Since when do we even play games?โ โSince when donโt we play games? Games of life, games of death. Games of love, of hope, of chance, of despair, and of all the myriad wonders in between.โ I rolled my eyes at the newcomer. โHello, Carter.
Richelle MeadIf you're Strigoi," the boy interrupted loudly, "then why don't you have horns? My friend Jeffrey said Strigoi have horns." Dimitri's eyes fell not on the boy but on me for a moment. Again, that spark of knowing shot between us. Then, face smooth and serious, Dimitri turned to the boy and answered, "Strigoi don't have horns. And even if they did, it wouldn't matter because I'm not a Strigoi.
Richelle MeadI nearly dropped the plate I held. "You've asked me out tons of times." "Not really. I've made inapproprite suggestions and frequently pushed for nudity. But I've never asked you out on a real date. And, if memory serves, you did say you'd give me a fair chance once I let you clean out my trust fund." "I didn't clean it out," I scoffed.
Richelle MeadThatโs the last time youโre going to kiss me,โ I warned when it ended. He smiled knowingly, and in his eyes, I could see his own memories of that night. โSo you say.
Richelle MeadโMa'am?โ She glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose as she did. โHmm? Oh, I remember you. Miss Melbourne.โ โMelrose,โ I corrected. โAre you sure? I could've sworn you were named after someplace in Australia.โ โWell, my first name is Sydney,โ I said, not sure if I should be encouraging her.
Richelle Mead