“The sound Noah made when he speared him with his tongue sent Cameron from hard and twitching to gotta fuck or die.”

“He looks at me, looks at my head, and his lips twitch like he's trying not to bust out laughing. "You don't need that... whatever the fuck it is.""Ain't dying by Shade. It's a MacHalo.”

“He knew all the stories. His grandfather had given them to him when he sat between the old man’s knees as a child. It was a comfort, though, to hear them again. To call them to mind. All these stories that made him more than just a vintner and more than just a man who carried a spear whom other men were willing to follow. More than just a man who lay dying. The stories made him one of the People, who would never die.”

“The taste of him exploded inside her mouth, filling her senses with an intoxicating warmth and aroma that had nothing to do with the amount of brandy he had consumed. He made sounds-rough, greedy, indistinct sounds that vibrated through her tissues, his lips and teeth and tongue consuming her with his passion.”

“He made a sound deep in his throat, pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his, a claiming kiss that made her skin tingle. His stubble rasped her skin. He tasted nice, minty, unexpected, as he tilted his head and slipped his tongue between her lips. She curled her fingers in the thick hair at the back of his neck, holding him to her as his tongue explored, as she lifted hers to meet his and return the intimate caress.”

“He didn't look like the same person who picked me up this morning. Noah--sarcastic, distant, untouchable Noah--cared. And that made him real.”