If you were Catholic, you'd singe the ears of the priest you confessed to.

I didn't understand, either, but love had no sense sometimes. Pondering the why of it was futile.

Ian grinned at her, trailing a pale hand down his chest. “Luscious, aren‟t I, poppet? Go on, stare. I don‟t mind.

So that makes him, like, your fang granddaddy.

All the rest of the world could only kill or devastate my mind and body. Bones alone held the power to demolish my soul.

Would you mind repeating that? I'm afraid I might have lost my wits altogether and just hallucinated what I've longed to hear.

A human hires a hit man to kill his cousin for money, boring. That same hit man botches the job twice, funny. Then �the desperate hit man sends a ghoul after the girl to finish things up, my curiosity's piqued. That same ghoul ends up with his head cut off by a mysterious redhead . . . Ah. Now I'm interested.