I finally realized the source of your mutual attraction," Saiman said, his voice dry. "You both think violence is foreplay.

It was the kind of place you went when your earthly troubles became too much for you and you were looking for a creative way to commit suicide.

Any messages for me?" Usually I got one or two, but mostly people who wanted my help preferred to talk in person. "Yes. Hold on." She pulled out a handful of pink tickets and recited from memory, without checking the paper. "Seven forty-two a.m., Mr. Gasparian: I curse you. I curse your arms so they wither and die and fall off your body. I curse your eyeballs to explode. I curse your feet to swell until blue. I curse your spine to crack. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you.

Yes I can,” Curran snarled. “Listen: this is me telling you what you will not do.” I raised the cookbook and tapped him on the nose. Bad cat.

Tiny gold sparks flared in his irises. "You're in my rooms in my bathtub naked and you're still mouthing off." Did he expect anything different? "Hey, I didn't kick or punch you in the throat. I consider this progress. And you haven't choked me again, which is some sort of record for you.

What kind of shapeshifter has orange fur anyway?" "Weredingo." Now I'd seen everything. Well, at least he didn't steal my baby.

What would I do without the moral compass of a teenage werewolf.