I'd heard that if you saw a Reaper, you saw what you expected to see, what you thought the agents of Death would look like. Personally, I wanted to see little, fuzzy pink bunnies, but apparently my subconscious visualized tall, scary, and skeletal. My subconscious and I needed to have a long talk.

You wearing a thigh sheath?”“Now what would be the sense of wearing just one? I have two thighs.

I just had his hand in a vise,” I protested indignantly. “It wasn’t like I had a dagger in his ribs. ‘Hand in a vise’ is simple assault or, in my case, self-defense. ‘Dagger in the ribs’ is attempted murder. My family did teach me the difference.

Mychael said the rock’s not affecting you, and from what I’m seeing I’m inclined to agree.”“I beg to differ.”“Feeling evil?” Justinius asked.“No.”“Having an urge to overthrow governments, kill thousands?”“No and no.”“Take over the world?”“Too much work.

Mychael Eiliesor. Guardian paladin, sacred protector, master spellsinger, fashion consultant.

I decide that we could always indulge ourselves later. First, I had a soul-eating stone of power to poke with a stick.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss must have died a horrible death with a really surprised look on his face.

So the owner of a monster head wants to meet on a path named Nut,” I said. “That’s appropriate.

The second time, I had a freakin’ vampire at my back.” I froze. Oh shit. “No offense, Mr. Moreau,” I quickly added.“None taken, Agent Fraser. During the course of my lengthy life, I have been called many things, but ‘freakin’’ has never been one of them. I’ll consider it a novelty.

Vegard and Riston's job today was to guard and protect me. And considering that I was in a tower room in the Guardians' citadel, it looked like a pretty plum assignment. I mean, how much trouble could a girl get into under heavy guard in a tower room? Notice I didn't ask that question out loud. No need to rub Fate's nose in something when I'd been tempting her enough lately.Phaelan had generously his guard services as well, just in case something happened to me that my Guardian bodyguards couldn't handle. Phaelan's guard-on-duty stance resembled his pirate-on-shore-leave stane of leaning back in a chair with his feet up, but instead of a tavern table, his boots were doing a fine job of holding down the windowsill. I don't know how I'd ever felt safe without him.

Michael was still an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, coated in yum. Only now the enigma was a little less mysterious; I was a few clues closer to solving the riddle - but damn, that man would always be coated in yum.

Dragons didn’t fool around when it came to protecting things that they acquired—be it gold, gems, or a monster’s body parts.

I wouldn't be comfortable, but at least I'd have marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.