The thread of will-they-or-won't-they was the real driver of every word and glance and shift of body. So...this was a date, Blay thought. A subtextual negotiation slipcovered in talk of books read and music enjoyed.

The one good thing about the Angels was they always colored within the lines. They had to. Suckers.

Indeed, Xcor stayed away for the wrong reason, the bad reason, an unacceptable reason—in spite of all his training, he found himself choosing Throe’s life over ambition: His anger had taken him in one direction, but his regret had led him in another. And the latter one was what won out.

Souls were the same. They, too, had useless baggage that impeded their proper performance, these annoying, holier-than-thou bits dangling like an appendix waiting for infection. Faith and hope and love...prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude...all this useless clutter just packed too much damn morality into the heart, getting in the way of the soul's innate desire for malignancy.

No matter what you wear... to me, you will always have diamonds on the soles of your shoes.

You're looking at that chick like you want to roll her up in a taco and put your hot sauce all over her.

I have no words,” he said hoarsely. “And I know exactly what you’re telling me.” Lover Unleashed