Rhage raised his hand. "Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question." "Yes, my son, you ARE going to hell." Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around.

We’re vampires,” he said. “Not fairies.”
“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that. You see that study your king hangs out in?”
“He’s nearly blind.”
“Which explains why he hasn’t hanged himself in that pastel train wreck.”
“I thought you were bitching about the gloom-and-doom decorating?”
“I free-associate.

I'm not cock-blocking for kicks and giggles. The mothership called

Without time,” the angel said, “you have only the bottomless, shapeless mire of eternity.”
“FYI, philosophy bores me.”
“Not philosophy. Reality. Time is what gives life significance.

I brought us all Big Macs,” he said happily. “I know you dig ’em, remember?” “What the…” Tohr tightened his grip on his shellan, just in case . . . well, shit, with the way things were going lately, anything could happen. “What are you doing here?” “It’s your lucky day, motherfucker.

All of us are taking the night off," Wrath said abruptly. "We need some regroup time."

Rhage snorted from across the table. "You're not going to make us play Monopoly again, are you?"

Yup." A collective groan rose up from the Brotherhood, one that Wrath ignored. "Right after dinner.