TITLE: Beautiful Stranger
RATING: T for language and brief depictions of violence and intimacy. (May be revised later)
PAIRING: Pam/Tara (Human Pam/Vampire Tara)
SYNOPSIS: AU. What if it wasn't Eric who saved Pam that fateful night in San Francisco?
DISCLAIMER: True Blood, its characters etc. do not belong to me; I'm simply borrowing them for my amusement. I promise to return them back relatively intact, safe and sane. *laughs*
A/N: I've been toying around with the idea of Pam being human and Tara being vampire. How different would their dynamic be? How would it affect their interactions with each other? The perfect opportunity came up when I was watching that flashback scene of Pam in San Francisco. As I was watching it, I thought to myself, 'what if it was Tara who saved Pam?' Plus, trying to tackle a story set in the Victorian/Edwardian era was just too tempting to resist (though I might end up regretting it as my knowledge of this time period is a little rusty). I'm aiming this story to be romance driven though knowing me, some angst and drama will probably trickle in here and there. For those who decide to climb onboard, welcome! And enjoy.
Chapter 1 - Introductions
T'was a night made up of salt and broken dreams.
Pam breathed in the despondency, unmoved by the undercurrent of danger and despair that salted the night air like a smattering of spices. She crossed the cobblestoned street, ears perking up, her head turning daintily as a horse-drawn carriage clip-clopped past her, the poor beast's breath coming out in staggered, visible puffs of ghostly-white condensation even as its sides billowed and concaved from exertion.
Summers in San Francisco were a conundrum, often being colder than its winter counterpart.
Pam was reminded of this as the carriage turned a corner, disappearing into the night like an overgrown shadow that had found substance. She shivered as a petulant gust of crisp ocean air unfurled around her lithe frame and shrank further into her flimsy jacket that was more aesthetically pleasing than weather-sensible.
Such was the life of a whore. Looks were everything but practicality and common sense was a luxury few in her line of work could afford.
Pam mentally rolled her cerulean blue eyes as she veered off into a narrow side street, tucking away her grim thoughts into a faraway compartment at the back of her mind. It did not bode well for a whore to dwell on what once was and now was not the time for such deep ruminations. Alone and walking on the streets of San Francisco at the Twilight hour was foolhardy for the average female but for a whore? She was basically asking for it.
Apparently the gods above seemed to agree with Pam as she continued down the side street, her skirts swishing against the bountiful fabric of her petticoat, its sound a seductive siren all on its own.
Trouble arrived in the guise of approaching footsteps.
Pam's back went ramrod stiff, her heart pounding triple time in the confines of her chest as the footsteps grew louder, surer, subtle menace in every echo. Indignation quickly followed, rearing its ugly head, numerous years of selling her body still unable to erase that inbred snobby, sophisticated English girl within her.
It was that part of her, that part of Pam that reminded her of a life that she had long left behind that made her stop, made her whirl around, her skirts rustling angrily as though it were trying to mimic its owner's emotions.
Her mouth opened, lush crimson lips parting like the red sea to allow words soaked in a haughty, slightly frosty tone that only the rich and the powerful could afford to let loose. On a whore? She was asking for trouble.
Not that it stopped her.
"May I help you?" Her inner English girl had possessed Pam, seizing control of her basic motor functions, stealing her tongue to voice aloud her defiance that was noticeable in every careful enunciation of every word.
Pam's unsavory shadow turned out to be a man. A man of average stature judging by his clean but slightly worn garments. He seemed friendly enough at first glance but a second closer look revealed a cold and calculating glimmer in pitch-black eyes that raised every alarm in the back of Pam's mind.
The man tipped his hat, fingers barely skimming the brim of his top hat, the gesture that was meant to be gentlemanly coming off as mocking instead. "Begging your pardon," he began in an oily tone that grated against Pam's nerves. "But you look –" Another pause, this time deliberate as the man ran an equally unctuous gaze that bordered on a leer down the length of Pam's front, unashamedly undressing her with his eyes. "– quite lovely," he finished obsequiously as he tracked his eyes back up to meet Pam's fiery azure blue gaze.
Pam's teeth clenched in response, fingers twitching where they lay at her sides as she fought against the urge to ball them into fists. She tried to check herself, she really did. But rebellion was an intrinsic part of her and talking back was as natural to the blonde as breathing.
"I'm off the clock," she heard herself respond snootily. "Come by tomorrow. We open at eight."
Had Pam taken more caution, taken one more second to observe the man, she would have seen his oily smile flatten and his eyes darken with rage. This was a man who did not like being dismissed. Especially by a whore.
But Pam, had thrown caution to the wind. Driven by that inner English girl that had more than once gotten her into trouble, she turned her back on the man.
It was an instantaneous and grave mistake.
