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When Love And Jealousy Collide On The Slopes, Winter Break Turns Deadly

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Break
Turns
Love
Collide
Slopes
Deadly
Jealousy
Winter

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My life was split by two worlds, but he kept me whole.
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He stepped back and threw his arms out. I'm always crazy around you Rose. Here, I'm going to write an impromptu poem for you. He tipped his head back and shouted to the sky: Rose is in red But never in blue Sharp as a thorn Fights like one too.
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When you say ‘old friend,’ are we talking, like...since the Ice Age?” “No. Of course not.” “Oh.” “It’s only been about four hundred years.” “Ah. Yes. Only four hundred.” A wry expression spread over his face. “Being with you is a continual experiment in perspective. Among other things.
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Yeah, I was at the Masquerade of the Damned.
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People who are crazy rarely question whether they're crazy.
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We had an endless supply of topics, both of us eager to put forth all we knew on anything and everything. Most of the meal was spent discussing the intricacies of the organic certification process. It was pretty awesome.
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I found the candles—atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine.
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Dimitri: Why did you come here? Rose: Because you hit me on the head and dragged me here.
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You'll be alive', he pointed out. 'That's what matters. Enjoy what you have, every little detail of wherever you are. Don't focus on where you aren't.
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Since when do we even play games?” “Since when don’t we play games? Games of life, games of death. Games of love, of hope, of chance, of despair, and of all the myriad wonders in between.” I rolled my eyes at the newcomer. “Hello, Carter.
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We're going on a, um, windmill tour later this week. If I'd wanted to shut them all up, I'd definitely succeeded. They all looked stunned. Adrian spoke first. I'm going to assume that means he's flying you to Amsterdam on his private jet. If so, I'd like to come along. But not for the windmills.
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And so, surpassing my own records for dangerous, reckless behavior, I ripped off Sonya's bracelet. I'm Rose Hathaway.
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Everything's about my personal entertainment. The world is my stage. Keep it up- you're becoming a star performer in the show.
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I decided then that if the two people I loved most were safe, I could leave this world. The dead could finally have me. And Iʹd fulfilled my purpose, right? To protect? Iʹd done it. Iʹd saved Lissa, just like Iʹd sworn Iʹd always do. I was dying in battle. No appointment books for me.
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What, are you doing? Aside from getting your sandwich cold. I’m making a snow angel. Don’t you know what that is? Yes, I know. But why? You must be freezing. Not so much, actually. My face is a little, I guess.
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It's not my fault so much as my genius.
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Is it true? You had a clean getaway and risked it all for me? I Swallowed. It wouldn't have been a clean getaway without you.
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Only what?” I asked. I could barely hear my own voice. He turned his gaze back to me, firm and unflinching. “Only… more human.” And that was it. All the anger and sorrow vanished. There was nothing in me. Nothing at all. I was empty. “Get out,” I said.
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I saw endless depths of brown, the depths I'd fallen into so many times. No red rings. Dimitri...was not a Strigoi. And he was weeping.
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I’m not dangerous,” I breathed. He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.” And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing.
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