I get the feeling you'd rather pine over someone you can never possibly be with than try being with someone you can.

No, you don’t need to help me. But if you don’t, there’s nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can’t kill me. Think of it as me leaning against your Heavenly doorbell… forever.

Will you do me the honor of being my wife?

I think the main thing to remember when writing a novel is to stay true to the characters.

Tessa is gone, and every moment she is gone is a knife ripping me apart from the inside. She is gone, and they cannot track her, and I have no idea where to go or what to do next, and the only person I can imagine speaking my agony to is the one person who cannot know.

Drowning yourself won't help, she told herself sternly. Now, drowning Will, on the other hand.

I'm a werewolf, not a golden retriever.