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I found the candles—atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Like
Smelled
Candles
Pine
Candle
Fake
Air
Ones
Found
Atrocious

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I don’t know how you do it. You aren’t even blond. I mean, maybe a little, but mostly you’re a brunette. I just don’t see guys going for that.” “Yeah, well, some people are into kinky stuff, I guess.
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Weirdly, an image of Adrian’s Love painting came back to me. I thought of the jagged red streak, slashing through the blackness, ripping it apart. Staring at Jill and her inconsolable pain, I suddenly understood his art a little bit better.
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Hope implies that you think you have a chance at something.
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I like you being the sinner you are. -Adrian Ivashkov
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Just friends, just friends. Standing there in the bookstore, watching Seth walk away, I half wondered how anyone could still use that line. But I knew why, of course. It was used because people still believed it. Or at least they wanted to.
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Sorry, Sage. Last I checked, you aren’t an expert in social matters... At least I take action. You? You let the world go by without you. You have no spine. You don’t fight back. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Adrian Ivashkov. I fight back plenty.
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I can't wait until this show gets on the road, he said. You and me are going to have so much fun, Rose. Picking out curtains, doing each other's hair, telling ghost stories... The reference to ghost stories hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. Not that choosing curtains or brushing Christian's hair was much more appea
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The battle cry sort of gave you away. Try not to yell next time.
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He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.
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Somehow, Sydney had an internal clock that told her when time was up. I think it was part of her inherent ability to keep track of a hundred things at once. Not me. In these moments, my thoughts were usually focused on getting her shirt off and whether I’d get past the bra this time. So far, I hadn’t.
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You and I have never liked each other, Rose. If I’ve got to kill someone, it might as well be you.
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Sydney: I can do a lot of things, Adrian. And—at the risk of sounding egotistical —I mean, well, I can do a lot of pretty awesome things that most people can’t. Adrian: “Don’t I know it. You can change a tire in ten minutes while speaking Greek.” Sydney: “Five minutes.
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Smiling, I cut across the quadrangle toward the commons. I felt better about life than I had in a very long time. We could do this, Lissa and me. We could do this together.
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Mmm. O positive, my favorite.” “Is it? I thought it was a cabernet sauvignon.” “So it is,” said Adrian, straight-faced. “My mistake.
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You have to protect her. The more she uses it, the worse it'll get. Stop her, Rose. Stop her before they notice, before they notice and take her away too. Get her out of here. [...] Don't let her use the power!. . .Save her. Save her from herself!
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His warmth was all around me, as was his love, and again, I felt that completeness. I had that missing piece of my word back. The soul that complemented mine. My match. My equal. Not only that, I had my life back -my own life. I would protect Lissa, I would serve, but I was finally my own person.
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I thought I'd finally get to relax with Dimitri.
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I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.
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What matters is that someone—that you—know me that well. When a person can see into your soul, it's hard. It forces you to be open. Vulnerable. It's much easier being with someone who's just more of a casual friend.
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He sighed and then focused his eyes right on me. It was like drowning, drowning in seas of green. There was nothing in the world except for those eyes. I want to kiss you, Rose, he said softly. And I want you to want me too.
Richelle Mead