The Dead (The Wilds, #3)

by Donna Augustine

Although when they said every cloud had a silver lining, they didn’t bother to elaborate that it was often lightning. I’d realized their wisdom left some leeway for interpretation.

I couldn’t imagine Tank leaving Dax’s side. It would be like stripping the spots off a pinto.

I couldn’t swim, but damn if I wouldn’t do the meanest doggy paddle around if I had to.

Good luck, boys. There’s a new bitch in town.

“Sometimes, I think the reasons matter more than the act itself.”

I’d never understood the concept of forgive and forget. Someone screws you over, there’s no forgetting that.

I wasn’t miserable enough to kill myself. I’d never be that miserable.

It wasn’t like you woke one day and decided you wanted to dance with the devil. Sometimes he was the only dance partner available.

Damn, my leg was a total hussy.

How did you fight a disease? No one to punch, no one to kill—you were a bystander

Some people are made up of hopes and dreams, rainbows and sunshine. Dax was made up of hard, solid truths and immoveable boulders. It might not seem as pretty as fluffy white clouds in the sky, but when you leaned against a boulder, it didn’t shift out from underneath you.

I was starting to realize that for better or worse, I wasn’t sure I could live without this man.