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Quote by Carrie Ann Ryan

“He wouldn't grovel, wouldn't fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He was the son of the Leo, the King of all lions. He would, one day soon, be the Leo and reign over his people. He couldn't fall for her more than he already had, but he could hope she could see how he felt. Because if she didn't, he wasn't sure what he would do next.”

Quote by Carrie Ann Ryan

Book:Prowled Darkness
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Prowled Darkness

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Carrie Ann Ryan

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“She'd been the one to push him away this time, yet it hurt just as much as it had before. The door clicked closed behind him, and she gasped out a sob, her body shaking. Why had she said what she'd said? Why had she pushed him away like that? It made no sense. The only thing she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and never let him go. And that was why she didn't do it. Because once she did, she'd never let go. And she wasn't sure she'd survive if she had to watch him leave her again.”

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“Like something straight out of a B-grade horror film, a single arm shot up from the dirt, reaching and grabbing as it clawed its way forth from its earthen prison. Ash and Trent watched the monster struggle in silence for at least ten minutes, occasionally exchanging glances. Finally, after all the writhing, the zombie emerged. It stumbled out of its grave covered in dirt and gave an annoyed-sounding groan.”

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“She waited for him to go on, but he simply gaped at her, lost for words. "Doc Grey, do you want me?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Vera, I..." He stopped abruptly. "I..."... "I asked you a question." The words came out breathier than she'd intended. She stepped closer, until their bodies were less than an inch apart, and stared up into his gorgeous, honey-brown eyes. He met her gaze, and she saw a spark behind his irises that could only be described with one word: desire.”

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“Georgia gulped as the entire doorway suddenly filled with a man she didn't recognize. She'd been expecting Jesper MacMillian. This was definitely not Jesper MacMillian. This man had a rich black complexion. His head was bald- whether by nature or design, she couldn't be sure. Tiny studs flashed in his ears. He wore a beautiful black suit, painstakingly tailored to fit his massive shoulders. Dark tattoos curled just above his pressed white collar, and down below the edges of his cuffs. His face was neither kind nor unkind. He studied her with vague disinterest, his eyes quiet and guarded beneath solid brows.”

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“It wasn't every day a witch came to see him. Darius deCompostela gave up on the paperwork he'd been trying to fill out and leaned back in his chair. Semantics. Technically, Georgia Clare hadn't come to see him. She'd come to see MacMillian. Most people did, often with barely a sideways glance in his direction. Usually, that chafed. Not this time. For one thing, her reluctance to speak with him didn't seem to have anything to do with, well, him. For another thing, he didn't do witches.”

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“Something about the floating club reminded him of Wonderland. Not Disney's Wonderland, either, but Wonderland according to Lewis Carroll: dark, sumptuous. Treacherous. It was the sort of place where anything could happen...and probably did. He had a feeling if a deranged, bloodthirsty monarch suddenly swept in and started demanding people's heads, no one would bat an eye.”

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“Quella frase detta in maniera così esplicita, quasi sfacciata, fu come un fastidioso prurito in un punto della schiena dove non si riesce ad arrivare a grattarsi; Eleonora capì che era gelosia. Eppure lei sapeva bene che era un sentimento naturale, privo di malizia. Sapeva cosa voleva dire sentirsi legati a un drago; doveva essere preparata. Invece no. Li guardava, e aveva la netta sensazione che non dovesse star lì: era di troppo, un elemento di disturbo. Si chiese se mai Alessandro avesse provato una cosa simile durante il loro viaggio con Indaco. Non aveva mai dato peso a simili cose finché non si era trovata lei dall’altra parte: l’esclusa dalla dimensione che si apre tra un drago e il suo umano. Nonostante il disagio, non riusciva ad andarsene: era curiosa, o forse troppo sorpresa per riuscire a muovere un solo muscolo; guardava il volto del ragazzo rapito dalla dragonessa, il suo sguardo colmo d’adorazione, meraviglia e rispetto. Estasiato. Osservò le sue mani dipingersi di rosso, e provò ancora più imbarazzo nel sentirsi lì: lui apparteneva a quella creatura, adesso. Scosse la testa: non era il caso di fare certi pensieri. Cambiò rotta e cominciò a pensare che le cose sarebbero invece andate meglio: ora che anche lui aveva il suo drago, tutto sarebbe stato più semplice e si sarebbero capiti fino in fondo perché vivevano entrambi la stessa meravigliosa esperienza. “Se è tutto così bello, allora perché mi sento così malinconica e triste?” rifletté. “Non mi è venuto incontro, non mi ha chiesto nemmeno come sto. Se sapesse cosa stavo per fare... Alla fine non l’ho fatto, ed è stato quell’attimo di esitazione a rendermi vulnerabile. Ho rischiato di morire... Non gliene importa più?” Sentì un nodo alla gola.”

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