You'd tell the world what your best friend wore to sleep if you thought it made a good enough story.

And that's when Anna realized that what the wolf had been asking Bran for was death. Impulsively, Anna stepped away from Charles. She put a knee on the bench she'd been sitting on and reached over the back to close her hand on Asil's wrist, which was lying across the back of the pew. He hissed in shock but didn't pull away. As she held him the scent of wilderness, of sickness, faded. He stared at her, the whites of his eyes showing brightly while his irises narrowed to small bands around his black pupil. "Omega," he whispered, his breath coming harshly.

He sighed. " I don't think an apology will do, Mercy. Because an apology implies that you wouldn't do it again. And, under the circumstances, you wouldn't do anything differently, would you?" "No.

Mine, ... Mine is what she is.

Zealots are like one track-pony. Don't get in their way without expecting to get hurt.

I thought you were dead. Stupid. As if I'd die without taking you with me.

"Can't sleep with a dead man in my closet." "You killed someone?" asked Ben with interest.