Death and blood didn’t turn on a vampire. Fear and the chance to take blood did. There was a difference.

Trent, do you have any weapons? Like a gun?” He looked at me in disgust. “You’re here to protect me,” he said as he closed the distance between us and stood beside me. “You didn’t bring a weapon?” “Yeah, I brought a weapon,” I snapped as I brought my splat gun out and aimed it at the ceiling where the sounds were coming from. “I just thought that since you’re a freaking murderer you might have a gun, too (...)

Don’t stereotype, Jenks. HAPA is an equal-opportunity hate group,” I said.

As the joke goes, you don’t have to be faster than the wolf chasing you, just faster than everyone else running away.

Good God,” I whispered, sitting on the van’s cot and looking at my legs, horrified. They were hairy—not wolf hairy, but an I-couldn’t-find-my-razor-the-last-six-months hairy. Utterly grossed out, I took a peek at my armpit, jerking away. Oh, that’s just…nasty.

I turned back to the mirror, seeing that there were no lines on it. It was empty. "What happened to my mirror?" I said, bewildered. Then realizing that I was looking at the back of the dumb thing, I swore and turned it over.

Did something happen to the sanctity of your church again?" My eye twitched. "Newt broke it so she could look in my closet." Again.