I was a university professor, I could talk on and on and on. Give me a podium and you have to drag me off with a hook.

Whitney smacked Coop's snout while simultaneously pressing herself deeper into the couch. Coop fixed her with an unblinking ice-blue stare, gray-brown fur bristling along his spine. "Tory!" Whitney squealed. "He's going to attack!" "Maybe." I walked into the kitchen and snagged a Diet Coke from the fridge. "Try to protect your throat.

People love to hate the gravedigger.

I see you, Ben. I always have. You're in my pack." He pulled away. "What if being packmates isn't enough for me?

You'd be naive if you think you are going to retain any control once you option a character to TV.

I hated myself for needing him at such times, for craving his strength whenever I felt upset.

Fine. Everybody wears seatbelts. No radio. No distractions.” Ben shot Hi a stern look. “No running commentary.” “Your loss,” Hi said. “To the pimp ride!