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

You almost died.” “But you brought me back.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I always knew you were there. Death didn't have a chance against the Wall.

If you don’t need my backsight,” she said to Kaleb, “then why am I here?” He rose to his feet and, placing his hands on the table, leaned toward her until she could’ve reached out and run her fingers along his freshly shaven jaw. “You are here,” he said in a tone that made her heart thump wildly against her ribs, “because you belong to me.

You should sit,” Lucas said, and he wasn't talking to Mercy. Sascha stared at him. “I didn't realize pregnancy of four weeks' duration made me incapable of standing upright.” “It makes me incapable of reason.

Sometimes he hated that voice in his brain, the one that slapped him upside the head anytime he got too stupid. Funny, it happened a lot with Sienna.

Illium grinned, unrepentant. “Want to try again? I’ll move extra slow — you are both so much older, after all.” The last words were a conspiratorial whisper. Galen glanced at Raphael. “How has he survived this long?” “No one can catch him.

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.