“ He had been willing to die because he refused to take a life. But me, I contemplated shooting everyone. ”

Traduction perso :
“ Il avait été prêt à mourir car il refusait de prendre une vie. Et moi, j'envisageai de descendre tout le monde. ”

“ I love you - broken in pieces, whole, however. No matter what the future brings, no matter what was in the past. ”

Traduction perso :
“ Je t'aime - brisée en morceaux, en entier, peu importe. Peu importe ce que le futur nous apporte, peu importe ce qui était dans le passé. ”

http://www.consequencesbyromig.com/excerpt.html

Camryn shrieks and I start laughing as we dash away from the cows and toward the car.

“Awww, shiiiit!” I yell when I step in a huge pile of it.

Camryn cackles with laughter and we both practically stumble the rest of the way through the field, me trying to scrape the shit off the bottom of my shoe while running at the same time and Camryn’s flip-flops getting caught on the ground trying to keep up with her feet.

“I can’t believe that just happened!” Camryn laughs as we finally make it back to the car. She arches her body over forward and props her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

I’m out of breath, too, but I still relentlessly scrape the bottom of my shoe on the asphalt. “Dammit!” I say, rubbing my foot back and forth.

Camryn jumps up on the hood of the car, letting her legs hang over the front. “Can we finally say that we did it?” she asks with laughter in her voice.

I stand still finally and catch my breath. I look at her, at how beautiful and bright that smile of hers is and I say, “Yeah, babe, I think we can safely mark it off our list.”

“Good!” she says.

Then she points behind me. “Do it on the grass,” she says with one side of her mouth pinched into a hard line. “You’re just spreading it around doing it like that.”

I hop over into the grass and start rubbing my foot back and forth again.
“Since when did you become an expert on shit?”

“Better watch your mouth,” she warns, getting into the driver’s seat.

“What are you going to do?” I taunt her.

She starts the Chevelle and revs the engine a few times pressing on the gas. There’s a cruel gleam in her eyes. She props her left arm across the top of the open window and next thing I know she’s driving slowly past me.

I give her the warning eye, but her grin just gets bigger.

“I know you won’t leave me here!” I shout as she goes past me.

Surely she wouldn’t….

She gets farther away and at first I call her bluff and just stand here, watching her get smaller and smaller…

Finally, I take off running after the car.

It amazed me how different the two men were. Jeremiah had the broody, tortured thing going for him, while Lucas… I wasn’t sure. He held a different type of mask in place, one that I found hard to pierce. There wasn’t much brooding here, at least not on the surface; his lips seemed locked in a Joker-like smile, as if sarcasm and pleasantries could keep people away.

As much as I enjoyed puzzles, the Hamilton men were a bit out of my league.

“Blaire?” Rush’s concerned tone surprised me and I snapped my eyes open and strained in the darkness to see him walking over toward me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I couldn’t find you. Why are you out here? This isn’t safe.”

I’d had it with his big brother role. I could handle things myself. He needed to back off. “I’m fine. Go back inside and continue your make-out session in our booth.” The bitterness in my voice was obvious. It couldn’t be helped.

“Why are you out here?” he repeated, slowly taking another step toward me.

“Because I want to be,” I replied just as slowly, glaring up at him.

“The party is inside. Isn’t that what you wanted? A honky-tonk with men and drinks? You’re missing it out here.”

“Back off, Rush.”

Rush took one more step toward me leaving all but an inch between us. “No. I want to know what happened.”

Something in me snapped and I put both hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could. He barely stumbled back. “You want to know what happened? YOU happened Rush. That’s what happened.” I stormed around him and stalked toward the dark parking lot.

One strong hand wrapped around my arm stopping me and I jerked hard trying to set myself free but it was no use. Rush had a firm hold on me and he wasn’t letting go.

“What does that mean, Blaire?” he asked, pulling me back up against his chest.

I squirmed against him fighting back the urge to scream. I hated the way the smell of him made my heart race and my body throb. I needed him to stay at a distance. Not rub his warm delicious body all over me.

“Let. Me. Go.” I snapped.

“Not until you tell me what your problem is,” he replied angrily.

I twisted in his arms but he didn’t budge an inch. This was ridiculous. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. That realization made me want to say it. Knowing that what I was going to say would bother him. Mess up his whole friendship idea.

“I don’t like seeing you touch other women. And when other men grope my ass I hate it. I want it to be you touching me there. Wanting to touch me there. But you don’t and I have to deal with it. Now, let me go!” I jerked free and ran for his Range Rover. I could hide out there until he was ready to take me home.

Tears stung my eyes and I ran harder. When I reached his vehicle I walked around to the side and leaned back against it closing my eyes. I had just told Rush I wanted him to grope my ass. How stupid could I be? He’d given me my own room. Offered to let me stay there until my dad got home so I could save money and I’d just given him every reason to kick me out.

The locks on the Range Rover clicked and I opened my eyes to see Rush stalking toward me. He was going to take me home and kick me out. He stopped beside me and jerked open the back door. He was putting me in the back. How humiliating.

“Get in or I’ll put you in,” he growled.

I scrambled into the backseat before he could throw me in. But he didn’t slam the door behind me. Instead, he climbed in after me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, just before he pressed me against the seat and covered my mouth with his. I opened to him with one probe from his tongue. The flick of metal in my mouth was exciting. Tonight his minty taste wasn’t mixed with something else. I could taste him for hours and never get bored.

