Fae Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Arian paced the cavern in his mountain in agitation and a wee bit of anxiety. He was shaking off the dragon sleep from the past six hundred years. Not only had it been six centuries since he had been in human form, but there was a war the Dragon Kings were involved in. Con and the others were waiting for him to join in the war. Every King had been woken to take part. After all the wars they had been involved in, Arian wasn't happy to be woken to join another. Because of Ulrik. The banished and disgraced Dragon King hadn't just made a nuisance of himself, but he somehow managed to get his magic returned. Which meant the Kings needed to put extra magic into keeping the four silver dragons sleeping undisturbed deep within the mountain. They were Ulrik's dragons, and he would want to wake them soon. But it wasn't just Ulrik that was causing mischief. The Dark Fae were as well. It infuriated Arian that they were once more fighting the Dark. Hadn't the Fae Wars killed enough Fae and dragons? Then again, as a Dragon King as old as time itself, they were targets for others who wanted to defeat them. For Ulrik, he just wanted revenge. Arian hated him for it, but he could understand. Mostly because Arian had briefly joined Ulrik in his quest to rid the realm of humans. Thoughts of Ulrik were pushed aside as Arian found himself thinking about why he had taken to his mountain. When he came here six hundred years earlier, it was to remain there for many thousands of years. The Dragon Kings sought their mountains for many reasons. Some were just tired of dealing with mortals, but others had something they wished to forget for a while. Arian was one of the latter. There were many things he did in his past when the King of Kings, Constantine, asked. Not all of them Arian was proud of. The one that sent him to his mountain still preyed upon him. He didn't remember her name, but he remembered her tears. Because of the spell to prevent any of the Dragon Kings from falling in love with mortals, Arian had easily walked away from the female. Six centuries later, he could still hear her begging him to stay with her, still see the tears coursing down her face. Though he hadn't felt anything, it bothered him that he had so easily walked away. Because Con had demanded it. Loyalty-above all else. The Dragon Kings were his family, and Dreagan his home. There was never any question if he were needed that Arian would do whatever it took to help his brethren in any capacity asked of him.

Donna Grant
She kept her stare locked on his as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and bared before him. "Aelin, " he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but... a plea. It sounded like a plea. He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a hair's breath away. She arched her neck farther, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against her skin. One bite, one movement, was all it would take for him to rip out her throat. His elongated canines slid along her flesh-gently, precisely. She clenched the sheets to keep from running her fingers down on his bare back and drawing him closer. He braced one hand beside her head, his fingers twining in her hair. "No one else, " she whispered. "I would never allow anyone else at my throat." Showing him was the only way he'd understand that trust, in a manner that only the predatory, Fae side of him would comprehend. "No one else, " she said again. He let out another low groan, answer and confirmation and request, and the rumble echoed inside her. Carefully, he closed his teeth over the spot where her lifeblood thrummed and pounded, his breath hot on her skin. She shut her eyes, every sense narrowing on that sensation, on the teeth and mouth at her throat, on the powerful body trembling with restraint above hers. His tongue flicked against her skin. She made a small noise that might have been a moan, or a word, or his name. He shuddered and pulled back, the cool air kissing her neck. Wildness-pure wildness sparked in those eyes.

Sarah J. Maas
Chronicler shook his head and Bast gave a frustrated sigh. "How about plays? Have you seen The Ghost and the Goosegirl or The Ha'penny King?" Chronicler frowned. "Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?" Bast nodded. "And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm." He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. "You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be." Chronicler relaxed a bit, sensing familiar ground. "That's basic psychology. You dress a beggar in fine clothes, people treat him like a noble, and he lives up to their expectations." "That's only the smallest piece of it, " Bast said. "The truth is deeper than that. It's... " Bast floundered for a moment. "It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story." Frowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. "No, listen. I've got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she's beautiful, she'll think you're sweet, but she won't believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding." Bast gave a grudging shrug. "And sometimes that's enough." His eyes brightened. "But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you... " Bast gestured excitedly. "Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chronicler snapped. "You're just spouting nonsense now." "I'm spouting too much sense for you to understand, " Bast said testily. "But you're close enough to see my point.

