“I can’t believe you’re asking me this, Snow. You, who can’t walk away from half a sandwich.” “So you don’t know?” “I’ve never tried. I’m not . . . that. My father would kill me if I touched a person.” (I think he really would, if I bit a person. He probably should, anyway.) “Hey,” Snow says, wrinkling his forehead at me, “don’t.” “What?” “Think. Whatever you’re thinking. Stop.” I exhale, frustrated. “Why doesn’t this all bother you?” “What?” “I’m a vampire.”
