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They don’t eat that much.” “In comparison to what? Starving marines?

Karen Chance

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Karen Chance
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Orlando
Florida
Comparison
Much
Marines
Marine
Starving

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There are things we want, and things we may have.... Sanity lies in knowing the difference.
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Poireaux vinaigrette aux grains de caviar.” I did a quick translation. “Leeks and fish eggs in vinegar?” He grinned. “It sounds better in French.” Yeah, but did it taste better?
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Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God.
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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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This was Dante's. Crazy was what we had for breakfast when we ran out of Corn Flakes
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One day, you will say it to me again. You will be sober. And you will mean it.
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I’d never known that anyone could kiss in English, kiss in apologies.
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Fools fight winners think.
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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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The worst part was the silence. Death was supposed to be loud — gunshots, explosions, screams and thunder. Not this eerie quiet that wrapped around me like a shroud.
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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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I was alive, they were not. Go Me. (Touch 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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Come and take your seat, Lady Dorina.
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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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I’d been declared—over my loud and sustained protests—Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.
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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 ran out of stock around midnight and dropped by a place, got some Chinese. I hoped he meant takeout.
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