Who are you?" because even now, she couldn't let her questions go. "What are you?" That face that wasn't a face smiled. It was the most terrible thing she'd ever see, ever. "Magnus" he said. "I'm the end.

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

Saint Claire, the patron saint of the kick-me sign.

Run first,' Shane said. 'Mourn later.' It was the perfect motto for Morganville.

The vamp in McMann’s stared at me. I guess he didn’t like the Goth look. Most of them don’t; somehow they think I’m making fun of them. Which I totally am.

It's been the toughest week of my life, not touching you. Not talking to you. Waiting to see what you were going to do." He kissed her again, a warm, damp touch of lips, exquisitely controlled. "But it doesn't matter whether you stay or go. I'll still need you. So if you want to go off to Boston, Ill wait. Right here, whenever you need me.

I stopped in the full force of a patch of sunlight in the lobby window and let my skin soak up the energy. I hadn’t realized I needed it until it reached inside and stilled me in a way that only David’s touch had been able to achieve. “Why does that feel so good?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because we’ve been shut in a room for days.” “Like calls to like,” he said. “You’re made of fire now.” “So I’m going to feel like this every time I pass an open flame? Great. Firegasm.