the kitchen,” came the order. “If she lies, throw her in the cauldron. " “He was jesting about the cauldron, wasn’t he? You cannot have a cauldron big enough for a person?” Bard halted, sighed, looked at her with those wide, liquid eyes. “We,” he said, “have knives.
You chose a warrior, remember?” “As you chose an archangel.
I made lasagna for dinner," Tamsyn called out. "That work for you?" He continued to look at her, as if he'd drink her up with his eyes. "Anything is fine. " "Maybe I shouldn't waste my lasagna on you, then. " Tamsyn grabbed a container from the cooling unit. "How about some cardboard instead?" Brenna found herself amused in spite of the blood that continued to scent the air and the taut expectation that stretched between her and Judd. Lips twitching, she waited for his response. "Cardboard has no nutritional value. " Utterly toneless. "Lasagna would be a better choice.
God, you’re sexy when you talk Psy.
My mother," he said, "has invited us to a ball. " Elena pulled a blade from one of the butter-soft forearm sheaths that had been a gift from Raphael. "Excuse me while I stab myself in the eyes-and disembowel myself while I'm at it.
In my time,” he said, “they believed in witches. Are you a witch, Honor, that you make me say these things to you?” Causing him to rip open wounds that had stayed safely scabbed over for so long that, most of the time, he managed to forget they existed. Her hands, so very, very gentle, continued to hold his face as she tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “I’m no witch, Dmitri. If I was, I’d know how to fix you.