If Lucian had wanted me dead, I’d be dead. If he’d wanted to hurt me, use me, trade me, ransom me—he’d have done it already. Instead, he handled me as though I were breakable. As though I mattered. As though losing me would cost him everything.

And the way he’d looked at me when he told me I was pretty, it hadn’t sounded like a line.

It had sounded as if I were the very air he needed to breathe.

~Scarlett Hayes, Eyes of the Unholy

In his eyes there had been genuine compassion. Those kinds of eyes didn’t belong to liars or cowards. They were the kind of eyes someone could hold on to in their darkest moments. That kind of human decency was foreign to me, a quality I’d never witnessed in the cold, calculated men who had shaped my life—the Bratva, the Kremlin. It made him compelling and dangerous because it drew me to him.

He was an American, a man risking his life to help in a war that wasn’t his and believing he’d be safe. And that trust in the better angels of our nature was my undoing. And now, for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I was willing to risk everything to help him. If I hadn’t felt compelled to act before, the decision was now clear. Letting him die here wasn’t just a part of the mission I’d chosen—it was unthinkable. My fate was sealed.

~Daria Melnichenko, Mission Shift

By the time he’d finished the song, I was so wrapped up in his playing and the sound of his voice that I hadn’t realized how much my imagination had run wild. I was having a vivid daydream about those very fingers, imagining how well he could play—me—and betting mentally that he could make me sing too.

~Anastasia Volkov, Day Shift

His voice resonated in the air between us, hitting me with an intensity that was both unnerving and exhilarating. It was as if every syllable he uttered was designed to unsettle me, to knock me off-kilter. His words left me both melted and aflutter, inciting a paradoxical blend of anxiety and comfort within me. Listening to his deep timbre was a guilty pleasure—a secret indulgence that made me squirm.

~Samantha Sheridan, Night Shift

She can hiss and spit all she wants, but I’m taking possession of her future one way or another. Feral just means special handling.

~Lucian Byrne, Eyes of the Unholy

It wasn’t merely his pale aquamarine irises, sun-darkened skin, and black hair that held me captive. It was the unspoken threat and raw power within him that stripped me of my own will.

It was as if he could read my thoughts, latch onto my soul, and yank it from my very body.

Whoever he was, he was dangerous and had developed a twisted interest in me—wanted something from me—and that wasn’t good. The anger he exuded told me that much.

~Lyla Oakley, Eyes on You

Every selfish part of me wanted to tell her she was already mine.

But I refused to use the worst day of her life to decide the rest of it for her.

“You walked into Xyst, throwing legal daggers at men who know how to throw them back. Trust me, our aim is better, and now we have more targets.”

Just as he’d predicted, my body felt ruined for future men, spoiled by the touch of the sexy doctor.

~Samantha Sheridan, Night Shift

“I love you, my little bird. With everything in me. I love every part of you—your red hair, your sharp tongue, the strength you hide behind that fire. There will never be another woman for me. I’ll die with your name on my lips.”

~Lucian Byrne, Eyes of the Unholy