The car picked up speed, and the sound seemed to lull me.I could relax, I thought as I felt the tingling of circulation in my limbs. I was in Trent’s car, wrapped in a blanket, and held in his arms. He wouldn’t let anything hurt me. He wasn’t singing, though,I mused.Shouldn’t he be singing?

I like the second better, but the first fits with the vampire watching what she can’t have.” I blinked. “What he can’t have,” I amended, flushing.

There is black. There is white. Gray is a cowardly excuse to mix our wants with our needs.

And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, I’d found out long ago that I couldn’t stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable.

the mad have a grace all their own

CINCINNATI MORGUE, AN EQUAL-OPPORTUNITY SERVICE SINCE 1966.

she had given me a piece of what made her life sane.