Two psychics, two werewolves, and a psychic human alpha walk up to a crime scene...

In the interest of ultimate honesty,” Celine cut in, “I’m pretty sure that everyone present would appreciate it if you two got a room.”
“I wouldn’t,” Dean grumbled.
“I am unbothered by displays of physical and emotional intimacy,” Sloane volunteered. “The nuances and statistics underlying courtship behavior are quite fascinating.”
The edges of Celine’s lips quirked upward as she met Sloane’s gaze. “You don’t say.”
Sloane frowned. “I just did.

I lie to her. Because this world is not safe. The people who are supposed to protect us, the people we are supposed to trust -- I know that sometimes they are the ones who do the most harm.

Lake breathed out a happy sigh as she approached the row filled with guns. "Matilda was my first, but ladies, you know how to make a girl want to stray.

In the end,” Callum said, his voice soft, gentle, “it all comes back to you. You protect them [your pack], you love them, you live for them, and someday, you die. That’s what it means, Bryn-girl, to be what we are [to be Alpha]. It’s lonely. It’s impossible. It’s all-consuming.” It is what it is.

This was our language: half-truths, obvious lies, accusations neither one of us would ever make. It was a system eery bit as complicated as Morse code or the dancing of bees. Don't ask, don't tell, stay civil.