Any traces of gentility vanished from the man's face as his expression twisted into a mask of malice and fury. He lunged forward, surprisingly agile and swift on his feet despite the uneven ground of the cobblestones. Callous hands reached out and grabbed Pam by the upper arm, spinning her around to face him once again.
Arousal shot through his veins like opium, stirring parts of him to life as Pam screamed, shock and fear from the rough and abrupt manhandling loosening the sound from the walls of her throat.
The man moved in, throwing Pam up against a nearby lamppost with an unpleasant thump, smiling as he did so. It was a cruel smile, a triumphant smile. It was the smile of a predator, one that was swimming, basking in the satisfaction of having caught its prey.
The man wrapped lean fingers around Pam's throat, applying enough pressure to make it hurt but not enough to fully cut off her air supply.
His smirk was smug, egotistical, as Pam screamed once more.
"That's right, whore," he hissed into her face, tightening his grip around Pam's delicate throat a fraction as she attempted to squirm out of his chokehold. Arousal and excitement stank from his pores as Pam let loose yet another petrified scream. His free hand delved into his coat pocket, procuring from it, a switchblade, which he flicked open in a deliberately dramatic fashion. Eager anticipation coupled with sweet satisfaction made him almost unbearably hard as he observed Pam's terrified gaze, blue eyes flickering back and forth as she sought futilely for help that was nowhere in sight.
"I like it when you struggle," he purred roughly as he pressed his rigid length, currently imprisoned in his trousers, against Pam's hip.
Hot rolls of nausea and disgust coursed through Pam and bile rose in her throat at the unwanted touch. Wide blue eyes bounced from the knife in the man's hand to dark brown eyes that were diluted with desire and bright with the need to possess, to dominant. However, when her attacker's words registered with her screaming brain, like a striking blow from a hammer, Pam felt the miasma of fear and panic seep away.
The blonde went purposely lax beneath the man's unflinching grip, her face smoothing into marble. Cobalt eyes, previously panicked and fearful turned cool, unaffected, as Pam stared deliberately into her attacker's eyes. Those suddenly cold blue eyes mocked him, silently telling him that she would not give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle.
The man received Pam's message loud and clear. If it wasn't in her proud gaze then it was in the way she was took to almost leaning casually against the lamppost, as if she hadn't a care in the world. His eyes narrowed at the unexpected change in the blonde's demeanor, his ego and other parts of him deflating slightly in wake of such blatant mutiny.
He snarled, jerking Pam backwards, his grip tightening on the knife. The bitch wanted to play? Fine. He would give her something to really scream about.
The man inched the knife forward, furious by the calm, almost resigned look in Pam's eyes but before the tip of his blade could nick or mar any inch of beautiful alabaster skin, a sudden gust of unnatural wind ruffled the tails of his coat. It was all the warning the man was given before he was thrown bodily away from Pam, pain exploding like a succession of fireworks, hot and bright, from his throat.
Pam was stupefied by the sudden turn of events, rightly so for she hadn't even seen her rescuer's arrival, let alone how or what he or she did to her attacker and would be rapist.
Between one blink and next, Pam was suddenly free of her attacker's grip and the man who thought to rape her was on the ground, gurgling pitifully as he clutched at his ruined throat that was vomiting rivulets of dark, red blood. Blood that the cobblestones that made up the streets greedily inhaled, sucking in the life giving liquid into its various cracks until thin trickles of crimson spiderwebbed into the darkness that lay beyond.
Pam watched, horrified, as the man wheezed, fingers fumbling over the gaping hole in his throat and slipping repeatedly from being wet with too much blood. She watched, eyes impossibly wide as he attempted to rise, failed, then collapsed sideways onto the ground, dead and unmoving save for the blood that continued to pump out from his fatal wound.
"Are you alright?"
Cerulean blue eyes snapped up, its owner having forgotten about the new arrival that had essentially saved her life.
One look at her rescuer and Pam felt the bottom of her stomach drop out.
Vampire.
The blonde's heart once again began a panicked hammering, tattooing a beat so loud against her ribs that she was sure the vampire that stood before her could hear it.
Pam tried to calm her frantic heart to no avail. Power oozed off this vampire in waves so thick that the air around them turned gluey and electric. The blonde stared, unable to help herself. Only well-bred manners, ingrained into her psyche by the life she had left behind, kept her from outright gawking.
The vampire, stranger, was female, her voice having gave away her gender despite its low alto. She was dressed in male clothing, top hat, waistcoat, formal jacket and all but it was all tailor-made to contour to the curves of a feminine figure.
"You're not afraid."
The homely chicken-fried drawl gave Pam pause for it was so deeply at odds with the stranger's currently blood drenched hand. A hand that the stranger brought forth to her lips, a tongue absentmindedly peeking out from plush pink lips to lick away at the crimson liquid.
