Roland had sworn off children—they kept trying to kill him.

Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Every time I look at you, I have to put a leash on myself. “No.

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.

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

He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and doubled over in a sneezing fit. My werewolf was allergic to tortoises. Why me?

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

One look at Rebecca and Aunt B would have an instant apoplexy. Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed. “My mother’s approval isn’t necessary.” Aha. “Does she know that?