I was dead until you found me, though I breathed. I was sightless, though I could see. And then you came...and I was awakened.

Even the powerful needed protection sometimes.

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

Conflict is the microscope of a book. When it's trained on a character, you see what's underneath the narratives of physical description. You see whether someone is strong or weak, principled or apathetic, heroic or villainous." (J.R. on writing the BDB series)

Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. “Forgiven, forgotten.” “Feel free to hammer me anytime.” “Believe me, I do.

In the silence, she felt the past and the present shift and mix, but that was a mirage. There was no way to comfort the lost boy he'd been back then. But she had the grown male. She had him right in her arms, and for a brief moment of whimsy, she imagined that she was never, ever going to let him go.

Qhuinn took a step forward, with the intention of stepping in, in the event the Brother locked hands on the SOB’s skinny neck: Someone should probably catch the head before it bounced all over their hosts’ rugs. And the deadweight of the body. Seemed only hospitable.