He exhaled loudly and raked a hand through the sable brown hair he always kept stylishly messy. "Look, Rose. You donโt have to keep up with the hard-to-get thing. Youโve already got me.
Richelle MeadIโm a succubus.โ He shook his head. โNo, you arenโt.โ โYes, I am.โ โYou arenโt.โ I was a bit surprised to be having this conversation. โI am too.โ โNo. Succubi are flame-eyed and bat-winged. Everyone knows that. They donโt wear jeans and sweaters.
Richelle MeadWe try to do what's right, or rather what other say is right. But sometimes, when that goes against who we are...you have to choose.
Richelle MeadHe'd written me up a proposal of why dating him was a sound decision. It had included things like "I'll give up cigarettes unless I really, really need one" and "I'll unleash romantic surprises every week, such as: an impromptu picnic, roses, or a trip to Parisโbut not actually any of those things because now they're not surprises.
Richelle Mead