Rachel Vincent is an American author best known for her Shifters series, a present-day urban fantasy series about a female werecat.
So. . . will you stay with me until it's over? Please?" "Kaylee, I would do anything for the girl who granted my dying wish.
And I don't think I want to meet this super-reaper. " Nash stuffed his hands in his front pockets. "The garden variety's weird enough.
I wanted a do over. A time machine. That magic wand. But real life didn't have any easy outs, and very few happily-ever-afters. The real world was more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with most of the choices ripped out before you even opened the cover.
We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog. ” “You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida. ” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.
Sabine gestured to him with the half-eaten crust. "I like him. Not sure why he's wasting his time with the pole dancer, though. " Tod laughed out loud and I groaned. "Sophie takes ballet and jazz. She's not a pole dancer. " "There's more money in pole dancing," Sabine insisted.
I should have mixed something stronger than Coke floats.
Come near me and I'll rip your wings off and beat you with them.
And I met Madeline's necromancer. His name's Luca. " "A death detector?" Tod made a face. "That's creepy. " "It gets weirder. He's dating Sophie. " "On purpose?
Radley rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at my father. Alpha of the south-central territory and head of the Territorial Council. Sure, I did that all the time but I'd also peed on his lap when I was two. No one else got away with such disrespect toward an Alpha, which meant Radley either didn't know who my father was, or didn't care
My pulse whooshed in my ears so fast I could barely hear myself speak. “I only have—” “Two days. ” He squeezed my hand. “So what? You can spend them feeling sorry for yourself, or you can let me help make them the best two days of your life, and my afterlife. So what’s it gonna be?” I stared into his eyes, like I’d never seen him before. And I hadn’t—not like this. But he’d obviously seen me, better than anyone else ever had. “Well?” Tod watched me, his hand still warm in mine. In answer, I leaned forward and kissed him again.
There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.
I’d learned that my mother was a badass in disguise. She was Van Helsing in an apron and heels, and—at least for the time being—I couldn’t think of a single thing cooler than that.
I couldn't see who swam in the darkness, who wore shadows like a second skin.
Great. I'm psychotic and sparkly.
Ask for the impossible, then settle instead for what you really wanted in the first place.
I was fine with that. The very idea of Death knowing my name made my skin crawl. Even if this particular Death was only one of many, and almost too pretty to look at.
But I had no plans to end my own life, and accidents couldn't be predicted. Neither could murder, unless my aunt and uncle were planning to take me out themselves.
Change your mind about playing doctor?" "No, but I hear candy-striper uniforms are pretty cute.
He sank into that kiss, and fed from me like a starving man holding off famine. I drank from his soul in preparation for the drought to come. And when he finally pulled away, my throat was thick with unspoken words, my heart heavy with every apology I'd ever denied him. But it was too late for promises. The time had come for goodbye.
You two are cracked," Tod snapped. My smile widened. "Says the undead man in love with the soulless pop star.