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Pritkin muttered something that sounded fairly vicious. “My clothes are warded! Even if I wished to accede to your demand, it would not work on them.” “Then strip.” “I beg your pardon?” He sounded almost polite suddenly, as if he believed he couldn’t possibly have heard right.

Karen Chance

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Karen Chance
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Orlando
Florida
Clothes
Vicious
Heard
Polite
Almost
Fairly
Right
Possibly
Muttered
Even
Believed
Sounded
Work
Suddenly
Strip
Something
Demand
Wished
Would
Couldn
Pardon

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Laura won’t hurt you,” I said, wrestling him for control. “She’s one of the sweetest ghosts I ever met. She just likes to play.” “Yeah, I bet. With my bones, if I had any!” “She isn’t like that!” “Sure. ’Cause when the innocent little girl shows up in a horror flick, it’s always a good thing!
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My body cheerfully informed me that he felt really good pressed against me like that, all hard muscles and smooth contours and ominous bulges. My body liked the air of barely leashed strength and caged mayhem he was giving off. My body thought he smelled really good, like heat and coffee and electricity. My body was going to get me killed.
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You know, dulceata, there are times when I truly believe you are the most frightening person I know. Thank you?
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All I want to know is why a party of Fey wanted to kill me,” I said heatedly. The beetle’s lips twisted enough to show fang. “Doesn’t everyone?” Radu hustled me out the door before I could find out if the vamp’s plump little carcass would fit into his overstuffed desk.
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...I ran out of stock around midnight and dropped by a place, got some Chinese. I hoped he meant takeout.
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You love me? He just looked at me for a moment. And then he reared back his head and laughed, a rich, mellow sound, unreserved and unashamed. No, not at all. I regularly battle gods for women I dislike!
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Where. Is. He? Alphonse repeated, although it sounded more like Don't make me eat your face.
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I don’t know. Just pick one.” “Well, there’s a lot of choice. I mean, you got your flavored, your ridged, your pre-lubed, your thin, your super-ultra-thin, your super-ultra-thin-pre-lubed, your…Huh.” “Huh what?” “Would you look at this?” he asked, examining a small box. “It says it glows in the dark.
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I barely heard him, I was too busy watching Pritkin, who had slumped over with his head on the sofa arm, shoulders shaking helplessly, and what looked suspiciously like tears leaking out from under his closed eyes. Not that bad, he muttered, and then he was off again.
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I was alive, they were not. Go Me. (Touch the Dark)
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Great. I'd been dumped in Hell's waiting room.
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He had the look of an atheist who’d just had a visit from God: stunned, disbelieving and faintly ill.
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They- He stopped and just blinked at me for a minute. You know, people are always saying that you're cuckoo. Looney Tunes. Off the freaking edge. But I tell 'em, no, she's okay. She's got some...anger management issues. But you know what? They're right. You're nuts.
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And then Mircea finally let me down, only to get his hands inside the coat and push me against the wall. I'm dirty, I protested. He waggled his eyebrows. Promise? Mircea! I laughed in spite of myself.
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Prevarication, how divine! I always did get along better with sinners.
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Mr. Complete Lack of Sympathy
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It's about time! It's supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.
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You will die a worse death if you do not leave my domain,” a voice thundered down from the third story of the old tenement. “I am a servant of the Sacred Fire, the wielder of the flame of Arnor—” “So I should call you Gandalf?
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So maybe it was just as well that my companion was more like Mulder. A coked-out Mulder with a lot of weapons, who knew that the monsters under the bed were real and would gut you.
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I’d been declared—over my loud and sustained protests—Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.
Karen Chance