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Then I went to the morgue and saw that those bones weren't yours, heard your voice again in my head -his eyes closed- and once more, nothing else mattered.
Jeaniene Frost
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Jeaniene Frost
Age: 50
Born: 1974
Born: June 13
Author
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Nothing
Saws
Went
Head
Morgue
Heard
Morgues
Eyes
Mattered
Eye
Closed
Voice
Weren
Else
Bones
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Of course he wouldn't hesitate before trying something that had never been done before. He was Vlad Tepesh. How could he fail?
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That's what vampires do, Kitten. We always come for what's ours, no matter the circumstances. Bones said.
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People frequently bore me, sometimes amuse me, most often irritate me, but rarely intrigue me.
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He was also handsome in a too-pretty way that made me think with less muscles, a wig, and some makeup, he'd look great in a dress. Vlad's scowl vanished into a smile as the brunet's gaze swung in my direction as though he'd somehow heard that. Looks as though she's put you in your place as well, Bones, Vlad drawled.
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I think Mount Everest is gorgeous, too, but that doesn’t mean I have any intention of trying to climb it
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I was sitting cross-legged in bed, trying without success to pretend I'd misunderstood the image I'd glimpsed. Yeah, right. Because Vlad had been between my legs looking for a set of keys he'd lost.
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Does no one think to warn people before they meet me? Vlad muttered, shooting an irritable look at Mencheres.
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My parents were dismayed by my love of horror movies as a young girl, then even more dismayed when I kept rooting for Dracula to win instead of Van Helsing.
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I do not understand this analogy, Mencheres muttered.
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What's in the cave, Russell?' Madigan asked with heavy sarcasm. I shrugged. 'Rocks. Lots of 'em.' 'Don't patronize me.' His voice lowered to a hiss. 'What else is in the cave?' I looked him straight in the eye and spoke one word. 'Mud.
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There were words for what he meant to me, but if I studied every language ever spoken for the next thousand years, I still wouldn’t find enough of them to describe it.
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Cat cleared her throat in the tense silence that followed. Uh, before this goes any further, let’s at least introduce ourselves to your friend. I’m Cat, and this is my husband, Bones. We’re part of Mencheres’ twisted little fang family.
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He had black hair anybody could see was dyed, and even had one long piece wrapped around his head in that way some men did to fool no one into believing they weren't bald. I resisted a sudden strong urge to tug away that piece and scream peekaboo! at his bare crown underneath.
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Kitty need's a tounge bath
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I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those held a candle to the pain I felt at seeing his mouth on hers.
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...I'd have cheerfully thrown Her Majesty and her hundred pounds of baggage to the curb, but that wasn't mature. ~Cat on Annette
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Love is a terrible weakness. It gives your enemies a perfect target, clouds your judgement, makes you reckless... and that's on a good day.
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God, Bones, you must have argued yourself blue in the face.
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Family is always irreplaceable, even when they’re also irreconcilable.
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Get stuffed, don't you have more publicity stunts to pull? Bones shot back. How about chatting with another writer who can smear your name into greater popularity? What, did Anne Rice not return your calls, mate? Vlad asked scathingly. Jealousy is such an ugly trait.
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