Rachel Vincent is an American author best known for her Shifters series, a present-day urban fantasy series about a female werecat.
Alec licked his spoon, then set it on the table and popped his drink open. "Okay, I may be breaking some kind of girl bonding rule or something, but can I offer you a guy's perspective on this?" I frowned, my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Is this gonna make me want to hit you?" He shrugged. "Maybe. But it's the truth. Here goes: kissing back is an instinct. Unless the girl smells like a sewer or has tentacles feeling you up independently, a guy's first instinct is to kiss back. That's how it works. What's important is how long that kissing back lasted. So. . . how long?
Vanity, right?" Nash reappeared in the living room with an open bag of potato chips. "I nominate my venerable brother. He likes to play hero, and one look at him should establish the vanity angle. " "Nash!" I really shouldn't have been surprised by the dig. But I was. "What?" He raised one brow at me in challenge. "It's okay to call me jealous, but not to call him vain?" "Awareness of one's obvious advantages doesn't imply vanity," Tod insisted calmly. Nash turned on him. "Does it imply narcissism?" Tod huffed. "This coming from the guy who owns more hair products than his girlfriend.
Why do you hang out with him?" "We're teammates. " Ahhh. And if blood was thicker than water, then football, evidently, would congeal in one's veins.
My pulse whooshed in my ears so fast I could barely hear myself speak. “I only have—” “Two days. ” He squeezed my hand. “So what? You can spend them feeling sorry for yourself, or you can let me help make them the best two days of your life, and my afterlife. So what’s it gonna be?” I stared into his eyes, like I’d never seen him before. And I hadn’t—not like this. But he’d obviously seen me, better than anyone else ever had. “Well?” Tod watched me, his hand still warm in mine. In answer, I leaned forward and kissed him again.
Unfortunately, unless the job description included a translation of the prologue of The Canterbury Tales, I was dreadfully under-qualified.
The school sent you flowers. I’m sure that totally makes up for the fact that they hired the psychotic, soul-stealing pedophile who murdered you in your own home.
If you want to call yourself my friend, you should know that position comes with boundaries. " Sabine frowned. "I'm no good with boundaries. " "Yes, and the ocean is damp. Can we be done with the understatements now?
I got swirling eyes and the capacity to shatter windows with my bare voice. Tod got teleportation and invisibility. The supernatural world is so far from fair.
I'd just stepped out of the kiddie pool and into the deep end, with no floaties. And drowning was not an option.
Kaylee do you know why you are here?" "Yeah. Because the doors are locked.
His safety was more important than anything to me. Even if he would never know enough to understand that.
So, you reap souls and crush hopes? Is that part of the job, or just a service you offer for free?
I held her tighter, just because I could. Because she was fierce, and beautiful, and mind.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths, trying not to smell Jace in front of me, not to taste him on my lips. But it was useless. In that moment, Jace was everywhere. He was in my mind, he was in my heart, and he was in my memory. He smelled good. He tasted good. And the blissful aftershock still throbbing in my most sensitive places felt wonderful, when everything else in my life was an obstacle to be overcome.
Together, we'd take crazy to a whole new level. ~Tod
"I'm not going to lose you, Kaylee. No matter what I have to do, or whom I have to fight. Even if that means quashing your vexing tendencies toward self-sacrifice. " "Did you just say 'vexing'?" Nash asked. Tod scowled. "Nothing else seemed to fit. I stand by my word choice. "
So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?
The moment the door opened I knew an ass-kicking was inevitable. Whether I'd be giving it or receiving it was still a bit of a mystery.
A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hell no. Intelligence is overrated anyway.
Tod laughed. He was always able to find the humour in even the creepiest situations. I'd thought that it was an undead thing, until I became a member of the undead. Then I realized it was a Tod-thing.