“Though here his voice faltered, because he knew as well as she did what came next, what words came next. If he could speak them, he might even convince her they were true, as his father had convinced his mother that Browning summer. It was the worst lie there was, imprisoning and ultimately embittering the hearer, playing upon her terrible need to believe. He could feel the I love you forming on his lips. Would he have said it if she hadn't interrupted?”

“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.”

“She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home and safe. But words to him no longer fit right in her her mouth.Words which belonged in his ownership were no longer hers to give. Silence was the only acceptable state her heart would grant. He would never know what he missed, because she refused to be heard in his presence. All the words he could have had, all the phrases he might have danced with. The smiles which would have been imprinted upon his heart, would never be. And his lips would never be able to reply to the words she could not say.”

“He could not tell her that he was angry because she did not love him. Even he could not utter such foolishness. Certainly, he did not love her. He did not love anyone except perhaps Isaac and a very few of his other children. Yet he wanted Anyanwu to be like his many other women and treat him like a god in human form, competing for his attention no matter how repugnant his latest body nor even whether he might be looking for a new body. They knew he took women almost as readily as he took men. Especially, he took women who had already given him what he wanted of them--usually several children. They served him and never thought they might be his next victims. Someone else. Not them.”

“He barely heard the gasp escape her lips, but he did see her brilliant brown eyes, how they danced with alarm at his presence, how her lips trembled slightly with what she had done, yes, and now for the glare in his eyes. He knew she could see the hunger they held, he knew she could see, in that moment, just who he truly was...what he was. Yes, Christian knew she could see all these things, knew she could do nothing but bask in the monster that he was.Which was why he was not surprised when she stepped toward him, her shaking lips moving, allowing the low sound of her voice, her sweet, drawing voice, to enter his terribly haunted ears, the ears that caught every breath, heard every pulse of scared heart:“My Lord...your eyes....”“Yes,” he barely whispered, the word hardly escaping his throat. The hunger was all he could feel, her blood all he could smell, the pulse of lust just there beneath her skin, calling him, drawing him ever closer.... And yes, he felt the skin of her neck, felt the blood just there, her blood...his food.”

“Terrible thought she was brave. She remembered it now, heard his voice in her head as if he stood next to her. "They scared. Not you, though." Terrible thought she was brave, and if he - a man whose name was Terrible, a man whose path people scrambled to get out of - thought so, it must be true. She could do this, she would do this.”