Author's Note: This Second Part of Deadly Bloodline is the Second Story of my planned Trilogy. Please, read "Dead and Taken" (The First Story) before you read "Deadly Bloodline Part 1" to avoid any confusion and or misunderstanding. Thank you very much for the attention, critics and reading...I am really touched.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Charlaine Harris, I have no rights or whatsoever with them. I only take the liberty to play with them. I am really down and out, Ms. Harris, so please don't sue me.

'Mr. Harmon' belongs to Mr. Harmon and Me. James and Victoria are my children, therefore they belong to me.

Thanks to BonTempsBeau who betaed this story.

This chapter and probably many chapters in the future is dedicated to the original Mr. Harmon.

Chapter Fifty-One

Prologue

Nobody knows his real name.

Everybody who works for him calls him Mr. Harmon. He is a man in his forties, around 6 feet tall with the build of a person who spends a lot of time in gym. His hair is dark brown and his eyes are blue green. He is one of those men who are blessed with thick and healthy hair. His people are always amazed to see that in his age, there are still no signs of a receding hairline or strands of gray hair.

He's also not a man of many words. He doesn't talk much and when he does, his voice is very low. Usually, he will only sit on his leather chair, put his hands together and stare at his visitors. He will stare straight and long – for some people; it's too long and that makes them nervous. 'There's something not normal about his eyes' some say. 'I would try to avoid his eyes, if I were you. I feel like I am staring into an abyss every time I look him in the eyes and. Honestly, I don't want to know what lives inside them.'

Mr. Harmon knows that. He knows that the people are afraid of him, and it seems he enjoys that they are – at least, that was what the people say.

The blue sky was touched by a soft hint of red. From his window, it looked like unseen hands were playing with red satin veils, creating soft curves and layers. He stood there, grabbing the edge of the curtain. His famous blue green eyes were narrowed and fixed on a point somewhere in the sky. It was a habit, which every figure who was in his office knew: Mr. Harmon was not pleased. He was thinking; and he wasn't pleased.

The sun had set two hours ago, but the sky was still bright. It was one of those late summer days, which drove many vampires crazy. The sun wasn't there anymore, but the heat was still strong enough to harm them. If they weren't careful enough and thought that they could go out without any problem, they would be surprised to find themselves having sun burn, just like when the humans stay too long under the sun. Like humans, it was painful for them. They would feel ravenous, but at the same time, they would be too weak to hunt

The big office on the 30th floor looked cold. Its walls were painted soft grey with square wall panels. In fact, all furniture in the room looked square and simple. The tables, the chairs and the cabinets in the corner – they all had the same style square and simple. No curves, no flower shapes, no other color than light brown. On his table, there were a telephone and a square wooden box, in which his secretary put his mails.

Sitting on a sofa in front of the table was a man, with a huge scar across his face. His skin was brown and rough from weather and sunlight. He wore a red plaid shirt and jeans. The shirt, with sleeves rolled above the elbow, didn't hide the scars on his arms.

A few footsteps away from him was a pale man wearing a black leather jacket, black shirt and trousers. His hair was curly and oily. It was so oily that when the light touched its surface, it looked as if he was under a spotlight. In his hand was a bottle, which he held loosely.

The woman, who was standing beside the door, crossed her hands across her chest. Her hair was rolled and huge sunglasses covered her eyes.

"I tried to catch the boy, Mr. Harmon," he said. His voice was deep and broken. "But I was attacked. Those sons of bitches attacked me without any reason. If I ever get my hands on them…"

Mr. Harmon lifted his hand off the curtain and that man fell silent.

"Even before you were attacked, you already had a face that only your mother can love, so shut the fuck up, George." The pale man put the bottle on the table. The label on the bottle read: TruBlood.

The man, who was called George, growled. His face, which was full of scars, looked sinister. He was never a ladies man, but he wasn't also that ugly. Those bastards from Beaumont would pay for what they had done to him. Since the attack that happened a couple of weeks ago, he had to run around with big scars across his face. He had to make up a dramatic story about being attacked by some coyotes in Texas during hunting season. He could only hope the people whom he hung around with would believe him, but some didn't. And those bastards who didn't believe him were now in the same room with him.

"How many times do I have to say that you shall not drink that, Mr. Mott?" Mr. Harmon said, without turning around. "It can damage your brain."

