L.E. Sterling

“He places a hand on either side of the bar, locking me in. 'And why won't you admit it?' he asks. I'm so startled by his new, gentler tone that I hazard a glance. My breath catches in my throat. Jared's eyes have changed to that sumptuous green, huge and mesmerizing, the pupils dilating like a cat's. I can't see to look away as he inches forward, until he's standing all but a hair's breadth away from me.”

“He licks his lips as his head tilts down toward me. My body goes wild. Frissons of electricity travel up and down my spine as the True Born leans down. His voice is silk in my ear. 'You're not with your parents now. No restrictions. How does that make you feel?”

“By your eighteenth birthday you're supposed to know. They're supposed to tell you. Splicer. True Born. Laster.”

“I stare at the long, almost elegant thinness of the wrist bone jutting out from a heap of flesh and cloth. All that separates us, that poor woman and me, is an accident of birth.”

“In Dominion they have a saying about the Lasters. Those who can, Splice. Everyone else comes in Last.”

“I stare into the ruggedly handsome face, the eyes alight with a vast intelligence and that eerie, unearthly power. He's beautiful, so haunted with power it takes me a second to realize exactly what position Nolan Storm has put me in, and by extension, my family.”

“Frown deepening, Jared bounces a hand off the chair arm. 'You know you're different, Princess. And it's not just because you're some fancy, spoiled rich girl. Hell, you don't smell like anyone else. Money can't buy that smell.' I assume he wasn't talking about my expensive perfume, which money did in fact buy.”

“What's a Laster? A dead man.”