Curran grinned and my heart made a little jump. I didn’t expect that. “That’s it? That’s your witty comeback?” “Yep.” Eloquence ’R’ Us. When in trouble, keep it monosyllabic—safer that way.

Nobody ever died of being shot by a cookie.

Yep, Atlanta was burning. Again.

He had the prettiest hair she had ever seen on a man: dark brown, almost black, and soft like sable, it fell down to his shoulders. She wondered what he'd do if she threw some mud in it. Probably kill her.

Did he just rip out the engine?" I asked. "Yes", Saiman said. "And now he is demolishing the Maserati with it." Ten seconds later Curran hurled the twisted wreck of black and orange that used to be the Maserati into the wall. The first melodic notes of an old song came from the computer. I glanced at Saiman. He shrugged. "It begged for a soundtrack.

No matter what happens, you will always be Pack. Because you have that loyalty and restraint. Not human, not whatever, but Kate. Unique and different, but not separate.

Oh, I don't know. I might grow on you." She furrowed her pretty eyebrows. "Like a cancer?" "Like a favorite vice.