Both of his hands found my hips and he shifted me until one leg was up on the seat with my knee bent and my other one still on the floor. He’d spread me open and then settled between me. His mouth left mine and trailed hungry kisses down my neck. He took a small nip of my bare shoulder causing excitement to course through me.

Both his hands found the hem of my shirt. “Take it off,” he said as he lifted it over my head and then threw it in the front seat without taking his eyes off my chest. “I want it all off, sweet Blaire.” He reached behind me with one hand and had my bra unsnapped in less than a second. He pulled it down my arms before throwing it in the front seat with my shirt.

“This is why I tried to stay away. This, Blaire. I won’t be able to stop this. Not now.”

(Source : AbbiGlines.com)

(Chapitre 1. Source : AbbiGlines.com)

Blaire

Fifteen miles out of town was far enough. No one ever came this far out of Sumit to visit a pharmacy. Unless of course they were nineteen and in need of something they didn’t want the town to know they had purchased. Everything bought at the local pharmacy would be spread throughout the small town of Sumit, Alabama within the hour. Especially, if you were unmarried and purchasing condoms… or a pregnancy test.

I put the pregnancy tests up on the counter and didn’t make eye contact with the clerk. I couldn’t. The fear and guilt in my eyes was something I didn’t want to share with a random stranger. This was something I hadn’t even told Cain about. Since I forced Rush out of my life three weeks ago I’d slowly fallen back into the routine of spending all my time with Cain. It was easy. He didn’t press me to talk and when I did want to talk about it he listened.

“Sixteen dollars and fifteen cents,” the lady on the other side of the counter said. I could hear the concern in her voice. Not surprising. This was the purchase of shame all teenage girls feared. I handed her a twenty dollar bill without lifting my eyes from the small bag she’d placed in front of me. The one that held the one answer I needed yet was terrified of. Ignoring the fact my period was two weeks late and pretending like this wasn’t happening was easier. But I had to know.

“Three dollars and eighty-five cents is your change,” she said as I reached out and took the money in her outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” I mumbled and took the bag in front of me.

“I hope it all turns out okay,” the lady said in a gentle tone. I lifted my eyes and met a pair of sympathetic brown eyes. She was a stranger that I’d never see again but in that moment it helped having someone else know. I didn’t feel so alone.

“Me too,” I replied before turning from her and walking toward the door. Back into the hot summer sun.

I took two steps out into the parking lot when my eyes fell on the driver’s side of my truck. Cain stood there leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. The grey baseball cap he was wearing had a University of Alabama A on it and was pulled down low shading his eyes from me.

I stopped and stared at him. There was no lying about this. He knew I hadn’t come here to buy condoms. There was only one other option. Even without the ability to see the expression in his eyes I knew… that he knew.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that I’d been fighting since I got in my truck this morning and headed out of town. Now it wasn’t just me and the stranger behind the counter that knew. My best friend knew too.

I forced myself to put one leg in front of the other. He’d ask questions and I would have to answer. After the past few weeks he deserved an explanation. He deserved the truth. But how did I explain this?

I stopped just a few feet in front of him. I was glad the hat shaded his face. It would be easier to explain if I couldn’t see his thoughts flashing in his eyes.

We stood in silence. I wanted him to speak first but after what felt like several minutes and him not saying anything I knew he wanted me to say something first.

“How did you know where I was?” I finally asked.

“You’re staying at my grandmother’s. The moment you left acting strange she called me. I was worried about you,” he replied.

Tears stung my eyes. I would not cry about this. I’d cried all I was going to cry. Clenching the bag holding the pregnancy test closer to me I straightened my shoulders. “You followed me,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I did,” he replied then shook his head and turned his gaze away from me to focus on something else. “Were you gonna tell me, Blaire?”

Was I going to tell him? I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far. “I’m not sure there is anything to tell just yet,” I replied honestly.

Cain shook his head and let out a hard low chuckle that held no humor. “Not sure, huh? You came all the way out here because you weren’t sure?”

He was angry. Or was he hurt? He had no reason to be either. “Until I take this test I’m not sure. I’m late. That’s all. There was no reason I should tell you about this. It isn’t your concern.”

Slowly, Cain turned his head back to level his gaze on me. He lifted his hand and tilted his hat back. The shade was gone from his eyes. There was disbelief and pain there. I hadn’t wanted to see that. It was almost worse than seeing judgment in his eyes. In a way judgment was better.

“Really? That’s how you feel? After all we’ve been through that’s how you honestly feel?”

What we had been through was in the past. He was my past. I’d been through a lot without him. While he enjoyed his high school years I had struggled to hold my life together. What exactly did he think he’d suffered through? Anger slowly boiled in my blood and I lifted my eyes to glare at him.

“Yes, Cain. That’s how I feel. I’m not sure what exactly you think we’ve been through. We were best friends, then we were a couple, then my momma got sick and you needed your dick sucked so you cheated on me. I was left to take care of my sick momma alone. No one to lean on. Then she died and I moved. I got my heart and world shattered and came home. You’ve been here for me. I didn’t ask you to but you have. I’m thankful for that but it doesn’t make all that other stuff go away. It doesn’t make up for the fact you deserted me when I needed you the most. So excuse me if when my world is once again about to be jerked out from under me that you aren’t the first person I run to. You’ve not earned that yet.”

I was breathing hard and the tears I hadn’t wanted to shed were running down my face. I hadn’t wanted to cry dammit. I closed the distance between us and used all my strength to shove him out of my way so I could grab the door handle and jerk it open. I needed out of here. Away from him.

