Brenda

“I frowned. “I didn’t know Clovians were allowed to have more than one wife.”
“We aren’t typical Clovians,” said the count.
You don’t say. “Care to elaborate?” I asked.
“No.” Silver light glinted in his eyes. Despite everything else I knew about him, his eyes were a marvel—large, mournful, pale light framed by darkness.
“Is Sourial married?” I asked.
“Why are you asking about him?” A blade of steel undercut in his tone.
“Just making conversation.”
“Sourial and I are unusual among our kind. We have no wives.”
“Will he be at the party, too?”
“Making conversation again, are you?” He murmured.
“Oh yes. My people call it chit-chatting.”
“It’s a terrible habit.”
“Some day, Count Saklas, you are going to have fun. And it is going to blow your mind.”
“I’d rather keep my mind intact.”
― C.N. Crawford, The Fallen

“As the kiss deepened, his tongue brushed against mine. Images blazed in my mind—of a night sky over a desert, the moon hanging like a jewel, and the rush of wind over my body. The feel of his soft lips was transporting me.
With a nip of my lower lip, he let out a low noise from deep in his throat—a sound of pleasure and agony in one. Then, he pulled away from the kiss, his black eyes piercing me.
I stared at him, catching my breath. “Tell me. Do angels have a weakness?” Specifically, how did an angel end up murdered in a river?
“Of course we do. Everyone has a weakness.” He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, “mortal women.”
― C.N. Crawford, The Fallen