Then how about we start with a shower," he said in the kind of deep voice that made her consider the value of cleanliness.

Sometimes the only way to know how far you'd come was to return to where you once had been.

Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs. She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought. On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed. Cool.

No, you've got it all wrong, John." Reading his emotions, she shook her head. "You're not half the male you could be because of what was done to you. You're twice what anyone else is because you survived.

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

It was a universal truth among males that anytime you saw a guy get it in the nuts, you experienced a shot of phantom pain in your own croquet set.

People going in the wrong direction will get like that. Round pegs just don't fit in square holes.