There are big bad wolves all over the world who tremble at the sound of his name, yet a little puny coyote girl peanut-buttered the seat of Bran Cornick’s car because he told her that she should wear a dress to perform for the pack.

She understood his passion because she felt the same way: as if nothing was more important than the touch of her skin to his, as if she'd die if he left her.

If she kept wondering about how much of her life Bran engineered, she’d end up on a funny farm knitting caps for ducks.

It was unsettling to be in love with someone who looked like the face in her nightmares.

The warmth of his body shouldn’t have felt good. He was angry and every muscle was tense. It was like being leaned on by a very heavy, warm brick. A sexy brick.

Dont let the bastards grind you down?" Bran looked at me incredulously.

Trouble seems to follow me around, waiting to club me with a tire iron.