“Her scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe.”

“That moment she was mine, mine, fair,Perfectly pure and good: I foundA thing to do, and all her hairIn one long yellow string I woundThree times her little throat around,And strangled her. No pain felt she;I am quite sure she felt no pain.As a shut bud that holds a bee,I warily oped her lids: againLaughed the blue eyes without a stain.And I untightened the next tressAbout her neck; her cheek once moreBlushed bright beneath my burning kiss . . .”

“I am glad you like what I said of Mrs. Elizabeth Fry (prison and mental hospital reformer). She is very unpopular with the clergy; examples of living, active virtue disturb our repose and give one to distressing comparisons; we long to burn her alive.”

“Burn, baby, burn,” she muttered in a hard, satisfied voice.I cleared my throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt the supreme satisfaction you’re taking in watching the mansion blaze to the ground, I’d reallylike to get out of here before the whole house collapses on top of us.”

“I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did, but I wanted to hold her while she slept. I wanted her to know I wasn't going anywhere. That she was safe with me. In my arms.”

“Kat tipped her head back, meeting my stare. Her throat worked on her next words. "I think I might love you."Air punched out of my lungs. I held her tight, and I knew right then I would burn down the whole universe for her if I had to.I would do anything to keep her safe. Kill. Heal. Die. Anything. Because she was my everything.”