Patricia Briggs (born 1965) is an American writer of fantasy since 1993, and author of the Mercy Thompson urban fantasy series.
I am the reality of all coyotes. The archetype. The epitome. You are just a reflection of me.
When I die of heart failure the next time you frighten me like that, you can put that on my gravestone —‘I didn’t mean to startle her
Mine. He was mine, and not even death would take him from me—not if I could help it.
Is it like a Harry Potter thing?" He turned his head then. "A what?" "A Harry Potter thing," she said again. "You know, don't say Voldemort's name because you might attract his attention?" He considered it. "You mean the children's book. " "I have got to get you to watch more movies," she said. "You'd enjoy these. Yes, I mean the children's book.
If you could just see your face,” she told me. “You look like a cat in a bathtub.
Do they always flirt with biblical quotes?" Asil asked Tad. In long-suffering tones, Tad said, "They can flirt with the periodic table or a restaurant menu. We've learned to live with it. Get a room you guys. "
My father said that a silent person is trying to hide something.
When life doesn't meet your expectations, it was important to take it with grace.
Any idiot can put up a website.
So in the sweltering heat of a July night, I sang a Christmas carol to a room full of fae, who had been driven out of their homelands by Christians and their cold-iron swords.
See you tomorrow,” he said, instead. “All right. ” Then, impulsively, I asked, “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” “Sure,” he said with a smile, and started off as if he had somewhere to be. I could have bitten off my tongue because I pushed him into a lie. Once he started lying to me, it would be harder to get him to trust me with the truth. I don’t know why it works that way, but it does—at least in my experience.
He had lived a very long time, and only since he gained Anna had he learned to fear. He’d discovered that he had never been brave before—just indifferent. She had taught him that to be brave, you have to fear losing something.
And that's when Anna realized that what the wolf had been asking Bran for was death. Impulsively, Anna stepped away from Charles. She put a knee on the bench she'd been sitting on and reached over the back to close her hand on Asil's wrist, which was lying across the back of the pew. He hissed in shock but didn't pull away. As she held him the scent of wilderness, of sickness, faded. He stared at her, the whites of his eyes showing brightly while his irises narrowed to small bands around his black pupil. "Omega," he whispered, his breath coming harshly.
Want to play some Battleship?” I wasn’t leaving him alone with that thing in there. Chad armed himself with a notebook, and we went to war. Historically, war has often been used as a distraction for problems at home.
Evil must always be fought.
Charles could care less about shoes - and he suspected he wasn't alone among men in his feelings. Shoe, no shoe, he didn't care. Naked was good, though over the past couple of weeks he was beginning to think that dressed in his clothes was a decent second best.
People will do amazing things to ensure their survival.
It is not wise to give something old and powerful something they care about. And I am very old.
I'm a coyote shapeshifter playing in a world of werewolves and vampires---outmatched is n understatement.
There is no cash in battling evil: just the opposite in my experience