Karen Marie Moning: Lane

“You, Ms. Lane, are a menace to others! A walking, talking catastrophe in pink!”

“What are you Barrons?”
“The one who will never let you die, and that’s more, Ms Lane, than anyone in your life has been able to say to you. More than anyone else can do”

“Home, Ms. Lane?” His deep voice was gently amused.

“I have to call it something,” I said morosely. “They say home is where the heart is. I think mine’s satin-lined
and six feet under.”

“And you can tell Darroc that Ms. Lane is mine. If he wants her, he can bloody well come and get her”

“Lose the pessimism, Ms. Lane. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“There are two kinds of people in the world Ms. Lane: those who survive no matter the cost and those who are walking victims.”

“One day you may kiss a man you can’t breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence.”
“Right, and one day my prince might come.”
“I doubt he’ll be a prince, Ms. Lane. Men rarely are.”

“Dubh is do?" I was incredulous. It was no wonder I hadn't been able to find the stupid word. "Should I be
calling pubs poos?"
"Dubh is Gaelic, Ms. Lane. Pub is not.”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on Jericho Barrons, I wanted him. I wanted him to do things to me that pink and clueless MacKayla Lane was shocked and appalled and… okay, yeah, well, utterly fascinated to find herself thinking about.”

“What are you?” I said irritably.
“In the Serengeti, Ms. Lane, I would be the cheetah. I’m stronger, smarter, faster, and hungrier than everything else out there. And I don’t apologize to the gazelle when I take it down.”

“He doesn’t beat me,” I said irritably. “I’d kill him if he did.”
“She would. She has a temper. Stubborn, too. But we’re working on that, aren’t we, Ms. Lane?”

“Barrons." I hastily shoved the phone between the cushions.

Ms. Lane." He inclined his dark head.

You tattooed me, you bastard." I got right to the point.”

“What the bloody hell are you, Ms. Lane?”

“You've mistaken me for someone else. Do not wait on me, Ms. Lane. Do not construct your world around mine. I'm not that man."
"Screw you, Barrons."
"I'm not that man, either.”

“Walk out of this with your parents, the stones, and Darroc dead, Ms. Lane, and I‘ll give you the bloody thing.”

“Why did the Lord Master take one look at you and leave? What are you, Barrons?”

“The one who will never let you die, and that’s more, Ms. Lane, than anyone in your life has ever been able to say to you. More than anyone else can do.”

“I told you, Ms. Lane, never believe anything is dead-"
"- I know, I know, until you've 'burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.”

“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.”

“Whether I see the Fae, or whether I’m a man. I believe I’ve laid your mind to rest on the former; shall I relieve it on the latter?” He reached for his belt.
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re a leftie, Barrons.”
“Touché, Ms. Lane,” he murmured.”