Ivan (Underworld, #1)

by Sophie Lark

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

Whatever she had in that syringe, I know for damn sure it wasn’t a vitamin B-12 shot.

“I prefer memory-foam to straw and canvas,” I tell him. “But I’ll still give you three stars in my Airbnb review.”

If this is his interrogation, he’s going to have my social security number in five minutes.

“And you are . . . Ivan’s girlfriend? Or escaped prisoner? I always get the two confused.” “Hmm,” Sloane says, also looking at me. “Unclear.”

I’d rather die next to her than live without her.

“You’re mine forever, my little love,” Ivan says. “My own grim reaper.”