What are you?' She asked. He shot her a brief glance and looked away. He stared at the scenery of the pastures and distant rows of trees. She knew he was not going to answer the question. In the brightening daylight, she could see that most of the blood on him was restricted to his mouth and hands. It dawned on her that it wasn't his blood, but the blood of something he had caught and eaten. Shirley A. Martin
Stop fighting me! " he said, trying to pull on the arm he held. He was in a precarious position himself, straddling the rail as he tried to lean over far enough to get me and actually hold onto me.“ Let go of me! ”...
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Richelle Mead
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
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T.S. Eliot
Fresh is better. But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his eyebrow in response." Well, aside from mine of course, " Jace said. "And I'm pretty sure my blood is fan-tastic.
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Cassandra Clare
Crap, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"" I'm thinking we have about fifteen vampires and no blood, " Claire said. "Is that it?"" No, I was thinking we're out of chips. Of course that's what I was thinking.
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Rachel Caine
So--what's it like, being a vampire?"" Aline! " Isabelle looked appalled. "You can't just go around asking people what's it like to be a vampire! "" I don't see why, " Aline said. "He hasn't been a vampire that long, has he? So he must...
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Cassandra Clare
More Quotes By Shirley A. Martin
Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective.. They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair.. Her eyes...
He was naked as a jaybird and covered in filth. He moved towards her with the same eerie grace that he had scaled the side of the barn, stopping to sniff the wind and look suspiciously around... His eyes were not yellow now; they were...
She didn't pick her way over the terrain like she was afraid of slipping on the ice... She glided over it with long confident strides. Her hands were in her vest pockets. Her eyes were Susannah.
Sally's head plopped into the shallow water and rolled face up. For a while, the changing shades of pinks and oranges reflected across the surface of her dead eyes.
She could see now that some of the grime that covered him was blood. He looked to be six or seven years old. His ribs were showing and his belly sunk in towards his spine, leaving a hollow above his hips.