"To do that, Mr. Harmon," said George. "He has to have a brain to start with."

Mott grinned. "What shall happen to me? Dead? I am dead already anyway."

"Useless," said George. "It's simply useless to reason with you, Mott."

"Is it?" he pulled something out of his jacket. It was a big brown envelope, which was wrinkled all over its surface. "At least, I can do my job." He threw the map on the table. "He's in Shreveport, all right. He's here under the protection of the mighty Long Tooth Clan," there was a mockery in his voice that couldn't be missed. "Isn't he, Victoria?"

The woman, who was quiet all along, remained silent.

"Oh, don't tell me that you can't do your job, either," Mott sneered. Then, he chuckled. "You fucked his brains out, didn't you?"

"That's not the way to speak to a lady, Mott."

"A lady?" within a blink of an eye, Mott was already standing in front of the woman. "I still remember when she sold her piece of meat on the street to get fed."

"You've mistaken me with your mother."

"I hope you didn't make any silly mistakes that would jeopardize the whole operation, Ms. Luna. There are many lives at stake here, including your own," Mr. Harmon looked at the woman, "especially, by having a sexual intercourse with a minor."

"I don't sleep with him, and I don't intend to." Victoria Luna looked straight into Mr. Harmon's eyes, only for a moment, and then she turned her face away.

"Why? Can't handle a virgin?"

The woman's eyes turned orange; Mott bared his fangs. "I will deliver him when the time is right," Luna said. Her face was cold, when she said, "He will come to you willingly, when I have finished with him."

Mott moved away. He snorted. "Virgin and untouched, I hope."

"What is it with you?" George asked. "Never have a virgin in your life?"

"They taste better. If you see the fear in their eyes when they look at you, the sweetness that runs in their blood, and that warm wet breath touches your face, you will know what I mean."

George cleared his throat. "You're a sick bastard."

"Well," Mott touched his oily hair. "I guess I am."

"Then, you will not like what you're going to hear, Mr. Mott," Mr. Harmon returned to his chair. "Haru Kimura is in Louisiana."

"What did you just say?" Mott's eyes were wide open.

"Haru Kimura is in Louisiana, in Bon Temps, to be exact."

"Who the fuck is Haru Kimura?" asked Luna.

"Haru Kimura, Ms. Luna, is the one who is responsible for somebody like Mr. Mott running around freely," Mr. Harmon emphasized the word 'somebody' with a clear voice that demonstrated he felt disgusted by it. "He is the creator of True Blood. I believe he is with the Northman family now, protected and guarded by the Grey Hound. I want you to return to Bon Temps and get as close as possible with Haru Kimura and finds out why he came to Bon Temps. Get as much information as you can. I don't care if you have to sleep with Northman, Hervaux, the whole members of Grey Hound or even the boy to get it; I don't care, just, get it done."

The woman's face was bright red as she heard that.

"And you, George, fix your face. I need you to be in Bon Temps without being recognized."

"I can't do it in a day, Mr. Harmon."

"Take vampire blood,"

George swallowed his own spit. He hated vampire blood. He had taken it once, and ended up in a dirty empty alley without knowing what had happened to him. "Now, Mr. Harmon, I…," he stopped as their eyes met. "Yes, Mr. Harmon."

"How long has he been in Shreveport?" asked Mott. "The League doesn't know anything about it," he looked at Mr. Harmon. "If they do…,"

The League was the American Vampires League. For vampires, it was only the League.

"They won't tell," said Mr. Harmon. "They don't want to have chaos."

"Chaos? You don't understand Mr. Harmon. He's a god! Every one of us will try to make contact with him, try to show our gratitude, protect him, raise a shrine…."

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted George. "Don't get too excited, Mott. The last time you got too excited, we had to clean up the whole fucking building."

Mott jumped on him. His fangs were bared. He would've bored his fangs into George's throat, if the man hadn't had a silver knife in his hand. "Try, Mott. Just try."

"I made a mistake, once, and I paid for my mistake already," Mott hissed. "You don't have to repeat it over and over again. I could've mistaken you for being provocative and you know I don't like being provoked. The last time somebody provoked me, even the forensic people couldn't identify which part went with which other part. You surely don't want your mother to bury your finger nails only."

"Gentlemen!"

Both of them broke apart. