9
" Releasing a slow breath, she raised her chin and finally turned her gaze on Qureshi. The moment their gazes connected she felt a surge of power go through her. Throughout her nine hellish months of captivity, she’d been forbidden to look him in the eye. She’d known better than to even try, because she’d known what would happen to her if she did. But they weren’t in Afghanistan anymore and he was no longer the one calling the shots. She held the authority now. Her life, her opinions, had value here. And her voice, silenced for so long, would now speak for all the victims unable to. Her voice would not only be heard here in this courtroom—it would be his undoing.
Qureshi stared back at her with an insolent, almost bored disdain on his scratched face, making it clear what he thought of her. To him she was nothing but an infidel whore, a commodity less valuable than a goat or mule, to be bought and sold whenever it suited him, handed out to one of his soldiers as a prize of war. Well this infidel whore is about to bury you, you son of a bitch. Holding that cold, hateful gaze in the taut, hushed silence that filled the courtroom, she sent him another silent message. Let him see it in her eyes. You didn’t break me. I’m no longer afraid of you. You no longer have the power to hurt me or anyone I care about. And by God, I’ll make sure you never have the chance to hurt anyone else again. "
― Kaylea Cross , Avenged (Hostage Rescue Team #5)
10
" A quiet peacefulness stole through him, dimming the sharp sense of loss. His arms contracted around her, the pressure fierce.
“I’m coming to find you once the trial’s over,” he murmured against the top of her head.
She kissed his chest. “You’d better.”
“We’re not done,” he told her. “Not by a long shot.”
She hummed in agreement and caressed his chest with her fingertips. Nate stroked the length of her spine, savoring the silky texture of her skin. He missed her already and she was still lying naked in his arms.
“Just a few more days and this’ll all be over.”
“Don’t make me wait too long, okay?”
“I won’t.” He leaned his head back, tipped her chin up with one hand until she met his eyes. If there was even a tiny part of her that doubted his intentions, he wanted that cleared up now. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”
Her eyes softened and she smiled that serene smile that soothed him deep inside. “Me neither.”
He could drown in this woman and die a happy man. He admired her so damn much. “You’re strong, baby. So much stronger than you even realize. You’ve got this.”
“Have I got you, though?”
Normally the question would have freaked him out. Hearing it from her made him feel insanely possessive. “Yeah, you’ve got me, baby.” He was falling so hard and so fast, and it didn’t even faze him.
“Then I can handle everything else on my own,” she whispered, and pulled his mouth down to hers. "
― Kaylea Cross , Avenged (Hostage Rescue Team #5)
14
" I reached for her, pushing back the fall of hair-it was heavy and thick and smooth to the touch-and tilted her chin so that the moonlight shone on her wet face.
We married each other that night, there on a bed of fallen pine needles-even today, the scent of pitch-pine stirs me-with Henry's distant flute for a wedding march and the arching white birch boughs for our basilica. At first, she quivered like an aspen, and I was ashamed at my lack of continence, yet I could not let go of her. I felt like Peleus on the beach, clinging to Thetis, only to find that, suddenly, it was she who held me; that same furnace in her nature that had flared up in anger blazed again, in passion. "
― Geraldine Brooks , March
17
" I mean, we don’t have to worry about it until winter, anyway,” she said. “I was just wondering if you felt cured.”
I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t feel cured. I felt like what Cole said —almost cured. A war survivor with a phantom limb. I still felt that wolf that I’d been: living in my cells, sleeping uneasily, waiting to be coaxed out by weather or a rush of adrenaline or a needle in my veins. I didn’t know if that was real or suggested. I didn’t know if one day I would feel secure in my skin, taking my human body for granted.
“You look cured,” Grace said. Just her face was visible at the end of the shower curtain, looking in at me. She grinned and I yelled. Grace reached in just far enough to shut off the tap.
“I’m afraid,” she said, whipping the shower curtain open all the way and presenting me with my towel, “this is the sort of thing you’ll have to put up with in your old age.” I stood there, dripping, feeling utterly ridiculous, Grace standing opposite, smiling with her challenge. There was nothing for it but to get over the awkwardness. Instead of taking the towel, I took her chin with my wet fingers and kissed her. Water from my hair ran down my cheeks and onto our lips. I was getting her shirt all wet, but she didn’t seem to mind. A lifetime of this seemed rather appealing. I said gallantly, “That better be a promise. "
― Maggie Stiefvater , Shiver (The Wolves of Mercy Falls, #1)
18
" Lindsay strode to the door and picked up his overcoat from the back of the couch, where he'd tossed it when they came in. She wheeled around to hand him his coat; once again, as expected, Fred was standing right behind her. But this time he wasn't looking at her. He was looking up. At the mistletoe, directly over their heads. He met her eyes with a look that glimmered with promise. Then he took the overcoat from her hand and tossed it, lightly, onto the back of the sofa once again. Everything seemed to slow. His intentions were clear, and she had plenty of time to step back. Yet Lindsay did nothing to stop him when he took her chin in his hand, tipped it upward, and brought his lips down to hers, as purposefully as if he'd meant to do it all along. Lindsay could have sworn she heard bells.... Still dazed, she followed his eyes upward. " And what's the penalty for ignoring mistletoe?" " Struck by lightning, I think. "