Mr. Green Sweater looks normal, but his wingman looks hard-core bad boy,” said Vee. “Emits a certain don’t-mess-with-me signal. Tell me he doesn’t look like Dracula’s spawn. Tell me I’m imagining things.

We need a ride. We're stranded." "We still have two legs, leftie and rightie. Mine are in the mood for exercise. They feel like a nice long walk--ARE YOU CRAZY?" she shrieked. I was standing with the tip of the beach umbrella aimed at the driver's-side window. "What?" I said. "We have to get in.

I tended to be more a romantic than a realist, and chose blind faith over cold logic.

You killed my Dad." Any trace of kindness or sympathy vanished from Rixon's eyes. "Well this is awkward.

Religion?" I asked more firmly. Patch dragged a hand thoughtfully along the line of his jaw. "Not religion ... cult." "You belong to a cult?" I realized too late that while I sounded surprised, I shouldn't have. "As it turns out, I'm in need of a healthy female sacrifice. I'd planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you're ready now...

That was a good fight back in the gym,” he said. “But I think you could benefit from a few more boxing lessons.

You’re a guardian angel now.”.... I’m your guardian angel,” he said. “I get my very own guardian angel? What, exactly, is your job description?” “Guard your body.” His smile tipped higher. “I take my job seriously, which means I’m going to need to get acquainted with the subject matter on a personal level.