I hope when I'm ninety-five the only things I want are free: love, family, a good home-cooked meal.

Lies are horny little buggers, they breed like rabbits and bound around just as insanely and then you have to try to keep track of them.

Velvet looks horrified. “If you are fool enough to address King R’jan, you will do it thus and in no other manner! ‘My King, Liege, Lord, and Master, your servant begs you grant it leave to speak.’” “Wow. Totally delusionary there.” “Good luck with that,” Ryodan says. “She doesn't beg to speak, or do anything else. You can lock her up, down, and sideways and it’s never going to happen.” I beam at him. I had no idea he thought so highly of me.

If you're trying to force the story to be a straight up romance, it's going to be weird for you.

I can't help but see myself in them. The Seelie are who I was before my sister died. Pink, pretty, frivolous Mac. The Unseelie are who I've become, carved by loss and despair. Black, grungy, driven Mac.

Nuns? They'd take one look at Barrons and decide the devil himself had come knockng. He not only looked dangerous, he emanated something that made even me feel like crossing myself sometimes, and I'm not religious.

He gives me a look that says, “Dude, if I knew that do you think I’d have enlisted your puny help?” I snicker. “Something funny here.” “You. All prickly and pissed ’cause there’s something you don’t know. Got to call on the megaservices of the Mega.” “Ever occur to you I’m using you for reasons your inferior human brain can’t begin to understand.