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They all looked like a shampoo commercial, healthy and clear-skinned, perfectly proportioned, a group of handsome young men. Their clothes hung on them like they were glad to be gracing such supermodels.

Lilith Saintcrow

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Lilith Saintcrow
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
New Mexico
United States
Anna Beguine
Lili St. Crow
Clothes
Skinned
Healthy
Handsome
Groups
Commercial
Hung
Clear
Perfectly
Supermodels
Young
Glad
Proportioned
Men
Group
Supermodel
Like
Looked
Shampoo

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The end of a gun looks very big and very back when it's staring you in the face.
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He laughed. The laugh could strip the skin off an elephant in seconds.
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The only one, he murmured. His chin dipped a little bit. You know that, Dru? You're the only person who's ever believed in me. You know what that'll do to a guy? What?I- It makes him want to live up to it.
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Christophe, with the careful tone of an adult telling a kid not to pet the nice foaming-rabid pooch.
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Next to her, even the prettiest djamphir boys looked gawky.
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What you can't run away from, you have to face
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Some days, a killing spree seems like a good idea.
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Oh, dear me. Nathalie sank back down in the chair and examined her Uggs. The sarcasm could've started dripping off her and stained the floor. Is it conspiracy, treachery, murder, or open warfare? I'll have to choose my lipstick accordingly.
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Besides, the normal people here wouldn’t see it. That was what “different” meant. It’s just another word for lonely.
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People don’t really want to know anything about you. They just want you to fit into their little predetermined slots. They decide what you are in the first two seconds, and they only get nervous or upset if you don’t live up to their snap judgments.
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He hadn't told me everything, but I'd left him for dead. I guess we were just about even...
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Death did not play favorites—He loved all equally. What you cannot escape, you must fight what you cannot fight, you must endure . The god's voice—not quite words, just a thread of meaning laid in my receptive mind—
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Zombies smell worse than anything you can imagine if you haven’t been hunting things on the dark side of the world. It’s a ripe, gassy odour, like rotting eggs and meat gone bad, crawling blind with maggots. It’s road kill and decayed food and body odour all rolled into one package and tied up with puke.
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His thumb stroked my cheek. My eyes half-closed. When he spoke next, it was very softly, his voice an almost-physical caress against my whole body. My flesh tightened like a harpstring. I swallowed hard against the wave of liquid heat. How can I possibly be jealous when I know you spent your time grieving for me, Dante?
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His shoulder bumped mine again. Can I ask you something? I didn't answer. He was going to ask me anyway. People don't say that if they don't want to pry something out of you.
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He was the only boy I'd found worth dating in God knows how many schools. I mean, ever since he'd been bitten by a werwulf he'd been rock-steady. The best thing about this totally effed-up situation.
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Touch me again, and it will be your last act in life - Blue Eyes.
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The smell of apple pies didn't quite fill the house, but it was there, a thread under everything else. It was kind of hard to take Christophe seriously when he smelled like baked goods. I wondered if other djampjir smelled like Hostess Twinkies and sniggered to myself.
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I thought I'd pay you a visit, my dear. Since you're so interesting. My mouth shifted into high gear, leaving my brain behind. You know, you're the second guy in a few days to call me that. You should be more creative.
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It truly sucks to doubt your friends when you only have one or two of them, I realized.
Lilith Saintcrow