I want you. I want you so badly I can’t stand it. When you left, it felt like the world got darker. Like I couldn’t truly see anything. Couldn’t feel anything.

I still loved Marc desperately and couldn’t imagine life without him. Jace was…something else. Something I could feel but couldn’t articulate. Something I wanted, and hadn’t been able to resist in my grief-weakened state. He was something that would have to wait.

Hang on, Pa, don't reach for yer shotgun just yet," I said, grinning over the protective streak I found funny, when there wasn't actually anything to shelterme from. "We were just circlin' the wagons, not having an orgy." My dad suddenly looked like he might be sick. "Please don't ever say that word again." "Wagons?

Leave the door open," my dad said, the second most common warning in his arsenal. Right behind, "Nash, go home.

I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him.

So, 'reaper' is really just a nice word for 'covert pervert?' Is that what you're saying?

We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.” “You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.