Like most people who own their own businesses, I work long hours that start early in the morning. So when someone calls me in the middle of the night, they'd better be dying.
Never trust a mechanic who drives new cars. They're either charging too much money for their work, or they can't keep an old car running—maybe both.
"(...) What is the use of having a man in the house, if he cannot take care of you for a while?"
" Mmm," I said. "I give up. What's the use of having a man in the house?"
" Mmm." I said, leaning against Warren to get a better look at the food. "Mongolian beef. I think I'm in love."
"His heart's occupied elsewhere," said Ben from behind me. "And even if it weren't he's not interested in your kind. But, I'm available and ready."
"You don't have a heart," I told him. "Just a gaping hole where it should have been."
"All the more reason for you to give me yours."
I pounded my forehead against Warren's back. "Tell me Ben's not flirting with me."
"Hey," said Ben sounding hurt. "I was talking cannibalism, not romance."
He'd been warning me about "pushing buttons" for as long as I could remember. I don't know why. I'm not stupid. I'm always careful when I torment werewolves...
But then he said, "Good girl," and hung up.
As if he'd never doubted I'd do as he told me. Bran seldom had to worry about people not following his orders—except for me. I guess he'd forgotten about that.
It was a good thing there weren't any werewolves around to annoy. I'd like to think I was grown-up enough not to pick a fight just because Bran told me not to, but, still...
"If you were a real Indian, you could do a rain dance."
Tony could tease me because his Venezuelan half was mostly Indian of one sort or other.
I shook my head solemnly. "In Montana, the Indians don't have a rain dance, they have a Stop-this-Damned-Wind-and-Snow dance. If you've ever been to Browning, Montana, in the winter, you'll know it doesn't work."
"He seemed less intense than Adam Hauptman."
That was Bran, quiet and calm until he ripped out your throat.
"Then why didn't Marsilia just come herself?" I asked.
His jaw dropped in genuine shock. "Marsilia is a lady. Women do not belong in combat."
"So you brought me instead?"
He opened his mouth then closed it again, looking a little embarrassed by what he'd been about to say to me.
"What?" I asked, beginning to be a little amused — which was better than terrified. "Isn't it polite to tell someone she's expendable because she's not a vampire?"
Data pierwszego wydania: 2007
Seria: Mercy Thompson