“Move,” I yelled as I tried hard to open the door with his weight still against it.

I expected him to argue with me. I expected something other than him doing as I asked. I climbed inside the driver’s seat and threw the little plastic bag in the seat beside me before cranking the truck and backing out of the parking spot. I could see Cain still standing there. He hadn’t moved that much. Just enough so that I could get inside my truck. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the ground as if it had all the answers. I couldn’t worry about him right now. I needed to get away.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said those things to him. Maybe I should have kept them inside where I’d buried them all these years. But it was too late now. He’d pushed me at the wrong moment. I would not feel bad about this.

I also couldn’t go back to his grandmother’s. She was on to me. He’d probably call her and tell her. If not the truth, something close to it. I didn’t have any other options. I was going to have to take a pregnancy test in the restroom at a service station. Could this get any worse?

Adrian looked over at me again. “Who knows more about male weakness: you or me?”

“Go on.” I refused to directly answer the question.

“Get a new dress. One that shows a lot of skin. Short. Strapless. Maybe a push-up bra too.” He actually had the audacity to do a quick assessment of my chest. “Eh, maybe not. But definitely some high heels.”

“Adrian,” I exclaimed. “You’ve seen how Alchemists dress. Do you think I can really wear something like that?”

He was unconcerned. “You’ll make it work. You’ll change clothes or something. But I’m telling you, if you want to get a guy to do something that might be difficult, then the best way is to distract him so that he can’t devote his full brainpower to the consequences.”

“You don’t have a lot of faith in your own gender.”

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth. I’ve been distracted by sexy dresses a lot.”

I didn’t really know if that was a valid argument, seeing as Adrian was distracted by a lot of things. Fondue. T-shirts. Kittens. “And so, what then? I show some skin, and the world is mine?”

“That’ll help.” Amazingly, I could tell he was dead serious. “And you’ve gotta act confident the whole time, like it’s already a done deal. Then make sure when you’re actually asking for what you want that you tell him you’d be ‘so, so grateful.’ But don’t elaborate. His imagination will do half the work for you. ”

I shook my head, glad we’d almost reached our destination. I didn’t know how much more I could listen to. “This is the most ridiculous advice I’ve ever heard. It’s also kind of sexist too, but I can’t decide who it offends more, men or women.”

“Look, Sage. I don’t know much about chemistry or computer hacking or photosynthery, but this is something I’ve got a lot of experience with.” I think he meant photosynthesis, but I didn’t correct him. “Use my knowledge. Don’t let it go to waste.”

(The Indigo Spell, Chapitre 15)

“But how can two people who are undeniably more than just attracted to one another not give in? We've been on the road together for almost two weeks. We've shared intimate secrets and we've been intimate in some ways. We've slept next to each other and touched one another, yet still here we are, standing on opposite sides of a thick glass wall. We reach up and touch our fingers to the glass, we look into each others eyes and we know what we want but the glass won't fucking budge. This is either inviolable discipline or pure, unadulterated self-torture.”

“You do not want to help us,” Will said to Magnus. “You do not want to position yourself as an enemy of Mortmain’s.”
“Well, can you blame him?” Woolsey rose in a whirl of yellow silk. “What could you possibly have to offer that would make the risk worth it to him?”
“I will give you anything,” said Tessa in a low voice that Will felt in his bones. “Anything at all, if you can help us help Jem.”
Magnus gripped a handful of his black hair. “God, the two of you. I can make inquiries. Track down some of the more unusual shipping routes. Old Molly —”
“I’ve been to her,” Will said. “Something’s frightened her so badly she won’t even crawl out of her grave.”
Woolsey snorted. “And that doesn’t tell you anything, little Shadowhunter? Is it really worth all this, just to stretch your friend’s life out another few months, another year? He will die anyway. And the sooner he dies, the sooner you can have his fiancée, the one you’re in love with.” He cut his amused gaze toward Tessa. “Really you ought to be counting down the days till he expires with great eagerness.”

(Source : Tumblr de Cassandra Clare)

Traduction personnelle :
“Tu ne veux pas nous aider,” Will dit à Magnus. “Tu ne veux pas te positionner en tant qu'ennemi de Mortmain.”
“Et alors, peux-tu l'en blâmer ?” Woolsey se leva dans un tournoiement de soie jaune. “Que pourrais-tu avoir à offrir qui vaudrait pour lui de prendre le risque ?”
“Je vous donnerais n'importe quoi,” dit Tessa dans une voix basse qui raisonna jusqu'aux os de Will. “Vraiment n'importe quoi, si vous pouvez nous aider à aider Jem.”
Magnus agrippa une poignée de ses cheveux noirs. “Dieu, vous deux alors. Je peux me renseigner. Remonter jusqu'à certains des plus inusuels chemin. La vieille Molly —”
“Je suis allé la voir,” dit Will. “Quelque chose l'a tellement terrifiée qu'elle refuse de sortir de sa tombe.”
Woolsey grogna. “Et ça ne te dis rien, petit Shadowhunter ? Est-ce que ça vaut vraiment tout ça, juste pour allonger la vie de ton ami de quelques mois, d'une année ? Il va mourir de toute façon. Et au plus vite il meurt, au plus vite tu pourras avoir sa fiancée, celle dont tu es amoureux.” Il jeta un regard amusé vers Tessa. “Tu devrais compter les jours jusqu'à ce qu'il rende l'âme avec beaucoup d'impatience.”

