Nick Colt Quotes

“You like me?” I repeat, because, well, I want to be really, really sure that I heard him right. This is not the sort of thing you want to get wrong.
He nods and says, “Very much.”
“You like me very much?”
He lets go of my hands and touches my check. “Too much.”
“Too much?” Trying to keep my voice calm, I say, “No such thing.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“We’ll fight them. We took down my dad. We’ve taken down so many since then. We’ll take down these jokesters too.”
“I will never let anything happen to you,” Nick growls into my hair. “I will die before you get hurt again. So help me God, Zara. I will die."
“Me too.”
“What?”
“I will die before I let anyone hurt you or Issie or Dev or Gram or . . .” I stop and pull my head away from his chest so I can look up at him. “This list is getting kind of long and melodramatic, isn’t it?”
He laughs. His hand moves slowly up my spine. He starts leaning down for a kiss. “Yeah. It is.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Do you like me? You know, like me like me?”
I cringe the moment I ask and cover my face with my hands. The smell of blood and trail dirt wafts into my nose. Something sinks inside me. What is it? Oh, I know, any dignity I could possibly have left.
“Can I take that back?” I ask softly from behind my hands.
Nick’s voice is low and warm. “No.”
I peek between my fingers. “No, I can’t take it back or no, you don’t like me?”
His fingers wrap around my fingers and he pulls my hands from my face so he can look at me, I guess, or else so I can look at him.
“No, you can’t take it back. That’s your question,” he says in a voice so deep and warm and full of things that I can’t get mad anymore. This has to be what people mean when they say they “melted.” I feel all wiggly.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
I swallow. His eyes are deep and brown and . . . How can a man’s eyes be so ridiculously beautiful and gorgeous, so full of things that I want to know?
“So, what’s your answer?” I whisper, afraid I might still screw it all up.
Those eyes of his widen a little bit.
I hold my breath.
“I like you, Zara,” he says.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“His eyes are so beautiful and dark and they do look like that dog’s—I mean, that wolf’s. They are kind and strong and a little bit something else and I like them. I like them a lot. No, I like them way too much. Something inside me gets a little warmer, edges closer to him.
The fire crackles and I jump again, jittery, nervous, but I don’t jump away from Nick. I jump toward him. Nick in the firelight with just a blanket on is a little hard to resist, no matter how crazy he might be. His skin, deep with heat, seems to glisten. His muscles are defined and good but not all steroid bulky. He is so perfect. And beautiful. In a boy way. Not a monster way. Not a wolf way.
“Are you going to kiss me?” My words tremble into the air.
He smiles but doesn’t answer.
“I’ve never kissed a werewolf before. Are were kisses like pixie kisses? Do they do something to you? Is that why you never kissed anybody?”
He gives a little smile. “No. It’s just I never kissed anyone because I never thought I could be honest about who I am, you know? And I didn’t want anyone to get attached to me because . . .”
“Because you’re a werewolf.”
“Because I’m a werewolf,” he repeats softly. Watching his lips move makes me shiver; not in a scared way, in more of an oh-he-is-too-beautiful way.
I put my hand against his skin. It is warm. It’s always been warm. He smells so good, like woods and safety. I swallow my fear and move forward, and my lips meet his, angel-light, a tiny promise. His lips move beneath mine. His hands move to my shoulders and my mouth feels like it will burst with happiness. My whole body shakes with it.
“Wow,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”
Our mouths meet again. It’s like my lips belong there . . . right there. One tiny part of me has finally found a place to fit.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“And do you admit that you have a bad temper, a cute car, and a nice girlfriend?”
I hold my breath.
“I have an amazing girlfriend,” he says. And then he kisses me, which is, you have to admit, the perfect boyfriend thing to do. The kiss is soft and speckling like star promises in a night sky. I stretch into it, wishing that I could hold onto it forever, even though I know that kisses can’t last forever—can they?”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“So there’s this annual dance in a couple of weeks.”
