Elena. Hush, let me talk to the crazy lady.

Oh my God! I'm crushing an angel. Let me up!

Option 1: Attempt to back out. Probable result: Death after painful torture. Option 2: Do the job and hope. Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good)

Can I bite you here, too?

Taking a sip of the hot chocolate he'd made her, she met his gaze, those eerie eyes of endless black impenetrable, unreadable. "Max?" "Yes?" "Will you remember me?" His heart broke into a thousand pieces. "Always.

My mother," he said, "has invited us to a ball." Elena pulled a blade from one of the butter-soft forearm sheaths that had been a gift from Raphael. "Excuse me while I stab myself in the eyes-and disembowel myself while I'm at it.

He wanted to give me a blade? What's wrong with that?” “Blades,” he whispered, “and sheaths go together. And your sheath will only ever hold my blade.