“A low, angry growl hit Jatred’s ears like a hammer. He turned and saw a massive figure crashing its way through the snow. Although he’d only seen the drawings of the Winter monsters, he knew it was a Garhanan. There was nothing pleasing in the way the creature looked, smelled, or sounded. Even its movements were horrid. A flat nose sat in the middle of the meaty face. The Garhanan’s bushy white brows stuck out, shading small beady eyes. Its arms were muscular and swung down past its strong knees. The back, chest, and thighs were colossal too. The beast’s whole body was covered in white, sparse, long fur. “Great,” Jatred snarled, his jaws clenching. He tried not to show how much Garhanan scared him.”

“He went into the kitchen. It was eight in the evening. He tried to shut the bright spring evening out with the curtains, but it forced its way past them in places, dust-filled sunbeams that lit up the gloom in his flat. Spring and summer were not Erlendur's seasons. Too bright. Too frivolous. He wanted heavy, dark winters. Finding nothing edible in the kitchen, he sat down at the table with his chin resting in his hand.”

“Then in a great crash they threw themselves to the floor, ears flopped down, the whites of their eyes showing, looking the way only a dog can look who is totally disappointed. Indeed, they were the very pictures of disappointment.”

“There was a zombie at my back door. Its eyes swung up, and they were blue, the whites already clouding with the egg rot of death. Its jaw a mess of meat and frozen blood; something had eaten half its face. Its fingertips already worn down to bony nubs, scraped against the window. Flesh hung in strips from it’s hand, and my stomach turned over hard. Black mist rose at the corners of my vision, and the funny rushing sound in my head sounded like a jet plane taking off. I’d know that zombie anywhere. Even if he was dead and mangled, his eyes were the same. Blue as winter ice, fringed with pale lashes.”

“Was it me you were discussing?” he countered with lifted brows. “I couldn’t tell from the description you were giving. Since when am I kind, considerate, refined, and amiable?” “You’re angry,” Victoria concluded on a sigh. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest and his arms tightened, drawing her close to his leann, muscular body. “I’m not angry,” he said in a husky, gentle voice. “I’m embarrassed”

“There, in the corner under the window—the window through which he thought he saw movement before—was a slender white foot! Quinn’s heart froze in his chest and frightened bile began working its way up his esophagus. ~ "The Mirror”