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He groaned and I saw his face. Curran! I would've preferred a homicidal lunatic. Oh, wait...

Ilona Andrews

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Ilona Andrews
Wait
Saws
Waiting
Face
Curran
Faces
Groaned
Would
Homicidal
Preferred
Lunatic

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If you come, you better come in force because I will kill every single one of you. My hand won't shake, my aim won't falter. My face will be the last thing you'll see before you die. I jammed my knife into the table and walked out.
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You fellows ever thought of hiring out as a Christmas lights crew? You’d make a fortune.
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A girl half my age swept by and slammed two giant tankard filled with beer on the table. Ragnvald held his up. I smashed my tankard against his. Beer splashed. We raised the tankard and pretended to take much bigger gulps than we did.
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I will kill him.” “Erra’s eyebrows rose. “You’d have to go through me first.” I shrugged. “I have to do something for a warm-up.” She laughed softly. “That’s the spirit. I do think you might be my favorite niece.
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Curran gave me a flat look. I can always drive to a burger joint instead. Oh, so you'd throw a burger down my throat and expect making out in the back seat? He grinned. We can do it in the front seat instead, if you prefer. Or on the hood of the car. I'm not doing it on the hood of the car. Is that a dare? Why me?
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Put your badass face on and follow me.
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You like the girl, Alasdair offered. Nassar leveled a heavy gaze at him. Lillian said you tried to be funny in the car. I told her it couldn't possibly be true. The moment you try to make a joke, the sky shall split and the Four Horsemen will ride out, heralding Apocalypse.
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Secret to what? Secret to shutting you up, he said. I just have to beat you till you're half-dead, then give you chicken soup and--he raised his hands--blessed silence.
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He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and doubled over in a sneezing fit. My werewolf was allergic to tortoises. Why me?
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Shane lowered his glasses on his nose and gave me his version of a severe stare. I leaned a little toward Luther. Is this the part where I faint in fear? Luther bit his lip. He might also accept falling to your knees and holding your hands in humble supplication. Makes it easier for him to slap the cuffs on.
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I turned and bumped by head against his chest a few times. It was the nearest hard surface.
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I'm welding the bimbo room shut.
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Since we’re playing that game… I tilted my face up to his and gave him a lovesick gaze. “Do you have to sneeze?” he asked. “Be quiet. I’m pretending to enjoy your company, just as you said.” “Try not to strain anything.” “Oh, I won’t. I’m very good at faking it.” That shut him up.
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Cajun stomp? You heard me, swamper. And keep your hands to yourself.
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My ego doesn't need soothing. I don't want him soothing anything of mine, including you.
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