Shepley walked out of his bedroom pulling a T-shirt over his head. His eyebrows pushed together. “Did they just leave?”
“Yeah,” I said absently, rinsing my cereal bowl and dumping Abby’s leftover oatmeal in the sink. She’d barely touched it.
“Well, what the hell? Mare didn’t even say goodbye.”
“You knew she was going to class. Quit being a cry baby.”
Shepley pointed to his chest. “I’m the cry baby? Do you remember last night?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” He sat on the couch and slipped on his sneakers. “Did you ask Abby about her birthday?”
“She didn’t say much, except that she’s not into birthdays.”
“So what are we doing?”
“Throwing her a party.” Shepley nodded, waiting for me to explain. “I thought we’d surprise her. Invite some of our friends over and have America take her out for a while.”
Shepley put on his white ball cap, pulling it low over his brows so I couldn’t see his eyes. “She can manage that. Anything else?”
“How do you feel about a puppy?”
Shepley laughed once. “It’s not my birthday, bro.”
I walked around the breakfast bar and leaned my hip against the stool. “I know, but she lives in the dorms. She can’t have a puppy.”
“Keep it here? Seriously? What are we going to do with a dog?”
“I found a Cairn Terrier online. It’s perfect.”
“A what?”
“Pidge is from Kansas. It’s the same kind of dog Dorothy had in the Wizard of Oz.”
Shepley’s face was blank. “The Wizard of Oz.”
“What? I liked the scarecrow when I was a little kid, shut the fuck up.”
“It’s going to crap every where, Travis. It’ll bark and whine and … I don’t know.”
“So does America … minus the crapping.”
Shepley wasn’t amused.
“I’ll take it out and clean up after it. I’ll keep it in my room. You won’t even know it’s here.”
“You can’t keep it from barking.”
“Think about it. You gotta admit it’ll win her over.”
Shepley smiled. “Is that what this is all about? You’re trying to win over Abby?”
My brows pulled together. “Quit it.”
His smile widened. “You can get the damn dog…”
I grinned with victory.
“…if you admit you have feelings for Abby.”
I frowned in defeat. “C’mon, man!”
“Admit it,” Shepley said, crossing his arms. What a tool. He was actually going to make me say it.
I looked to the floor, and everywhere else except Shepley’s smug ass smile. I fought it for a while, but the puppy was fucking brilliant. Abby would flip out (in a good way for once), and I could keep it at the apartment. She’d want to be there every day.
“I like her,” I said through my teeth.
Shepley held his hand to his ear. “What? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“You’re an asshole! Did you hear that?”
Shepley crossed his arms. “Say it.”
“I like her, okay?”
“Not good enough.”
“I have feelings for her. I care about her. A lot. I can’t stand it when she’s not around. Happy?”
“For now,” he said, grabbing his backpack off the floor.

