The answer came to me before I'd even finished asking myself the question. I couldn't be Mason's girlfriend because when I imagined someone holding me and whispering dirty things in my ear, he had a Russian accent.

He anxiously touched his hair. "I think my hair gel's frozen.

Itʹs not just the dress or the hair. Itʹs you. Youʹre beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts me.ʺ

I’d seen him fight before, but it never got old. He was captivating. He never stopped moving. Every action was graceful and lethal. He was a dancer of death.

Rose? Is that you?" I peered behind him. Lissa. "What are you doing here?" "What are you doing here?" She asked "Ladies, ladies" he said teasingly. "No need to fight over me." I glared. "We're not.

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.

‎She didn't understand what it was like to be filled with a love so strong that it made your chest ache—a love you could only feel and not express. Keeping love buried was a lot like keeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up inside until you wanted to scream or kick something.