“I turned around slowly, and looked up at him. He stiffened and sucked in a shallow breath. After a moment, he touched my cheek."Such naked pain," he whispered.I turned my face into his palm and closed my eyes. His fingers threaded into my hair, cupped my head, and brushed the brand. It heated at his touch. His hand tightened at the base of my skull and squeezed, and he raised me slowly to my tiptoes. I opened my eyes and it was my turn to inhale sharply. Not human. Oh, no, not this man."Never show it to me again." His face was cold, hard, his voice colder.”

“He swapped the fistful of my shirt for one in my hair, and ground his mouth against mine. I exploded. I shoved at him, and clawed him closer. He shoved me back, and yanked me tighter to his body. I pulled his hair. He pulled mine. He didn‘t fight fair. Actually, he fought exactly fair. He didn‘t extend courtesies, not a single one. I bit his lip. He tripped me and pushed me down to the stone floor of the cavern. I punched him. He straddled me. I ripped his shirt down the front, left it hanging in tatters from his shoulders. "I liked that shirt", he snarled. He rose over me, a dark demon, glistening in the torchlight, dripping sweat and blood, his torso covered with tattoos that disappeared beneath his waistband. He grabbed the hem of my shirt, tore it straight up to my neck, and inhaled sharply. ”

“And when he did that, my hands curled into fists because I thought about touching his face like maybe I could catch joy in my hands and hold it.”

“He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?""Jericho""Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight.My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?”

“I know that when he has sex he laughs like the world is a perfect place. And when he did that, my hands curled into fists because I thought about touching his face like maybe I could catch joy in my hands and hold it.”

“I think I’m under control, that I’ve stripped away all weaknesses. That committing to my mission has made me impervious. I’m wrong. The thought of Barrons smiling brings other thoughts.Barrons naked.Dancing.Dark head thrown back.Laughing.The image doesn’t “gently swim up in my mind” in a dreamy sort of way, like I’ve seen in movies. No, this one slams into my head like a nuclear missile, exploding in my brain in graphic detail. I suffocate in a mushroom cloud of pain.I can’t breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut.White teeth flashing in his dark face: I get knocked down but I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.I stagger.But he didn’t get up, the bastard. He stayed down.”

“He misinterpreted it. "It is a gift," he said stiffly.Wounded, proud prince. I touched his face. He'd given me my mom and dad, my whole town, the entire state of Georgia back. "I was shaking my head at something I was thinking, not your words. Yes, I'd like to have your name, V'lane."He gave me that brilliant smile again, then his mouth was on mine. This time, when he kissed me, the unpronounceable Fae name slid sweeter than tupelo honey across my tongue and pooled there, warm and delicious, filling my mouth with a feast of taste and sensation beyond description before melting into the meat of it. Unlike the other times he's implanted his name in my tongue, it felt natural, unobtrusive. Also unlike those times, I wasn't battered by an erotic attack, forced into orgasm by his touch. It was an extraordinary kiss, but it invited without invading, gave without taking.He drew back. "We are learning from each other," he said. "I begin to understand Adam."I blinked. "The first man ? You know about Adam and Eve ?" V'lane didn't seem the kind to study human creation myths."No. One of my race that chose to become human," he clarified. "Ah, Barrons comes growling." He gave the startling equivalent of a human snicker and was gone. I reached instinctively for my spear. It was back in the holster. I frowned. I'd forgotten to check. Had it ever been gone ?I turned. "Growling" was a mild word for it. Barrons stood in the doorway, and if looks could kill, I'd have been flayed alive in the street.”