Even I make mistakes." I put on my brash, overconfident face. "I know it's hard to believe—kind of surprises me myself—but I guess it has to happen. It's probably some kind of karmic way to balance out the universe. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair to have one person so full of awesomeness.
Richelle MeadSo...Mason, Eddie, and Mia went to Spokane to hunt Strigoi?"
"Yes."
"Holy shit. Why didn't you go with them? Seems like something you'd do."
I resisted the urge to smack him. "Because I'm not insane! But I'm going to go get them before they do something even stupider.
Mots clés fiction novel vampires frostbite mead richelle
How do you feel right now?"
"I hurt like hell."
"You'll feel worse tomorrow."
"So?"
"So, better get a jump on this while you still feel...not as bad."
"What kind of logic is that?" I retorted.
Mots clés humor logic training
My muscles informed me they did not want to go through any more exercise today. So I suggest that maybe he should let me off this time. He laughed, and I'm pretty sure it was at me...not with me.
"Why is that funny?"
"Oh," he said, his smile dropping. "You were serious."
"Of course I was! Look, I've technically been awake for two days. Why do we have to start this training now? Let me go to bed." I whined. "It's just one hour."
"How do you feel right now?"
"I hurt like hell."
"You'll feel worse tomorrow."
"So?"
"So, better get a jump on it while you still feel...not as bad."
"What kind of logic is that?" I retorted.
Mots clés humor exercise training
Things die. But they don't always stay dead. Believe me, I know.
Richelle MeadMots clés inspirational death
Ten feet from the car, a man stepped directly into our path. We came to a screeching halt, and I jerked Lissa back by her arm. It was him, the guy I’d seen across the street watching me. He was older than us, maybe mid-twenties, and as tall as I’d figured, probably six-six or six-seven. And under different circumstances–say, when he wasn’t holding up our desperate escape–I would have thought he was hot. Shoulder-length brown hair, tied back in a short ponytail. Dark brown eyes. A long brown coat–a duster, I thought it was called.
But his hotness was irrelevant now. He was only an obstacle keeping Lissa and me away from the car and our freedom. The footsteps behind us slowed, and I knew our pursuers had caught up. Off to the sides, I detected more movement, more people closing in. God. They’d almost sent a dozen guardians to retrieve us. I couldn’t believe it. The queen herself didn’t travel with that many.
Lissa and I had been friends ever since kindergarten, when our teacher had paired us up together for writing lessons. Forcing five-year-olds to spell Vasilisa Dragomir and Rosemarie Hathaway was beyond cruel, and we’d—or rather, I’d—responded appropriately. I’d chucked my book at out teacher and called her a fascist bastard. I hadn’t known what those words meant, but I’d known how to hit a moving target.
Lissa and I had been inseparable ever since.
Come on, Hathaway," he said, taking my arm. "You can be my partner. Let’s see what you’ve been doing all this time."
An hour later, he had his answer.
"Not practicing, huh?"
"Ow,” I groaned, momentarily incapable of normal speech.
He extended a hand and helped me up from the mat he’d knocked me down on—about fifty times.
"I hate you,” I told him, rubbing a spot on my thigh that was going to have a wicked bruise tomorrow.
"You’d hate me more if I held back."
"Yeah, that’s true," I agreed, staggering along as the class put the equipment back.
"You actually did okay."
"What? I just had my ass handed to me."
"Well, of course you did. It’s been two years. But hey, you’re still walking. That’s something." He grinned mockingly.
"Did I mention I hate you?”
He flashed me another smile, which quickly faded to something more serious. "Don’t take this the wrong way…I mean, you really are a scrapper, but there’s no way you’ll be able to take your trials in the spring—"
"They’re making me take extra practice sessions," I explained. Not that it mattered. I planned on getting Lissa and me out of here before those practices really became an issue.
"Extra sessions with who?"
"That tall guy. Dimitri."
Mason stopped walking and stared at me. "You’re putting in extra time with Belikov?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"So the man is a god."
"Exaggerate much?" I asked.
"No, I’m serious. I mean, he’s all quiet and antisocial usually but when he fights...wow. If you think you’re hurting now, you’re going to be dead when he’s done with you."
Great. Something else to improve my day.
The greatest and most powerful revolutions often start very quietly, hidden in the shadows. Remember that.
Richelle MeadMots clés politics revolution
Dorian used to watch you like a starving man who wants meat. Now he looks at you like he wants seconds.
Richelle MeadMots clés lust longing dorian eugenie thorn-queen
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