You should be careful, tossing descriptors like that around in a situation like this. My ‘problem’ isn’t little. Unless you’re drawing some pretty wild comparisons. Please tell me you’re not drawing wild comparisons. Or blood-relative comparisons.

I'd just stepped out of the kiddie pool and into the deep end, with no floaties. And drowning was not an option.

Suggestions?" I asked [...] Marc never took his gaze from the cage. "Get the hose.

Some day soon, reaper, your mouth is going to be the source of your own destruction." "That does seem likely, doesn’t it?" Tod glanced at me and shrugged. "Until then, it remains a source of my own amusement.

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

Wouldn't you be mad if I told you to give up on someone you cared about? Just... hand her over to someone who doesn't even deserve her?" Tod gave me a strange, sad look I couldn't interpret, and the blues in his irises shifted subtly for a moment before he got control of them. "Yeah. I guess I would.

You don't know me. Don't ever think you know me. The only things you know about me are the things you made me do, and that illustrates your character, not mine.