An evil spark flared in his eyes. "Trade: raccoon for some answers.

you might want to decide fast. We live in a dangerous world. If you see a chance to be happy, you have to fight for it, so later you have no regrets.

Too much excitement, Your Majesty?” I asked. “He was standing too close.” “He was asking about Andrea.” “Too close. I didn’t like it.” Curran wrapped his arm around my shoulders and started walking, steering me away from the group. His Possessive Majesty in all of his glory.

I can make some calls. There is a guy. Dagfinn Heyerdahl. He used to be with Norse Heritage Foundation." Norse Heritage Foundation wasn't so much about heritage as it was about viking, in the most cliché sense of the world. They drank huge quantities of beer, they brawled, and they wore horned helmets despite all historical evidence to the contrary. "Used to be?" Curran asked. "They kicked him out for being drunk and violent." Curran blinked. "The Norse Heritage?" "Mhm." "Don't you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?" he asked. "Just how disorderly did he get?

The Order of Merciful Aid provided merciful aid, usually on the edge of a blade or the burn of a bullet.

The kid was so handsome, he almost looked unreal.

He gave an impression of coiled power, a contained violence that if released, would explode with terrifying intensity.