Time was such an odd thing. One moment you could talk to someone, then suddenly, they were gone.

What do you mean?” Leslie’s voice was cool, as if she questioned witches who were flat on their backs being threatened by werewolves every day.

Mine. He was mine, and not even death would take him from me—not if I could help it.

Mmm, he rumbled into my ear. I thought that being married meant that I never go to bed hungry.

Civilization is vastly overrated.

What would a racist call werewolves? Wargs? She kind of liked that one, but suspected that racist bastards didn't read Tolkien.

Some people are boys longer than others.