Wiggles hissed as I crossed the floor toward the throne. She fixed me with her empty hateful eyes and smelled the air, her long tongue shivering through the slit of the lipless mouth. Nice to see you too, sweetheart. Remember my cattle prod?

You snore worse. At least I don't turn into a lion in my sleep." "I only did it once." "Once was weird enough, thank 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.

I can't give you the white picket fence, and if I did, you'd set it on fire.

George turned to her. His blue eyes widened. His lovely face took on a forlorn, deeply troubled expression. He leaned forwar, and, in a theatrical whisper, said, 'My past is tragic. I wouldn't want to burden you with it. It's a pain I must suffer alone. In the rain. In silence.

Shapeshifter parenting motto—if your kid slit somebody's throat, always have a backup plan to make the body disappear.

I came to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat. “Everyone brought a pet. I feel left out.” An enthusiastic howl broke the silence, and Grendel bounded through the doorway. He galloped through the steak house, skidded on the floor, smashed into my chair, and dropped a dead rat on my lap. Awesome.