You have to understand, the blood we drink every day to stay alive comes out of a jar in the refrigerator. It is the very definition of gross.

Sure, I had been accused of murder by my family and was wrapped up in a bizarre investigation, but there were such cute boys involved. Hey, I try to look on the bright side.

I guess it could be worse. My name could be Tlaquepaque, or Irkutsk, or Pyongyang. Or, you know, Pittsburgh. Sometimes I flip through the atlas just to remind myself of all the names that would...

If you were dying…If you were sixteen and dying…If your blood was spilling out of you, calling to them, the creatures of the night, and you knew you were dying…If you saw their pale faces...

Can I buy you an ice cream beforeI take you home? I feel like it’s the least I can do after scaring your shirt off.

I haven’t entirely adjusted to the whole yum, blood, yum aspect of being a vampire. My body wants it, but my head is still like, Ew, that is BLOOD, time to faint.