He reclined on a delightfully cushioned lounge in the sprawling ranch Paris had rented. In Dallas, Texas, of all places. Promiscuity had decked himself out, too, wearing a Stetson (weird), no shirt (understandable), unfastened jeans (smart) and cowboy boots (weird again). Dude looked ready to rustle cattle or something.
Gena ShowalterWell I've been calling myself Scarlet Pattinson for several weeks. Have you seen Robert Pattinson? Hottest. Man. Ever. And no, I don't care if that makes me a couger. He sings with the voice of an angel. Gods, I love when a man sings to me. You never did because your voice is terrrible." She shuddered in distaste. "I swear, its like a demon running its claws over brimsone.
Gena ShowalterLegion hissed like a startled cat, the noise scraping at Reyesโs skin. โMe no boy. You think me a boy?โ Everyone stopped, stared. Even Aeron. Reyes was the first to find his voice. โYouโre aโฆgirl?โ A nod. โMe pretty.โ โYes, you are.โ Reyes exchanged a glance with Lucien. โBeautiful.
Gena ShowalterWhen is your birthday?โ (โฆ) Wide silver-gold eyes swung to him. โYou donโt know?โ โNo.โ Pouting, she twirled a strand of her hair. โHow can you not know?โ โDo you know mine?โ he asked. โOf course I do. Itโs the day you met me.
Gena ShowalterHate. Huh. He'd never hated himself. If anything, he'd always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn't denied it, either, and next time he'd slept with her, he'd made sure to scream, "Strider" at the pivotal moment." --Strider, keeper of the demon of Defeat--
Gena Showalter