“They couldn't talk. They were not good talkers, either of them. And once, long ago now, she had bought a notebook for a course. It lay empty and forgotten on the kitchen table until one afternoon, when she had gone out to the shops and he was worried that she would be killed by a bus or by lightning, he opened the notebook and he wrote lines about how he loved her, the way he loved her, about his fucking heart and crap like that, about his body brimful and his scrambled head. All that. She came back from the shops. He left the notebook where it was, and he didn't mention it. And it wasn't until about a week later that he noticed it again, and he flicked it open, and he saw his lines followed by lines from her. She'd written words that she had never said. He sat down. He read them over and over for a long time. Then he wrote a paragraph for her to find.”

“He thought about alone in Constantinople that time, having quarreled in Paris before he had gone out. He had whored the whole time and then, when that was over, and he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it . . . . How when he thought he saw her outside the Regence one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman that looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he could never cure himself of loving her.”

“The moment the door slipped away beneath Ranulf's fist as she opened it, his heart had stopped.It had been racing with anticipation, but the second he saw her,he froze and stared, in shcok. A pink crease line ran down her cheek. "You've been sleeping!" he bellowed, barging his way into the room. All this time, he had been frantic, concerned that Bronwyn was upset with him, worried about her feelings...and instead of weeping inconsolably,she had been blissfully unconscious.”

“He said when he went to sell a man a flue, he asked first about that man's wife's health and how his children were. He said he had a book that he kept the names of his customers' families and what was wrong with them. A man's wife had cancer, he put her name down in the book and wrote 'cancer' after it and inquired about her every time he went to that man's hardware store until she died; then he scratched out the word 'cancer' and wrote 'dead' there. "And I say thank God when they're dead," the salesman said; "that's one less to remember.”

“Goddess,” he rasped, running his hands over her hips, up her legs.“Lover,” she whispered back, threading the fingers of her right hand through the fingers of his left and moving his hand to her breast. It was heavy and swollen and ripe with desire. He scraped his thumb over her nipple, loving the way she closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation. He loved that she was in charge. He loved how she took pleasure from his body with such confident leisure. He loved how she squeezed her innermost muscles in pulse after deliberate, exquisite pulse as she rode his length. He loved how he was just that to her, her lover, not Nick Blackthorne rock star, but just the man she gave her body, her heart, her soul to. He loved her. Everything about her.”

“One day,our love will conquer this dark cycle.That's worth everything to me."Luce looked up and saw the love glowing in his eyes. He believed what he was saying. He didn't care if he suffered again and again; he'd forge on, losing her over and over,buoyed by the hope that one day this wouldn't be their end. He knew it was doomed,but he tried over and over again anyway,and he always would.His commitment to her,to them, touched a part of her that she'd thought she'd given up on.She still wanted to argue: This Daniel didn't know the challenges coming their way,the tears they would shed over the ages.He didn't know that she'd seen him in his moments of deepest desperation. What the pain of her deaths would do to him.But then-Luce knew.And that made all the difference in the world.Daniel's lowest moments had terrified her, but things had changed. All along, she'd felt bound to their love, but now she knew how to protect it.Now she had seen their love from so many different angles. She understood it in a way she'd never thought she would.If Daniel ever faltered,she could raise him up.She had learned how to do it from the best: from Daniel.Here she was,about to kill her soul, about to take away their love permanently, and five minutes alone with him brought her back to life.Some people spent their entire lives looking for love like this.Luce had had it all along.The future held no starshot for her. Only Daniel.Her Daniel, the one she'd left in her parent's backyard in Thunderbolt.She had to go."Kiss me," she whispered.He was seated on the steps with his knees parted just enough to let her body slide between them. She sank to her knees and faced him. Their foreheads were touching.The tips of their noses.Daniel took her hands. He seemed to want to tell her something,but he could not find the words."Please," she begged,her lips edging toward his. "Kiss me and set me free.”