• Touching Darkness (Midnighters #2) A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)

    I flushed. ‘The Dark He**ines? Isn’t that what the Prophecy said they would do?’

    The instant he felt me wilt he sank his fangs deep into my flesh, blood surging from the wounds, trickling across and smearing my skin.I opened my mouth to scream, but all that came out was a muffled cry. A hand was clamped over my mouth, forcing my jaws together, stifling the sound. I felt him drink, taking short shallow breaths, panting, eyes gleaming red, a trickle of blood running down his chin. I backed further into the wall, but he pulled me back quickly.

    The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)

    ‘Don’t scream,’ he ordered, lowering his head once more. I cowered away.‘It hurts,’ I whimpered through his fingers, shaking. To my surprise his eyes softened, but he didn’t ease up as his fangs sunk into my neck once more. As he continued to suck, my jaw tightened and tightened, attempting to ignore the horrifying drawing sensation. It was like a blood test gone very, very wrong.The thought of what was actually happening made my vision waver, and, sure enough, seconds later I blacked out, falling forward onto his shoulder. He withdrew at once and my eyes flickered open as he caught me.

    Once Bitten (Haven #1)

    ‘Whoa there,’ he breathed, steadying me. I felt myself straightening up, sandwiched between the wall and his cold body.‘You okay?’ he asked, genuine concern in his voice. I nodded shakily in reply. ‘I think I’m full.’ He laughed, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. Again I nodded, taking a few raspy deep breaths. The tunnel vision was disappearing, the pounding in my head subsiding. There was a strange tingling on my neck, exactly where the wounds were and I reached up to touch them.

    What should be two mangled puncture wounds were now small incisions, stitching themselves together.

    ‘H-how is that p-possible?’ I began, but he leaned forward to whisper in my ear.At least they let her keep her own clothes on, Gin thought as she was led down yet another concrete corridor painted the color of month-old vichyssoise.

    She’d had a terror of undressing in front of some hairy-chested female officer and then getting violated by a gloved hand before being thrown into an orange jumpsuit the size of a circus tent. When that had not happened, she’d then become obsessed about being put in some kind of filthy holding cell with a bunch of drug-addled prostitutes coughing AIDS all over her.Instead, she’d been put in a cell by herself. A cold cell, with just a bench and a stainless-steel toilet with no seat or toilet paper.

    Gump and Co. (Forrest Gump #2)

    Not that she would ever use something like that.Her diamond stud earrings and her Chanel watch had been confiscated, along with her LV bag, her phone, and those hundred-dollar bills and useless credit cards she had in her wallet.

    One call. That was all she’d been allowed—just like in the movies.In here, the guard said, stopping by an African-American man in uniform and opening a thick door.

    Lane—! Except she stopped rushing toward her brother when she saw who was sitting at the table. Oh, God. Not him.Lane came in for a tight embrace as the door was shut. You need a lawyer.

    And I’m free, Samuel T. drawled. Relatively speaking.I am not talking in front of him. She crossed her arms over her chest. Not one word.