Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse, #4)

by Charlaine Harris

It’s probably a bad indicator of your lifestyle when you miss your ex-boyfriend because he’s absolutely lethal.

The way he said “lover” was like a caress, like he was calling me by a name no other man had ever used before or ever would after.

The people out here more than disliked strangers; they seemed to be allergic to them.

He was thinking like a chieftain with thralls at his disposal, not like a ruthless head vampire who owned a tourist bar in Shreveport.

When you have to clean the blood out of the kitchen, it’s family you want.

My Gran had always told me that a woman—any woman worth her salt—could do whatever she had to.