Mmmm, Kate, the Chief of Security. Sexy. Who better to guard my body then the woman who owns it?" "Curran, I will punch you.
Crazy Curran ranked right up there with monsoons, tornadoes, earthquakes, and other natural disasters.
There is no such thing as privacy between a deity and his worshipper. There are no secrets, no glossed-over failures. Only promises kept and abandoned, sins committed and imagined, and raw emotion. How many of us are ready to have our lives judged? What would happen if we were found wanting?
Oh, I don't know. I might grow on you." She furrowed her pretty eyebrows. "Like a cancer?" "Like a favorite vice.
The only way to make sure that the Hand didn't get to you would have been to kill your brother. I could've done it, but I didn't. I just gave him some drugs." "You gave an addict in rehab drugs, and you want credit for it?" "Of course it sounds bad when you put it that way.
And I meant to tell you: that was a one-in-a-thousand shot." She raised her hand. "Don't." "It was awesome," George confirmed. "It really was," Jack said. "His head exploded.
Living in your dreams meant bitter disappointment when you woke up.
I have a serious question." "I will give a serious answer." "Can a god be killed?" The humor drained from Roman's face. "Well, that depends on if you're a pantheist or a Marxist." "What's the difference?" "The first believes that divinity is the universe. The two are synonymous and nonexistent without each other. The second believes in anthropocentrism, seeing man in the center of the universe, and god as just an invention of human conscience. Of course, if you follow Nietzsche, you can kill God just by thinking about him.
Not only will you sleep with me, but you will say 'please.'" I stared at him, shocked. The smile widened. "You will say 'please' before and 'thank you' after." Nervous laughter bubbled up. "You've gone insane. All that peroxide in your hair finally did your brain in, Goldilocks.
I did deranged quite well, when the occasion called for it.
I had the metabolism of a hummingbird on crack.
A ghastly attempt at a smile, sure to send any normal person to a therapist.
Half-man, half-beast, all nightmare. The shapeshifter warrior form.
Big bad merc, down with a basic hip toss. In your place I'd be blushing.
Two years? That's entirely too long. If you want, we can take care of that. After two years it's pure therapy.
Your ability to remain alive never ceases to amaze me.
It's not your job to die for your Pack! It's your job to make the other bastards die for theirs.
In death, they all looked the same. This morning they spoke, they breathed, they kissed their loved ones good-bye. And now they lay dead. Gone forever.
No, you’re not going with him.” I crossed my arms. “Who decided that?” He put on his “I’m alpha and I’m putting my foot down” expression. “I decided.
Oh my God, she was retarded and I was going to kill Jim.
Georgie, stop trying to resurrect the shoes. They were never alive in the first place.
It's a reflex. Hear a bell, get food. See an undead, throw a knife. Same thing, really.
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.
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?
Every time I think you’ve reached the limits of arrogance, you show me new heights. Truly, your egotism is like the Universe—ever expanding.
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