Aaron would never make up anything like that.”
"That's because Aaron doesn't say anything that requires words of more than one syllable.

Did the queen offer to let you bring another friend?"
"She did," admitted Lissa. "In particular, she suggested Adrian. But he's sulking...and I'm not really sure I'm in the mood for him."
Christian seemed pleased by this. "Then bring me."
My poor friends. I wasn't sure how much more shock any of them could handle today.
"Why the hell would I bring you?" She exclaimed. All her anger returned at his presumption. It was a sign of her agitation that she'd sworn.
"Because," he said, face calm, "I can teach you how to stake a Strigoi.

Don't do that!" she exclaimed, shivering at the realization that it had been his fingers touching her.
He gave her his lazy, slightly twisted smile and brushed a few pieces of unruly black hair out of his face.
"Are you asking me or ordering me?”
"Shut up." She glanced around, both to avoid his eyes and make sure no one saw them together.
"What's the matter? Worried about what your slaves'll think if they see you talking to me?”
"They're my friends," she retorted.
"Oh.Right. Of course they are. I mean, from what I saw, Camille would probably do anything for you, right? Friends till the end." He crossed his arms over his chest, and in spite of her anger, she couldn't help but notice how the silvery gray of his shirt set off his black hair and blue eyes.
(Lissa&Christian)

I don't remember you being this reasonable before, " Lissa said.
"It's because everyone has different definitions of 'reasonable. ' Mine's just misunderstood, that's all. " Christian's voice was lofty.
"I think you must be misunderstood a lot, " she laughed.
His eyes held hers, and the smile on his face transformed into something warmer and softer. "Well, I hope this isn't misunderstood. Otherwise, I might get punched. " Leaning over, he brought his lips to hers. Lissa responded with no hesitation or thought whatsoever, losing herself in the sweetness of the kiss.

Don’t you think we’re going to go to hell for this?” asked Lissa.
He reached out and touched her face, trailing his fingers along her cheek and neck and down to the top of her silky shirt. She breathed heavily at that touch, at the way it could be so gentle and small, yet evoke such a strong passion within her.
“For this?” He played with the shirt’s edge, letting his finger just barely brush inside of it.
“No,” she laughed. “For this.” She gestured around the attic. “This is a church. We shouldn’t be doing this kind of, um, thing up here.”
“Not true,” he argued. Gently, he pushed her onto her back and leaned over her. “The church is downstairs. This is just storage. God won’t mind.

Come on! Don't hold back," Christian said.
"I'm not, " Lissa protested.
"You are too! I've seen you knock on a door harder than you're hitting me. "
"That's a ridiculous metaphor. "
"And, " he added, "you aren't aiming for my face. "
"I don't want to leave a mark!"
"Well, at the rate we're going, there's no danger of that, " he muttered