Curran Lennart személy

– Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.
(…)
– What kind of a woman greets the Beast Lord with 'here, kitty, kitty'? – he asked.
– One of a kind.

“If there is anything I can do, I’ll help. Don’t get excited. It’s not because of you. For the child. If it wasn’t for her and the flare, I’d throw your dumb ass out of this window.”
“What does the flare have to do with it?”
“I don’t want it to be attributed to a loss of control on my part. When I throw you out of the window, I want there to be no doubt the act was deliberate.”
Wow, he was pissed.

“His Majesty needs a can-I girl anyway. And I’m not it.”
“A can-I girl?” Andrea frowned.
I leaned back. “ ‘ Can I fetch you your food, Your Majesty? Can I tell you how strong and mighty you are, Your Majesty? Can I pick out your fleas, Your Majesty? Can I kiss your ass, Your Majesty? Can I . . .”
It dawned on me that Raphael was sitting very still. Frozen, like a statue, his gaze fixed on the point above my head.
“He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?”
Andrea nodded slowly.
“Technically it should be ‘may I,’” Curran said, his voice deeper than I remembered. “Since you’re asking permission.”

Tension fled from me. Tomorrow I would worry about Hugh d’Ambray and Andrea and
Roland, but now I was simply happy. Aaahh. Home. My place, my smells, my familiar rug under my feet, my kitchen, my Curran in the kitchen chair . . . Wait a damn minute.
“You!” I looked at the lock; I looked at him. So much for the burglar-proof door.

„That's enough,” Mahon roared, startling both of us into silence. „You're acting like children. Curran, you've missed your meditation, and you need one. Kate, there is a punching bag in your room. Make use of it.”
„Why do I have to punch the bag while he meditates?” I mumbled on the way out.
„Because he breaks the bags when he punches them,” Mahon said.

„Damn,” Curran growled. „I didn't know this was a costume party.”
His voice jarred the illusion. I snapped my fingers. „Oh, hell. I should've brought my French maid outfit.”

A quick reconnaissance identified the sound's point of origin, namely my roof, and I went into the yard to get a good look at it. The sun was already up and beginning to grill the ground. I looked at the top of the house and saw the Beast Lord in a torn T-shirt and paintstained jeans. He held a hammer in a very businesslike manner and was applying it to my roof. Derek sat next to him, dutifully passing him shingles.
The world had gone insane.
„Can I ask you a question?” I called.
Curran stopped hammering and looked at me. „Sure.”
„What are you doing on my roof?”
„I'm teaching the kid a valuable skill,” Curran said.

„Curran?”
„What?”
„Did you get a call from PAD about me?”
„I may have.”
„What did you tell them?”
„I don't recall. I think I mentioned your discipline and ability to follow orders. I may have said something about you being a team player.”
Derek emitted a strangled cough.
„Why?” I demanded.
„It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Curran resumed hammering.
„I'm sorry,” I said into the phone, sticking my finger into my other ear so I could hear. „His Majesty tends to exaggerate things. I'm not a team player. I'm undisciplined and I have a problem with authority. Also, the Beast Lord can't hammer for shit.”
On the roof Derek was laughing his head off.

“How much are you lifting?”
“Seven hundred.”
Alrighty then. I will just stand over here, out of your way, and hope you don’t remember my promise to kick your ass.
He grinned. “Wanna spot me?”
“No thanks. How about I just scream verbal encouragements at you?” I took a deep breath and barked. “No pain, no gain! That pain is just weakness leaving your body! Come on! Push! Push! Make that weight your bitch!”

Bran snapped into the room in a corkscrew of mist, jerked my robe open and down to clamp my shoulders, and kissed me. His teeth clicked against mine. I kneed him, but he expected it and blocked with his leg. He realized his tongue wouldn’t make it into my mouth and let go. “I’ll still get you,” he promised.
Curran lunged at him and caught tendrils of mist.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Did he hurt you?” Curran said.
If my eyes could shoot lightning, I would’ve fried him on the spot. “Depends on how you define hurt. What kind of show are you running here, anyway?”
Curran snarled.
“Very impressive,” I told him. “He can’t hear you.”