Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.

When I lie this close to you, when I smell your scent, when I hear your voice, I know everything that matters." She looked down the length of him. "You are the male I want to mate with. That's who you are.

In the center was a tiny handprint in red paint.

John Matthew was her well of soul, as the symphaths called it,or her pyrocant, to the vampires. Her essential weakness.

I'll cab it home." "Naw. I'll hang until you're through. Then I'll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I'll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl." "I don't have a sugar bowl." "So it'll be next to the bag." Butch smiled. "You'd have made a great wife, Jose." "That's what mine tells me.

When he nodded, the physician disappeared into thin air, and then a moment later, Payne felt a warm palm encompass hers. It was Vishous's un-gloved hand against her own and the connection between them eased her in ways she couldn't name. Verily, she had lost her mother . . . but if she lived through this, she still had family. On this side.

Indeed, the human mind appeared to suffer from a crippling need to fabricate in the absence of concrete proof.