Olga D.

“I've heard a lot about you, Rose. Don't worry. It was all good."
"No, it wasn't.”
― Richelle Mead, Frostbite

“You know what would help?" I asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"If you turned off this crap music and put on something that came out after the Berlin Wall went down."

Dimitri laughted. "Your worst class is history, yet somehow, you know everything about Eastern Europe."

"Hey, gotta have material for my jokes, Comrade." Still smiling, he turned the radio dail. To a country station.

"Hey! This isn't what I had in mind," I exclaimed. I could tell he was on the verge of laughing again.

"Pick. It's one or the other."

I sighed. "Go back to the 1980s stuff."

He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.”
― Richelle Mead, Frostbite

“Rose? Is that you?" I peered behind him. Lissa. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" She asked
"Ladies, ladies" he said teasingly. "No need to fight over me."
I glared. "We're not.”
― Richelle Mead, Frostbite

“There's nothing worse than waiting and not knowing what'll happen to you. Your own imagination can be crueler than any captor.”
― Richelle Mead, Frostbite