Source : Page Facebook de Jamie McGuire

“What are you doing?” Shepley said. He stood in the middle of the room, a pair of sneakers in one hand, a dirty pair of underwear in the other.
“Uh, cleaning?” I said, shoving shot glasses into the dishwasher.
“I see that. But...why?”
I smiled, my back turned to Shepley. He was going to kick my ass. “I’m expecting company.”
“So?”
“The pigeon.”
“Huh?”
“Abby, Shep. I invited Abby.”
“Dude, no. No! Don’t fuck this up for me, man. Please don’t.”
I turned, crossing my arms across my chest. “I tried, Shep. I did. But, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “There’s something about her. I couldn’t help myself.”
Shepley’s jaw worked under his skin, and then he stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him.
I finished loading the dishwasher, and then circled the couch to make sure I hadn’t missed any visible empty condom wrappers. That was never fun to explain.
The fact that I had bagged nearly every beautiful co-ed at Eastern was no secret, but I didn’t see a reason to remind them when they came to my apartment. It was all about presentation.
Pigeon, though. It would take far more than a good presentation to bag her on my couch. At this point I was taking it one step at a time. If I focused on the end result, I could easily fuck it up. She noticed things. She was farther from naive than I was; light years away. This operation was nothing less than precarious.
I was in my bedroom sorting dirty laundry when I heard the front door open. Shepley usually listened for America’s car to pull in so he could greet her at the door.
Pussy.
Murmuring, and then the closing of Shepley’s door was my signal. I walked into the front room, and there she sat: Glasses, her hair piled on top of her head, and what might have been pajamas. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been molding in the bottom of her laundry hamper.
It was so hard not to bust into laughter. Never once had a female come to my apartment dressed like that. My front door had seen jean skirts, dresses, even a see-through tube dress over a string bikini. A handful of times, spackled-on makeup and glitter lotion. Never pajamas.
Her appearance immediately answered why she’d so easily agreed to come over. She was going to try to nauseate me into leaving her alone. If she didn’t look absolutely sexy like that, it might have worked, but her skin was impeccable, and the lack of makeup and the frames of her glasses just made her eye color stand out even more.
“It’s about time you showed up,” I said, falling onto my couch.
At first she seemed proud of her idea, but as we talked and I remained impervious, it was clear that she knew her plan had failed. The less she smiled, the more I had to stop myself from grinning ear to ear. She was so much fun. I just couldn’t get over it.
Shepley and America joined us again. Abby was flustered, and I was damn near lightheaded. She went from doubting the fact that I could write a simple paper to questioning my penchant for fighting. I kind of liked talking to her about normal stuff, preferable to the awkward task of asking her to leave once I bagged her. She didn’t understand me, and kind of wanted to, even though I seemed to piss her off.
“What are you...the Karate Kid? Where did you learn to fight?”
Shepley and America seemed to be embarrassed for Abby. I don’t know why; I sure as hell didn’t mind. Just because I didn’t talk about my childhood much didn’t mean I was ashamed.
“I had a dad with a drinking problem and a bad temper, and four older brothers that carried the asshole gene.”
“Oh,” she said simply. Her cheeks turned red, and at that moment, I felt a twinge in my chest. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it bugged me. I immediately tried to make her feel better. “Don’t be embarrassed, Pidge. Dad quit drinking. The brothers grew up.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” Her body language was opposite her words. I struggled to think of something to change the subject, and then mentioning her sexy, frumpy look came to mind. Her embarrassment was immediately replaced by irritation, something I was far more comfortable with.
America suggested watching TV, but the last thing I wanted to do was to be in a room with Abby, unable to talk to her. I stood. “You hungry, Pidge?”
“I already ate.”
America’s eyebrows pulled in. “No, you haven’t. Oh...er...that’s right. I forgot. You grabbed a...pizza? Before we left.”
Abby was embarrassed again, but anger quickly covered it.
I opened the door, trying to keep my voice casual. I’d never been so eager to get a girl alone—especially to not have sex with her. “C’mon. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Where are you going?”
“Wherever you want. We can hit a pizza place.” I inwardly cringed. That might have been too eager.
She looked down at her sweat pants. “I’m not really dressed.”
I grinned. She had no idea how beautiful she was. That made her even more appealing. “You look fine. Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”
Once she was on the back of my Harley, I could finally think straight again. My thoughts were usually more relaxed on the bike. Abby’s legs had my hips in a vice grip, but that was oddly relaxing, too. Almost a relief.
The weird urge I felt around her was disorienting. I didn’t like it, but then again, it reminded me that she was around, so it was as comforting as it was unsettling. I decided to get my shit together. Abby might be a pigeon, but she was just a fucking girl. No need to get my boxer briefs in a bunch.
Besides, there was something under the good girl facade. She hated me on sight because she’d been burned by someone like me before. No way was she a slut, though. Not even a reformed slut. I could spot them a mile away. My game face slowly melted away. I’d finally found a girl that was interesting enough to get to know, and a version of me had already hurt her.
I barely knew the girl, and the thought of some jackhole hurting Pidge infuriated me. Abby associating me with someone that would hurt her was even worse. I gunned the throttle as I pulled into the Pizza Shack. That ride wasn’t long enough to sort out the clusterfuck in my head.
I wasn’t even thinking about my speed, so when Abby jumped off my bike and started to yell, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I went the speed limit.”
“Yeah, if we were on the Autobahn!” She ripped the wild bun down and then brushed her long hair with her fingers.
I couldn’t stop staring while she re-wrapped the long, caramel strands, and then tied them back again. I imagined that was how she looked first thing in the morning, and then had to refer to the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan to keep my dick from getting hard. Blood. Screaming. Visible intestines. Grenades. Gunfire. More blood.
I held the door open. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Pigeon.”
She angrily stomped past me and into the restaurant, ignoring my gesture. It was a damn shame; she was the first girl that I had ever wanted to open the door for. I’d been looking forward to that moment, and she didn’t even notice.

Source : Page Facebook de Jamie McGuire

I tug Ella eagerly toward the front down, shoving people out of my way. When we step outside, I grab her arm, whirl her around, and pick her up, urging her legs around my waist.
“Where’s you’re car?” I ask, pressing her warm body against me.
She loops her arms around the back of my neck and her eyes sparkle underneath the streetlights. “It’s parked out back.”
I turn into the alley and walk blindly down it as I kiss her fiercely. I trip over the curb at the end, but I regain my balance without breaking the kiss. My hand grips her ass and the other one explores the soft skin of her thigh.
“Did you wear this skirt just for me, so I’d have easy access, ” I murmur against her lips as I inch my fingers up it.
Laughing against my mouth, she pinches my ass. “You at least have to get us in the car before you start doing stuff to me.”
“Yeah right.” I caress her tongue with mine, tasting her thoroughly, before pull away. “I’m planning on throwing you down on the hood right here, right now.”

Source : Le blog de Jessica Sorensen

“Mom, I have to go. I think this Matt character is here."
"Are you sure it's him?"
Julie peered into the car as the window lowered. "I see a maniacal-looking guy with brightly-colored candy in one hand, and he's waving a sickle in the other. Oh! He's beckoning me to the car. This must be my ride.”

“Choose your battles, but don't choose very many.”

Traduction personnelle :
“Choisi tes batailles, mais n'en choisi pas trop.”

“Don't take life too seriously. Punch it in the face when it needs a good hit. Laugh at it.”

Traduction personnelle :
“Ne prend pas la vie trop au sérieux. Frappe-la lorsqu'elle a besoin d'un bon coup sur la tête. Ris-en.”

“A very magnanimous statement, Gideon,” said Magnus.
“I’m Gabriel.”
Magnus waved a hand. “All Lightwoods look the same to me.”

Traduction personnelle :
“Une déclaration très magnanime, Gideon,” dit Magnus.
“Je suis Gabriel.”
Magnus secoua la main. “Tous les Lightwood se ressemblent pour moi.”

