Morois Are Born..but Strigois Are Made..!

No," Dimitri Interrupted Gently. He Moved His Face Toward Mine, Our Foreheads Nearly Touching. "it Won't Happen To You. You're Too Strong. You'll Fight It, Just Like You Did This Time." "i Only Did Because You Were Here." He Wrapped His Arms Around Me, And I Buried My Face In His Chest. "i Can't Do It By Myself," I Whispered. "you Can," He Said. There Was A Tremulous Note In His Voice. "you're Strong—you're So, So Strong. It's Why I Love You.

I Saw Endless Depths Of Brown, The Depths I'd Fallen Into So Many Times. No Red Rings. Dimitri...was Not A Strigoi. And He Was Weeping.

What Were You Thinking?" I Demanded Once We Were Moving To The Music. I Was Trying To Ignore His Hands. "do You Know How Much Trouble You May Have Gotten Me In?" Adrian Grinned. "nah. They All Feel Bad For You. You'll Achieve Martyrdom After Dancing With A Mean, Wicked Vampire. Job Security With The Alchemists.

If I Was Drunk, I Wouldn’t Be Here At All. And Really, This Is Pretty Good For Four White Russians.” “white What?” I Almost Sat Down But Was Afraid The Chair Might Dematerialize Beneath Me. “it’s A Drink,” He Said. “you’d Think I Wouldn’t Be Into Something Named That—you Know, Considering My Own Personal Experience With Russians. But They’re Surprisingly Delicious. The Drinks, Not Real Russians.

My Mom Beat Me Up," I Informed My Reflection. It Looked Back Sympathetically.