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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!

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
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You should be careful, tossing descriptors like that around in a situation like this. My ‘problem’ isn’t little. Unless you’re drawing some pretty wild comparisons. Please tell me you’re not drawing wild comparisons. Or blood-relative comparisons.
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When he finally stopped calling, the hush felt strange. It felt like the whole world went silent when Marc did, as if I could see peoples mouths moving, but I couldnt hear what they were saying. Like I'd gone deaf.
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Leave the door open, my dad said, the second most common warning in his arsenal. Right behind, Nash, go home.
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Now if you’ll excuse me, Death waits for no man. Except me.
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This would be so much easier if they actually issued black hoods.
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I laughed and it almost felt good. Is that a dig at my liquor cabinet? Cam smiled. That wasn't liquor, it was swill. And that wasn't a cabinet, it was a drawer.
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I liked that about her. I liked how laid back she was, when she wasn’t trying to stab me.
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I could have kissed you months ago, but it wouldn’t have meant anything. I wished for you to see me. And want me. So…did you mean it?” “Yes,” I said, and some unnamed tension inside me eased. “I see you, Tod.
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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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I couldn't see who swam in the darkness, who wore shadows like a second skin.
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I don't want to wear your dad's clothes. He hates me. You'd rather wear mine? Nash scowled.
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Had I just begged for an audience with Death?
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So,would you say I’m closer to a zombie or a vampire? I gotta know—are my parts going to rot and fall off, or am I forever frozen in youthful perfection?
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He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.
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She wasn't feeling nothing. She was feeling too much. She was blocking it all out. That was a survival skill, and her still-beating heart was proof that it worked.
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I love you, Olivia, he whispered, and my heart ached as if it would break in half. You think we'll die if we stay together, but I've been dying slowly for the last six years. I'm taking my life back, Liv. Our life together. And this time, I'm not going to let you go.
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Unfortunately, unless the job description included a translation of the prologue of The Canterbury Tales, I was dreadfully under-qualified.
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I still loved Marc desperately and couldn’t imagine life without him. Jace was…something else. Something I could feel but couldn’t articulate. Something I wanted, and hadn’t been able to resist in my grief-weakened state. He was something that would have to wait.
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