Sassafrack

“I launched into a graceful ninja-like front roll, then stood my ground to face the monstrous heathen, fearless in my determination to vanquish the deadly foe.


Nah, just kidding. I bolted, discretion being the better part of not getting dead.”
― A and E Kirk, Demons at Deadnight

“What the fuck was up with my blood?! Was it Nutella flavored?”
― Jaymin Eve, Ash

“Where the hell did the Pack find you two? At a beach volleyball tournament? Great tan. Love those curls.” LeBlanc shook his head. “He’s not even as big as I am. He’s what, six foot nothing? Two hundred pounds in steel-toed boots? Christ. I’m expecting some ugly bruiser bigger than Cain and what do I find? The next Baywatch star. Looks like his IQ would be low enough. Can he chew gum and tie his shoes at the same time?”
Clay stopped playing with his chair and turned to face the mirror. He got up, crossed the room, and stood in front of me. I was leaning forward, one hand pressed against the glass. Clay touched his fingertips to mine and smiled. LeBlanc jumped back.
“Fuck,” he said. “I thought that was one-way glass.”
“It is.”
Clay turned his head toward LeBlanc and mouthed three words. Then the door to his room opened and one of the officers called him out. Clay grinned at me, then sauntered out with the officer. As he left, a surge of renewed confidence ran through me.
“What did he say?” LeBlanc asked.
“Wait for me.”
“What?”
“It’s a challenge,” Marsten murmured from across the room. He didn’t look up from his magazine. “He’s inviting you to stick around and get to know him better.”
“Are you going to?” LeBlanc asked.
Marsten’s lips curved in a smile. “He didn’t invite me.”
LeBlanc snorted. “For a bunch of killer monsters, the whole lot of you are nothing but hot air. All your rules and challenges and false bravado.” He waved a hand at me. “Like you. Standing there so nonchalantly, pretending you aren’t the least bit concerned about having the two of us in the room.”
“I’m not.”
“You should be. Do you know how fast I could kill you? You’re standing two feet away from me. If I had a gun or knife in my pocket, you’d be dead before you had time to scream.”
“Really? Huh.”
LeBlanc’s cheek twitched. “You don’t believe me, do you? How do you know I’m not packing a gun? There’s no metal detector at the door. I could pull one out now, kill you, and escape in thirty seconds.”
“Then do it. I know, you don’t like our little games, but humor me. If you have a gun or a knife, pull it out. If not, pretend to. Prove you could do it."
“I don’t need to prove anything. Certainly not to a smart-mouthed—”
He whipped his hand up in mid-sentence. I grabbed it and snapped his wrist. The sound cracked through the room. The receptionist glanced over, but LeBlanc had his back to her. I smiled at her and she turned away.
“You—fucking—bitch,” LeBlanc gasped, cradling his arm. “You broke my wrist.”
“So I win.”
His face purpled. “You smug—”
“Nobody likes a sore loser,” I said. “Grit your teeth and bear it. There’s no crying in werewolf games. Didn’t Daniel teach you that?”
― Kelley Armstrong, Bitten

“I might be a tad on the lazy side when it came to researching—it was always the job I hated the most when I was stuck in the call center—but when things interested me I was all over them. I was like a ninja private investigator with a degree in Google.”
― Jaymin Eve, Anarchy