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

Charles preferred his deer to taste like meat and his pancakes to look like pancakes. Brother Wolf thought he was too picky. Brother Wolf was probably right.

Heart turned to me, his face thought­ful. “Yes­ter­day morn­ing. Yes, that means that Daphne hadn’t been home for two days be­fore that.” He smiled at me. “You were sup­posed to be the Al­pha’s eye can­dy.” Adam laughed. “What?” I asked him. “You don’t think I’d be good eye can­dy?” I looked down at my over­alls and grease-​stained hands. I’d torn an­oth­er nail to the quick. “Hon­ey is eye can­dy,” said Ben apolo­get­ical­ly. “You’re . . . just you.” “Mine,” said Adam, edg­ing be­tween Heart and me. “Mine is what she is.

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

I hope this means you'll quit asking me to kill you. It gives me indigestion.

If it would benefit you, I would kill every wolf here. But there are things that you need to do -- and interfering with that is not protecting, not in my book. The best way for me to protect you is to encourage you to be able to protect yourself.

Paranoia: the gift of the survivor and the burden of the overtired, stressed, and terrified.