“The Winter Ball,” I interrupt. “There have been signs up everywhere.”
“You want to go?”
I think about it for a half second. “Will you dress up?”
He nods.
I move forward so my hands are flat on the towel and my face is much closer to his face. Something inside my chest warms up like a nice kind of heartburn and I say, “And will we slow dance?”
He nods again. His bottom lip turns in toward his mouth for a second, just disappears and then comes back.
Stretching out my spine so my lips are nearly touching his I say, “And will you press yourself against me and we’ll move really close together and then your hand will stretch out across the back of my head and your fingers will wrap into my hair and then . . .”
He doesn’t nod. He just tilts his head down, moves his fingers into my hair, and his lips touch mine in a forever kiss. His lips are soft and hard all at once. His breath mixes with my breath. Everything inside of me whooshes out.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Nick leans down and kisses my eyelids. “Loving you, Zara, is a full-time job. It’s a great job, don’t get me wrong. It’s the best job in the universe. But it is not easy, because you tend to . . .”
“Get hurt?” Betty suggests. “Find trouble? Pass out? Break arms?”
“All of the above.” Nick laughs.
My hand finds Nick’s wrist and I grab onto its thickness. “You know, I’m the patient here. Where’s the bedside manner? Where’s the sympathy?”
“Zara, sympathy is just a good excuse to buy greeting cards and make sorry eyes and secretly gloat over how glad you are that you aren’t the person whose crap is hanging out there for the world to see,” Betty says.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“I push my thigh against his. “Well, thank God.”
“Thank God what?” he asks. His hand slowly rubs up and down the place where my shoulder meets my arm. It makes me good shiver.
“That I don’t have a neck brace. It’s hard to rock a neck brace, especially if we’re still going to that dance.”
He leans in and kisses my nose. “If anyone could do it, you could.”
I tilt my head so our lips meet.
“Hormonal ones, I am right here. Me. The old lady otherwise known as your grandmother,” Betty says.
“Sorry. He’s just irresistible,” I say, settling back against him.
“Well, try to resist the irresistible,” Betty says knowingly as the truck bumps over a pothole.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Nick spreads cream cheese on my bagel for me because it’s hard to do with one hand. You need to hold the bagel and everything.
“You are the nicest boyfriend ever,” I tell him and kiss his cheek.
“Gag,” Devyn says.
“You’re just jealous,” Nick teases him and points his plastic knife at Devyn. “Which is ridiculous because you are the star of the school now that the wheelchair is totally gone. Everyone is talking about you.”
“Star of the school?” Devyn asks. He takes a swig of Gatorade.
“All the girls.” Nick gestures to the girls giggling behind them. “They like miracles. It’s sexy. Remember how much play Jay Dahlberg got when he came back from being abducted?” He does not add by pixies because he does not have to.
“Really?” Devyn does this cheesy and really fake eyebrow wiggle thing so he looks like some sleezy porn dog.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Nick stands behind me. He puts a hand on my waist.
I yank in a breath. The world seems to swirl around me.
“Are you going to faint?” he asks.
I back into him and blurt, “But you’re so cute. Werewolves aren’t supposed to be cute. Vampires are, I think. They are in the movies. But the werewolves are pretty much ugly and they wear leather jackets and are all dirty with these monster sideburns.”
“That’s all you have to say? That I’m cute?” He takes a stray piece of my hair and curls it around his fingers. “Most people faint or shriek or never talk to me again.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Daddy?”
“I’m right here, baby.”
Lumps form in my throat, going all the way down into the core of me.
It’s his voice. His. Right there. I reach toward the doorknob but I don’t get to turn it.
Nick smashes at me with his head, pushing against my lower jaw and cheek, like a blow. His muzzle moves my head away from the door. He presses his face in between me and the wood. Fur gets in my mouth. I spit it out and push at him.
“That’s my dad. My dad.” I slap the door. “He’s on the other side. The pixies will get him.”
Nick shows me his teeth.
“I can’t lose him again, Nick.”
