“There were upsides to the whole mess. While Douglas was holding me hostage, I’d met a girl—I mean, screw dating websites and house parties; apparently all the really eligible ladies are being held in cages these days. I would have liked to see Brid fill out a dating questionnaire, though. What would she put? “Hi, my name is Bridin Blackthorn. I’m next in line to rule the local werewolf pack. I like long walks on the beach and destroying my enemies. I have four older brothers, so watch your step. We’ll be forming a queue to the left for potential suitors.”And, trust me, there would be a queue.”

“Sometimes I went and looked at my grave. The stone was up already. It was a simple Latin cross, white. I wanted to have my name put on it, with the here lies and the date of my birth. Then all it would have wanted was the date of my death. They would not let me. Sometimes I smiled, as if I were dead already.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever referred to any girl I dated as my girlfriend. I think that would freak me out. Even the girl that I dated for two years in college I don’t think I ever referred to her as my girlfriend.”“How would you introduce her?” I asked.“I’m just going to say her name,” he said.”

“What? I’m not suppose to date or hang out with anyone now?”Daemon smiled. “Anyone human, yes.”“Whatever.” I shook my head, standing. “This is a stupid conversation. I’m not dating anyone anyway, but if I were, I wouldn’t stop just because you said so.”“You wouldn’t?” His hand shot out, tucking back a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’ll just have to see about that.”I stepped sideways, keeping distance between us. “There’s nothing to see.”Challenge filled his eyes. “If you say so, Kitten.”Folding my arms, I sighed. “This isn’t a game.”“I know, but if it were, I’d win.”

“Would you like to assist me with my choice of underwear as well?” My sarcasm whistled right over his head. “I would be delighted. While I’d love to see you in a balconette bra, I’m afraid for this particular occasion I would have to go with a foam-lined seamless due to the tight fit of the garment across your breasts . . . Perhaps I could come over and review what you have available . . .”

“I wanted to tell her how that praise had made me feel, how starved I’d felt for any kind of attention, that I’d begun to think of my teacher Mrs. Terrance like she was my friend, like she was my mother, like she would take me home with her one day to her big house that would be warm and smell of fresh bread, and there would be gold stars all over the floors and ceilings, and she would look down at me as we walked through the door and tell me that this was my home too, that I would get to stay with her forever because she loved me too. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say that to my mother. Even then, I knew the power words had. To heal. To hurt.So I held my mother while she cried, and eventually the tears subsided, and she began to hiccup softly, and this made me giggle, and she almost looked like she was going to smile at me, and I forgot about the house filled with gold stars because one smile from my mother was worth a billion gold stars and a billion Mrs. Terrances and a billion houses that smelled like fresh bread.”