“When you were the son of evil, there was little you couldn't do, own, or kill, and yet her mortal self was an elusive trophy he could touch, but not put on his shelf.This made her rare. This made her precious.This made him...love her.”

“It made him crazy, looking down into her beautiful eyes, at her creamy soft skin, knowing he couldn't touch her.”

“You're beautiful, Delaney, and you could have anyone you want. Why me?" She knew she wasn't beautiful, not like her mother. But the way he looked at her and touched her, and the tone of his voice when he said it made her almost believe him. He made her believe anything was possible. "Because you make me not want to say no.”

“He knew he had no right to touch her, crave her like air, but he did both. And when he put his mouth on hers, he recognized the taste of her, like she'd been made just for him.”

“Yet there were times when he did love her with all the kindness she demanded, and how was she to know what were those times? Alone she raged against his cheerfulness and put herself at the mercy of her own love and longed to be free of it because it made her less than he and dependent on him. But how could she be free of chains she had put upon herself? Her soul was all tempest. The dreams she had once had of her life were dead. She was in prison in the house. And yet who was her jailer except herself?”

“He made her drunk, this man made her drunk; and every time his eyes flashed into hers she could not breathe.”