I think I’ll just go take a shower,” I said. It wasn’t until Samuel stiffened that I remembered I’d just come out of the shower. So much for playing normal.

For Adam, screwed-up bonding thing or not, I’d wait forever. “Really?” he asked in a tone I’d never heard from him before. Softer. Vulnerable. Adam didn’t do vulnerable. “Really what?” I asked. “Despite the way our bond scares you, despite the way someone in the pack played you, you’d still have me?” He'd been listening to my thoughts. This time it didn't bother me. “Adam,” I told him, “I’d walk barefoot over hot coals for you.

But you can't marry someone to fix him, even if you love them.

My will broke at the sound of his voice, and my head turned with as much inevitability as a sunflower turning its face to the sun.

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

When is the last time you were a tourist?” she asked archly. He just looked at her. Charles, she had to agree, was not tourist material. “Right,” Anna told him. “Buck up. You might even enjoy it.” “You might as well have ‘hapless victim’ tattooed across your forehead,” he muttered.

Tis the gift to be gentle, ’tis the gift to be fair, ’Tis the gift to wake and breathe the morning air, To walk every day in the path that we choose, Is the gift that we pray we will never never lose.