“Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic, olive-coloured face and worn expression interested him. There was something in his low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating. His cool, white, flowerlike hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid.”

“He didn't deserve someone like Lorcan. He'd turned Lorcan's pure and wonderful feelings into something ugly, something to be ashamed of. He stepped into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands as he listened to Lorcan move around his room. He did something he hadn't allowed himself since his daddy had passed. He cried—for his loss, for what could have been... but mostly, he cried in shame.”

“He felt Death reaching out to him. But all of a sudden there was something else, too: words. Words that relieved the pain, cooled his brow, and spoke of love, nothing but love... It was his daughter's voice, and the White Women withdrew their pale hands as if they had burned themselves on her love.”

“And still Meriadoc the hobbit stood there blinking through his tears, and no one spoke to him, indeed none seemed to heed him. He brushed away the tears, and stooped to pick up the green shield that Eowyn had given him, and he slung it at his back. Then he looked for his sword that he had let fall; for even as he struck his blow his arm was numbed, and now he could only use his left hand.”

“Alec cleared his throat. He felt dizzy, but he also felt alive — blood rushing through his veins like traffic at top speed, everything seemingly almost too brightly colored. As he stepped through the door, he turned and looked at Magnus, who was watching him bemusedly. He reached forward and took hold of the front of Magnus’ t-shirt and dragged the warlock toward him. Magnus stumbled against him, and Alec kissed him, hard and fast and messy and unpracticed, but with everything he had. He pulled Magnus against him, his own hand between them, and felt Magnus’ heart stutter in his chest.He broke off the kiss, and drew back.“Friday,” he said, and let Magnus go. He backed away, down the landing, Magnus looking after him. The warlock crossed his arms over his shirt — wrinkled where Alec had grabbed it — and shook his head, grinning.”

“With his back to Neferet, Kalona buried his face in his hands. How could I have ever thought she, or any other woman, could supplant Nyx's place in my heart? I have spent centuries as a broken shell of myself, attempting to fill what was missing within me through violence and lust and power. Nothing! Nothing has worked! He felt her hands on his shoulders. They were soft and warm and seemed to radiate kindness. Gently, ever so gently, she turned him, coaxing Kalona to face her. When he lifted his head his body went very still. Neferet had not followed him. She had not moved. She could not have touched him. Neferet had never touched him with such kindness.But Nyx had.”