...five minutes from now, when everything else had dropped away and I realized the full impact of what I’d done, I’d feel my heart breaking.

He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. I wanted to cling to his shirt, bury my face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go.

Nothing makes me happy quite like a boatload of freshly fried fast food, smothered in good old MSG.

I’m not going anywhere near a motel with you.

Hang on, did you just call me Angel?” I asked. “If I did?” “I don’t like it.” He grinned. “It stays. Angel.” He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along one corner of my mouth. I pulled away, too late.

Cheshvan starts tonight," Rixon said, "What are you doing arsing around in a graveyard?" "Thinking." "Thinking?" "A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision.

Patch grinned down at me. “I’m hard to resist.