Everybody has something, that one thing they must do to feel happy. I think this is yours, and I want you to be happy. You don’t have to do it, but it’s here if you choose to come back to it.
Is that a lion with horns and a pitchfork?" "Yep." "Is he carrying the moon on his pitchfork?" "Nope it's a pie.
He bared his teeth in a happy feral grin. My own personal psycho.
It's awful to be rich and mind-boggingly handsome and have women fawn over you. My heart bleeds for you. Poor dear, how do you manage?
I've never created a riot before. I did cause a brawl at the last formal. A large number of young women there actually arrived with the expectation of seducing me into matrimony, and a couple of their mothers came to blows. It was hilari—I mean, dreadful. Simply dreadful.
And just when I thought the pain had dulled, my mind would betray me and bring Dad back to life in my dreams. Sometimes I didn't realize that he was dead until I awoke and then it was like a punch in the stomach. And sometimes I knew in my dream that I was dreaming, and I woke up crying.
I did deranged quite well, when the occasion called for it.
If he full-out flexed, I would probably faint, or jump off the building.
The sight of me puffing and straining apparently amused him to no end.
You're not going to die?" "Not right this minute." And of course, saying something like that usually resulted in immediate dying. I braced myself for a stray meteorite falling through the roof to crush my skull.
Shave that jaw, brush that hair, tone down the crazy in the eyes, and he would have to fight women off with that crossbow.
The kind of eyes that jumped from a woman's dreams right into her morning and made trouble in the marriage bed.
He said 'woman' in the same way I'd say 'Mmmm, yummy chocolate.
Now was not a good time, but we didn't often get to chose the time to repay our debts.
If my luck held, it wouldn't be a handsome Greek demigod looking for the love of his life or at least his love of a couple of hours.
We were screwed and he didn't even kiss us first.
What would I do without the moral compass of a teenage werewolf.
On the plus side, if he ever had to fight through a roomful of adolescent girls, he only needed to blink (his velvet brown eyes framed in embarassingly long lashes) a few times, and they would all faint.
The Order of Merciful Aid provided merciful aid, usually on the edge of a blade or the burn of a bullet.
On a scale from one to ten, the Pack was eleven and everything else a one.
The vampire stared at me, his mouth slack as Ghastek assessed his options. I took a couple of forms from my desk, put them into the vamp's mouth, and pulled them up by their edges. "What are you doing?" Ghastek asked. "My hole puncher broke." "You have no respect for the undead.
Curran looked back at me. "Why is it you always attract creeps?" "You tell me." Ha! Walked right into that one, yes, he did.
I'm a substitute mom." "You're more like a crazy aunt who only gets called when somebody needs bailing out of jail.
If I lose control, you'll be the first to know." "I'm quite perturbed by the idea.
It's a reflex. Hear a bell, get food. See an undead, throw a knife. Same thing, really.
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