The wolf snarls like he’s ready to bite. My head jerks back and away, but then I steady myself.
“Get . . . out . . . of . . . the . . . way.”
Pushing against his thick neck, I slam my hands against him over and over again, pummeling him. He doesn’t budge.
“Move!” I order. “Move.”
“Zara, is there a wolf in there with you? Do not trust him,” my dad’s voice says, calmly, really calmly.
I grab a fistful of fur and freeze. All at once it hits me that something is not right. My dad would never be calm if I was in my bedroom with a wolf. He’d be stressed and screaming, breaking the door down, kicking it in like he did once when I was really little and had accidentally locked myself in the bathroom and couldn’t get the lock out of the bolt because it was so old. He’d kicked that door down, splintering the wood, clutching me to him. He’d kissed my forehead over and over again.
“I’d never let anything happen to you, princess,” he’d said. “You’re my baby.”
My dad would be kicking the door in. My dad would be saving me.
“Let me in,” he says. “Zara . . .”
Letting go of Nick, I stagger backward. My hands fly up to my mouth, covering it.
Nick stops snarling at me and wags his fluffy tail.
How would my dad know that it is a wolf in here and not a dog? How would he know that it isn’t pixies?
I shudder. Nick pounds next to me, pressing his side against my legs. I drop my hands and plunge my fingers into his fur, burying them there, looking for something. Maybe comfort. Maybe warmth. Maybe strength. Maybe all three.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears.
While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Oh.” I touch my cheeks. “You licked me.”
He laughs and leans over, giving a tiny tongue swipe to my hand. “You’re very lickable.”
I try to hit him. He laughs harder and grabs my hands.
“No fair! Mere mortal against werewolf,” I complain.
“Fine.”
He lets go, but first he kisses my fingers, each of them. I sigh happily.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Okay, I thought wolves had packs. Do you have a pack?”
“Not in the traditional sense.”
“Sorry, Nick, but when it comes to werewolves, I don’t know what the traditional sense is.”
“I don’t run with other wolves.”
I nod. I wait. I finally give up and say, “So you run with . . .”
He winces. “Coyotes. But they have some wolf DNA.”
It’s hard not to smile. “You are alpha at least, right?”
“Of course I’m alpha.” He almost growls at me.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Nick bumps my shoulder with his, playfully. He kicks up some extra snow on purpose, whishing it onto my knees.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.
“Really?”
“Especially with that doggy breath.”
He scoops up some snow, makes it into a ball, bounces his hand up and down. “Take that back.”
I giggle. “Nope.”
I bend down to grab some snow and topple headfirst. The cold of it bites into my cheeks. I try to push myself up, but I can’t. I’m all awkward and clumsy with the snowshoes on.
Nick laughs.
I struggle some more.
He grabs me under my arms and hauls me up. Smiling, he sticks out his tongue, and with tiny little movements starts licking the snow off my cheeks. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s all warm, and good feeling, and amazing. I close my eyes and let him.
“You smell good,” he whispers.
“I haven’t showered.”
“Doesn’t matter, you smell good.”
His voice, sensual and warm, mellows me.
Our lips touch and part, touch again. I breathe him in. He moves his face away a little and studies me. I smile. I can’t help it.
“I like you,” I say. “A lot. Even with the whole werewolf thing.”
He smiles back. “I like you too.”
“A lot?”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “A wicked lot.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“My fingers try to grab onto the net. I’m pulled away too quickly, dragged through the snow. Everything is white and flying and painful.
“Nick!”
I claw at the snow, trying to slow down. There’s nothing to hold on to. I kick and kick. The hands clutch my ankles. Flipping my torso over I get one quick glance of their backs. They’re wearing parkas and hats and look normal, like people, but faster. I smash onto my face again and lift up my head just in time to see Nick snarling inside the net. He’s transformed again.
“Nick!” I yell, but snow pours into my mouth. Sharp cold pain smashes through my teeth and into my skull. I cough and try again. “Nick!”
