Myrnin came in from the back room, carrying a load of books, which he dropped with a loud bang on the floor to glare at the two of them. "Excuse me," he said, "but when did my lab become appropriate for snogging?" "What's snogging?" Shane asked. "Ridiculous displays of inappropriate affection in front of me. Roughly translated. And what are you doing here?

There were so many layers of reality to the world. Nothing stopped for death; nothing stopped for grief or horror or tragedy.

Michael patted him on the shoulder. “I like this plan,” he said. “You and Eve, picking up cake and flowers, and you can’t even say a word. Should be tons of fun.” Shane almost choked, and gave Michael a sideways glare. Michael sent him a hundred-watt smile in return—no fangs, which was probably for the best.

I just—we were talking, and we fell asleep. I swear, we didn’t, um—’’ ‘‘Yeah, you’d better not have ummed.

Shane talking to Claire - "Hang on - Slow down. I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right? You don't have to put out to keep me here. Well, as long as you eventually..." "Shut up" Claire said.

That's very rude," Myrnin said. "I haven't brought my fangs our for some time. Not in mixed company, anyway.

Claire said. “I might be able to get him to stop.” “Who, crazy dude? Maybe. Or he might pull your head off,” Shane said. “I kind of worry.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?” “A little bit.” “That’s …nice.” He studied her, and returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Kind of is, actually.