Gim

“The female asked him, “Have you ever been bait? Well, besides jailbait. Rowr.”
― Kresley Cole, Sweet Ruin

“I am Nikolai Wroth.”
Why did that name sound so familiar? She squinted up at him. “You are a friend of my aunts?” she said, her voice sounding faint.
“With one. And it seems only one.” A short laugh with no humor. “Myst is my wife.”
“Myst married?” Was that where she’d been? No, no way. “That’s funny.”
“The jest’s on me, I’m afraid.” As they reached the manor, he bellowed, “Annika, call off the goddamn wraiths and let me in.”
Emma stared up at the sky, seeing swirling red swaths of ragged cloth circling the house. Occasionally she spied a gaunt, skeletal face, but it would change to beauty if you met its eyes.
The price for their protection was hair from each of the Valkyrie within. The wraiths wove each lock into a massive braid, and when it grew long enough, they bent all living Valkyrie to their will for a time.
“Myst hasn’t returned yet,” someone called from the house. “But you know that, or else you’d both be naked and fornicating on the front lawn.”
“The night’s young. Give us time.” To himself, he murmured, “And it was a field a mile away.”
“Don’t you have an appointment to go to, vampire?”
Emma stiffened. Vampire? But his eyes weren’t red. “Did you follow me?”
“No, I was awaiting Myst’s return from shopping and sensed you trace into the woods.”
A vampire waiting for Myst? He’d said she was his wife. She sucked in a breath. “You’re the general, aren’t you,” she whispered. “The one Myst had to be pried from.”
She thought the corners of his lips quirked. “Is that what you heard?” At her solemn nod, he said, “It was mutual, I assure you.” He glanced away down the drive, as if willing Myst to return, and said almost to himself, “How much lingerie can one female need . . . ?”
Suddenly Annika was shrieking, running for her, vowing to kill him ever so slowly.
Amazingly, his body was still relaxed. “If you do not cease trying to take off my head, Annika, we will have words.”
“What have you done to her?” she cried.
“Obviously, I clawed her, bloodied her, and burned her, and now, oddly, I offer her up to you.”
― Kresley Cole, A Hunger Like No Other

“Imagine a pitch-black room with a single candle lit in the center," he said, his voice gone low. "The room is the world. You are the candle.”
― Kresley Cole, The Player

“Two tears in a bucket; motherfuck it.”
― Kresley Cole