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Why are you sad, Dorian? He couldn't lie to her. The leopard wants you to see it.

Nalini Singh

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Nalini Singh
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: February 17
Author
Journalist
Writer
Lying
Dorian
Leopard
Leopards
Couldn
Wants

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This was the kind of job that made legends out of hunters. Of course, to be a legend, you generally had to be dead.
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The longer you live, the more mistakes you make. And the more sorrows you carry.
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Blood for life. Life for life. Changeling justice.
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You ever taunt me with Tasha again, she said in a harsh whisper when they broke the kiss to gasp for air, and I will geld you. Raphael winced. That would take at least a day to repair. Are you sure you want to lose my....attributes for that long?
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You’d make an enemy out of me over a human?” The word “human” might as well have been “rodent.
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Nothing in his touch said he considered her fractured, considered her damaged goods, and that gave her a freedom she wouldn't have believed possible.
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I almost let the best thing that ever happened to me slip away because I was hung up on ideas of what I ‘should’ want. Sometimes there is no ‘should,’ there’s only a single chance to grab on to happiness.
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She was his and he was hers. They had under-the-skin privileges.
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Riley : Do you want to claw at me, kitty-cat? Come on. Mercy: Sorry, I don't beat defenseless puppies.
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You’ll have to be my conscience.” He knew his flaws, and he knew the parts of him that were irrevocably broken. “Mine isn’t going to grow back.
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Holding her gaze, he closed the final distance between them and went down to his knees, that beautiful bruised face looking up at her.
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There's not much left inside me, Max Sometimes, all she heard were echoes.
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Is your skin this tone all over? Only one way you're going to discover the answer to that.
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He couldn’t say the words, had spent too long in Silence, but he’d learned other ways to speak. Taking the paperweight she’d knocked off her desk out of his pocket, he put it in her hands. “It’s fixed. As long as you don’t mind more than a few scars.
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You,” she murmured, using both hands to undo his belt, “are the sexiest man I have ever met.” He made her think bad thoughts simply by breathing.
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Elena wondered if Michaela was waiting to be served. Snorting inwardly at the idea, she poured her own coffee—and, because she was feeling generous, and okay, maybe because she wanted to irritate Michaela—Raphael’s as well. Then she put down the carafe.
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Truth was a tool. It should never simply be said. No, it had to be bent, twisted, colored, until it became a weapon.
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