“It wasn’t enough violence for him. He wanted to do damage to something else. Preferably to something with an aquiline Roman profile that said ouch.”

“He wished he knew how to describe to her what he felt.I started counting time for you.I want to change who I am for you.You are my Grace.He was too full, and there weren't enough words.He said, "I did not know I needed grace until I met you."Then as she held him tightly, he knew that what he said had been enough.”

“He wanted to knock these humans’ heads together and toss them out of the suite, preferably out the window.”

“She was sliding dangerously fast down a slippery slope, if she went from "no kissing" and "we'll see" to him coming over when the children were gone. She cast around in her mind for something, anything, to stop her headlong plunge.She blurted out, "Do Djinn date?"He blinked. "That is not something to which I have given much thought," he said. "Perhaps some Djinn might date some ... creatures ... some ... times. Dating has not previously been a habit of mine."She nodded, too rapidly, and forced herself to stop. "I just wondered.""Humans like to date," Khalil said thoughtfully. Then he turned decisive. "That is what we will do tomorrow. We will go on a date."Suddenly she was dying. She didn't know from what exactly: repressed laughter or mortification or perhaps a combination of both. She managed to articulate, "You don't dictate a date.""I do not see why not," said Khalil, his energy caressing hers with lazy amusement. He tapped her nose. "Humans require air. Breathe now."She did, and a snicker escaped. "If you order a date to happen, it's no longer a date. It becomes, I don't know, a meeting or kidnapping or something.”

“How like a male. Pull out some tools and start banging on something, and they flocked in from miles around. She pushed her hair out of her face with the back of one hand and scowled at him. "I am perfectly capable of breaking it down myself.""Of course you are," he told her smiling. "That's not what I said. I said may I help?”

“He said, “What’s in the wardrobe?” She glanced at him. “Books that don’t behave.” Misbehaving books? Not bothering to hide his skepticism, he said, “Uh-huh.”

“More to distract her than from any real sense of hunger, he said, “Got any more of that chicken you cook for the dog?” Rune was just too . . . something. In the kitchen, Carling shoved several large pieces of cooking flesh around in the skillet and glared at them.”