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Sophie glanced from me to Sabine, then back, scowling. I'm not scared of her. I can handle myself. Yeah, and hissing kittens think they're badass too, Sabine said.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
Yeah
Hissing
Back
Kittens
Think
Glanced
Thinking
Sophie
Kitten
Badass
Handle
Scowling
Scared
Sabine

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Some day soon, reaper, your mouth is going to be the source of your own destruction. That does seem likely, doesn’t it? Tod glanced at me and shrugged. Until then, it remains a source of my own amusement.
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This would be so much easier if they actually issued black hoods.
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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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There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.
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Not even if you fed me your firstborn, still wet and screaming
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But if there was a protocol for how to say goodbye to your newly ex-boyfriend's brother, right after you kissed him and probably sent your ex into the arms of his willing ex-girlfriend, I didn't know what it was.
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Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.
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Exactly what part of that is supposed to make me feel better? Though, honestly, hearing that she was jealous of me did make me feel a teeny, tiny bit better.
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Most aspects of my training didn’t agree with me. There wasn’t as much bossing around as I’d hoped for, and there was way too much following orders.
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If I love you more than you love me, I’m as good as dead. Yet I can’t make myself take it back. I can’t just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I’m dying inside.
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It was an addiction. A pointless, self-destructive addiction. But really, is there any other kind?
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Should I assume the lure is a certain attractive young dead man?
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I’m confiscating your hair dryer—you’ve fried your brain.
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He’s like the Rasputin of reapers.
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I want you. I want only you. I want all of you. But I'll take whatever you're ready to give.
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Regret couldn't fix what he's broken. Apologies couldn't bring back what he's lost. What we'd lost.
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Wow. What would you do if I said I was angry?' 'I would make fire rain from the heavens to smite your enemies with the flames of our shared rage.
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You think he left a big flashing arrow pointing to a filing cabinet labeled 'Evidence Here!'? He's a Stray, Ethan, not Wile E. Coyote!
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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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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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