“And then Tohr said softly, "I'm lucky to have found love, I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life."Wrath's Temper surged, set off by something he couldn't put his finger on. "You're pathetic."Tohr hissed. "And you've been dead for hundreds of years. You're just too mean to find a grave and lie down."Wrath threw the leather jacket on the floor. "At least I'm not pussy whipped."Nice. F*cking. Suit.”

“W:"At least I'm not pussy-whipped!"T:"Nice. Fucking. Suit."--Wrath to Tohr”

“Tohr laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm not much for the emotive crap either-Ouch! Wellsie, what the he*l?”

“He stopped when he heard Wellsie's voice coming out of the study. "… some kind of nightmare. I mean, Tohr, he was terrified… No, he fudged when I asked him what it was, and I didn't press. I think it's time he sees Havers. Yes… UAH-Hugh. He should meet Wrath first. Okay. I love you, myhellren . What? God, Tohr, I feel the same way. I don't know how we ever lived without him. He is such a blessing.”

“What the f*ck do you want from me?”He had to laugh. “Please. If I were running this show, you’d have had her back down here months ago and I’d be long f*cking gone.”Tohr laughed a little in surprise.“Aw, come on, my man,” Lassiter muttered. “I don’t want to screw you. You’re too flat chested, for one thing—I’m a boob man. And for another, you’re a good guy. You deserve better than this.”Now Tohr looked downright shocked.”

“What the—Have you been crying?" Tohrment demanded. "Are you all right? Dear God, is it the baby?" "Tohr, relax. I'm a female, I cry at matings. It's in the job description." There was the sound of a kiss. "I just don't want anything to upset you, leelan." 'Then tell me the brothers are ready." "We are." "Good. I'll bring her out." "Leelan ? " "What?" There were low words spoken in their beautiful language. "Yes, Tohr," Wellsie whispered. "And after two hundred years, I'd mate you again. In spite of the fact that you snore and you leave your weapons all over our bedroom.”

“Out into the staff quarters. Over to the entrance to the movie theater. Tohr stopped dead. “If this is another Beaches marathon, I’m going to Bette your ass until you can’t sit down.” “Aw, look at you! Trying to be finny.” “Seriously, if you have any compassion in you at all, you’ll let me go to bed—” “I have peanut M&M’s up there.” “Not my style.” “Raisinets.” “Feh.” “Sam Adams.” Tohr narrowed his eyes. “Cold?” “Downright icy.” Tohr crossed his arms over his chest and told himself he was not pouting like a five-year-old. “I want Milk Duds.” “Got ’em. And popcorn.” With a curse, Tohr yanked open the door and ascended into the dimly lit red cave.”