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Rose, nothing in this world could make me hate you. Not even trying to bring my ex-boyfriend back from the dead?

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Back
Nothing
Even
Exes
Trying
Boyfriend
Make
Rose
World
Dead
Bring
Hate

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Can't you... I don't. Find a hobby or something? Being charming is my hobby.
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There's a guy chasing me! I called as I headed out the door.
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Everyone has light around them, except for you. You have shadows.
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Hey, Volusian, you haven't been checking me out, have you? He gave me his trademark bland stare. I assure you, mistress, the only allure your bare flesh has for me is to remind me how easy it will be to slice open. I laughed. If not for the fact he was actually serious, he'd be so much fun.
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He has no right to threaten my boyfriends. I'm eighteen. An adult. I don't need his help. I can threaten my boyfriends myself.
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I thought Alchemists avoided alcohol the same way they do primary colors.
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Who is he? An idiot, said Adrian. Makes me look like an upstanding member of society.
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You should know better.ʺ ʺIʹve never known better,ʺ he countered. ʺYou should know that.
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Do you believe in fairy tales? What...what kind of fairy tales? The kind you aren't supposed to waste your life on.
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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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Is she for real?” He paused and reconsidered. “Are you for real? Spells? Magic? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I drink blood and control people’s minds. But I’ve never heard of anything like this.
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But to be able to kiss someone you love when you're fully and completely in control of yourself and know who you are...it's exquisite. How we love others is affected by how we love ourselves.
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Later, I would ask Shaya to help me compose a formal response to Katrice's letter, something a long the lines of I am the Thorn Queen. F*** Off.
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Mentor’s Official and Complete Procedural Handbook on Initial Succubus Intake and Probationary Period (Abridged). “Abridged?” I spun toward Jerome. “Tell me you’re getting back at me for the time I accused you of wearing Old Spice.” “That one’s still coming,” said the demon. “This one’s for real.
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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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