Xcor Quotes (11 Quotes)
“After shoving his former clothes inside, Xcor found himself bowing at the waist. "Your assistance has been much appreciated." Antoine raised his palm like he was getting ready to do a clap on the shoulder again. But once more, he caught himself and smiled instead. "Knock her dead, my man." "Oh, no." Xcor shook his head. "That shan’t be necessary. This one I like.”
“And I shall take my leave of you now- unless you have plans to shoot me. In which case, I shall take you with me." He lifted up his other hand. In it was a small black handset. " Just so we're clear, the bomb that is wired to the undercarriage of my car will go off if my thumb contracts- which is precisely the kind of autonomic jerk that will occur if you put a bullet in my chest or my back. Oh and mayhap I should mention that the explosion has a radius that more than includes where you are, and the detonation is so efficient, you will not be able to dematerialize out of the zone fast enough"
Xcor laughed with genuine respect. "You know what they say about suicide, don't you. No Fade for them "
"Its not suicide if you shoot me first. Self-defense"
"And your willing to test that out?"
"If you are”
“Stepping onto the bath mat, that was also done in that god-awful deep pinky red, he toweled himself off.
Glancing at his fighting clothes, he found himself loath to put them upon his skin. Rough. Scratchy. Dirty.
Mayhap the feminine environment was contaminating him.
Xcor ended up in the big bed, naked, upon his back.
“Tell me something," Xcor drawled.
"Is his piggish head still attached to that weak little body of his?"
Assail chuckled. "No."
"Do you know that is among my favorite ways of killing?"
"A warming for me, Xcor?
"No," he declared. "Just something we have in common. Fare thee well, Assail, for what is left of this night."
"Yourself as well. And in the words of our mutual acquaintance, I must needs go. Afore I am forced to slaughter the doggen butler who is pounding, at this very instant, upon the door I have locked."
Xcor threw his head back and laughed as he ended the call.
"You know," he said to his fighters, "I rather like him.”
“You are real," she said to herself.
"Aye." His voice was deep and resonant, a caress in her ears. But then it cracked, as if he were in pain. "And you are with young."
He closed his eyes again, but now it was as if he'd been struck by a body blow. "I saw you."
"At the clinic. Nights and nights ago. I thought they had beaten you."
"The Brotherhood? Why ever - "
"Because of me." His eyes opened, and there was such anguish in them, she wanted to comfort him in some way. "I would never have chosen for you to be in this position. You are not of the war, and my lieutenant should never, ever have brought you into it." His voice grew deeper and deeper. "You are an innocent. Even I, who have no honor, recognized that instantly."
If he had no honor, why had he disarmed himself just now, she thought.
"Are you mated?" he said roughly.
Abruptly, his upper lip peeled back from tremendous fangs. "If you were raped - "
"No. No, no - I chose this for myself. For the male." Her hand went to her abdomen. "I wanted a young. My needing came, and all I could think of was how much I wanted to be a mahmen to something that was mine."
Those narrowed eyes closed again, and he brought up a callused hand to his face. Hiding his irregular mouth, he said, "I wish that I..."
"...I were worthy to have given you what you desired."
Layla again felt an unholy need to reach out and touch him, to ease him in some way. His reaction was so raw and honest, and his suffering seemed rather like her own whenever she thought of him.”
“Hey, can I help you—whoa!”
As he wheeled around and settled into his attack stance, the black human salesperson jumped back and put his palms up.
“Forgive me,” Xcor muttered. At least he hadn’t outed one of his weapons.
“No problem.” The handsome, well-dressed man smiled. “You looking for something specific?”
Xcor glanced around, and nearly walked back to that fancy stairwell. “I require a new shirt.”
“Oh, cool, you got a hot date?”
“And pants. And socks.” Come to think of it, he never wore underwear. “And undergarments. And a jacket.”
The salesman smiled and raised a hand as if he were going to clap his customer on the shoulder—but then caught himself as he clearly rethought the contact. “What kind of look are you going for?” he asked instead.
The guy paused like he wasn’t sure whether that was a joke. “Ah . . . okay, I can work with non-naked. Plus it’s legal. Come on with me.”
Xcor followed, because he didn’t know what else to do—he’d gotten this ball rolling; there was no reason not to follow through.
The man stopped in front of a display of shirts. “So I’m going to go with the it’s-a-date thing, unless you tell me otherwise. Casual? You didn’t mention a suit.”
“Casual. Yes. But I want to look. . . .” Well, not like himself, at any rate. “Presentable.”
“Then I think what you’re going to want is a button-down.”
The guy regarded him steadily. “You’re not from here, are you.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I can tell by the accent.” The salesman passed a hand over the dizzying array of folded-up squares with collars. “These are our traditional cuts. I can tell without measuring you that the European stuff isn’t going to do you right—you’re too muscled in the shoulders. Even if we could get the neck and arm size right, you’d bust out of them. Do you like any of these colors?”
“I don’t know what to like.”
“Here.” The man picked up a blue one that reminded Xcor of the backdrop on his phone. “This is good with your eyes. Not that I go that way—but you gotta work with what you got. Do you have any idea of your size?”
“We need to be a little more exact.”
“here’s your change and receipt. You want a bag for your old stuff?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
A big white bag with a red star was passed over the console. “Thanks for coming in—my name’s Antoine, by the way. If you want to come back for shoes.”
After shoving his former clothes inside, Xcor found himself bowing at the waist. “Your assistance has been much appreciated.”
Antoine raised his palm like he was getting ready to do a clap on the shoulder again. But once more, he caught himself and smiled instead. “Knock her dead, my man.”
“Oh, no.” Xcor shook his head. “That shan’t be necessary. This one I like.”
“If he had been one of Xcor’s males, the Brother might well have had to be killed so that Xcor could retain his prime position: It was a basic tenent of leadership that one eliminated those who presented a potential challenge to one’s position ... although it wasn’t as if his band were incompetents—after all, one had to eliminate the weak as well.
The Bloodletter had taught him that and so much more.”
“As he lifted his head, he saw himself in the crude metal sheets that were supposed to be mirrors. Even though the reflection was dull, he noted his ugliness and thought of Throe just now. In spite of the fact that the soldier had been out fighting all night, his handsome visage had appeared fresh as a daisy, his well-bred looks overshadowing the reality that he had slayer blood on his clothes and had been scraped and bruised.
Xcor, however, could have taken rest for two weeks straight, eaten a large meal, and fed from a fucking Chosen, and he would still appear as repulsive.”