I don't hate you. I just don't like that you exist

— Gena Showalter

If I died, I’d expect my guy to mourn me forever, and if he tried to hook up with someone else, I’d haunt him till he ended up in a crazy house. Then I’d haunt the girl.

— Gena Showalter

If you’d rather not go with me, I will completely understand and won’t hate you for more than a day. Maybe two.

— Gena Showalter

I have never battled a gargoyle before.” Zachary shook his head, a dark lock of hair tumbling into one emerald eye. Damp from the melting snow, the hair stuck to his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “But I am certain these will murder Paris before willingly carrying him inside.” As if he were the only intelligent life form left in existence, William splayed his arms. “And the problem with that? He’ll still be inside, exactly where he wants to be. And by the way,” he added, blinking at Paris with lashes so long they should have belonged to a girl. “Your new permanent eyeliner is very pretty. You’ll make a good-looking corpse.” Do not react. He did, and the teasing about his ash/ambrosia tattoos would never end. “Thanks.”“I prefer the lip liner, though. A nice little feminine touch that really makes your eyes pop.”“Again, thanks,” he gritted. He wants us! Stupid demon. William grinned. “Maybe we can make out later. I know you want me.” Tell him yes! Not another word out of you, or—“Paris? Warrior?” Zachary said. “Are you listening to me?”“No.” Zach nodded, apparently not the least offended. “I enjoy your honesty, though I believe you suffer from what the humans call ADD.”“Oh, yeah. I definitely have attention deficient demon.

— Gena Showalter

I'll take the cemetery," Kane said. He didn't sound excited. Rather, he sounded resigned. "The club might collapse if I go.

— Gena Showalter

I may remember you, Scarlet,” he bellowed, backing up when she grabbed her fork and held it out like a dagger. She’d murdered men with less. Even immortals. “But you haven’t haunted me.” Motions stiff, he raised his shirt. Amid the cuts, above his heart, was a tattoo of eyes. Dark eyes. Like hers. “Don’t you see? You…haven’t…haunted…me.

— Gena Showalter

I’m not a bad person. I haven’t killed anyone. Furthermore, I (rarely) lie. Furthermore, I don’t kick little puppies. So why do people look at me as if the world would be a better place without me?

— Gena Showalter

I’m not trying to—What do teenagers say nowadays?” he asked my grandmother.“Get all up in her Bizet,” Nana said. Without cracking a smile.“That’s right,” he replied. “We’re not trying to get all up in your Bizet, Ali.

— Gena Showalter

I'm William, but you can call me Sexy. Everyone does.

— Gena Showalter

I pictured the two of them alone. Perhaps showering together, as Rome and I liked to do. My stomach clenched painfully, amusement forgotten. “Cody, will you take me to the nearest clinic? I need someone to dig the knife out of my back. Lexis might need it again. And the good doctor might want to give me a tetanus shot. I think she bled on me.” Stunned silence. I often had that effect.

— Gena Showalter