Ilona Andrews is the pen name of Ilona Gordon and Andrew Gordon, an American husband-and-wife duo who write urban fantasy and romantic fiction together.
Syphilis. Lots and lots of magically delicious Syphilis.
True strength isn’t in killing—or ignoring—your opponent, it’s in having the will to shield those who need your protection.
Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back
Did I ever tell you that you are like sunshine in the middle of the night?
Give me a few minutes. ” “You have time. ” He sat in the grass. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me?” “Yes. Watching pretty peasant girls is what we poor little rich boys do best. ” “Peasant?” He shrugged. “You started the name calling.
The hallway led me to the stairway of a million steps. My leg screamed in protest. I sighed and started climbing. I just had to keep from limping. Limping showed weakness, and I didn’t need any enterprising, career-motivated shapeshifters trying to challenge me for dominance right about now. I had once mentioned my desire for an elevator, and His Majesty asked me if I would like a flock of doves to carry me up to my quarters so my feet wouldn’t have to touch the ground. We were sparring at the time and I kicked him in the kidney in retaliation.
Rose pictured him standing at the boundary of the Ogletree house in that enormous fur cape, with a giant sword sticking over his shoulder, roaring at the top of his lungs and then being upset that nobody came out, and laughed.
It was the kind of sword that would make a lifelong pacifist look for tall boots and a hat with feathers.
Men and swords. My father said that if you put any able-bodied man, no matter how peaceful, into a room with a sword and a practice dummy and leave him alone, eventually the man would pick up the sword and try to stab the dummy. It is human nature.
A pissy werelion was rather difficult to live with.
. . . they tended towards the simple pleasures in life: drinking, whoring and fighting, preferably all three at once.
Is that a lion with horns and a pitchfork?" "Yep. " "Is he carrying the moon on his pitchfork?" "Nope it's a pie.
If he full-out flexed, I would probably faint, or jump off the building.
They hold a grudge like it was their family treasure.
I will kill him. ” “Erra’s eyebrows rose. “You’d have to go through me first. ” I shrugged. “I have to do something for a warm-up. ” She laughed softly. “That’s the spirit. I do think you might be my favorite niece.
What's with the cute shoelace on your head?" "What this?" He flicked the end of the cord with his finger. "Yeah. Rambo called, he wants his bandana back.
I chuckled to myself and kept walking. The Universe had proven Curran wrong: a person who aggravated him more than me did, in fact, exist.
I don't trust tragedies much. It's easy to make a person sad by showing him something tragic. We all recognize when sad things happen: someone dies, someone loses a loved one, young love is crushed. It's much harder to make a man laugh-what's funny to one person isn't funny to another.
He said “woman” in the same way I’d say “Mmmmm, yummy chocolate” after waking up from hunger pains and finding a Hershey bar in an empty refrigerator.
« Are you hungry, baby?” Curran asked. “Starving. ” “I think we should go to dinner. ” “Great idea. ” “What are you going to wear?” “My badass face. ” “Good choice,” he said. »