“He had looked so crazy, sexy. No, monstrous. No, sexy. Oh damn.”

“He had come for her. He had promised everything was going to be okay, and he had come for her, and he had looked so crazy-sexy. No, monstrous. No, sexy. Oh damn.”

“You’re not as sexy as I think you are.” She squinted. Wait. That hadn’t come out right.”

“What had he called himself? A stupid, crazy, illogical, senseless, rampantly jealous ass. Damn right, he was a stupid ass. . . .Wait, that wasn’t the relevant part she should remember.”

“All of Dragos’s sentinels were mean and barbaric and sexy. Even that weird harpy-bitch Aryal, who she might have a teensy girl crush on. You know, in a totally hetero kind of way.”

“That may be so, but his faerie had suffered too much and he had had more than enough. If anybody so much as looked at her funny, he was going to come down hard on them with both size fourteen steel-toed boots. Then he would consider seriously the merits of evisceration.”

“Oh my God, not only is he older than the Grand Canyon, but he’s like the pope and the Fae King and the president of the United States all rolled up into one. To some ancient cultures he had been a god. He was going to hurt her so bad before he killed her so dead, and all she could think of was how hot his kiss had been in the dream and how delicate the touch of his finger was as it traced down her body.”