And you would have lost. We were surrounded. He threatened your life, and he would have made good on that threat. He had you, and that meant he had me, too.

It makes no difference to me whether I shoot you or you fall to your death.” “It does make a difference,” I said, my voice small but confident. “You and I share the same blood.” I lifted my hand precariously, showing him my birthmark. “I’m your descendant. If I sacrifice my blood, Patch will become human and you’ll die. It’s written in The Book of Enoch.

Killer skirt, deadly legs.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. This isn’t a good idea. This isn’t right.” “There’s all kinds of right,” he murmured. “On the spectrum, we’re still in the safe zone.” ... “Definitely right. Usually right,” Patch continued. “Mostly right. Maybe right.

Why did everyone think I needed a new boyfriend? I didn't need a new boyfriend. I'd had enough of boyfriends to last a lifetime. The only thing a boyfriend was good for was a shattered heart.

...I need a boyfriend. And to get a boyfriend, you have to look good. Doesn’t hurt to smell good too.

men are attracted to beauty because it indicates health and youth—no point mating with a sickly woman who won’t be around to raise the children.