Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, he thought. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistable urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. Yippee.

After all, tragedy didn't discriminate, so everyone was subject to the same whims of fate.

Perfect date material, she thought. A vampire with the social equivalent of road rage. ---Beth about Wrath

His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day.

You know you were with the lessers, true?" Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. "And here I thought I'd been to Elizabeth Arden.

You are a manipulator. I like to think of myself more as an outcome engineer.

This place is just too frickin precious," the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. "Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.