Everyone had a weakness. It was the law of nature that for each being there was a predator, or a disease, or a vulnerability built into their very core.

Cajun stomp?" "You heard me, swamper. And keep your hands to yourself.

You sure you don’t want me to stay? I’ll make you coffee and ask you about your day.

It's not your job to die for your Pack! It's your job to make the other bastards die for theirs.

Dali blinked at me. "Would you mind making coffee while you're dancing? I smell it on the bottom shelf, either first or second jar on the left." I opened the first jar and looked inside. Coffee. The label said BORAX. "What's up with the labels?" Dali shrugged. "You're in the house of a cat whose job is to spy. He thinks he's clever. I'd be careful with the silverware drawer. There might be a bomb in it.

Are you out of your mind?" It's not polite to lie to your best friend. "It's a possibility.

Aha! So I’m not crazy.” “You are most definitely crazy,” Derek said. “But in a deranged, endearing way.