“You know you were with the lessers, true?"Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. "And here I thought I'd been to Elizabeth Arden.”

“One thing you could say about Butch was that his wardrobe was full of options. "Never thought I'd be glad that you're a clothes whore.""I believe the term is sharp dresser.”

“You know, Qhuinn's an interesting character." Saxton reached out with an elegant hand and picked up his port. "He's one of my favorite cousins, actually. His nonconformity is admirable and he's survived things that would crush a lesser male. Don't know that being in love with him would be easy, however."Blay didn't go near that one. "So do you come here often?"Saxton laughed, his pale eyes glinting, "Not for discussion, huh.”

“Trust me, true?"Butch barked a laugh. "Last time you said that i ended up with a vampire cocktail, remember?”

“Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building. Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them. “Wait. I need to ask him a question.” “You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped. “Fourteen,” Wrath drawled. “I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.”

“Jesus Christ. . . he was not Omega's son. Was he?"No." V said. "You are not. He just wants to believe you are. And he wants you to think you are. But that doesn't make it true."There was a long silence. Then Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean. . . hello? You are this beefy Irish white boy. He's like. . . bus exhaust or some shit."Butch glanced over at Hollywood. "You're sick, you know that?""Yeah, but you love me, right? Come on, I know you feel me.”

“A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?” Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face? “How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.”