He shouldn't have said that," repeated Adrian, eerily serious. He leaned his face toward mine. "I don't care if he's not the emotional type or the complimentary type or what. No one can look at you in this dress, in all that fire and gold, and start talking about anachronisms. If I were him, I would have said, 'You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth.

How do you say goodbye to someone who isn't exactly gone.

If I was drunk, I wouldn’t be here at all. And really, this is pretty good for four White Russians.” “White what?” I almost sat down but was afraid the chair might dematerialize beneath me. “It’s a drink,” he said. “You’d think I wouldn’t be into something named that—you know, considering my own personal experience with Russians. But they’re surprisingly delicious. The drinks, not real Russians.

That's pretty hot," he said. "Punching me in the eye?" "Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." "I'm sure you are.

Just because things don't work out, it doesn't mean there aren't other people you can't love. Love is too big a thing for you to go without it in life.

All that mattered was that he was Adrian, my Adrian. My match. My partner in crime, in the long battle I’d just signed on for to right the wrongs in the Alchemist and Moroi worlds. Maybe Marcus was right that I’d also signed myself up for disaster, but I didn’t care. In that moment, it seemed that as long as Adrian and I were together, there was no challenge too great for us.

Can't you... I don't. Find a hobby or something?" "Being charming is my hobby.