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One day she's throwing a book at me. The next, we're making out behind the library.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Book
Throwing
Library
Behinds
Behind
Making
Next

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The nice thing about a series is you can end on cliffhangers all the time. You can be like, 'You know what? Here we go, this person just died, end of book.' And with the end of the series, you're very conscious of all the plotlines that were left hanging. There's a balance there to wrap those up but still leave it exciting.
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I'll find you. There is no place in this world you can hide from me. I'm watching. Love, Dimitri
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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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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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Adrian's new research partner stepped through the door, and I knew the uneasy peace we'd just established in Palm Springs was about to shatter. Dimitri Belikov had arrived.
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Victor smiled through the pain and the blood. Of course you have. I used to think Belikov was the savage one, but it's really you, isn't it? You're the animal with no control, no higher reasoning except to fight and kill.
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You got some cheap foreign labor to protect Lissa?
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She heard Adrian say to Christian, ʺYou know, your shirtʹs kind of grungy-looking. Seems like you could put in a little more effort since youʹre dating a princess.ʺ
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Too bad. Family members hit you by accident. Psychopathic whores tend to come back for more.
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There were drinks and food in full force, and some Moroi guy had a guitar out and was trying to impress girls with his musical skills—which were nonexistent. In fact, his music was so awful that he might have discovered a new way to kill Strigoi.
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Ah, my daughter,ʺ he said. ʺEighteen, and already youʹve been accused of murder, aided felons, and acquired a death count higher than most guardians will ever see.ʺ He paused. ʺI couldnʹt be prouder.
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Don't fight them anymore.I'm going to go with them. No. I won't let them take you. You have to, I begged. He was breathing hard, every part of him braced and ready to attack. We locked gazes, and a thousand messages seemed to flow between us as the old electricity crackled in the air.
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Are you sleepwalking?' A voice asked behind me. I was testing dorm security, I said. It sucks.
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If your eyes weren't open, you wouldn't know the difference between dreaming and waking.
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The truth, huh? No one wants to hear the truth. The truth is never sexy. But you... You are too goddamned sexy to be real. -Christian to Lissa
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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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I'll see you later Roza. At our next practice? I asked. We are starting those up again, right? I mean you still have things to teach me. Standing in the doorway, he looked over at me and smiled. Yes. Lots of things.
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And you work for that demon, right? The one who looks like Matthew Broderick?” “John Cusack,” I corrected. “He looks like John Cusack.” “Whatever.
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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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We can't stop living because other people are dead.
Richelle Mead