Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die. ~J.R. Ward

For him , life was a coin that had disaster on one side and waiting for disaster on the other

Humans are threatened by anything different, and their response is to fight. They're bullies, picking on the weak, cowering from the strong.

That scent she threw off was not anything by Chanel. Unless they’d recently added a Tragedy line.

We don’t have to talk about Zsadist. That’s okay. He’s the most interesting part of me.

The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain. “Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?

I have peanut M&M's up there." "Not my style" "Raisinets." "Feh." "Sam Adams." Thor narrowed his eyes. "Cold?" "Downright icy." Thor crossed his arms over his chest and told him self he was not pouting like a five-year-old. "I want Milk Duds.