She Is Mine, And I Am Hers.

Oh God," I Said. "i'm Zmey's Daughter. Zmey Junior. Zmeyette, Even.

My Captivity With Dimitri. The Way His Mouth—so, So Warm, Despite His Cold Skin—had Kissed Mine. The Feel Of His Fangs Pressing Into My Neck And The Sweet Bliss That Followed... He Looked Exactly The Same Too, With That Chalky White Pallor And Red-ringed Eyes That So Conflicted With The Soft, Chin-length Brown Hair And Otherwise Gorgeous Lines Of His Face. He Even Had A Leather Duster On.

If You'd Teach Me To Swear In Russian, I Might Have A New Appreciation For It

When You Say ‘old Friend,’ Are We Talking, Like...since The Ice Age?” “no. Of Course Not.” “oh.” “it’s Only Been About Four Hundred Years.” “ah. Yes. Only Four Hundred.” A Wry Expression Spread Over His Face. “being With You Is A Continual Experiment In Perspective. Among Other Things.

If Not For Me Being Stoned And Clinging To A Taco, It Would Have Been Terribly Romantic.