Quotes from Storm Constantine

We rarely have guests, so when we do, we tend to smother them.

Perhaps she likes to sit there with his eyes upon her. For now, it seems that nothing else of his will touch her.

I fed upon the concentrated attention of my audience, drawing out strands of sustenance like a web.

Senefex always looked starved but today the ashen hollows in his cheeks looked particularly deep and his large dark eyes were ringed in purple, the flesh puffy beneath them. He had clearly been up all night. Poor Senefex. He would need all of his wily wits to keep his head on his shoulders now.

Leila Saatchi never gave orders, never had to. It was a knack she had. Her suggestions were so compelling.

Poor Vicretia was pale as a forest flower, trembling uncontrallably. Yet even in her fear there was anticipation, excitement.

He looked feral, powerful, the very image of a Fallen One, his hair tumbling over his shoulders, his eyes wide and dark, yet shining with an inner light.

Avirzah'e Tartaruchi; a prince of artisans. He was fearsome to look at; I saw a murderer's soul, but perhaps that was only artifice on his part. His pale skin had a sallow tinge, causing him to stand out from his deepest red. His mouth smiled in a lazy, sensual way, but his eyes were hooded and watchful.

You have never liked being denied," Tatrini said. "You always want your own way, and might have had it all those years ago, but for Khaster Leckery. Tayven spurned you, and for that you wanted to kill him.

Above Verity and Daniel, in the lounge of Low Mede, Peveral Othman watched Barbara and Louis make love on the rug before the log-effect gas fire. He took some satisfaction from their relief, from Louis' almost tearful gratitude for the body he now inhabited. Othman felt he should go and visit the Winters, although for some reason, he felt compelled to stay at Low Mede. He knew he would feel vulnerable beyond the walls. He was not strong enough at the moment to control Lily and Owen.

Clusters of translucent ceramic globes hang along the warren of boulevards and alleys, like fizzing crystal balls, gossiping prophecies.

She'd taken her environment so much for granted, unaware that things inevitably change, and so they did.

It was neither welcoming nor antagonistic, just a question. I wondered if it would be easier to lie.

Life without Gimel, especially, was unthinkable to me now.

My chest was tight with painful, intoxicated misery.

She lay back against the trellis, her eyes turned up in her had, moaning softly. I took my time, but supped little. It was important she should find it pleasurable, this first time.

Aninka would not speak the words. They would, she felt, turn her tongue black: words of hatred and falsehood.

A young man had come into the garden. Not dead, then, but returned. A sense of recognition flooded through her, she felt her flesh grow hot. It was Khaster. She nearly choked, but after only a moment, she realized it was someone who looked like him, who'd stolen his brother's face.

Slake the thirst that has assailed you for so long.

My hostess had an extensive family of brats, sticky-mouthed and staring, who were huddled around a delightfully huge fire.

My perspective was all wrong. Self-centered. I had to learn, or unlearn my own importance. Only then, could I begin to see. Only then could Wraethru touch me.

The tasted keep their secrets.

Bayard was a blade of radiant light, the power of the sun. Yet he was serene, controlled. He listened to Khaster's outpourings in the stillness, perhaps fascinated.

The small room, with its inadequate couple of cubicles and cracked mirror was infested with hot, perfumed bodies, both male and female, who were squeezing around the mirror to adjust their war paint and shrieking gossip at one another.