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Sorry, but the whole walking corpse epiphany kind of threw me off my game.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
Games
Whole
Epiphany
Kind
Corpse
Corpses
Threw
Sorry
Walking
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Her dark-eyed glare narrowed on me. You could have least given him a shirt, Kaylee. Like you're an expert on when it's appropriate to wear a shirt. Sabine bristled. This seems headed into girl-fight territory, Tod said. Should I make popcorn?
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The school sent you flowers. I’m sure that totally makes up for the fact that they hired the psychotic, soul-stealing pedophile who murdered you in your own home.
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Justice is for the victim.” Kick. “Vengeance is for the survivor.
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Hey, do you wanna go out for... His words melted with a sigh when he noticed Tod, but then he rallied with a smile. Hi, Tod, I didn't realise you were here. In my daughter's bedroom. With the door closed. Happy to be here, Tod said, and I groaned out loud.
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Careful, pot, Tod said. Someone might notice your resemblance to the kettle.
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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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The queen was my favorite chess piece. Unlike the women I knew in real life, she was powerful. Her job was to defend her husband at all costs, because while he was weak and practically defenseless—only allowed to move one square at a time—she was the strongest player on the board, hindered by no restrictions at all.
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... you just turned down the woman who put a marshmallow duck in your hot chocolate. I hope you feel like a real asshole now.
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We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.” “You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.
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If she were going to die, I'd already be screaming. I'm a female bean sidhe. That's what we do.
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Em didn't truly understand about my panic attacks - no one did. But she'd never pushed me to explain, never tried to ditch me when things got weird, and never once looked at me like I was a freak.
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So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?
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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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