He smiled at me . . . fondly. ʺAh, my daughter,ʺ
he said. ʺEighteen, and already youʹve been accused of murder, aided felons, and acquired a death count higher than most guardians
will ever see.ʺ He paused. ʺI couldnʹt be prouder.ʺ

Author: Richelle Mead