On a scale from one to ten, the Pack was eleven and everything else a one.

The dark scary servant of all evil was on his way to rescue me. Somehow that thought failed to make me warm and fuzzy.

Runes, runes, runes... Runes. An inverted Algiz rune. The caption next to it said “Chernobog.” The Black God. Right. Of course, it wouldn’t be Chernobog, God of Morning Dew on the Rose Petals, but a woman could always hope.

Ve haf vays of making you gif us your DNA sample.

My tablecloth was missing in action and long, jagged scratches covered the table's surface.The scratches looked suspiciously like letters. I climbed on a chair and looked at it from above. MINE. Oh, that's great. Fantastic. So mature. Perhaps he would pull my pigtails next or stick a tack on my seat.

Two years? That's entirely too long. If you want, we can take care of that. After two years it's pure therapy.

Yep.” Eloquence ’R’ Us. When in trouble, keep it monosyllabic—safer that way.