“You play games with people's lives.(...) You forget that they are fragile.”

“Coyote never loses. Because I change the rules of the games my enemies play. What are the rules of your game?”

“Werewolf games," Mercy said solemnly, "play for keeps, or go home." She was so cute sometimes it made Adam's heart hurt.”

“New rules. If you are smart enough to live, you won’t hit Charles’s mate in front of his father.”

“A second floor window opened, and Kyle stuck his head and shoulders out so he could look down at us. “If you two are finished playing Cowboy and Indian out there, some of us would like to get their beauty sleep.”I looked at Warren. “You heard ‘um Kemo Sabe. Me go to my little wigwam and get ‘um shut-eye.”“How come you always get to play the Indian?” whined Warren, deadpan.“Cause she’s the Indian, white boy,” said Kyle.”

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he asked. "Enough to accept my apologies?" I suggested in a small voice. "Heck no," he said, and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward. When he reached me, he put his hands up and touched the sides of my neck with the tips of his fingers--as if I were something fragile. "No apologies from you," he told me, his voice soft enough to melt my knees and most of my other parts.”

“Christmas garland and a rock?" he said, a smile in his voice. "Why not an ornament?""Wolves aren't fragile," I told him. "And they're... stubbon and hard to move.”