Quotes About Vulnerability

The key to resisting Voice," Barrons instructed, "is finding that place inside you no one else can touch. "You mean the sidhe -seer place?" I said, hopping like a one-legged chicken. "No, a different place. All people have it. Not just sidhe -seers. We're born alone and we die alone. That place." "I don't get it." "I know. That's why you're hopping.

He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?

I want us to be... what is your word? Friends." "Psychotic rapists don't have friends." "I was unaware you were a psychotic rapists or I would not have offered." (Mac & V'lane)

When I thought I'd killed him, I felt more alone than I've felt in a long time. Like I couldn't stand walking through this city knowing he wasn't in it. Like somehow, as long as he was out there somewhere, if I was ever really in trouble, I knew where I could go and while maybe he wouldn't do exactly what I wanted him to do, he'd keep me alive. He'd get me through whatever it was to live another day.

All my life, up until that moment, I'd had a warm, protective blanket wrapped around me, knitted of aunts and uncles, purled of first and second and third cousins, knot-tied with grandmas and grandpas and greats. That blanket had just dropped from my shoulders. I felt cold, lost and alone.

The wound you refuse to dress is one that will never heal. You gush lifeblood and never even know why. It will make you weak at a critical moment when you need to be strong.

He makes a pained sound. "Bloody hell, woman, I think a part of me wants to keep you this way.

He closes his hand around mine and I hold on. I like his hand. It's big and holds easy but sure. It's the kind of hold that says, I got you if you want me, but I'll let you go if you feel like running for a while.

Being touched by Jericho Barrons with kindness makes you feel like you the biggest, most savage lion in the jungle, lying down, placing your head it its mouth and, rather than taking your life, it licks you and purrs.

I began to cry. Barrons looked horrified. "Stop that immediately, Ms. Lane." "I can't." I sniffeled into my cup pf cocoa so he couldn't see my face. "Try harder!" I gave a great sniff and shudder, and turned it off. "I have not been her lover for...some time," he offered, watching me carefully. "Oh, get over yourself!

Stay the fuck out of my head!" Fuck. There's a word I understand. "Yes, please.

She loves. And she doesn't know how to pull it back when you have to, because sometimes you sure as feck have to. Got to grab it up with both hands and pull it back before somebody turns into knives and uses it to cut you to pieces.

Holy water at my wrists and behind my ears; my version of Eau de Don'tbiteme

Being nearly naked around Barrons felt a lot like going to a shark convention lightly basted in blood.

A lamb in a city of wolves.

Like is an emotion. Emotions"—he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly—"are like holding water. You open your hand, there's nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.

I think sex with him might undo my essential cellular cohesion.

I can smell you, Ms. Lane," he said, even more softly. "The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb." My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Ok, that was one of the more disturbing things he'd ever said to me.

Why have you chosen to spare me?" "I want us to be…what is your word? Friends." "Psychotic rapists don't have friends." "I was unaware you were a psychotic rapist or I would not have offered." "Ha." I'd set myself up for that one.

Being threatened seems to being out the worst in me.

I have found there to be little distance between the unlatching of a chain and the spreading of a woman's legs. As if they can never unbar only a single entrance. It's a disease called hope. Women suffer from it greatly.

Do you think a woman can give a man everything while still withholding her heart? We are not made that way! - Fiona

Moth to a flame I follow.

He's treating her like she's fourteen and he's a normal adult, acting like he's taken her under his wing. Like he needs her detecting skills, same as Barrons did to Mac, and she's falling for it, same as Mac. He's lining up his dominoes, so they fall more easily when he feels like pushing them over, conserving energy so he doesn't have to hunt her when he's ready to kill her.