“Last night, Dixon had suggested combat boots in place of Carrow’s own—her two-thousand-dollar, gathered-leather, over-the-knee boots. “Do you want me to go in as an enchantress or a warrior?” Carrow had asked testily. “Pick a caste, any caste, mortal. I myself think I have the best chance as an enchantress. And fuck-me boots are standard-issue.”

“When his thumb hovered over the red button, she stared at him aghast. “You’re truly going to … torture me?”He cast her a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I torture you?”Because you used to love me, used to cherish me. “I thought we had a moment yesterday? Didn’t you like seeing me in lingerie?”In a monotone voice, he said, “Why did the charge throwers have no ill effect on you?”He’s truly going to do it? Then fuck him. DEFCON. “Chase, I’ve tussled with vibrators stronger than your charge throwers.”No reaction. “You consumed energy. And channeled it at will. How?”All Valkyrie consumed it—they were each connected through a grid of mystical energy—but Regin was the only one she knew of who could radiate it through her body. She’d inherited the talent from her birth mother. “So how does one get started as a magister? College or trade school?”“I don’t have the time or patience for games. Now, tell me, why do you … glow?”“I touched a radioactive alien cock once.”He pressed the button.”

“With a sigh, she asked, “Why do you care if I believe you or not?”“Because if you think I got a leg over with that slag, then the chance of anything sexual with you will be drastically reduced.”Without looking up, she said, “Cadeon, a chance can’t be reduced from zero.”“Gods, I love it when you talk mathy to me.”

“Don't get pissy with me leech." With a glare, Carrow pressed her print to his torque. "Even tapped out, I can still do a love spell to make you fall in love--with the sun.”

“You had two prerequisites.” Regin plopped down on a snowbank. “And I do believe I have Russian ex-mil contacts, and I speak the language-““Oh, come on! I’ve since learned that you do not by any stretch. You think Dostoyevsky is Russian for ‘How ‘s it hanging?’”She blinked up at Kaderin as she paced by. “Then how do you say it?”“I-don’t-know.”“Then how do you know it’s not Dostoyevsky? No. Really.” She blew a bubble with her gum – possibly the first to do so at this location – but it flash-froze, and she had to crunch it back to gum consistency with her molars. “Obi-Wan, I was your only hope.”(Kaderin and Regin)”

“Furie had once asked her, “Why would you ever send a man to do a woman’s job?” Confused, Myst had answered, “Because I can.”

“Wolfy, is it? And what do you know about my turning?" "I asked around when I figured out I was your... mate." He stood, crossing to her. "Well, let's hear it." "Basically, you'll lose your mind, turning animalistic, hunting me down until you claim me repeatedly, biting my neck and marking me as your possession. Nothing will stop you- no cage can hold you. Did I miss anything? "Aye, Lousha." His gaze raked over her and his voice deepened. "The fact that you're going to like it.”