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From Dead to Worse: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

The eighth book in the Sookie Stackhouse series continues the story of Sookie, a telepathic waitress living in the fictional town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. Set in a world where vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beings have revealed their existence to humans, the novel follows Sookie as she navigates personal and political upheaval following a major hurricane that disrupts the fragile balance of power among supernatural factions. The narrative explores themes of loyalty, change, and survival as Sookie contends with the aftermath of recent battles, the arrival of new threats, and the evolving dynamics of her relationships with vampires and shifters. The title reflects the escalating dangers and moral complexities Sookie encounters as her world grows increasingly chaotic. more

Author

Charlaine Harris
Charlaine Harris

Charlaine Harris is an American author known for her suspense and fantasy novels. She is best known for her 'Sookie Stackhouse' series, which was adapted into the television series 'True Blood'. Born on November 25, 1951, Harris has enjoyed a successful writing career, with her works being appreciated for their unique narrative style and intricate character development. more

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“That might work," I said. "I'm good at faking it." This led to a couple moments of uncomfortable silence from both of us. "You didn't mean... ?" Morelli asked. "No. Of course not." "Never?" "Maybe once." His eyes narrowed. "Once?" "It's all that comes to mind. It was the time we were late for your Uncle Spud's birthday party." "I remember that. That was great. You're telling me you faked it?" "We were late! I couldn't concentrate. It seemed like the best way to go.”

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“Men!" "At least we don't fake it." "Listen, it was your uncle. And we were late, remember? So I made the sacrifice and got us there in time for dessert. You should be thanking me." Morelli's mouth was open slightly and his face was registering a mixture of astonished disbelief and wounded, pissed-off male pride. Okay, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice at the time, and I knew he shouldn't be thanking me, but give me a break here... this wasn't famine in Ethiopia”

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“Ranger cradled my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes. "The ceremony is over. Can you make it back to the car?" I nodded. "I'm okay now. Am I red and blotchy from crying?" "Yes," Ranger said, brushing a kiss across my forehead. "I love you anyway." "There's all kinds of love," I said. Ranger took me by the hand and led me back to the SUV. "This is the kind that doesn't call for a ring. But a condom might come in handy." "That's not love," I told him. "That's lust.”

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“I am writing this book because we're all going to die - In the loneliness of my own life, my father dead, my brother dead, my mother faraway, my sister and my wife far away, nothing here but my own tragic hands that once were guarded by a world, a sweet attention, that now are left to guide and disappear their own way into the common dark of all our deaths, sleeping in me raw bed, alone and stupid: with just this one pride and consolation: my broke heart in the general despair and opened up inwards to the Lord, I made a supplication in this dream”

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