I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches." by Alice Roosevelt Longworth

Reapers are the hands of Death. Death might be the judge, but the Reapers are the executioners. They police all Fae."
"So kill the bastards."
Taraeth glanced at his glass. "MNo one knows who the Reapers are. No one as even seen Death. We can't fight what we don't see or know."
"So... you're afraid of some whispers?"
"What do you think has been hunting the Fae besides the Kings? The Reapers."
Mikkel made a sound at the back of his throat. "Has anyone ever seen one of these Reapers?"
"You see one, you die."
"Of course you do," Mikkel scoffed.

Warm lips met her shoulder where he placed a light kiss. "Doona be afraid of me. I'll always protect you."
Kinsey moved back against him, allowing her shoulder to rub against his bare chest. Heat radiated from him, cocooning her in everything Ryder.

I’m not really sure why Ziggy puts up with me.

I’m broken. Mostly because of the broken woman who spawned me. I swear, adults should have to get a license to make a kid. Prove they’ve got their shit together before they bring a child into the world. My mom tried, I think. She thought she could piece herself into something resembling a mother by dropping the drugs and dropping the need to feed her overblown selfish streak. But she failed.

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.

Don’t worry, due’ane,” He murmured lowly....“Who’s Dewey Anne.” I asked him, voice gruff. He was so familiar, this Bracken, but so strange, naked next to me. I could touch
him, I realized with wonder. I could run my hands from his flank to his shoulder, and he would welcome the touch because he was mine.
You are.” He whispered, and I met his eyes. “It’s elfish, the feminine noun
for ‘other equal half’. You are my other. My everything.”
--Wounded
(Bracken and Cory)