Pritkin and Mircea mixed like oil and water, only not so well.
No they called it the Codex Merlini because it was written by a guy named Ralph.
So maybe it was just as well that my companion was more like Mulder. A coked-out Mulder with a lot of weapons, who knew that the monsters under the bed were real and would gut you.
Mr. Complete Lack of Sympathy.
I’d been declared – over my loud and sustained protests – Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.
The worst part was the silence. Death was supposed to be loud – gunshots, explosions, screams and thunder. Not this eerie quiet that wrapped around me like a shroud.
I started to duck under the spears, only to have the two vamps on the other wall suddenly appear in my face. Or, at least, their crotches did. Another day, I would have made a cute remark about heat and leather jock straps, but I wasn’t feeling real cute right now.
I looked up to find a slim blond figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. For a frozen second, I looked at him and he looked at me, and then I screamed and threw my coffee, which hit him square in the groin.
You mean you let him talk to you like that and you aren’t even getting any Man what a rip-off.
Let me get this straight. First you decide I’m a demon because of a power I didn’t ask for and don’t even understand. Then when that falls through you label me a fallen sybil and a ho. Am I missing something or do you just not like me.
Great. I’d been dumped in Hell’s waiting room.
Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God.
I lay there, no longer fighting, since my head was spinning too much. And because I wasn’t going to win anyway. And because I kind of liked the feeling of sensual captivity, at least by this particular jailer.
Fools fight; winners think.
And then I got to my feet and stumbled toward the door again. And got halfway there before I realized I was naked. Of course I am, I thought angrily, and went back to the bed for a sheet. God forbid I actually wake up dressed anymore.
I’d never known that anyone could kiss in English, kiss in apologies.
Prevarication, how divine! I always did get along better with sinners.
I felt betrayed and absolutely livid, but my body wasn’t smart enough to know it. It had liked the feel of his hands, wanted more of it, wanted it now. It was almost like there were two of me, one who heartily approved of the mage and one who would have dearly loved to see him dead.
I stared at him, unable to believe this was happening. That he could just disappear, along with everything rich and strange he’d brought into my life. Vanished, like magic.
It’s okay. You aren’t my type. What’s your type? Someone who gets into less trouble.