Martise Quotes

Once his hair was smooth and free of mats, Martise ran the comb through it for sheer pleasure. He had beautiful hair, straight and black and falling to his waist. It spread across a strong back and wide shoulders, dampening his shirt to a transparent thinness. She slid her hand under its weight and caressed his nape with light strokes of the comb. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head in mute invitation for her to continue. He breathed deep, relaxing under her touch. Martise was anything but relaxed. She was on fire, recalling those moments in the library when he'd given her a taste of the passion burning within him. He was her dreams manifested, a bright and volatile star in a winter sky. ~ Grace Draven

Only fools and dead men have no fear, Martise. And the former often become the latter because of the lack. ~ Grace Draven

On a snowy winter morning, Martise of Neith - once of Asher - opened a gate and awakened darkness. ~ Grace Draven

The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes. The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara's back. Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air. Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace. Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths. A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside.
Silhara called a sudden halt. Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path. The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously.
"What's wrong?"
"You're quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle." He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle. "Get down."
She slid off Gnat's back. Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet. "Here. Wrap this around you." She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat's back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle. She clutched the horse's mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other. Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins.
"Better," he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn't agree more. The blanket's warmth and Silhara's body heat so ~ Grace Draven

And will you love me for a day? A year? A lifetime?" She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it in that beautiful, shattered voice.
"Beyond that," he whispered, eyes shining with the tempest of emotion he'd held in check until now. "Beyond the reign of false gods and meddlesome priests. Beyond al Zafira when her bright stars fade. ~ Grace Draven

Martise, lower your knife. There are more than a few people eager to carve out my heart. You'll have to take your place in line. ~ Grace Draven

You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher," he said softly. "You've caught my interest. ~ Grace Draven

He placed a finger over her lips. She held her breath when he clasped one of her hands, slid it down his chest and over his taut stomach before curving her fingers over the bulge in his trews. They both moaned when she rubbed her palm gently over his hard shaft and stroked his bollocks with her fingers. He was hot in her hands, a tempting combination of hard and soft. "I know what I see," he breathed into her ear and thrust against her palm. "Know what I hold. This is what you do to me." She would have fallen had he not held her up with an arm wrapped around her back. She sought his mouth, touched her lips to his. He opened to her seeking tongue, allowing her to delve inside and stroke his mouth. His tongue twined with hers, giving back as much as he took. He tasted better than summer wine, better than the first harvest fruits of spring. The kiss deepened, a mating of tongues that mimicked the slow thrust of his hips. His hands wandered over her body, sliding down her back, cupping her buttocks. They left trails of fire in their wake, and Martise moaned in his mouth. ~ Grace Draven