Quote of the Day


Eric came over to me, beaming. I had never been more undilutedly glad that our bond was broken, because I didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, even a little bit. He put his arms around me, kissed me with enthusiasm, and all I could smell was blood. He was wet with it. It was getting all over my dress and my arms and my chest.
After a minute he drew back, frowning. “Sookie?” he said. “You’re not rejoicing?”
I tried to think of what to say. I felt like a big fat hypocrite. “Eric, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Victor anymore. And I know this was what we planned. But surrounded by dead people and body parts is not my idea of a good place for a celebration, and I’ve never been less horny in my life.” His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like my raining on his parade. Understandable.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? I found all of this understandable. But I still hated it, hated myself, wasn’t too fond of anyone else. “You need some blood,” I said. “I really am sorry you were wounded, and you go ahead and take some.”
“You are being a hypocrite, and I will take blood,” he said, and he struck.
It hurt. He didn’t make it feel good, an action almost automatic for a vampire. Tears ran down my face without my wanting them to. In an odd way, I felt the pain was merited, justified—but I also understood this was a turning point in our relationship.
Our relationship had been marked by a thousand turning points, seemed like.


— Charlaine Harris, Dead Reckoning


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