Home > Work > Bite Me (Pride, #9)
1 " As my daddy would say, time to start the killin "
― , Bite Me (Pride, #9)
2 " Have you thought about studying psychology, Kyle?” he asked.“I plan to get my PhD in that. To get my PhD in art history just seems so . . . useless. I study art and its history every second of every day. I mean, when you think about it . . . I’m art history in the making. But a PhD in psychology would allow me to understand my enemies so I can destroy them and their careers before they get in my way.”Cherise leaned over and whispered in Coop’s ear, “If he starts wondering about the taste of human flesh, you do understand we will have to stop him before his murder spree begins?”“I’m more worried,” Cooper whispered back, “that he’ll become ruling overlord of the universe and we’ll have to find some kind of magic sword if we hope to destroy him.”They both shuddered and returned to their work. "
3 " I want to awkwardly hug you. "
4 " She sighed as if she’d realized the worst thing imaginable. “We’re going to be together and in love forever, aren’t we? "
5 " Fuck,” Livy said as she buried her face in her hands. “What? What’s wrong?” She looked at him. Actually, it was more of a scowl. She scowled at him. “I’m in love with you,” Livy snapped. “And it’s your fucking fault.” “Uh...sorry?” “Oh, shut up.” “Well . . . if it makes you feel better, I’m in love with you, too.” “As a matter of fact, it doesn’t make me feel better. "
6 " Good Lord, Rory Lee!” Ronnie snarled. “You don’t throw babies! Especially mine!” “Look what he did to me!” Rory pointed at his unmarred neck. “What am I looking at?” Sissy Mae asked. “’Cause I don’t see nothin’.” “Just wait until the little bastard grows into his fangs,” Rory promised. “Then you’ll see! "
7 " Your family is coming here?” a voice from the doorway eagerly asked. Livy snarled. “Kyle—” “Honey badgers? Honey badgers are coming to stay with us? "
8 " When it came to art, desire was a big part of it. Not sexual desire, but the desire to create, to produce, to explore the world around oneself. Without the desire . . . an artist had nothing. "
