“You're a vampire." I laughed."Half," he came back, as if there was a huge difference. "My father wasn't a vampire. He was a Lamarliere. I'm not some three-hundred-year-old pervert who kisses teenage girls, okay? I'm the same age as you. Born just like you.”

“I’m not some three-hundred-year-old pervert who kisses teenage girls, okay?”

“What is a Dark-Hunter?" she asked. "Is it like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" He laughed at that. "Yes, I'm a small, emaciated teenage girl who struts around fighting vampires in earrings they would rip out of my ears and shove up my-”

“What is a Dark-Hunter? Is it like the Vampire Slayer? (Amanda) Yes, I'm a small, emaciated teenage girl who struts around fighting vampires in earrings they would rip out of my ears and shove up my ass. (Kyrian)”

“I always knew there were vampires, dude,” he’d said. “Because, you know how there’s people you know who, like, always look the same, even when they’re, like, a hundred years old? Like David Bowie? That’s because they’re vampires.”

“You're nearly eight hundred years old and here you are, sitting on our sofa, and you're a vampire who needs our help. Of course.”