" You were supposed to be unconscious." Honora's hair isn't even mussed, a sleek high ponytail showing off her lustrous dark locks. She's wearing perfectly fitted black pants, combat books, and a black sweater. She's like an advertisement for traitorous assholes - betray your people, but look good doing it!
Now it's not the grit that's making it hard to see. It's the pulsing red on the edges of my vision. "Yeah, well, you were supposed to be screaming 'my arm!'"
She tilts her head in confusion. I rip one of the heavy doors the rest of the way off and throw it at her. She only has time to raise one arm to protect herself, and the door slams into her forehead with a bone-shattering blow.
"You bitch!" she screams, clutching her arm and dropping to her knees.
I shrug. "It's not 'my arm', but it's close enough. "

― Kiersten White , Chosen (Slayer, #2)