The thought of being the one to unravel her, to guide her to unexplored heights of pleasure, sent a thrill of anticipation through me. This was more than mere attraction; it was a challenge, a puzzle begging to be solved.

~Dr. Atticus Thorin, Night Shift

I’d gone into the dungeon to find out whether Lachlan Byrnes could be trusted and returned wanting his hands on me and his violence aimed at everyone else.

God help anyone who stood in his way when Lachlan got free.

God help me when he turned all that attention back on me.

I was already half out of my mind over a man who’d barely touched me.

And fuck me, I wanted to give her every beautiful thing she’d never had.

Not because she needed saving.

Because she deserved to be spoiled rotten.

In his eyes there had been genuine compassion. Those kinds of eyes didn’t belong to liars or cowards. They were the kind of eyes someone could hold on to in their darkest moments. That kind of human decency was foreign to me, a quality I’d never witnessed in the cold, calculated men who had shaped my life—the Bratva, the Kremlin. It made him compelling and dangerous because it drew me to him.

He was an American, a man risking his life to help in a war that wasn’t his and believing he’d be safe. And that trust in the better angels of our nature was my undoing. And now, for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I was willing to risk everything to help him. If I hadn’t felt compelled to act before, the decision was now clear. Letting him die here wasn’t just a part of the mission I’d chosen—it was unthinkable. My fate was sealed.

~Daria Melnichenko, Mission Shift

I couldn’t begin to fathom why I’d agreed—no, chosen—to participate in this sexual experiment. Curiosity had gotten the better of me. It wasn’t that I regretted what we’d done—he’d given me the best orgasms I’d ever had—it was that being with him was unthinkable, taboo even. Why had I allowed a man who was essentially my boss, sixteen years my senior, do the things he’d done? I had no answers.

~Samantha Sheridan, Night Shift

“You walked into Xyst, throwing legal daggers at men who know how to throw them back. Trust me, our aim is better, and now we have more targets.”

It wasn’t merely his pale aquamarine irises, sun-darkened skin, and black hair that held me captive. It was the unspoken threat and raw power within him that stripped me of my own will.

It was as if he could read my thoughts, latch onto my soul, and yank it from my very body.

Whoever he was, he was dangerous and had developed a twisted interest in me—wanted something from me—and that wasn’t good. The anger he exuded told me that much.

~Lyla Oakley, Eyes on You

She turned toward me slowly—eyes wide and wild, chest heaving.

And for one savage second, I forgot everything but my hunger for her.

She wasn’t just beautiful.

She was a fucking Valkyrie. A goddess. A queen.

I wanted to drop to my knees right then and there. Bow before her. Swear my loyalty to whatever realm she came from.

My little lamb had become a force of nature.

And I would die trying to save her.

~Nikolai Volkov, Eyes on You

If Lucian had wanted me dead, I’d be dead. If he’d wanted to hurt me, use me, trade me, ransom me—he’d have done it already. Instead, he handled me as though I were breakable. As though I mattered. As though losing me would cost him everything.

And the way he’d looked at me when he told me I was pretty, it hadn’t sounded like a line.

It had sounded as if I were the very air he needed to breathe.

~Scarlett Hayes, Eyes of the Unholy

I shut my eyes, my mind drifting again to my Russian stalker.

The one whose voice played over and over again in my thoughts…my dreams. I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. His mouth. His angst. The way he’d kissed me, like he hated himself for wanting me.

I couldn’t understand why he kept showing up out of nowhere.

But right now, I wanted that version of him—the one who’d chased me through that building not to hurt me but to get to me first, like he knew monsters lurked in the shadows.

Maybe I didn’t deserve to be saved. I’d been too impulsive. Too trusting.

But God help me—I wanted him to come.

~Lyla Oakley, Eyes on You