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

...Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.

Terrific. A bisexual dominant vampire with kidnapping expertise.

Qhuinn: "What is wrong with you, that you care so much about me?" Blay: "What is wrong with you, that you can't see why I would?

Qhuinn's eyes shifted away from his buddy--and just happened to measure the distance down to the stone patio below. Hmm . . . doing a swan dive onto all that slate might just get the images of those two out of his head... of course, it would also turn his brain into scrambled eggs, but really, was that such a bad thing?

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.

I'm not hurt. I'm pissed off and sexually frustrated.