I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those held a candle to the pain I felt at seeing his mouth on hers.

Playing with fire Kitten?

You can run from the grave, but you can't hide.

You know that old saying. Once you go dead, no one's better in bed.

...cursing my heels and debating whether it was faster to stop and take them off--damn ankle straps!--or keep running with the potential neck breakers. Wouldn’t that make a charming epitaph? Here lies Cat. Killed not by fang, but Ferragamos.

Kitty need's a tounge bath