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There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
Dead
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Mother
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Funeral
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Weeks
Son

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At least you don’t need a prescription for tequila.
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I’m saying that I can wait. For now. But when things get back to normal—assuming that ever happens—I want my shot. We can make each other happy, Faythe. I know it. And I’m done walking away from things I want just because they don’t come easily. You’re worth the work.
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Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.
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His name's Nash. Aunt Val took a butter knife from the silverware drawer. What year is he? I groaned inwardly. Senior. ...here we go ... Her smile was a little too enthusiastic. Well that's wonderful! Of course, what she really meant was Rise from the shadows, social leper, and walk in the bright light of acceptance!
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A cat’s body can sustain a lot of damage without actually dying,” Lucas said, his voice as deep as the rumble of the earth itself. “You just think about that before you so much as scratch yourself without permission.” Ryan gulped and nodded, still mute.
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10:38 AM - Third period. Kaylee has no class this period. I have no one to kill. Coincidence, or fate?
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The problem with getting everything you want in life is that you're not prepared for disappointment when it comes.
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A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hell no. Intelligence is overrated anyway.
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This would be so much easier if they actually issued black hoods.
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I was fine with that. The very idea of Death knowing my name made my skin crawl. Even if this particular Death was only one of many, and almost too pretty to look at.
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Come on, Kaylee, before I choke on testosterone and melodrama.
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I couldn't see who swam in the darkness, who wore shadows like a second skin.
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His safety was more important than anything to me. Even if he would never know enough to understand that.
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Pain is what I feed from when nothing else will nourish the noxious fury in my heart. It’s what I cling to when everything else—everyone else—slips right between my grasping fingers.
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But all I said, as I dug a five from my pocket to pay for my soda, was, You have a friend? Tod scowled. Well, I wouldn't call him a friend according to the traditional definition, but in the sense that he imposes on me constantly and isn't afraid to point out my flaws, I'd say he qualifies. Sounds more like a cousin.
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