Kiss with a Fist

I have discovered over my book-reading-career that I am somewhat of a masochist. I like when couples (or soon to be couples) fight. Now, I'm not talking yelling-obscenities-making-jokes-about-yo-mama fighting, although that does have it's place. I mean knock-down-drag-out fights. Involving blood. And bruises. And sometimes a certain amount of obscenities.

The fights build tension and, quite frankly, I like to see them suffer a bit before they end up together. I read romance, yes, but that does not mean I want corny, easy, run of the mill stories. I have that to thank for my recent love of Urban Fantasy. It goes beyond Boy-Meets-Girl (not that there's anything wrong with that). I crave the suspense. The drama. The really hot make up sex.

Like anyone is surprised...

But I digress. I have to say, my two favorite beat the crap out of each other couples are Mac and Barrons from Karen Marie Monings Fever series and Chess and Terrible from Stacia Kane's Downside Ghosts series.

In Bloodfever, the second book in the Fever series, Barrons and Mac have a particularly good fight. Sequence of events leading up to fight goes as thus: Barrons saves Mac. Mac and Barrons try to escape. Barrons and Mac are confronted by Malluce. Mac fights Malluce. Barrons doesn't like Mac playing with her food, so he knocks her out and kills Malluce himself. Mac is pissed.

Cue fight scene:

"I was trying to end the fight!" I punched his shoulder, hard this time.

"You were way past trying to end it," he snapped, punching me back. I nearly fell over. "You were prolonging it. You were glorying in it."

"You don't know what the feck you're talking about!" I shouted.

"I couldn't tell the difference between the two of you anymore!" he roared.
I smashed my fist into his face. Lies roll off us. It‘s the truths we work hardest to silence.
Then you weren't looking hard enough! I'm the one with boobs!"
I know you're the one with boobs!They're in my fucking face every fucking time I turn around!" 

"Maybe you need to get a grip on your libido, Barrons!"

"Fuck you, Ms. Lane!"

"You just try. I'll kick the shit out of you!"

"You think you could?"
"Bring it on."
He grabbed a fistful of my T-shirt, and dragged me up against him until our noses touched.
"I'll bring it on, Ms. Lane. But remember you asked for it. So don't even think about trying to tap out on the mat and quit the fight."
"You hear anybody crying  'Uncle' here, Barrons? I don't."
"Fine."
"Fine." 

 He swapped a fistful of my shirt for one in my hair, and ground his mouth against mine.

Excuse me while I fan myself. It gets better after that. But if you want to read more, naughty children, you'll have to buy the book. Which you should do anyway. 

My other favorite (because who can pick just one?), also takes place underground (I'm sensing a pattern) but the circumstances are completely different. In Stacia Kane's City of Ghosts, the third book in the series, it's kind of a Boy Tells Girl He Likes Her, Girl Tells Boy She Needs Time, Boy Finds Girl Having Sex With Someone Else, But Boy And Girl Still Need To Work Together (so to speak). Oh, drama, drama, drama. It's like music to my blackened soul. 

Her swing was clumsy, her vision too blurred for accuracy. It hit him, though, caught him—somewhere, the jaw she thought—with a resounding crack that sent pain streaking up her arm. Glorious pain, her entire body was tight with the anticipation of more, she needed it and she needed him to give it to her.

“Fuck!” His hand started to move up to his cheek, but she couldn’t back off. Couldn’t stop hitting him, shoving him. Power thundered through her blood, through her body; incoherent thoughts tumbled through her brain like kaleidoscope images. 

“Hit me! Hit me back, why won’t you punish me? Please, please you fucking shithead bastard just do it, hit me, please …” 

She swung again, connected again, his upper arm she thought. Good, but not enough, not enough, he wasn’t hitting her, what was wrong with him why wasn’t he hitting her, couldn’t he see how bad she needed it, why wouldn’t he punish her just fucking make her— 

She fell backward without realizing it, her brain stupidly refusing to see him in front of her, to understand what was happening. She could barely see, couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears. 