He raises himself up onto four legs and howls, a long, searing cry of anguish and rage.
My heart breaks for him, caught there. I have to help him escape. I have to get free.
I kick again. “Let me go.”
Pain shoots through my head. Fireworks. Explosions. All inside my brain. The white world goes dark and I know what’s about to happen. I’m the one leaving. I am the one gone.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Do you admit that you are not the only person, or half-person genetically, that can save other sentient beings?”
He crinkles his nose. “I do.”
“And do you admit that you have a bad temper, a cute car, and a nice girlfriend?”
I hold my breath.
“I have an amazing girlfriend,” he says. And then he kisses me, which is, you have to admit, the perfect boyfriend thing to do. The kiss is soft and speckling like star promises in a night sky. I stretch into it, wishing that I could hold onto it forever, even though I know that kisses can’t last forever—can they?”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it’s Nick.
I cruise next to him. He’s some sort of running god, because he isn’t close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick.
“Hi.”
Why I said this, I do not know. He’s cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn’t as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff.
“You’re fast,” he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down.
“So are you.”
We run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it’s nothing.
Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I’m running full tilt it’s hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug.
“You can go faster, can’t you?” I huff out.
He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them.
“Zara,” he whisper-says.
I lean in closer to hear him. “What?”
My voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers.
“Awesome job, new girl!” Devyn yells, clapping.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“My eyes meet his eyes.
“You were a jerk,” I say.
His hands move to my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
I pull away, but I can only go an inch before I bump into lacrosse sticks, not that I really want to go any farther. “Nope. No way. You do not get to kiss me yet.”
He pouts.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“He’s fine. Every time any of us are late you imagine we’re dead. You are no longer allowed to imagine anyone is dead.”
“I’m not imagining he’s dead,” I whisper, but I’m totally imagining him bleeding to death on the snowy forest floor. Crows circle above him. A pixie arrow juts out of his beautiful chest. It’s the same thing I imagined about Devyn last week when he forgot to check in.
“You are such a liar-liar pants-on-fire.” Is kisses my cheek in her sweet friend way. “But I love you.”
“I just worry about people,” I whisper back. “If I’m not the one out there I feel so helpless.”
Coach Walsh notices we’re talking. “Girls, pay attention. And no kissing.”
Everyone starts snickering. I let go of Issie’s goose-bump covered arm. My face gets hot, which means I’m in insane blush mode. Nick thinks insane blush mode is cute. I bend down and check on my ankle bracelet that Nick gave me. It’s gold and thin-chained. A tiny dolphin dangles off of it. The dolphin reminds me of Charleston because they swim right off the Battery. Next to it dangles a heart, which just reminds me of love—corny but true. I’m so afraid of losing the anklet, but I can’t take it off. I adore it that much.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Nick saunters into the gym and my heart basically stops. He’s ridiculously cute in his PE shorts and dark green T-shirt; and people that good-looking seem vulnerable, almost like they can’t be real.
He’s real, though. He’s all dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes. Okay. His eyebrows, like Devyn’s nose, are a little big and if you stare at him long enough you realize that his lips are a bit lopsided. I have kissed his lips. I have felt his breath in my ear and I know without a doubt that he’s real, even if he is a werewolf. The massive muscles in his legs redefine themselves as he walks toward me. He waves a late pass at the coach and yells, “Sorry I’m late. I’ve got a pass.”
“Not a problem, buddy,” Coach yells back. He and Nick are all jock bonding.
Nick pockets the note, which is probably a fake. I can smell his deodorant even though he’s still far away. There are these things called pheromones, odors that guys give off to attract women. I swear his pheromones have my freaking name written on them. They hone in and attack.
“You are getting all swoony faced,” Issie tells me with her singsong voice. She pokes me in the ribs with her elbow, gently. She turns to Devyn, who is smiling like a crazy man, just hanging back in his wheelchair watching the scene. “Dev. Look at Zara. She’s got her lovey-dovey look on.”
