Unless There Was A Reason For Me

Is There A Particular Reason You Keep Biting Vampires?" Will Touched The Dried Blood On His Wrists, And Smiled. "they Don't Expect It." "of Course They Don't. They Know What Happens When One Of Us Consumes Vampire Blood. They Probably Expect You To Have More Sense." "that Expectation Never Seems To Serve Them Very Well, Does It?

My Name Is Herondale," The Boy Said Cheerfully. "william Herondale, But Everyone Calls Me Will. Is This Really Your Room? Not Very Nice, Is It?" He Wandered Toward The Window, Pausing To Examine The Stacks Of Books On Her Bedside Table, And Then The Bed Itself. He Waved A Hand At The Ropes. "do You Often Sleep Tied To The Bed?

You Could Know A Man Not By What His Friends Said About Him, But By How He Treated His Servants.

And In Some Way, Clary Thought, He Meant It, Meant His Gratitude. He Had Long Ago Lost The Ability To Distinguish Between Force And Cooperation, Between Fear And Willingness, Between Love And Torture. And With That Realization Came A Rush Of Numbness—what Was The Point Of Hating Valentine For Being A Monster When He Didn’t Even Know He Was One?

How She Still Thought Of Max Every Day And It Was Like Someone Had Emptied Her Lungs Of Air, And She Would Catch At Her Heart, Afraid She Was Dying.