Hey." She said, looking up from an open book propped up on one knee. She brushed a few strands of pale hair out of her face. Her boyfriend, Christian, lay on the floor near her, his head propped up on her other knee. He greeted me by way of a nod. Concidering the antagonism the sometimes flared up between us, that was almost on par with him giving me a bear hug.

I think it’s more like a shirt that says, ‘I’m going to have to end this date early so I can go prepare my Power Point presentation

The Alchemists’ beliefs are my beliefs,” I say quickly. She arched an eyebrow. “Are they? I would hope your beliefs would be your beliefs.” I’d never thought about it that way before, but I suddenly hoped desperately that her words were true.

Okay. Now you have to move your arms and legs.” “I know how to make a snow angel.” “Then do it! Otherwise, you’re more like a chalk outline at a police crime scene.

It was something of a mystery how a couple of teenage girls had managed to escape detection for two years, especially when one of them was a privileged Moroi princess and the other a delinquent dhampir with a disciplinary file so long that it broke school records.

I'm always at least ten minutes early.

His fingers never ceased to amaze me. They could break a man's neck, bandage a wound, and slide sensually across bare skin.