“This is not a good time, Miss Implant." Roman felt Jean-Luc jabbing him in the back with his walking stick. "Uh, Porky. No, I mean--" Damn, what the hell was her name?”

“Ye know, Cork Courrant-Porky Implant. Tis a jest" Ian”

“she fought back an urge to curl her finger s into claws or slap a sign on luc's back reading, MINE! and just in case they missed seeing that one, she'd put another, permanent one someplace lower. but now that she had time to thin the second tattoo wouldn't be on his ass, and it wouldn't be made of chocolate, and - damn it-Corinne D'Alessandro”

“Jean-Luc glanced at the coach. "Who is that man? What is that machine?""It's a dunking booth.""Ah, I understand." Jean-Luc nodded. "If he dose not drown, then he is a witch""No, he's just a creep. It's a game.”

“Ignore him," Heather begged. "I do. Constantly." Jean-Luc studied the coach, then turned to Heather with a wary look. "Every man in this town wants you." She laughed. "Yea, right. The old guys from the nursing home go into cardiac arrest whenever I walk by." His gaze drifted over her. "I can believe that.”

“She made a sound of regret. ‘We come second, you and I, Luc-ien,’ she said. ‘Our allegiance is always to our kingdoms. Without that allegiance, our people would fall.’She placed her head back against his chest and he felt her tears. ‘This is not our time.’‘But that will never mean I love you less,’ he said.”