But she could feel. 

Feel his lips on hers, giving her the punishment she’d craved, hard and bruising and demanding. Felt his body above hers, felt his arm beneath her check their fall then snake up so his fingers could twist in her hair and crank her head back.



I'm sure you can see where that's going. But again buy the book. No freebies!



And on that note, I will go make some coffee (decaf), eat my milanos (classic) and watch Gilmore Girls while I read Hounded by Kevin Hearne (review type thoughts maybe to follow). Sheesh, I'm tired just thinking about everything I'm doing at the same time!

Take a bow, Gracie

I can count on one hand the number of books that have made me cry and I remember every single one of them and why. Sometimes it's nothing more than a word or a phrase and it evokes feelings or memories from the past. Or perhaps it's the connection to the characters or the sheer genius of the author.  Or any combination there of.

In the instance of P.S. I Love You by Cecilia Ahern, I was on an emotional roller coaster from cover to cover. While never having lost a spouse (and I hope that never changes), I understand the pain of loosing someone you love. My grandmother passed away after years of fighting cancer and I miss her as much today as I did the day I found out. As much as I cried, they were tears of healing as well as of pain while following Holly's and Gerry's (beyond the grave) journey. Who wouldn't want our lost loved ones sending us actual words of encouragement after they're gone? To help us move on the way that Gerry did for Holly?

"PS, I love you, Holly, and I know you love me. You don't need my belongings to remember me by, you don't need to keep them as proof that I existed or still exist in your mind. You don't need to wear my sweater to feel me around you; I'm already there... always wrapping my arms around you."

Sometimes it is hard to remember the truth behind those words. When your memories start to fade around the edges and you forget the sound of their voice or the way they smell. It's harder to deal with death when you're young that way. I can't remember much about my grandmother; her face is blurry in my mind. But I can remember that my grandfather always smelled like the mints he kept in the house and the sound of his voice when he told me "shut up, you talk too much" when I was being quiet.

While the reasons for my feelings as far as PS I Love You are obvious, there are other books that reduced me to tears where the reasons are less so, such as Karen Marie Moning's The Immortal Highlander.

"You were firing questions at me today, trying to get inside my head.
You asked if I believed in God.
I told you of course I do- I've always had a strong sense of self.

Your house is quiet now, you're sleeping upstairs and I'm alone with this blasted, idiotic book that purports to tally the sum of my life, and fact is, maybe I do.
But maybe, ka-lyrra, your God doesn't believe in me."

Adam Black is arrogant, irreverent and, at most times, a complete ass. But seeing this glimpse into the somewhat compassionate depths of his soul had be blubbering like a baby. The words themselves, out of context, aren't perhaps so tear jerking, but in the environs of the book it's a turning point. 

Unholy Magic by Stacia Kane, the second in her Downside Ghosts series, centers around Chess Putnam a post-apocalyptic Church employee who banishes ghosts. She also happens to live in the slums and pops pills like there's no tomorrow. Not much on the surface to recommend her or, seemingly, the series, but it is a dark, compelling world that Kane paints and despite or perhaps because of all her short comings, Chess worms her way into your heart even when she makes colossal screw ups.

Without posting a huge spoiler for anyone who hasn't read this series (what are you waiting for?), I was hooked on this series before I even knew what happened and the end of this book ripped my heart out and stomped on it. 

"His eyes were closed. His body was still. She picked up his hand, tried to get him to look at her, to talk to her, but he would not, and her mind refused to accept it and her eyes refused to see it..."

I was crying off and on for a few days after this book, which may be supremely pathetic, but I blame it on the fact that I had just been screwed over romantically, speaking. And that I am just that lame and books steal my soul. I get more invested in books than in movies. There's more description, more time to get entangled in the world the author creates. It makes me wonder how I could have ever thought I didn't enjoy reading.