I’d gone into the dungeon to find out whether Lachlan Byrnes could be trusted and returned wanting his hands on me and his violence aimed at everyone else.

God help anyone who stood in his way when Lachlan got free.

God help me when he turned all that attention back on me.

I was already half out of my mind over a man who’d barely touched me.

Noelle was a challenge I couldn’t refuse, an adventure that would either be the best damn thing I’d ever experienced or would blow up spectacularly in my face.

~Captain Kol Vinter, Christmas Cancellation

God forgive me for what I’m about to do to the girl praying inside that church.

~Lucian Byrne, Eyes of the Unholy

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

The thought of being the one to unravel her, to guide her to unexplored heights of pleasure, sent a thrill of anticipation through me. This was more than mere attraction; it was a challenge, a puzzle begging to be solved.

~Dr. Atticus Thorin, Night Shift

“It’s strange learning where you came from after you’ve already become who you are.”

Lachlan was quiet for a moment.

“Blood can tell you where you came from, Mouse. Doesn’t mean anyone gets to decide where you go next.”

Tonight I wanted to be wrecked, to be so consumed by someone that I couldn’t remember my name, much less all the screwed-up things life had thrown at me. Kol was the kind of man who could do that; I could tell just by the way he moved. I wanted him to worship every inch of me, to let him light up every one of my nerves like a Christmas tree.

~Noelle Nichols, Christmas Cancellation

“She’s mine to protect. Touch her again, and you die.”

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

For years, the dungeon beneath my bedroom taught me what happened to men who defied my father. Then they dragged in the Irishman—blindfolded, beaten, and chained—and, for the first time, the dungeon held a man who refused to beg, bargain, or break.

My father could hurt and humiliate him, but he couldn’t make him kneel.

For the first time in my life, hope had a voice—and it was Irish, furious, and defiant.