I ripped my left arm out of his hand and slammed my elbow into his solar plexus. He exhaled in a gasp. I lunged for the dagger and sat on top of him, my knees pinning his arms, my dagger on his throat. He lay still. I give up, he said and smiled. Your move. Er. I was sitting atop the Beast Lord in my underwear, holding a knife to his throat. What the hell was my next move?
Ilona Andrews
I gave him my best cryptic smile. He did not fall down to his feet, kiss my shoes, and promise me the world. I must be getting rusty.
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It's a reflex. Hear a bell, get food. See an undead, throw a knife. Same thing, really.
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Because he has the best equipment in the City and he knows how to use it!
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Curran struck at my wrist. His fingers were cat-quick, but I had spent my life honing my reflexes, and he missed. Well, look at that. I studied my free wrist. Denied. Good-bye
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I can't give you the white picket fence, and if I did, you'd set it on fire.
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Just wait until he figures out I shut him out of his slut hut.
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Georgie, stop trying to resurrect the shoes. They were never alive in the first place.
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It took a qualified wizard to detect a summoning in progress. It required only a half-literate idiot with a twitch of power and a dim idea of how to use it to attempt one. Before you knew it, a three-headed Slavonic god was wreaking havoc in downtown Atlanta, the skies were raining winged snakes, and SWAT was screaming for more ammo.
It's awful to be rich and mind-boggingly handsome and have women fawn over you. My heart bleeds for you. Poor dear, how do you manage?
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I hit him on the back of the neck. He submerged.
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Wiggles hissed as I crossed the floor toward the throne. She fixed me with her empty hateful eyes and smelled the air, her long tongue shiveringthrough the slit of the lipless mouth. Nice to see you too, sweetheart. Remember my cattle prod?
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