Patrick Rothfuss
Kiril glanced around the darkened room. He walked to a leather chair and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. 'Did you know that during the Fae Wars the Dark took two Dragon Kings? At different times, of course.' 'I suppose they escaped as well? Are you telling me we don't know how to hold a Dragon King?' 'The Dark did... things to my brethren. One completely lost his mind and attacked us, which is what the Dark wanted. He had to be killed. The other King knew what was happening to him, but he couldna stop it. He came to us and begged to be killed before he could harm one of us.' Shara sipped her whisky before she said, 'You lost two Kings and I lost seven siblings.' 'And the Light the Dark took?' 'The Dark take the Light and the Light take the Dark.' Kiril let his gaze drift down her body. How he itched to have her long legs wrapped around him. Things would be so much easier if he didn't desire her as he did, but there wasn't a switch he could flip and turn off his body's reaction. The more he tried to ignore the growing desire, the more it raged uncontrollably within him. He gave himself a mental shake and returned to their conversation. 'What's the plan, then? Will the Dark storm in here and try to capture me?' Shara walked around the room, her hand skimming along the backs of the chairs. 'No.' 'No?' Kiril set aside his glass on the table next to him and silently rose to his feet. He followed her as if a string tied them together. 'What then?' 'You don't really want to know.' Kiril spun her around so hard that her glass flew from her hand and landed upon a rug, spilling the whisky but not breaking the crystal. 'Tell me, ' he demanded in a soft, deadly voice. 'My job is to seduce you.' She held her stance for a heartbeat before she retreated, taking two steps back. He tracked her until she was once more in the entryway. The shadows darkened everything, and yet the smallest sliver of moonlight found her, illuminating her in a pale blue glow. No longer could he deny what he wanted. Perhaps it was her confession. Maybe it was because he hadn't taken to the skies in weeks. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he had to have her or go up in flames. 'Then seduce me.

Donna Grant
As me£os de Zahara apertaram fortemente a saia. - Vais infligir-me a humilhae§e£o de ser eu a dizeª-lo? Lochan levantou-se. - Jamais desejaria que te humilhasses. Eu sei, sei-o he¡ je¡ demasiado tempo. Zahara sentiu o corae§e£o pular. - Se o sabes, porque nunca... - Esquece-me, Zahara, pois ne£o sinto o mesmo - interrompeu ele. Ela recuou. - Mentes... Porqueª? Eu sei... O modo como me tratas, como me olhas. Eu sei que gostas de mim, vejo-o no teu olhar, vejo-o neste instante! Lochan sentiu os olhos dela mergulharem nos seus. - Durante anos foram-me apresentados pretendentes das mais nobres fame­lias - ouviu - Todos me dariam o conforto a que estava habituada, todos me cobririam de joias, de vestidos luxuosos... no entanto, eu recusava-os. Recusava-os porque ne£o via nada no seu olhar. Para eles, eu seria como um trofeu, serviria apenas para provocar inveja. Uma nuvem cobriu o sol, deixando-os na sombra. - Inconscientemente tornei-me arrogante, altiva, somente para os afastar de mim, para que ne£o desejassem casar-se com alguem como eu... Mas tu, tu viste para alem da me¡scara que construe­. Naquele dia, na capital, tu viste o que ninguem foi capaz de ver: o meu corae§e£o. - Zahara... - Ne£o acredito que ne£o sintas qualquer amor por mim. Lochan voltou-lhe as costas. - Ne£o quero saber se es pobre, ne£o me importo com o teu passado. O que sinto por ti e o que sempre desejei sentir - ouviu. O sileªncio envolveu-os por momentos. - Lamento... Zahara correu para a frente dele. No seu olhar era vise­vel desespero. - Ne£o te agrado, e isso? Ele limitou-se a desviar o rosto. - Responde-me! - Como poderia ficar indiferente a alguem como tu - disse voltando a olhar nos olhos dela. - Ente£o porqueª, porqueª? Lochan agarrou-lhe nos ombros, assustando-a. - Esquece-me por favor. Odeia-me. Odeia-me por isto com todas as tuas fore§as, mas ne£o me ames, nunca me ames, Zahara. Lochan largou-lhe os ombros. Ela ficou sem reace§e£o, e as le¡grimas voltaram a molhar o seu rosto. - Ne£o me fae§as isto... - implorou. O olhar dele tornou-se gelido. O seu rosto mostrava-se agora te£o indecifre¡vel, como o de uma este¡tua. - Odeia-me pelo sofrimento que te acabo de causar e depois esquece-me - disse deixando-a so. Zahara viu-o desaparecer por entre as colunas do pale¡cio.

Susana Almeida