Because he sounded so lost-the Eric I knew had never been one to do anything other than assume others should serve him-I patted around under the covers for his hand. When I found it, I slid my own over it. His palm was turned up to meet my palm, and his fingers clasped mine. And though I would not have thought it possible to go to sleep holding hands with a vampire, that's exactly what I did.

I did what I have been told to do by my queen. In so doing, I fell into a trap I couldn't escape. I still can't." "The trap of LUUUUVVVV, I thought sarcastically. But he was too serious, too calm, to mock.

Eric was holding my hands, and I was digging my nails into him like we were doing something else. He won't mind, I though, as I realized I'd drawn blood. And sure enough, he didn't. "Let go," he advised me, and I loosened my grip on his hands. "No, not of me," he said smiling. "You can hold on to me as long as you want.

Here’s to books, the cheapest vacation you can buy.

I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it.

I thought about making biscuits, but there seemed to be more than enough calories on board.

Eric moved the broom experimentally and made an attempt to sweep the glass into the pan while it lay in the middle of the floor. Of course, the pan slid away. Eric scowled. I'd finally found something Eric did poorly.