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“You had your chance to run, coyote. It’s too late now.”
Luckily for all of them, my sense of duty and honor was more flexible.
He slept on the foot of my bed. When I suggested he might be more comfortable in his room, he regarded me steadily with ice-colored eyes. Where does a werewolf sleep? Anywhere he wants to.
“Why is it that all cars are women?” he asked. “Because they’re fussy and demanding,” answered Zee. “Because if they were men, they’d sit around and complain instead of getting the job done,” I told him.
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bran said. “Be careful, Adam, or you’ll turn her into a real girl.” Adam looked at me. “I like her just the way she is, Bran.”
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
Since I love you, as you are, where you are—it hardly makes sense for me to kick about it when you act like yourself. Right?”
“I love my son,” Bran said, “but I love you, too.”
“The hell you can’t. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night,’ Samuel. ‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ ”
Pack is for comfort when you hurt, I thought, putting my head back down. And for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, I appreciated being a part of one.
“You go ahead and cry, baby. Ain’t no one going to say you don’t have the right. Get it over with and cry some for me—’cause if Kyle catches me crying, he’s gonna think I turned into one of those sissy boys.”
