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Nobody said anything that time. Or maybe I just wasn’t listening. After all, someone had to keep an eye on the fridge.

Karen Chance

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Karen Chance
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Orlando
Florida
Time
Listening
Nobody
Wasn
Maybe
Eye
Keep
Someone
Fridge
Anything
Fridges

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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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The most temptation I'd experienced had been with Tomas, the Senate's spy who had been feeding off me without permission, and Mircea, who was probably plotting some nefarious scheme. I have no taste in men.
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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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I left it with a warmer,” he said drily. Because war mages ate their fried chicken frozen to the ground and they liked it.
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There are things we want, and things we may have.... Sanity lies in knowing the difference.
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Fresh blood at midnight isn't red. It's a purplish black that easily blends into the shadows.
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I thought there was a good chance the fridge was possessed. It was subtle about it, but I had its number. I knew its ways. Oh yes.
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Prevarication, how divine! I always did get along better with sinners.
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I’d never known that anyone could kiss in English, kiss in apologies.
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They don’t eat that much.” “In comparison to what? Starving marines?
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Take them off!” I told him, grabbing the front of his jeans. “Take everything off!” “I’m trying!” “Try harder!
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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.
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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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Where. Is. He? Alphonse repeated, although it sounded more like Don't make me eat your face.
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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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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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