When Pam failed to answer, failed to speak at all, the stranger looked up. As fathomless midnight eyes settled on the blonde's face, Pam felt her breath catch for she was now staring into a face no mortal could possibly bear to wear.
"I'm not stranger to dead bodies," Pam found herself responding, proud that she had finally found her voice and that it was calm, steady, despite the very grim fact that she was currently looking straight into the eyes of a new, more mortal danger.
The stranger's face was removed of all emotion save for an unreadable ember that glowed in the dark of her eyes. She nursed her hand, licking blood from her fingertips like a child would after consuming a sticky, sweet treat.
"The streets can be dangerous at this hour."
The chiding jingle in the stranger's stalwart Southern inflection raised Pam's hackles though she remained thankfully mute. She watched as the stranger pulled out a white handkerchief with a flourish, then proceeded to bloody its pristine whiteness by mopping up the remnants of blood that still coated her hand like an organic glove.
"A lady should really be more careful," the stranger continued as she tucked the blood-stained handkerchief back into her pocket.
"If I meet a lady, I'll let her know." The acerbic words tumbled out of Pam's mouth with no regards to its owner's safety; the caustic retort instinctive as each syllable fell into a cauldron of insolence and emerged out of her mouth laced with sarcasm.
Pam groaned inwardly, cursing her quick tongue though outwardly, she gave no indication of having regretted her words.
The stranger huffed out a gentle laugh of amusement at Pam's sass and boldness. She stared at the blonde, delight flaring in the dark of her eyes as Pam stared right back, her expression rightfully wary but more than a little haughty, arrogant even.
Seconds passed as Pam and stranger indulged in an unwitting staring contest but when the stranger's gaze turned inquisitive and more than a little predatory, Pam had to fight against the urge to press herself back up against the lamppost she was still somewhat leaning on for support. Her next exhale came out staggered, shaky when the stranger bestowed upon her a slow, burning smile. It was a smile full of secrets, full of charisma, charming and fatal all at once.
Pam gulped as the stranger suddenly moved and despite the fact that she was essentially being cornered by a vampire, the blonde couldn't help but admire the sleek and graceful way the stranger moved. The vampire was light on her feet, every movement containing the grace of a ballerina coupled with the sensual prowl of a predator that knew, without a shadow of a doubt, where it belonged on the food chain.
Pam's breath hitched, her heart now beating so fast that she was starting to feel lightheaded from all the blood rushing through her ears as the stranger closed the distance between them with slow but deliberate steps, stopping only when she was a hair's breadth away from pressing her front up against Pam's.
The scent of wild earth, cloves and something else Pam couldn't identify engulfed her like the most seductive of perfumes, the most cunning of poisons and the blonde had to fight hard against the urge to let her eyes roll to the back of her head.
"That is a uh..." The stranger ran a quick gaze down Pam's dress, dark eyes appreciative, hungry even, as they finally traveled back up to settle against wide lapis blue eyes. "...lovely dress," she complimented softly. "I'm sorry about all the blood."
Blood? What blood?
As if sensing Pam's confusion, the stranger's dark gaze flicked down to the ground. Glaucous blue eyes followed, finding her answer in her attacker that lay dead and decomposing at their feet.
Oh. Right.
"It's umm..." Pam struggled to string together a simple, coherent sentence, the stranger's heady scent oddly intoxicating, the close proximity of their bodies coupled with the slightly sheepish expression on the stranger's face discombobulating her mental equilibrium. "It's fine," she finally breathed out, her voice this side of a soft whisper, barely audible and yet sounding all too loud at the same time.
The stranger cocked her head, a gesture Pam found simultaneously adorable and surreal for it did not match the powerful, predatory aura that still seeped from the stranger like a rain from a cloud.
Power. So much of it. It fairly oozed off the stranger, making the air hum until Pam could almost see it take corporeal form. The blonde suppressed a near irresistible urge to shrink back as the stranger lasered an obsidian gaze onto her face, her observation of Pam so bold, so unapologetic that the blonde found herself almost hypnotized.
Hypnotized and terrified.
The sound of jingling coins snapped Pam out of her stupor and shame rose like a violent, mocking wave as her hand automatically lifted to accept the cold currency.
"This should cover it," the stranger intoned, her voice soft, caring almost.
Shame still reigned supreme but perplexed by the remorse in the stranger's voice, Pam dropped any and all resistance to not openly stare at her rescuer as alabaster fingers closed around the fistful of coins that the stranger dropped into her upturned palm. Another blatant glance into apologetic but hungry ink-black eyes sent Pam's mind reeling and this time, she gave in to her baser instincts, widening the gap between their bodies by pressing further back into the lamppost.
"Thank you," Pam uttered, her inbred English manners not expecting anything less after such a sincere compensation even though her recoiling from the stranger was anything but courteous. "Miss…?"