As Is gazes at Devyn with her own lovey-dovey look, he says, “Yeah. Teen love. So obvious. So hormonal.”
“I am not hormonal.” I fake glare at him.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“He laughs and pulls out a big Ziploc bag of something dark and round. Cookies!
I lunge forward. “Are these—?”
“Chocolate with peanut butter chips,” he finishes for me.
I keep staring at his lips, but I slide open the baggie. “I love these! My mom always made these.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You told me once.”
He sits down with me and before I can get too heart fluttery he pulls out a cookie and lifts it toward my mouth, teasing me. “Do you want it?”
I open my lips. He slides the cookie in a little bit. I chomp down. It melts on my tongue. “It is sooo good.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“Nick grabs the disgusting clump of soggy napkins off the table and says, “You’ve got to do it, man. She’s totally in love with you.”
Devyn shakes his head. His eyes are hard. “I can’t.”
It takes me a second to respond. “You better not like Cassidy, Devyn, because I swear I will kill you.”
“Cassidy?” His voice is numb.
“Dude. Everyone’s talking about it,” Nick says.
“I don’t like Cassidy,” he says.
“Then stop flirting with her.” I stand up.
“Flirt?” Devyn looks at Nick, probably for help.
“Yeah. Flirt. You’re always with her. She’s giving you rides to school. You’re always talking about her and messaging her,” I protest.
“I don’t have the vaguest idea how to flirt. I’m a nerd. We have no social skills.”
I can’t believe him. “Well, you are flirting up a freaking storm, Devyn.”
“Zara, take it down a notch,” Nick says. “You sound jealous.”
“Do not tell me to take it down a notch,” I say, and we glare at each other. “You can be so patronizing sometimes.”
He looks away first.
“I’m just trying to figure Cassidy out.” Devyn wipes at his hair, ignoring us.
“Why? Why is she so fascinating? She’s always itching,” I ask. “And you have Issie. She is right here and she loves you. You know she loves you. I’m going to check on Issie,” I announce. I point at Devyn. “You better stop being an idiot and kiss her soon, or at least tell her you love her or I swear, Devyn, I will be the one who breaks your back and shoots you with an arrow next time.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“How does that put me in danger?” Nick asks. It’s the first question he’s asked the entire time. Devyn, however, has been Mr. Nonstop Wondering Question Guy.
“Because . . .” I don’t know how to say it, struggle for the words. “Because you and I are a thing and you’re a threat.”
“You better believe I’m a threat,” Nick growls. The entire car seems to shake with his energy. Little hairs on my arm lift and vibrate.
“He’s going macho again,” Dev says, totally nonchalantly, while he unlocks the door.
“He’s always going macho,” Is adds. “It must be the wolf thing.”
“I am not going macho. I am always macho,” Nick says, and for a moment the tension ratchets down, but then his face muscles become rigid again.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate

“You want some breakfast?”
“Home fries?”
There are potatoes in a bag on the counter, the Yukon gold kind. “Check.”
He smiles again. “Poached eggs?”
I open the fridge, stare inside it. A carton of eggs wait happily on the shelf, ready to be cracked. “Double check.”
“Orange juice?”
I pull out the plastic container. “Apple cranberry.”
He mock frowns, pulls himself off the couch, strides over. “Oh, I don’t know. Apple cranberry is so . . .”
“So what?”
“It’s not really manly.”
“What? There are manly juices? Orange is more manly than apple cranberry?”
He grabs the edge of the counter and leans back, stretching out his calves. I plop the juice container on the counter. He looks at me. His eyes are confused.
“Really, Nick. That is silly. You’re already having poached eggs.”
“So?”
“So how are poached eggs manly?”
He tilts his head. “They aren’t manly? Quiche isn’t manly, I know. But that’s egg in pie form. Poached eggs should be fine. Although fried eggs are probably the manliest. Maybe we should fry them.”
― Carrie Jones, Captivate