Jem knotted his fingers in the material of Will’s sleeve. “You are my parabatai,” he said. “You said once I could ask anything of you.

Traduction personnelle :
Jem enfonça ses doigts dans le matériel de la manche de Will. “Tu es mon parabatai,”dit-il. “Tu as dis un jour que je pouvais de demander n'importe quoi.”

“He began it,” Cecily said, jerking her chin at Will, though she knew it was pointless. Jem, Will’s parabatai, treated her with the distant sweet kindness reserved for the little sisters of one’s friends, but he would always side with Will. Kindly, but firmly, he put Will above everything else in the world. Well, nearly everything.

Traduction personnelle :
“C'est lui qui a commencé,” expliqua Cecily, désignant Will de la tête, même si elle savait que c'était inutile. Jem, le parabatai de Will, la traitait avec la distante gentillesse que l'on réservait aux petites soeurs de ses amis, mais il prendrait toujours le parti de Will. Avec bienveillance, mais fermement, il plaçait Will au dessus de tout au monde. Enfin, presque tout.

“Would you?” said Gabriel to Will, hotly. “If it was your family?” His lip curled. “Never mind. It’s not as if you know the meaning of loyalty —”

“Gabriel.” Gideon’s voice was a reprimand to his brother. “Do not speak to Will in that manner.”

Traduction personnelle :
“Le ferais-tu ?” demanda Gabriel à Will avec véhémence. “Si c'était ta famille ?” Sa lèvre se retroussa. “Laisse tomber. Ce n'est pas comme si tu connaissais la signification de loyauté —”

“Gabriel.” La voix de Gideon était un réprimande à l'encontre de son frère. “Ne parle pas à Will de cette manière.”

“Do you think there’s a chance for him?”
“A chance for who?”
“Will. To be happy.”
“Is there a chance for you to be happy if he isn’t?”

Source : Tumblr officiel de Cassandra Clare

Traduction personnelle :
"Est-ce que tu penses qu'il y a une chance pour lui ?"
"Une chance pour qui ?"
"Will. D'être heureux."
"Y a-t-il une chance pour toi d'être heureux/heureuse s'il ne l'est pas ?"

‘Her name is Evie Tremain. She’s seventeen years old. She lives in Riverview, California. Now go and kill her.’

The stillness in the room erupted as chairs scraped the floor. There were a few hushed whispers, a stifled laugh and then the door slammed shut cutting the noise off like a guillotine.

Lucas stood slowly, taking his time. He didn’t notice that the others had left the room, nor that Tristan was standing by the window watching him. All his attention was focused on the photograph he held in his hand.

It showed a girl – dark-haired, blue-eyed – looking straight at the camera. It was a close-up. He could make out the shadows her lashes were making down her cheeks. A strand of hair was caught like a web over one eye and in the corner of the shot he could see her hand, reaching up to brush it away. Her lips were slightly parted, like she’d been sighing just at the moment the lens snapped shut. Her expression was . . . Lucas paused. He wasn’t sure what her expression was. She looked unhappy, or maybe just pissed off.

She was a Hunter, though, so what did he expect? And this one had a history that would make anyone unhappy. Or pissed off.

‘Is something wrong?’ Tristan asked.

Lucas looked up from the photograph, then glanced over towards the door, realising that he was the only one left in the room. He looked back at the older man.

‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ he answered quietly.

‘Well, you’d best get going then,’ Tristan said, his eyes not leaving Lucas’s face. ‘You don’t want to miss out on all the fun.’

Lucas looked down once more at the picture of Evie Tremain, feeling momentarily ambivalent towards her. Then he scrunched the photograph up into a ball and dropped it on the floor. It didn’t matter what lay behind that expression because soon nothing would. She was just another Hunter to be dealt with. Next week or next month there would be another. And then another. And dealing with Hunters was what the Brotherhood did.

Lucas didn’t look back at Tristan but he could sense his eyes burning into his back as he left the room.

Moving away fast down the corridor, Lucas realised he could no longer hear the others. He was faster than any human - he knew because he’d had to outrun them many times – so it didn’t take him long to reach the basement garage.

There was just one ride waiting for him. Caleb and Shula were sitting in the front seats, the engine revving, the back door flung open.

‘Come on!’ Shula yelled. ‘What’s keeping you? There’s a Hunter to kill and the others are going to beat us to it!’

Lucas smiled and shook his head, ducking into the back seat and slamming the door shut.

He let his head relax back against the seat and watched the speedometer climb as Caleb slammed the Mercedes out of the underground garage and onto the highway. Lucas stared out of the window. This stretch of highway was always quiet, but at night it was even more so – there were only a few factories and gas stations for at least twenty miles in each direction. The Mission was a good base for the moment. Tristan had chosen well.

‘She’s pretty.’

Lucas turned his head. Shula was leaning across from the front seat, waving the photograph of Evie in his face. He grunted and went back to looking out the window.

‘Think she’ll put up a fight?’

Lucas looked back at Shula. She was studying the photo intently, as though she could will it to life. Her raven-black hair was spilling over her shoulders, her skin glowing freakishly in the green dashboard lights. He almost smirked. Shula tried so hard to fit in and yet here she was looking as unhuman as a Shapeshifter midshift.

He smiled softly. ‘Let’s hope so.’

Shula grinned back, then kicked her legs up onto the dash and spun the volume button on the radio to high.

