Werewolves never joke about age,” he said solemnly. “Why not?” Connor shrugged, a smile teasing his lips. “I dunno,” he finally admitted. “I just thought it sounded good.
You, sir, are not only a selfish asshole, but you're a coward. You didn't have the balls to stand and fight for what was yours, instead you chose to flee and force others into a fight that wasn't even theirs to begin with.
Ryker, you ride with Orlando,” Ryker mocked in a snarky voice as he turned to the other man. He gestured toward the Pinto with a look of revulsion on his rugged face. “How the hell does he expect both of us to fit into that tiny metal trap? Even ...
Orlando had a Pinto, a car that hadn't been in existence for thirty-plus years. He still hadn't figured out why a strong, strapping werewolf would want one. Orlando said it was because he'd customized it. Painted pink with purple stripes, the younger...
Once he got there, he stopped and looked back. “You know, the thing about manners is that we only seem to notice the lack of them in others. It's a lot harder to see mistakes in ourselves.
The preacher released a pent-up breath as he sagged in relief. “Thank God he's gone.” His eyes narrowed at Alexander as he bit out, “Did you know that man had the nerve to lasso me while I was out in the woods?
