Best 18 quotes of V. Theia on MyQuotes

Hawk's belly sunk hollow, black and empty, much like his chest that corroded desire into something nasty and wrong. Hawk paced until his knees creaked, glaring down at his phone like he could reach through and touch what he was forbidden to want.

Hawk was a fucking selfless savior, practically a saint. Where were his wings?

He got the deviant joke loud and clear, the one about the biggest head case craving the taste of a psychiatrist. The little bit of a thing was smarter than most.

Her life was one giant clusterfuck of crazy, she was the epicenter, and no matter what she did to outrun her own personally designed hurricane there it was sweeping her off to Oz.

Her libido hadn’t been this awake since … she couldn’t even remember. It was as if Avon had come calling and she was buying every damn lipstick in every damn shade.

He was a mortal man with more flaws than bones, shackled to a fantasy of his own nightmare making.

He was just your average biker in blue denim jeans, thick-soled boots and a long-sleeved shirt underneath the leather jacket, nothing special she tried to reason with her clutching ovaries, little traitorous bastards.

He wasn’t good. He was a goddamn cruel bastard.

He would have chucked her back into the pond otherwise. Bad fish, he didn't do them young. He was a fucking deviant, not a monster.

His little bit of a thing was an addiction he shared with no one.

His strut reminded her of a smiling serial killer, oh yeah, he'd kill you, but boy, he'd have lovely manners while he did it.

Hope was a weak rebellion not meant for the likes of him.

Love was a bitch because it shackled you as hard as steel cuffs, leaving you gasping and hollow for any connection.

Never taunt the devil, because the devil will show you what he had, pitchfork in hand. The devil was such a showboater, and Preacher was even worse.

She infested his mind, thoughts of worshipping her in dark ways, her laugh would be his reward, her screams his payment for a man worthy of being in her fucking presence and not dying of overexposure to all that goodness.

Some ties were hard to break, harder to severe, devastating to forget.

The devil couldn’t walk into a holy house and not expect a few flames.

There was some biblical irony in that somewhere only Mary Magdalene would understand hitting above her weight grade.