* * *

Evie Tremain turned the lock in the café door. Main Street was dead. All the stores were dark – only the yellow street-lights were eclipsing the darkness now. Two cars were parked up in the shadows out front. Someone climbed out of the passenger seat of one and walked in her direction. She flipped the Closed sign quickly. There was no way she was serving another customer tonight. Not even for the chance of a twenty dollar tip.

She backed away from the door and flipped the light switch, collapsing the whole place into blackness, then headed behind the counter to gather up the trash bags. The sound of someone trying the door made her jump. She spun around, irritated. Couldn’t they read? They were closed.

She saw a guy standing in front of the door looking in, staring directly at her. His hand was still on the door handle. He was about six feet tall and wearing a floor-length black leather coat. Evie took in the whole of him in one glance and felt something similar to a rock settle on her stomach. Something wasn’t right about him. In fact, something was most definitely off. Then she realised he was wearing sunglasses. Ray bans. In the middle of the night.

‘We’re closed,’ she mouthed, wondering whether he could even see her, shrouded in the shadows behind the counter.

The boy didn’t respond or smile or act in any way as if he’d seen her, though his hand did drop from the door handle. He turned on his heel and strode back towards his car, coat flapping like a windsock behind him.

Evie stood there a full minute, trash bags clutched in her hand, waiting for the sound of a car engine turning over and accelerating away. Nothing. The street stayed fathomlessly silent. She edged towards the door and peered through the glass. The cars were both still sitting there, empty as far as she could tell. The guy in the long trench coat was nowhere to be seen.

A feeling of unease crept through her but she couldn’t stand there all night like a total wuss, hovering in the gloom. So she took the bags and walked to the back door and opened it, annoyed with herself for getting so freaked out over a boy who looked like he’d gotten lost on the way back from Comic Con.

The back lot was empty except for the giant metal dumpster just to her right and her dusty old Ford parked a few metres to her left. There was a single light blazing above her head illuminating the door and the concrete step she was standing on. She headed straight towards the dumpster with the bags in one hand and a tin of coffee grinds in the other and that’s when she saw him, on the periphery of the shadow line, his coat splayed out behind him.

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. She drew in a breath and did a quick calculation of the distance between her, the boy and the door.

But before she could figure out where to run to, the boy in the sunglasses stepped forward into the zone of light. She saw that he was a little bit older than her, maybe twenty or twenty-one. He was wearing black jeans and leather biker boots, and a black wrinkled t-shirt with some kind of slogan on it. A part of her brain registered that he looked ridiculous, like an extra from the Matrix, but the other part warned her not to tell him so.

At least not yet.

He stopped just in front of her.

‘Evie Tremain?’ he asked.

She froze, her mouth falling open. How did he know her name? Who the hell was this guy? As she studied him she suddenly heard a voice in her head start screaming at her to run. She could hear her own heartbeat - it sounded like a horse smashing its hooves against a stable door. Her eyes darted instantly over the lot, looking for exits.

‘Evie Tremain?’ the boy asked again, impatient now.

‘Who wants to know?’ Evie asked, buying time. The back door was about ten metres behind her or she could try to get around him and head down the side alley and out onto Main Street. She took a small step backwards. The diner was closer.

‘The Brotherhood,’ the boy replied tonelessly, closing the distance between them in a single stride.

Evie couldn’t reign in the laughter that erupted out of her. ‘The Brotherhood?’ she snorted. ‘Seriously? What is that? The name of your Death Metal band? Because, you know, it sounds kind of lame.’

The boy – whose face had been expressionless until then -suddenly frowned in confusion, as though he didn’t know how to answer her. The sound of crunching gravel broke the silence. Evie’s eyes flew to the far end of the lot, which was sunk in darkness. Was someone else there? The boy followed her gaze and looked over his shoulder too. Adrenaline pumped through Evie’s body in one giant surge. She dropped the trash bags and took a step back, twisting her body as she moved. She brought her arm up like her dad had taught her, fingers curled into a tight fist, and in the second that the boy turned back to face her, she smashed it into the side of his head.

The boy’s head spun with the force of the punch, his sunglasses flying across the lot.

Hit first, ask questions later, she murmured to herself. Her dad had always said it was better to be safe than sorry.

She turned to run back towards the door but the boy lunged for her, shrieking. She raised her arm instinctively, ready to smash it into his face again, but then stumbled backwards letting out a cry. The boy’s eyes were inches from her own, his pupils fixed and dilated. And the thing that had stopped her, and made her stomach scrape the floor, was the colour of them. They were bright, carnation-red and totally unseeing.

The boy flailed his head from left to right as though someone had thrown acid in his face, his outstretched hand groping blindly in her direction.

He’s blind, Evie realised, her thoughts assuming some sense. He can’t see me.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark shape wavering behind the boy. It seemed to extend and stretch out, like a time-lapse sequence of a shadow lengthening. And then it coiled like a whip and lashed towards her.

Evie dived. She threw herself hard to the left, out of the boy’s grip and out of the way of whatever was coming towards her. She heard a crack as it smashed into the tarmac and another frustrated shriek from the boy.

She staggered backwards, her eyes on the space that had opened up between her and the guy in the coat. The whip or a rope or whatever it was was lashing rapidly back and forth between them. Evie’s brain refused to process the possibility that what her eyes were actually looking at was neither a rope nor a whip but a tail. There were scales on it and it moved like a rattlesnake. Ropes didn’t look like that.

