Rocio Salas

“An image of Sydney's face appeared in my mind's eye, calm and lovely.
I believe in you.
My anxiety faded.
I took a deep breath and met the gazes of all those watching me in the room.
Who was I to do this?
I was Adrian Ivashkov.
And I was about to kick some ass.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I won’t lie. Walking into a room and seeing your girlfriend reading a baby-name book can kind of make your heart stop.
“I’m no expert,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “Well—actually, I am. And I’m pretty sure there are certain things we have to do before you need to be reading that.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I’d sat down at her table and said, “Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece.” Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov.

Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. “Let’s get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can’t handle me telling you what’s what, then you’d better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don’t go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I’m here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class.”

I’d scooted my chair closer to the table. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I didn’t care about anything except her and the way touching her drove me wild, even as her calm and steady presence soothed the storms that raged within me.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart