Quotes About Author

Machiavelli's outlook had not been so much simplistic as limited by his times.

You know, on Earth, the cards had only four suits and each suit has only four face cards. But there are six important directions here in space.

Such a wave of distaste that I could feel it through the senso, despite our incompatible neurologies.

Five hundred years of conspiracy had left the Prometheus Club unworried about funding.

He seemed far too small to be the source of the air of wicked malice that surrounded him, but Dust knew better.

Her lips curved off a smile more wolf than fox.

Baines's smirk gave the words layers Kit did not care to think about.

Mingan's disbelief couldn't have been more polite, or more archly evident. Strifbjorn loved him with all his heart.

It was possible to throw a little fold of space-time around yourself like a vampire vanishing into his swirl of cloak.

Is this the side thou'rt choosing, then, sweet poet? After all the kindness of the Fae to thee?" "Kindness?" Kit snorted, not caring that Baines could see this lips. "Is that what thou callest it, my Queen?

The tide of humanity drew Muire like the pulse of the ocean in her blood: the dark, starlit ocean that brought forth her kind.

He shivered no longer, Mehiel's power warming his shoulders like a feathered cloak.

He slapped her on the vambrace, rough affection but-for their family-an extreme display, and sealed his face plate with the other hand.

stations we were near were slightly elevated. Oddly, in my experience, they all had tall chairs shaped for humans. The consoles

Cat eyed wampyr, and often a brief battle of wills the wampyr stood, surrendering the chair.

His true voice rang Kit like a bell, with a sensation of flying. Or falling.

No, I know the Fae and their fondness. Fondness would not keep you from spilling my blood.

Barb let the joyous, icy clarity of combat wash over her.

Perceval was fevered, and her blood-still shocked by the unblade and the amputation of her wings-was not fighting as it should.

Maybe she, Rien, should become a sorcerer. Or an angel. Then she could be an asshole, too, and if anybody commented on it, she could shrug and present her union card.

The Daoine Sidhe ride at down; I cannot stay them longer. There will be power raised that dawn, and all are loath to miss it.

Funny how Tristen's voice-nasal, a bit rough still though regaining its strength-had the power to comfort her.

The bindings were calculated to do him very little harm, no matter how struggled.

She stands and quaffs her drink as well, and lays down the horn. She places one hand on his shoulder and one on mine. Her nails graze my neck. A shiver follows.