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

When you want something so bad it hurts,” he said quietly, “and you bury it, bury it so deep that you convince yourself it no longer matters . . . and someone tells you you can have it, it's terrifying. What if you take the chance and you're wrong? What if you let yourself feel the loss and it's this huge pain and you can't put it back in the box?

Eternity would mean nothing without you. For no power on this earth would I trade my Elena.

I love you,” she whispered. He stroked his hand down her back. “Yep, you do.” “You’re supposed to say it back,” she said, pretending to be offended because the silliness kept the fear/hope at bay. “Why?” He scowled down at her. “You know you’re my heartbeat.

Only ignorance excuses stupidity

I want no blood from you--not until we're both sweaty and naked and you're screaming my name.

To fight is to face death once more, perhaps the total annihilation of their kind. But to run... is that not also a kind of annihilation?