Charles Looked At Her Thoughtfully. "people Talk

Mercy," Said My Mother Thoughtfully, "you Never Told Me Your Werewolf Neighbor Was Quite That Hot.

He Didn't Say Anything More, Just Waited For Me To Tell Him What I'd Been Thinking. It Was Pure Speculation, And I Was Opening Myself Up To Ridicule By Saying Anything At All. I Sat On The Stool And Realized That I Had My Loyalties, Too.

We’d Spent Years As Adversaries, Two Predators Sharing Territory And A Certain, Unwelcome Attraction. Somehow, During All Those Years I Spent Outwardly Acquiescing To His Demands While Making Sure I Held My Own, I’d Won His Respect. I’d Had Werewolves Love Me And Hate Me, But I’d Never Had One Respect Me Before. Not Even Samuel. Adam Respected Me Enough To Act On My Suspicions. It Meant A Lot.

During My Last Year Of College I Wrote The Same Ten Pages Over And Over Again. Those Ten Pages Became The First Few Pages Of My First Novel. I Can Still Recite The Opening Paragraph From Memory - Only Now I Cringe When I Do It Because They Are - Surprise! - A Classic Example Of Overwriting, In Addition To Being A More Than A Little Pretentious.

Sometimes Broken People Stay Broken.