You remember our talk about purpose and meaning?" he asked me, the smile disappearing. "Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.

His eyes, I’d long since discovered, could be as eloquent and expressive as his pen. The messages they sent me now hardly seemed decent for a public setting.

But I didn't know about the other story." "What other story?” "About how you and Adrian Ivashkov are—" "No, whatever you heard it’s not true." "But it was really romantic" "Then it’s definitely not true.

I looked him in the eye, "I will always love you." Then plunged the stake into his chest. It wasn't as precise a blow as I would have liked, not with the skilled way he was dodging. I struggled to get the stake in deep enough to his heart, unsure if I could do it from this angle. Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one. "That's what I was supposed to say..." he gasped out.

You can't," I murmured, swallowing the tears back with great effort. "You can't keep saving me, can't keep trying to. It's too late." "No," he said. His heart was in his eyes, and it was ripping mine apart. "Not for you. Never.

What have you gotten me into?" I hissed at him. "Me? What have you gotten yourself into? Couldn't I have just picked you up at the police station for underage drinking, like most fathers?

Rose,” he said, forcibly trying to keep a serious tone, “I can think of many words to describe you, sexy and hot being at the top of the list. You know what’s not on the list? Sane.