Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”“No."“Well, how about that I needed to see you.”“Why? Did one of my neighbors call and say my cat’s been stalking their bunny?”One corner of his mouth went up. “You know, that sounds like a euphemism. A kind of salacious one”“Ooh, big words for Mr. Average Joe street cop,” she said, knowing she sounded bitchy but unable to help it. “Can you take out the angry eyes, Mrs. Potato Head, and just let me talk to you?

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling sick. Olivia had experienced strangulation before. Having to look directly into the face of the person who was killing you made the experience beyond awful. But there were worse things than that. Staring into the void of unresolved memory, living an eternal mystery, waking up night after night seeing the face of someone you desperately wanted to save but having not the slightest clue how to do it—all that was worse. If going through with this experience gave her the answers she needed, if it gave her peace, it would be well worth one-hundred-and-thirty seconds of fear and pain.

A sex worker deserves a billion times more respect, than the mystical fraudsters of the society, such as astrologers, psychics and tarot card readers.

16. Christians should never consult astrologers, psychics, or those who practice witchcraft (see Isaiah 47:13-14). They are usually phonies who only pretend to have extrasensory powers. But in some cases, they are working in cooperation with Satan. Rather than tamper with this evil world, the one true God wants us to bring our needs, problems, and decisions to Him. He has promised to lead us into all truth (see John 8:32).

Whose are all these ghosts?” she said, smiling at a flustered-looking Geraldine. “Oh,” said Geraldine, “I think they might be mine...?

...she knew, with all her heart that running away from the country’s top relationship coach was as good as saying, 'there’s no hope for me, ever'!

I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his. “Wanting something doesn’t guarantee you will get it.”“A man can still hope.”“I’ve never had much room for hope.

It has nothing to do with you—”“It has everything to do with me that you want to get yourself fucking killed.” He snarled, the words tight and full of iron. “Losing you is not an option.

I’ve been as good as dead since the day I was born. I accepted that a very long time ago.

You were supposed to be a Werewolf, Brendan, so that you would be in her world. To be the strength she needs when she no longer has strength of her own, to show her the reasons to survive and to live.

You of all people know how hard it is to trust. Especially when the world we live in is not the one humans are aware of. Trust must be earned, and the way to earn it is to prove you deserve it.

Italy is another Pack’s territory. You’re a guest; make sure that you are a polite one.” God, I hope he told Heather that.

It is vital that you do not change the path before you. I have told you, many times, that certain events must happen in a person’s life for a reason, always for a reason. The events that will unfold before you...they must happen, Heather. They have to.

You have to stop doing, you know, human stuff,” I called. “It is seriously creepy coming from a wolf.

We’ll be all right. Somehow, we will. Trust it is the truth.

Let the past go, Bren, or it will ruin your future.

Standing at the window, reading the menu of Obediah's services, the Minotaur wishes he could believe in what she has to offer: a promise woven into deep lines of his palm, some turn of fate told by a card. But faith is a nebulous thing and charlatans a dime a dozen; it's always been that way. The Minotaur both envies and pities the devout.