Laila

“But they’re wrong. I’m not the delicate white-feathered bird they believe me to be. I’m the darkness of cold gutters and merciless nights, the bruised shadows beneath a thief’s desperate eyes. I’m nothing but a lie, a twisted reflection, a black swan.
And my teeth are just as sharp as theirs.”
― A.B. Poranek, A Treachery of Swans

“I was being a patient, considerate, respectful, non-intrusive, accommodating mate. I was trying to—”
“Koen, you are the most intrusive mate ever. You never stop staring at me when we’re in the same room, you wake me up to have sex in the middle of the night, you keep tearing my clothes, and you want to be with me every second you’re not gone on pack business. You’re not really the space-giving kind of partner, and—”
“I’m trying. I could be way fucking worse.”
“—and I’m not complaining, because I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
― Ali Hazelwood, Mate

“Dear Koen:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m about to undergo a period of enhanced sexual receptivity in which I will require the assistance of a compatible partner
Could that perhaps be you?”
― Ali Hazelwood, Mate

“Where would I bite you, to show that you’re mine?”
Koen goes still at the question. And then, after processing it for entirely too long, he lets out a soft, explosive curse against my collarbone. “I hate it,” he breathes out.
“What?”
“How perfect you are. I spent the last twenty years hoping that if there was a mate for me out there, I’d never come across them. And then I found you, and, Serena… there isn’t one thing I would change about you. Or one single thing I regret about knowing you.”
― Ali Hazelwood, Mate