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.
Next to me, Saiman smiled. "We all want what we can't have, Kate. I want you, you want love, and he wants to break my neck.
Sure, I didn't weigh a hundred and ten pounds , but my narrow waist let me bend and I could break a man's neck with my kick.
Just to make sure the odd humanoid aberration doesn't get away, always pin it through the nuts.
Georgie, stop trying to resurrect the shoes. They were never alive in the first place.
We took a right at the fork, heading farther north. The charred houses continued. To the right, a large sign nailed to an old telephone post shouted DANGER in huge red letters. Underneath in crisp black letters was written: IM-1: Infectious Magic Area Do Not Enter Authorized Personnel Only A second smaller sign under the first one, written on a piece of plastic with permanent marker, read: Keep out, stupid. “We aren’t going to keep out, are we?” Ascanio asked. “No. ” “Awesome.
Why had I wasted all my time pretending to be someone I wasn't? I was tired, so very, very tired of standing on my own brakes. I felt. . . right. I felt free.
What's that?" "That's my attack poodle.
In the whole world, there was no better place than being wrapped in him.
Some women waited for a night in shining armor. She, apparently, had ended up with a knight in black jeans and leather, who wanted to chase her down and have his evil way with her.
No. I don't go through your things. I just come once in a while to make sure you're in one piece. I like knowing you're safe, asleep in your bed. I haven't stolen anything.
Every time I think you’ve reached the limits of arrogance, you show me new heights. Truly, your egotism is like the Universe—ever expanding.
I wondered if kicking him in the head would make the whole explanation pop out of his mouth in one chunk.
Outside the windows the day was bright: golden sunshine, blue sky, pleasant wind. . . I wanted to punch the happy day in the face, grab it by the hair, and beat it until it told me what the hell it was so happy about.
When walking into the lair of the dragon after robbing his hoard, the least you could do is hold you head high [. . . ]
It's my uniform. Everyone in my company wears it. " "It's hideous. " Rose felt her hackles rise. The neon green uniform was hideous, but she didn't appreciate him pointing it out. She opened her mouth. "Yet despite it, you look lovely," he said. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she told him. "It's not flattery," he said coldly. "Flattery requires exaggeration. I'm merely stating a fact. You're a beautiful woman wearing an ugly sack of unnatural color.
Would you like to assist me with my choice of underwear as well?” My sarcasm whistled right over his head. “I would be delighted. While I’d love to see you in a balconette bra, I’m afraid for this particular occasion I would have to go with a foam-lined seamless due to the tight fit of the garment across your breasts. . . Perhaps I could come over and review what you have available. . .
I turned to leave and paused before the gap in the ruined wall. "One last thing, Your Majesty. I'd like a name I can put into my report, something shorter than typing out 'The Leader of the Southern Shapechanger Faction. ' What should I call you?" "Lord. " I rolled my eyes. He shrugged. "It's short.
Yep. ” Eloquence ’R’ Us. When in trouble, keep it monosyllabic—safer that way.
The idiot had shot their own dog. That’s what happened when the destructive potential of a man’s weapons exceeded his intelligence.
I glanced at Derek. The boy wonder didn't melt into a pile of goo, although his gaze was glued to Rowena's chest. Avoiding eye contact. Good strategy.