my grandfather would have loved to have met you," Charles told her huskily. "He would have called you 'She Moves Trees Out of His Path.'"
She looked lost, but his da laughed. He'd know the old man, too.
"He called me 'He Who Must Run into Trees,'" Charles explained.

He didn't say anything more, just waited for me to tell him what I'd been thinking. It was pure speculation, and I was opening myself up to ridicule by saying anything at all. I sat on the stool and realized that I had my loyalties, too.

Some of the fae have an odd idea of bride send-offs," he explained "including, according to Zee, kidnapping." "I forgot about that." And I was appalled because I knew better. "Bran and Samuel are probably more of a danger than any of the fae," I told him. "Someday, I'll tell you about some of the more spectaculare wedding antics Samuel's told me about." Some of them made kidnapping look mild.

If she know how strongly he felt, she'd have run out the door. He wasn't used to the possessive, or the savage joy she brought to his heart. It ate at his control, so he turned his attention to the music. He understood music.

Mercy," he mumbled. "What the hell did you do to my French Roast?

What would a racist call werewolves? Wargs? She kind of liked that one, but suspected that racist bastards didn't read Tolkien.