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Cold Fire The Coldest Girl in Coldtown

He leaned in. I’ve been waiting for the proper moment to unleash my talent upon the world.

You shot him, Dunwoody gasped. Why’d you do that?Hugh had no words. Daniel was hurt, perhaps even mortally, and he’d done it. He had done it. No one had forced him. And even now, as Daniel raised his bloody arm—his literally bloody arm—

Heart of Evil (Krewe of Hunters #2)

Hugh screamed as he felt his leg tearing into pieces.Why had he thought he’d hear the shot before he felt it? He knew how it worked. If Sir Isaac Newton was correct, sound traveled at a rate of 979 feet per second. Hugh was standing about twenty yards from Daniel, which meant that the bullet would have had to travel . . .He thought. And thought.

Afterlight (Dark Ink Chronicles #1)

He couldn’t work out the answer.Hugh! Hugh! came Dunwoody’s frantic voice. Hugh, are you all right?

Hugh looked up at Charles Dunwoody’s blurry face. If he was looking up, then he must be on the ground. He blinked, trying to set his world back into focus. Was he still drunk? He’d had a staggering amount of alcohol the night before, both before and after the altercation with Daniel.

No, he wasn’t drunk. At least not very much. He had been shot. Or at least, he thought he’d been shot. It had felt as if he’d taken a bullet, but it didn’t really hurt so much any longer. Still, it would explain why he was lying on the ground.I let him pull me for a second, maybe two, but then I stop moving.

What is it? Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you?I shake my head and pull my hand from his.

On Stranger Tides

I take a sip of night air. I said I’m running away.He makes a sound like a growl. What are you talking about? Do you have a death wish?

Opposite, I say. Will you help me?I don’t have a car. I don’t know how to drive. I don’t know anything about the world.

He makes another sound halfway between a growl and a laugh. I wish I could see his eyes in the dark.Something slams. A door? I grab his hands and pull us both flat against the side of his house. What was that?

Jesus. A door. From my house.I press myself flatter against the wall, trying to disappear. I peek over to the path leading from my house, fully expecting to see my mother coming down it. But she’s not there.

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