I turned around slowly, and looked up at him. He stiffened and sucked in a shallow breath. After a moment, he touched my cheek. "Such naked pain," he whispered. I turned my face into his palm and closed my eyes. His fingers threaded into my hair, cupped my head, and brushed the brand. It heated at his touch. His hand tightened at the base of my skull and squeezed, and he raised me slowly to my tiptoes. I opened my eyes and it was my turn to inhale sharply. Not human. Oh, no, not this man. "Never show it to me again." His face was cold, hard, his voice colder.

Once, long ago in her world, a sunny day in spring was her favorite, but now a sunny day in winter delights her more. It is the perfect metaphor for their love. Sunshine on ice. She warms his frost. He cools her fever.

I don't make sonic booms. I want a whip. I like the idea of walking around making sonic booms everywhere.

All those 'bloodys' was a veritable cornucopia of emotion for Barrons.

Sometimes my dreams feel so real it's hard to believe they're just the subconscious's stroll across a whimsical map that has no true north.

There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth?" -Mac

Now you know how I justify my addictions—if I can pay less for it than I would at Wal-Mart, I get to have it.