“Maybe Park had paralyzed her with his ninja magic, his Vulcan handhold, and now he was going to eat her. That would be awesome.”

“Taffy. He thinks about taffy. He thinks it would take his teeth out now, but he would eat it anyhow, if it meant eating it with her.”

“But as the God of War, Mars could not help being belligerent.He announced that he had come to avenge the honour & dignity of his brother,Hephaestus, & was glad that she had accepted his invitation to do battle.He now challenged her to remove her girdle since he had heard that it was a magic girdle & would thus afford the wearer undue advantage, as he would now remove all his battle attire so that, as their wearer, he too would not enjoy any undue advantage. And so saying, the belligerent Mars doffed his warlike raiment & stood proud & naked before her. And, thus provoked,Venus took off her girdle & did likewise.”

“If he turned his hand into her and began stroking her there, she would wake up smiling and drowsy and ready for him again.They would kiss. Erotically. Her mouth would be so damn enticing, he’d dip into it again and again to gather the taste that was now familiar to him. He would touch his tongue to her nipples, and she’d rub her thumb around the tip of his cock and feel that he was about to burst, and then he’d be inside her, moving.Or maybe not. Maybe he would do something he’d never done with a woman. Maybe he would just… be. [...]No, maybe this time, he would just savor being joined to another person as tightly as two people could be. He would savor being joined with Honor.”

“Maybe he loves her. Maybe he wishes to have her forever, maybe he wishes that she could be his bride. Even then he might lose much to be with her-his properties, his position. But next to his love for her, what meaning do they have? He would be a fool to treasure dead gold more then a live heart.”

“He dropped to his knees, and the air between them rippled with Karou’s crippling magic and with memory. The day of her death, this is what she had seen, this: Akiva on his knees, sick with the weight of this same magic coursing off Thiago’s soldiers, and he had struggled to hold his head up and look at her—just like this—with horror and despair and love—and she had wanted more than she had ever wanted anything to go to him and hold him, whisper to him that she loved him and was going to save him, but she couldn’t, not then, and she couldn’t now, not because of shackles or pinions or the executioner’s ax but because he was the enemy. He had proven it beyond any horror she would ever have believed, beyond any betrayal she could ever have dreamed, and he could never be forgiven, not ever.But… then… her hands fell to her sides.”