A book unopened alters not the ink on its pages. What is there.

— J.R. Ward

Abruptly, the sea of people parted. . . And then there they were. Bella, with Neill in her arms, Z standing beside his girls. Beth broke down all over again as the female came forward. God, it was impossible not to remember how Neill had started this, putting into motion the need that had become undeniable. Bella was tearing up, too, as she stopped. “We just want to say yay!” At that moment, Neill reached out to Beth, a gummy smile on her face, pure joy radiating out. No turning that down, nope, not at all. Beth took the little girl out of her mother’s arms and positioned her on her chest, capturing one of the pinwheeling hands and giving kisses, kisses, kisses. “You ready to be a big. . .” Beth glanced at Z and then her husband. “. . . A big sister?” Yes, Beth thought. Because that’s what the Brotherhood and their families were. Close as siblings, tighter than blood because they were chosen. “Yes, she is,” Bella said as she wiped under her eyes and looked back at Z. “She is so ready.” “My brother.” Z shoved out his palm, his scarred face in a half smile, his yellow eyes warm. “Congratulations.” Instead of shaking anything, Wrath shoved that ultrasound picture into his Brother’s face. “Do you see him? See my son? He’s big, right, Beth?” She kissed Neill’s super soft hair. “Yes.” “Big and healthy, right?” Beth laughed some more. “Big and healthy. Absolutely perfect.” “Perfect!” Wrath bellowed. “And this is a doctor saying it—I mean, she went to medical school.” Even Z started laughing at that point. Beth gave Neill back to her parents. “And Dr. Sam told me she’s delivered over fifteen thousand babies over the course of her career—” “See!” Wrath yelled. “She knows these things. My son is perfect! Where’s the champagne? Fritz! Get the fucking champagne!

— J.R. Ward

After a moment, Wrath turned to John. "This is Lassie, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was here on earth, there was a plague in Central Europe-""Okay, that was so not my fault-""-which wiped out two-thirds of the human population."" I'd like to remind you that you don't like humans."" They smell bad when they're dead."" All you mortal types do.

— J.R. Ward

Ah, hell. His peripheral vision was working far too well tonight. His slut of a cousin, his cocksucking, suit-wearing, Montblanc-up-the-ass cousin Saxon the Magnificent, was standing next to the queen, looking like a combination of Cary Grant and some model in a goddamn cologne ad. Not that Quinn was bitter. Because the guy was sharing Play's bed. Nah. Nope. Not at all. The Cocksucker-With a wince, he thought maybe he should switch that insult to something a little farther away from what the two of them ... God, he couldn't even go there. Not if he wanted to breathe.

— J.R. Ward

All around, grown men were getting out of cars and shoving at each other like fifteen-year-olds, the bunch of juiced-up, armchair quarterbacks ready to peanut-gallery it up: The closest they were going to get to the octagon was standing on the outside of the chicken wire looking in.

— J.R. Ward

Among the problems with shame was that it in fact did not make you shorter or quieter or less visible. You just felt like you were.

— J.R. Ward

An active mind didn't need distractions in its physical environment. It needed a collection of outstanding books and a good lamp. Maybe some cheese and crackers.

— J.R. Ward

And Billy rolled in. “Thought you might like some wake-up.” Bingo,

— J.R. Ward

And for all he had learned to bandage himself up on the outside, the wound remained just as bad and deep as the moment it had been made - when it became obvious that the one male he wanted above all others was never, ever going to be with him.

— J.R. Ward

And I'll wash your other clothes. Shall I also order you a new set of leathers?"" Don't-" Wrath shut his mouth. "Sure. That'd be great. And, ah, could you get me some boxers? Black? XXL?

— J.R. Ward