Vampires. They wrote the book on possessive.

I snuck a look to see how Eric was taking this, and he was staring at me the same way the Monroe vampires had. Thoughtful. Hungry."That's interesting," he said. "I had a psychic once. It was incredible.""Did the psychic think so?

I hate witches. Humans had the right idea, burning them at the stake.

As I climbed up into the high old bed, the large fly in my personal ointment did the same. Had I actually told him he could get in bed with me? Well, I decided, as I wriggled down under the soft old sheets and the blanket and the comforter, if Eric had designs on me, I was just too tired to care."Woman?""Hmmm?""What's your name?""Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse.""Thank you, Sookie.""Welcome, Eric.

But there's a juicy artery in your groin," he said after a pause to regroup, his voice as slithery as a snake on a slide."Don't you talk dirty," I told him. "I won't listen to that.

Come on," I said, taking his hand. Clutching the afghan with the other hand, he trailed down the hall after me, a snow white giant in tiny red underwear.

Because he sounded so lost-the Eric I knew had never been one to do anything other than assume others should serve him-I patted around under the covers for his hand. When I found it, I slid my own over it. His palm was turned up to meet my palm, and his fingers clasped mine. And though I would not have thought it possible to go to sleep holding hands with a vampire, that's exactly what I did.

(Sookie's Thoughts on Debbie Pelt) she had been cruel to Alcide, insulted me grievously, burned a hole in my favorite wrap and—oh—tried to kill me by proxy. Also, she had stupid hair.

If there were an international butt competition, Eric would win, hands down—or cheeks up.