She had come into the garden expecting summer roses and had instead been caught in a bank of twisted, thorny, frostbitten vines.

Don't tell me it's going to fucking be okay! I am not okay with being that fucker's pinata!

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks…damsels.

I want to be your last thought at night, and your first taste at dawn.

Only the cruelest hunters set their traps with terror and trepidation.

He acted like a libertine of Europe with a genteel Southern propriety—and had all the morals of an emotionless psychopath. The two former masked the latter, like leaves covering a snare. You didn't notice the steel jaws until they were impaled in your flesh, and by then it was already far too late to run.