Asher," she begged.
His lips brushed her ear before he nipped the lobe. "I have a fever. It's for you, a ghràidh."
"You make me burn."
"Then we'll burn together.

i'm going to brand myself on you so that whenever you dress, wash, or even think of being with someone else, all you'll feel, see and want is me.

Dreagan is Scotland," Asher said. "The land draws you in a way you can no' begin to understand. You feel the majesty and magic of the ancient land. From the tallest mountain to the lowest valley, in the leaves of the trees and in the currents of the streams, you feel an overwhelming and unshakable need to want to be a part of such a place. To want to belong.
It doesn't confine you. Instead, it cradles you, offering its beauty and solitude for those who answer its call. It's wild and free. It's fierce and unbreakable. It's home.

He set his whisky tumbler on the table, but kept his fingers around it. "What do you see in my eyes?"...
"Tell me, lass," he urged softly.
She suddenly understood the term 'old soul,' because one sat before her now. And, as if opening a book, she caught a glimpse of Asher. The words then tumbled out of her mouth. "Endlessness. Sorrow. Agony. Distress. Rage.

At the rate the Kings were finding mates, they were going to have to take turns eating supper because not everyone would fit at the table.

While her high cheekbones and sensual mouth added to her beauty, it was her eyes that caught him. They looked at the world as if it were a large sandbox waiting to expose its treasures.