I can do this, Logan," she said confidently. "Kala trained me for this."
"What if something goes wrong? I can't exactly wave a magic wand over you. I'm not Harry Potter."
"Who?"
"Never mind.
Stichwörter: potter drakes isabeau logan
Very possibly this was the night my white-knight complex, as Solange put it, would get me killed. Someone had better write a poem about it. It was only fair.
Alyxandra HarveyWhere's Lucy?" I asked the others.
"At the farmhouse," Nicholas said with grim satisfaction.
"How'd you manage that?"
"She's in a closet." Solange rolled her eyes.
I stared at Nicholas. "You locked your girlfriend in a closet? Smooth."
"She's going to eviscerate him," Quinn said cheerfully.
Stichwörter: quinn solange lucy logan drake
Logan, don’t be an ass.”
“I have been sleeping in mud. I’m covered in dirt and blood and these were my favorite pants before I landed in raccoon shit.
Stichwörter: logan
Logan,” one of them drawled. “Your technique’s slipping if you need dogs to keep them from running away.”
-----------
“Why are you on the floor?”
“Hypnos,” I said.
Quinn snorted. “Dude, Hypnos and dogs? I thought you were the one who was supposed to be good with the girls, Darcy?
He … loves her. Well, he’s crushing on her anyway.”
I didn’t know the term but I understood its meaning well enough. I sighed. “I thought she’d be smarter.”
He raised his eyebrows. “She’s plenty smart.” He looked thoughtful. “You don’t believe in love then?”
“No.” I wanted to look away, couldn’t. “I don’t know.
Finally, a bit of luck. Rat bastard,' I hissed down at Montmartre. 'Mangy dog of a scurvy goat.'
'That doesn’t even make sense,' Isabeau murmured.
'Feels good though. Try it.'
She narrowed her eyes at the top of Montmartre’s perfectly groomed hair. 'Balding donkey’s ass.'
'Nice.'
'Sniveling flea-bitten rabid monkey droppings.'
'Clearly, you’re a natural.
Stichwörter: swearing isabeau logan
It was a beautiful night, warm and filled with stars and the songs of crickets and frogs. White flowers glowed in the grass. It was a night made for poetry. We should have been kissing. A lot.
Instead we were sneaking out of the caves to a blood-soaked clearing where we’d been ambushed not twenty-four hours earlier. Not exactly an ordinary date.
Stichwörter: logan
All right.” Lucy shouldered her way to my side and made a waving motion as if they were annoying flies. “Shoo!” She narrowed her eyes. “I said shoo.”
They dispersed, mostly startled into moving. Only Logan remained, leaning casually against the wall.
“Darling, I’m not some insect to be chased away.”
“Darling?” She snorted amiably. “You’re not ninety years old, either.”
He straightened. “I’m charming,” he informed her. “And women like endearments.
Logan?'
'Yes?' I pulled my clothes back on even though the fabric stuck to my wounds. So much for trying to keep them clean.
'How did you know it wasn’t really me?'
'Are you kidding? Your eyeballs could be on fire and you wouldn’t bat your lashes at me like that.
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