He doesn’t pretend,” the punk pixie said. He nodded toward Doyle. “Nice rings. You got anything else pierced?” “Yes,” Doyle said. The boy smiled, making the rings in the edge of his nose and his bottom lip curl cheerfully with it. “Me too,” he said.
He's no more human than I am, ma petite." At least I'm not dead." That can be remedied.
You're up to something," I said. He turned, eyes wide, long fingers pressed to his heart. "Moi?" "Yeah, you.
There was a time when you would have taken my heart with stake or gun. Now you have taken it with these delicate hands and the scent of your body." - Jean-Claude
Nothing is certain, ma petite, not even death." - Jean-Claude
she was just that shiver that makes you walk faster at night. You don't know why you do it, but some part of you remembers that the dark is never really empty. ~Anita
How do you introduce boyfriend C to boyfriend A after boyfriend A has been such a good sport, of late, about boyfriend B, who is no longer in the picture?
I wasn't crying, my eyes were running. My eyes were running because there were pieces of zombies all over my toys. Jesus.
I spent the next fifteen minutes convincing a crying werewolf that I wasn’t going to hurt her. My life was getting too strange, even for me.
If you’re alive, don’t move, if you’re dead, don’t worry about it.
When God ignores you, the devil starts looking good.
Richard was a riddle with no answer, and I was tired of playing a game I couldn't win.
I got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans. Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.
So many of us had been armed that there were holsters and weapons scattered among the passed-out bodies like mercenary prizes in a fleshy Cracker Jack box.
He ordered food with a childlike glee and watched me eat, tasting it as I did. In private he'd roll on his back like a cat, hands pressed to his mouth as if trying to drain every taste. It was the only thing he did that was cute. He was gorgeous, sensual, but rarely cute. - Anita Blake about Jean-Claude
I have no personal stake in these people, Jean-Claude, but they are people. Good, bad, or indifferent, they are alive, and no one has the right to just arbitrarily snuff them out.” "So it is the sanctity of life you cling to?" I nodded. “That and the fact that every human being is special. Every death is a loss of something precious and irreplaceable.
the pain of that first lost was still raw. You could deal with it, endure it, but never escape it.
I just love dealing with people whose idea of sometimes is every thousand years,” I said.
No. But then the American Government--whatever branch--has never really grasped the concept of tribal identity.
Oh, I'll enjoy myself. I want to make sure you enjoy yourself." "Why?" I said. "If you enjoy yourself, then there's a better chance you'll want to be with me again.
I didn't want to pick at Micah and me until we unraveled. I wanted to leave it alone and enjoy it. I just didn't know how to do that.
Sometimes love makes you selfish. Sometimes it makes you stupid. Sometimes it reminds you why you love your gun.
Every ruler should strive for his people to love him. But if they cannot love you, then make them fear you. Love is better, but fear will do the job.
He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.
Pretend I asked, now answer the question.
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