“Mi casa es su casa. Literally. I'm pretty sure your dad owns it.”

“You're a very pretty girl...Did you know? Once upon a time, I had a pretty, pretty boy.' She reached forward and touched my cheek with one manicured hand.”

“Good boy, Devon," I taunted. "You got me home before dark. If you can sit, shake and roll over, too, I'm sure Callum will give you a doggie treat.”

“I'm not your girl" "You could be.""Yeah and I could also tattoo an anorexic pterodactyl on my navel, but I'm not planning on do that, either”

“This is why you don't call the police. Or Preternatural Control. No matter what. Ever. If I'd doubted that rule--and I was fairly sure I never had--I certainly never would have again. My skin itched just talking to the authorities....The police department had more than a few open cases with my name on them--figuratively, and I had no desire to make that literal [where they connected me to] the vigilante responsible for dozens of area beastie slayings....”

“Most of the time, it felt like my father and I were completely different species. Possibly literally, depending on the day and whether or not I actually qualified as human at the time.”

“So," I said climbing to my feet and changing the subject ASAP, "I had a dream last night someone tried to burn me alive, and I'm not entirely sure it was a dream."Devon stiffened. Chase's pupils pulsed.Subject successfully changed."Now who's ready to eat?”