Nice costume," he said. "Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours." Amusement curled his mouth. "If you don't like it, I can take it off.

The subject’s pulse increased on contact,” he said. “Don’t write that.

I turned my face up to his. I could hardly look at him the same way. I was crying without realizing I'd started. "You made a deal with Hank. You saved my life. Why would you do that for me?" "Angel," he murmured, clasping my face between his hands. "I don't think you understand the lengths I would go to if it means keeping you here with me.

Busted. I'm a monster. Jev is my deceptively harmless-and shockingly handsome-alter ego.

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.

A girl could lather up in soap like that.

Patch? Whatever happens, I love you." I wanted to say more, those three words painfully inadequate for the way I felt about him. And at the same time, so simple and accurate, nothing else would do.