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Not 'Don' in that I-m-sorry-and-now-you'll-forgive-me-like-you-always-do-way. Not this time, Keenan. (Donya)

Melissa Marr

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Melissa Marr
Age: 52
Born: 1972
Born: July 25
Author
Fantasy Author
Novelist
Teacher
Writer
Pennsylvania
United States
M. A. Marr
Melissa A Marr
Sorry
Way
Always
Time
Like
Forgive
Forgiving

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If he took her into his arms, he would keep her. He wouldn't let her suffer the way the other mortals had when he'd left them. He would keep her, with his court's permission or without it. Irial wouldn't take her, and Keenan wouldn't stand between them.
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They've been stealing mortals away for centuries, but they can't have you.
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How was I to know? ... You didn't say anything.I said lots of things, he corrected gently. You just didn't hear them.
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...Bananach sits on your throne, has declared herself Dark Queen. She WHAT!? Niall- or perhaps Irial-asked.
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I want to say that I really appreciate that readers are willing to work with my tendency to write in several different genres and for different age groups.
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You already gave me forever, Aislinn. I'm asking for a chance at right now.
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He looked good, like sin in a suit.
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Discord says it's a good idea. That's comforting.
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Loving someone meant letting them be who they were, not caging them
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His blue-black hair fell over his face when he moved, like tiny arrows pointing to pronounced cheeckbones. Starting to think you were going to bail on me. Didn't know you were expecting me, she said in what she hoped was a casual voice. He gets sexier every day. Not Expecting, but hoping. Always hoping
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She was afraid, but she couldn't just sit around waiting for someone to save her. She had to try to save herself, try to figure it out.
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You're an idiot, she whispered tearfully. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at her by then, she had moved on to stroking his hair and crying. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, trying very hard not to bump him or let her cold tears fall on his bare chest and arms. For a moment he blinked at her. Then he asked, Are you dead too?
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I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,” he whispered. “Lucky them.
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By every mortal standard, the worst faeries in the world were those in the Dark Court. They fed on the baser emotions they engaged in activities that the other-also amoral-faery courts repudiated. They were also the only ones she truly trusted or understood.
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I don't know if you realize it or not, but your sudden devotion to her is creepy.
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I still dream that it was you. No matter how many times I've looked, in my dreams it's always been you who were meant to be my queen.
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She stepped closer to one of the statues. It looked wide-eyed, almost afraid as she reached out her hand. One of the women reached out and snatched Aislinn's still uplifted hand. No. The women spoke all at once, not to her or to Keenan, but softly-as if to themselves-in a sibilant whisper. He's ours. Fair exchange. Not yours to interfere.
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Faeries are equally loyal and deceitful.
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The Summer King stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Can you offer me your fidelity? Your heart and your body and your companionship for eternity? Do you want my fidelity? Either love me or kiss me goodbye, my Summer Queen.
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Talking won't change it. But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone often, though, she just wanted to escape those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness.
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