The boy dropped to the floor now, and started scrabbling around on the ground for something. His glasses, Evie thought, spying them lying cracked in half on the asphalt by her car.

‘Need some help, Caleb?’ A girl’s voice called out from the edge of the darkness.

The boy with blood-red eyes swore at her in reply.

‘If you want help you need to put your tail away and ask nicely,’ the girl added.

The word punctured Evie’s brain like a poison dart. Tail. She tripped backwards, trying to feel for the door behind her. She stumbled on the step, and felt herself bump up against something solid. It wasn’t the door.

She spun around and found herself stepping on the toes of a white-faced boy. A girl in a neon pink mini-dress stood next to him, smiling surrrrprise.

Evie skittered backwards, letting out a yelp. How many of these freaks were there?

These two weren’t wearing sunglasses and their eyes weren’t red. The boy was dressed in scruffy jeans, bashed-up Converse and a Nix cap. The girl was tall with long black hair and the bright pink of her dress clashed with the green tinge of her skin.

‘We’ve got this, Caleb,’ the girl in the pink dress called out to the one with the tail, not taking her eyes off Evie.

‘Well, hurry up, would you, I don’t want to be here all night,’ another boy’s voice answered from the darkness.

So there were more of them over there, Evie thought, panic starting to weave its tentacles around her limbs. How many did that make? Four or five at least. What the hell were they all doing looking for her?

‘What do you want?’ Evie asked desperately, spinning around to face the girl and boy blocking the back door.

‘We want you, Evie Tremain,’ the girl in pink said, striding forward. She put her hand on Evie’s arm and Evie looked down, as her skin began to burn intensely.

She screamed and, with a final injection of adrenaline and anger, swung the tin of coffee grinds she was still holding at the girl’s head. It wasn’t a powerful swing but the girl let go of her instantly and started yelling.

Evie skittered back out of her way, skidding towards her car, dodging around the boy on the ground with the tail.

With a tail! Her brain screamed at her as though it wanted her to pause and figure it out. But her arm was still burning as though the bone itself had caught alight and the skin was blistering and it was all she could do not to faint right there and then. She started fumbling with her one good hand for her car key, buried in the pocket of her jeans, and felt the sob start to crescendo in her chest.

The boy in the Nix cap was bent double, pointing and laughing at the girl Evie had hit. And the sound of it, the childish hysteria of it, was like a shucking knife opening Evie up. She glanced upwards even as she scrambled for her keys. The girl was holding the side of her head, screaming and trying to scrape wet coffee grinds off her face, she spat a gloop of saliva and glared furiously at Evie.

At last Evie’s fingers closed on her keys. She yanked them from her pocket, watching as the girl and boy moved in on her. She was just prey, she realised. She was completely cornered. There was no way out.

(Extraits proposés dans l'édition anglaise du premier livre de l'auteur : Hunting Lila)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single girl of high standing at Longbourn Academy must be in want of a prom date.

While the same can probably be said of countless other schools across the country, prom at Longbourn isn’t just a rite of passage – it’s considered by many (at least those who matter) to be the social event for future members of high society. Longbourn girls don’t go to the mall to get their dresses. No, they boast couture from designers whose names adorn their speed dial.

Just look at the glossy six-page spread dedicated to more than a century of prom history in Longbourn’s recruitment brochure. Or the yearly coverage in The New York Times Sunday Style section… or Vanity Fair… or Vogue. Fashion reporters and photographers flock to the Connecticut campus to scope out the fashion, the excess, the glamour of it all. It is Fashion Week for the silver spoon set.

The tradition started in 1895, the first year Longbourn opened up its doors. Originally set up as a finishing school for proper ladies, the founders realized they needed to have an event to usher their students into the elite world. And while girls nowadays don’t really need to be formally “welcomed” into society, nobody wants to give up a weekend-long excuse to dress up and attempt to outshine one another. Friday night is the reception where the couples (consisting of Longbourn girls and, for the most part, boys from the neighboring Pemberley Academy) are introduced. Saturday night is the main event and Sunday afternoon is a brunch where reporters interview the students about the previous evening.

Students become fixated on prom from the day they get accepted. To not attend, or have the proper date, would be a scandal from which a young girl would never be able to recover.

Imagine the chaos that erupted a few years ago, when a scholarship student not only snagged the most sought-after boy at Pemberley, but showed up in a dress from Macy’s (the horror!) and caught the eye of the New York Times reporter, who ended up putting her, and her story, on the cover of the Style section.

Up to that point, most students tolerated the two scholarship students in each class. But this was too much.

The following year, hazing began. Most scholarship students couldn’t last more than two years. The program only continued because the Board of Trustees was adamant about diversifying the student body (and by diversify, they meant having students whose parents didn’t earn seven-figure yearly bonuses). Plus, the scholarship students, often called “charity cases,” helped boost the academic record and music program.

Given the opportunities, education-wise, the scholarship students try to put up with the behavior. After all, this kind of experience couldn’t have happened at home. So there was a price to pay for the best teachers, resources and connections. That price– condescension, taunts, pranks – got old pretty quickly.

It’s not easy, though. It only took the new scholarship girl in the junior class two days before she broke down into tears. Fortunately, she was alone in her room and nobody saw her. But it happened.

I should know. Because that was my room, and my tears.

I was a scholarship student. A charity case.

One of them.

There was a giant target on my back.

And I had to do everything possible to avoid getting hit.