...his lips were pure temptation, soft, bitable, sensual in a way only a man's mouth could be.

Dmitri clearly gives good . . . blood.

Raphael, tell him you won’t do anything to him if I get ‘damaged.’ ” “That would be a lie, Elena. I would tear out his throat.

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.

You do realize this makes your wings even more unique." "Are you saying you shot me as a cosmetic procedure?

Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

Do you know where Jason is?” she asked Dmitri when they exited the morgue. Dmitri pressed the car remote to unlock the flame red Ferrari parked in the employees-only lot. “Tired of your Bluebell already?” A tendril of champagne circled around her senses, cut with something far harder. Never had she felt that harsh edge in Dmitri’s scent. She pitied the woman he took to his bed today. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m building a harem.