Chemistry was such a strange thing. I’d be willing to bet even Micah couldn’t tell me why hundreds of men could leave me cold, while this one could string me along forever with only a smile.

But many details were considered too small and mundane for the Centurions’ purposes. They tapped the mud too briefly for things like new-fangled coffee-makers to matter. Instant coffee that tasted like a wet dream was apparently one of them.

She needed facts. Facts were bricks. Maybe she could build herself a wall with them, too, one tall and wide and strong enough to keep her alive when he was gone.

I quickly found myself in the center of the room, trussed up to a sturdy, high-backed chair, which Joaquin happily assured me was an original Louis the Fourteenth. Oh goody. I’d hate to die bound to something from IKEA.

Next time,” I said wryly, swinging open the door, “just give me a knife and ask for a vein.

The kiss was like swollen storm clouds ready to erupt, and when he moaned into my mouth, it was dewy and thunderous and zinging with ozone.

I love the cancer spoon!

There’s something about seeing an adult you knew in childhood that makes them marginally vulnerable to you, and vice versa. There’s also something comforting in thinking that if they made it this far, relatively unscathed, then maybe you didn’t turn out half bad either.

Just because someone tried to make you into a victim didn’t mean that’s what you had to be.

Hiding behind the mask of a quotation, using someone else’s words to bolster our own softly blooming emotions.