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God . . . his eyes . . . they were moonlight and shadow intertwined, an impossible color somewhere between silver and violet and navy pale blue.
“Just so you know . . ." he growled, "you will give yourself to me—”
“Excuse me—”
“But you will beg me for it, first.”
She jutted forward on her hips, her temper blowing all her let’s-be-reasonable right out of the water. “Over my dead body.”
“Sorry, not my to my taste.” He dropped his chin and stared at her from beneath lowered lids. “I prefer you hot . . . and XXX.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the silence that followed, violent anger hit Blay from out of
nowhere.
Now his hands shook for a different reason.
“So,” Saxton said hoarsely. “How was your night?”
“What the hell happened down there?”
Saxton loosened his tie. Unbuttoned his collar. Took yet another
deep breath. “Family tiff, as it were.”
“Bullsh*t.”
Saxton shifted exhausted eyes over. “Must we do this?”
“What happened—”
“I think you and Qhuinn need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.”
Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—”
“With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would
suggest otherwise.”

“Oh, shit!” Blay yelled.
For a split second, Qhuinn couldn’t figure out why the guy was cursing. And then he realized…huh, the ceiling had traded places with the wall.
No, wait.
He was passing out.
His last conscious thought was that it was really cool of Blay to catch him as he went over like a tree in the forest.

- Мамка му! - Извика Блей.
За част от секундата Куин се зачуди защо приятелят му псува. И след това осъзна... я, таванът и стената си бяха разменили местата.
Не, чакай.
Той припадаше.
Последната му свързана мисъл беше, че бе много готино от страна на Блей да го хване, докато се стоварваше като дънер.

Spoiler:

Ето още един

“Is it okay…can I touch your stomach?” he asked in a small voice.
“Of course! You don’t have to ask.” Layla lay back with a smile. “What’s in there is half yours, you know.”
Qhuinn rubbed nervous hands together as he approached the table. He had certainly touched Layla during the needing, and then afterward in a solicitous manner when a situation called for it.
He had never thought of touching his baby. Qhuinn watched from a vast distance as his dagger hand reached out. Jesus, the tips of the fingers were trembling like crazy. But they stilled the instant he made the connection.
“I’m right here,” he said. “Dad’s right here. I’m going nowhere. Just gonna wait until you’re ready to come out into the world, and then your mom and I are going to take care of you. So you hang tight, we clear? Do your thing, and we’ll wait for however long it takes.”
With his free hand, he took Layla’s palm, and put it over his own.
“Your family is right here. Waiting for you…and we love you.”
It was totally stupid to talk to what was, no doubt, nothing but a bundle of cells. But he couldn’t help it. The words, the actions…they were at once totally his, and yet coming from a place that was foreign to him.
Felt right, though.
Felt…like what a father was supposed to do.