The stranger said nothing, gave away nothing as she stared at Pam. Then, she smiled. It was that low, slow, burning smile that was all at once cocky, sincere and gentle and Pam was simultaneously dismayed, bewildered and frightened by the slab of warmth that that smile suddenly ignited in the pits of her belly.
The blonde resisted the urge to pull at her hair or clutch at the sides of her head when the stranger stepped back, respecting her personal space but sparking off a pang of loss somewhere deep in the dungeons of Pam's heart.
She was losing her mind.
"May I escort you home?"
The courteous offer snapped Pam out of her questionable musings and contemplations of her sanity. Prussian blue eyes darkened to the color of slate as they turned to granite, anger and shame and indignation fortifying her walls, shutting out any warmth she gleaned from the stranger's rescue.
This stranger, this vampire, pitied her. Pitied Pam.
The blonde's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking angrily in her jaw as she pulled herself up to her full height, backing away from the sturdy support of the lamppost as she did so.
Pam did not take kindly to charity. And she sure as hell wasn't going to be this stranger's pity project, vampire be damned.
"I am perfectly capable of walking myself home, thank you." Pam's voice was pointedly acidic, her pronunciation flawless, bespeaking of an education afforded to only the upper class.
The stranger inclined her head, both at Pam's burst of temper and the slight shift of her accent into a lilted cadence but instead of commenting, she took another step back, a physical display of respecting the blonde's wishes.
"Safe journey home then," the stranger said softly. She tipped her hat at Pam, stepped out from the distorted circle of light from the lamppost and into the shadows that lay beyond.
Pam was thrown by the stranger's easy compliance but was not foolish enough to question it. She edged out from where she stood flanked between the lamppost and stranger, her steps unsure, questioning. However, when the stranger remained motionless, a flawless statue of midnight and curves, almost blending in with the dark, the blonde found that her feet had taken the initiative and walked her down the lonely, empty side street that would take her home.
The distance Pam put between her and the stranger did not diminish the fact that midnight eyes were glued onto her back, its gaze penetrating but projecting nothing but protectiveness edged with concern. The blonde slowed her gait, knowing that it was unwise but unable to resist the urge to indulge in the stranger's protective gaze. Her walk slowed to a crawl almost as she basked in the feel of all that safety, that security that the stranger was bathing her in. She relished the feeling, not having felt such concern towards her in far too long. It was warm, comforting; she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such care.
Pam stumbled as her shoe caught against an upturned cobblestone but before she could face plant onto the ground, the stranger was at her side, steadying her with a firm but gentle grip on her elbow.
Cool fingers dipped in midnight caressed the silky fabric of her jacket, sending strange sensations to scuttle down her skin. Pam shivered as the stranger's touch lingered for a fraction too long but didn't comment.
"That's twice you've saved me tonight," Pam sighed instead, resignation heavy in her tone as she allowed the stranger to support her, right her. When she felt the stranger's touch drop from her elbow, she experienced another confusing echo of loss. Shrugging it off, she turned, running smack dab into eyes that gleamed like black jewels out from a face that could only belong to an immortal.
Pam swallowed against the lump that suddenly developed in her throat at the stranger's unblinking gaze before pointedly away, unnerved by how much that dark stare seemed to strip her of all her secrets.
Silence crowed, obnoxious and unrelenting even as it was intermittently muted by the crackling of power that wafted off the stranger. It was like standing next to a live current. Dangerous. Undeniable. Unpredictable.
"You should go home," the stranger finally spoke, her Southern drawl, pronounced, her tone low, pained almost.
Pam watched as the stranger took two deliberate strides backwards, opening up a chasm between them. A chasm that for some odd reason, made Pam ache deep in her heart. She shook off the disquieting feeling for the third time that night, gathered what was left of her nerves and opened her mouth to release a question that had been burning like a stray spark from a fire on the tip of her tongue.
"May I at least have the privilege of knowing my savior's name?"
The truth was, Pam wanted, needed a name to place next to this enigmatic and beautiful stranger. If nothing else, she wanted to at least savor this stranger's name like a fine wine on her tongue. It was the least she could do, the only homage she could offer this stranger after having been saved by her twice tonight.
The stranger stared at Pam, her body seeming to lose its shape and solidness as she blended eerily into the shadows that whorled around her like it knew her intimately. Dark eyes holding a wealth of secrets and lives bore into Pam and the blonde itched to uncover all the mysteries it held but knew she wasn't privy, wasn't worthy of such deep, personal knowledge.
Pam squirmed slightly, her breath bated as the stranger seemed to stare right into her soul with those fascinatingly endless dark eyes. She almost sagged in relief when the stranger finally softened her stare, once again gracing Pam with that slow, burning smile.
"Tara," the stranger finally spoke, her voice soft, her midnight hued eyes never leaving Pam's vortex of steel-gray and winter blue.
"Tara Thornton."
TBC