Carla

“There aren't any syringes." Red Sox came over and held a sterile pack out. When she tried to take it from him, he kept a grip on the thing. "I know you'll use this wisely."
"Wisely?" She snapped the syringe out of his hand. "No, I'm going to poke him in the eye with it. Because that's what they trained me to do in medical school.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Unbound

“Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs.

She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought.

On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed.

Cool.”
― J.R. Ward, Dark Lover

“That's you," Wrath said. You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath."

"But you'll always be Butch to us," Rhage cut in. "As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there's an ASS in there, it'll be accurate."

"How about bASStard?" Z suggested.

"Nice. I feel that.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Revealed

“Butch repositioned the Sox cap, and as his wrist passed by his nose, he got another whiff of himself. "Ah, V. . . listen, there is something a little weird going down on me."

"What?"

"I smell like men's cologne."

"Good for you. Females dig that kind of thing."

"Vishous, I smell like Obsession for Men, only I'm not WEARING any, you feel me?"

There was silence on the line. Then, "Humans don't bond."

"Oh, really. You want to tell that to my central nervous system and my sweat glands? They'd appreciate the news flash, I'm sure.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Revealed