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Richelle Mead -
Vampire Academy (2007)
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Call me crazy for asking this, but, um, are Lissa and I going with you?" "No" "No?" "No.
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Yet, it had been Dimitri's gentleness and thoughtfulness mixed with that deadliness that made him so wonderful. The same hands that wielded stakes with such precision would carefully brush the hair out of my face. The eyes that could astutely spot any danger in the area would regard me wonderingly and worshipfully, like I was the most beautiful and amazing woman in the world.
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You were wrong. She really is the new general in town." I smiled back, hoping he wasn't aware of my body's reaction to us standing so close. "Maybe. But, it's okay. You can still be colonel." He arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you demote yourself? Colonel's right below general. What's that make you?" I reached into my pocket and triumphantly flashed the CR-V keys I'd swiped when we'd come back inside. "The driver," I said.
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His warmth was all around me, as was his love, and again, I felt that completeness. I had that missing piece of my word back. The soul that complemented mine. My match. My equal. Not only that, I had my life back -my own life. I would protect Lissa, I would serve, but I was finally my own person.
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Setting out around midnight, I couldn't help shaking my head, "We're the goddamned hottest vampire hunters ever." I muttered.
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Oh my God," he said. "A kind word from Rose Hathaway. I can die a happy man.
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A gun. I had been brought down by a gun. It was practically comical. Cheaters, I thought.
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I can't wait until this show gets on the road," he said. "You and me are going to have so much fun, Rose. Picking out curtains, doing each other's hair, telling ghost stories..." The reference to "ghost stories" hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. Not that choosing curtains or brushing Christian's hair was much more appealing.
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I stopped. She was bleeding after all. Perfect lines crossed her wrists, not near any crucial veins, but enough to leave wet red tracks across her skin. She hadn't hit her veins when she did this; death hadn't been her goal.
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But when the other end of the line picked up, it was his voicemail that answered, not the man himself. "I know how devastated you must be to miss me," his cheery voice said, "but leave a message, and I'll try to ease your agony as soon as possible.
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Okay,' I said quietly. 'I'll do whatever you say. Just remember not to talk down to me. I'm not your student anymore. I'm your equal now.' He glanced away from the side of the road just long enough to give me a surprised look. 'You've always been my equal, Roza.
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You have an interesting set of morals," he observed. "Breaking out of jail is okay. But steal a car, and you sound totally outraged.
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No, I can just read you. Finally. I can't believe how blind I was. I can't believe I never noticed. Victor's comment...he was right." She glanced off at the sunset, then turned her gaze back on me. A flash of anger, both in her feelings and her eyes, hit me. "Why didn't you tell me?" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me you loved Dimitri?
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You're burned into my mind forever. There is nothing, nothing in this world that will ever change that." And it was memories like that that made it so hard to comprehend this quest to kill him, even if he was a Strigoi. Yet...at the same time I had to destroy him. I needed to remember him as the man who'd loved me and held me in bed. I needed to remember that that man would not want to stay a monster.
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I had a standing arrangement with God: I'd agree to believe in him—barely—so long as he let me sleep in on Sundays.
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And so, surpassing my own records for dangerous, reckless behavior, I ripped off Sonya's bracelet. "I'm Rose Hathaway.
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He stepped back and threw his arms out. "I'm always crazy around you Rose. Here, I'm going to write an impromptu poem for you." He tipped his head back and shouted to the sky: "Rose is in red But never in blue Sharp as a thorn Fights like one too.
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All the best, Sydney P.S. "The Red Hurricane" is what I named the car. P.P.S. Just because I like you, it doesn't mean I still don't think you're an evil creature of the night. You are.
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Even Christian—the poster child for "smartass"—looked grim.
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Things die. But they don't always stay dead. Believe me, I know.
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I bet you never thought the hardest part of finding your 'saviorʹ would be getting her mom to let her stay out past curfew.
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I know how devastated you must be to miss me, but leave a message, and I'll try to ease your agony
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You said you were a victim. That's why...that's why ultimately, you and I aren't matched for each other. In spite of everything that's happened, I've never though of myself that way. Being a victim means you're powerless. That you won't take action. Always...always I've done something to fight for myself...for others. No matter what.
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While I'm fine with you two dating and being happy, please try not to break his heart too much when the time comes.
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The three cards were the Moon, the Empress, and the Ace of Cups. Ambrose leaned over my shoulder to peer at the cards. "Ooh,' he said. "Very interesting." Rhonda glanced up at him. "Hush. You don't know what you're talking about.
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I think Adrian really likes you. Like, in a wanting-to-be-serious way." "Nope. He likes me in a wanting-to-get-the-clothes-off-the-cute-dhampir way.
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Okay," I said, clasping her hand. "I swear it. The next time I do something stupid that might get me killed, you can come along.
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This was the kind of dress that changed the world. The kind of dress that started religions.
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He sighed and then focused his eyes right on me. It was like drowning, drowning in seas of green. There was nothing in the world except for those eyes. "I want to kiss you, Rose," he said softly. "And I want you to want me too.
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Was Deirdre right about me purposely wanting relationships that were impossible?
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Quote of the day
I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up.
Mark Twain
Richelle Mead
Creative Commons
Born:
November 12, 1976
(age 48)
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