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I stared. Canadian Satanists? You're sending me to a group of Canadian Satanists?

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Stared
Canadian
Sending
Group
Groups
Satanists
Satanist

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What was love, really? Flowers, chocolate, and poetry? Or was it something else? Was it being able to finish someone's jokes? Was it having absolute faith that someone was there at your back? Was it knowing someone so well that they instantly understood why you did the things you did—and shared those same beliefs?
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And sometimes, if I was really, really lucky, he’d smile at me. A real smile, too—not the dry one that accompanied the sarcasm we tossed around so often. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone—not to Lissa, not even to myself—but some days, I lived for those smiles.
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I can be a good friend, or a bad enemy.
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Your wit is always such a delight, Mr. Zeklos. I can barely contain myself around it.
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The rage that had expolded inside me diffused. I didn't know where it had come from. I had a short temper and often acted impulsively,but this had been intense and ugly even for me. Weird.
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When you've got everything you need, why complicate it?
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Ah, well,ʺ said Abe, idly studying his fingertips. ʺI have it on good authority thereʹs going to be a new ‘gateʹ opening up soon over on the south side of the wall. The truth dawned on me. ʺOh lord. Youʹre the one whoʹs been doling out C4.ʺ ʺYou make it sound so easy,ʺ he said with a frown. ʺThat stuffʹs hard to get a hold of.
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Abe shook his head, and now the smile was gone altogether. That's not the reason either. Don't lie to me little girl. I felt my hackles going up. And don't interrogate me, old man.
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Sage, he said. What are you wearing? I sighed and stared down at the dress. I know. It's red. Don't start. I'm tired of hearing about it. Funny, he said. I don't think I could ever get tired of looking at it.
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Dimitri Belikov had arrived.
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The tension between us kicked up a notch, and I realized that along with our bodies being nearer, so were our lips.
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Don't worry, I won't bite. At least not in the way you're afraid of.
Richelle Mead
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I found the candles—atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine.
Richelle Mead
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Even now, despite Angeline's watchfulness, she'd occasionally oscillate between random topics, like how shepherd's pie wasn't a pie at all and why it was pointless for her to take class in typing when technology would eventually develop robot companions to do it for us.
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We cannot road trip to Paris.
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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.
Richelle Mead
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There's a guy chasing me! I called as I headed out the door.
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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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I haven’t even really tried to win you over, Roza. When I want to, I can be very persuasive.
Richelle Mead
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Are you sleepwalking?' A voice asked behind me. I was testing dorm security, I said. It sucks.
Richelle Mead