Gregori strutted toward the door. “I’m too sexy for my cape, too sexy for my fangs. Too sexy.” He whirled in a circle, then struck a disco pose with a hand pointing at the ceiling. “Too sexy!” He left with a flourish of his cape.
Gregori jolted back. “Snap! You couldn’t control one measly mortal?” Roman clenched his fists. “No.” Gregori slapped a hand against his brow. “Snap!” “Why the hell are you snapping? Are you a turtle?” It was times like this that firing Gregori seemed to be the wise choice.
My point, exactly. Those poor women are so malnourished, they can’t think straight. Take my friend Sasha. Her idea of a three-course meal is a celery stick, a cherry tomato, and a laxative. She’s killing herself to fit into these clothes. Women like me can’t dress like that.
Sweetheart, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I would be forever beholden to you if you could kindly assume a reclining position so I can screw your brains out.
Roman might have survived the Great Vampire War of 1710, but he was about to face an even worse terror. A mortal female in full rage.
Oh yeah. It would be terrible for you to have only one working fang. Your friends might want to call you Lefty.
That’s Carlos?” Phineas lowered his sword and whistled under his breath. “Hello, kitty.