The Sinner

He looks like a bumblebee caught under a glass,” Lassiter remarked. Butch glanced over at the angel. “I know you’re immortal and shit, but you better run like a motherfucker when you let him out.” “You know, I’m inclined to agree with you.

Every part of him wanted to stay with Jo. Make sure she was okay. Attend to her every need, bringing her the choicest food and cleanest drink, securing her a warm and dry shelter, along with clothes that were of fabrics and colors of her preference. He wanted to sleep with her up against his body, skin to skin, a dagger in his right hand, a gun under his pillow, a length of chain beneath the bed, to ensure her protection against anything and everybody that would hurt her.

We are all sinners—and yet our creator still loves us. And if the prerequisite for true romantic love was an unassailable history and character? The shit wouldn’t happen for anybody. You’re worthy of love. You deserve to be respected and cherished, and to get that, you don’t need to be anything different than you are. You have been created for a reason. You’re here for a reason. You have a purpose, and you have to believe that you’ll find someone who will help you in that purpose. And until that happens? All you really need to know is that you don’t have to be validated by anybody but yourself. You are enough.

What if I can’t believe it, he amended. “You assume destiny requires your permission to exist.

Funny how losses were as much of a currency as happiness in life. Somehow, they were noticed more, though.

Who has it,” Syphon snapped. As everyone “Has what’d” him, he wrenched around and glared into the back seat. “The Jolly Rancher. Who’s got the fucking Jolly Rancher?” Cue the eye contact between everybody in the van. “That fake watermelon smell triggers my gag reflex,” Syphon bit out. “And I get carsick which is why I have to drive. So if the person who’s sucking on that red square of vomit-inducing nasty doesn’t spit it the fuck out now, I’m going to make sure I throw up in their lap.” Pause. Longer pause. And then Zypher cursed, turned his head… and spit the candy right out— Onto the window he’d just put up. Where it stuck like a Post-it Note. As everyone in the van fell into a chorus of Ewwwwwwws, the bastard picked the thing off, put down the window, and flicked it out into the bushes. “You happy, Penelope,” he muttered as he reclosed the window. “Now, do you want to take a Tums and put a hot compress on your forehead, or can we get on with this?

Stop what?” he asked. When she looked at him in confusion, he sat down on her sofa. “What do you need to stop?” Well, for starters, it would be great to quit thinking of you lying faceup on that rug right there and me riding you like Annie-frickin’-Oakley until your six-gun goes off in my— “Oh, God.” She went to cover the flush on her face with her hands—and ended up smacking herself with the plates and the napkins that she forgot she was holding. “Ow—okay, right. I gotta get a grip here.” “On what?” he asked. Don’t say it, she told her mouth. Don’t you dare answer that question.

You deserve to be respected and cherished, and to get that, you don’t need to be anything different than you are. You have been created for a reason. You’re here for a reason. You have a purpose, and you have to believe that you’ll find someone who will help you in that purpose. And until that happens? All you really need to know is that you don’t have to be validated by anybody but yourself. You are enough.

Scuse me if I’m not impressed with your special snowflake routine. I’m too busy living in the real world and worrying about who’s going to die tonight.” “You have no idea what I’ve been through.” “I held my dead shellan in my arms. So I’m pretty sure that’s Yahtzee. But whatever, you do you—” “You don’t understand what my sire was like.” V pointed to his own chest. “Bloodletter. You want to compare résumés with that shit?” “I can’t orgasm.” Vishous opened his mouth. Then shut it. “Okay, you win. And this is coming from a guy who’s only got one nut.” “It’s not a contest.

between the hangover and the damage from that right hook of his roommate’s, he had about all he wanted to handle. “Can I get you some Motrin or some shit?” V asked. “You really do feel bad, huh.” “I didn’t enjoy that.” “Because I wasn’t in a leather thong?” V laughed in a crack.

Good morning, Ms. Early,” she said as she closed them in together. “I’m Dr. Perez.” She didn’t go to the computer and sign in. She came over and shook hands. And even as her dark eyes were making a sweep of Jo’s face, like she had one of Bones McCoy’s scanners implanted in her head, she wasn’t impersonal about it. “Let’s talk about what’s going on. Matthew gave me some idea, but I’d like to hear everything again from you.

He was hers to command, and if she wished to take his life here and now, he would willingly give his mortal coil unto her. No matter how much it hurt or what his suffering was, it would be a good death, one he had long deserved. Because this female, who captivated his black soul as surely as if she held his beating heart in her palm, would be the one killing him.

The Prophecy is not ours. It is the property of history. As it was foretold, so it shall be. First as the future, then as the present when the time is nigh. And after that, with recording, it shall be the sacred past, the saving of the species, the end of the war.

With that, she turned away. And that was when Butch was able to properly focus on the cropped jacket she had paired with her micro-mini and her sheer black hose and her Louboutins with the red soles.

she looked at the business card. Only a number. No name or address. What did she expect, though. Vampires-R-Us?

There was nothing worse than chasing a release. You never could catch.