You’ll hate me,” she said, her arms locked around him because she couldn’t not hold him when he was close. “One day, you’ll hate me.” It was the thing she most feared. Hand fisting in her hair, he pressed his forehead to her own, his eyes night-glow in the dark. “I will love you until the day they put me in the earth.

I can smell blood, Elena,” Dmitri drawled, walking back into the room. “Are you trying to flirt?

You try to leave and I will hunt you down." Relief poured through her, but she smacked at his thigh with the back of her brush. "Like a rabid dog? Very romantic.

Am I too early?" "No. He's waiting for you." The smile faded, to be replaced by a slightly disappointed expression. "I thought you'd be . . . scarier.

Once, he hadn't been able to touch her without causing himself pain. Now, it only hurt when he didn't touch her.

I tell you I'm dangerous and you want to put knives near me?" - Vaughn to Faith

While Dmitri, as the leader of Raphael’s Seven, could not accept such a weakness, the mortal he’d once been, the one who had loved a woman with a wide mouth and eyes of slanted brown . . . that man understood what it was to love so deeply it was a kind of beautiful madness.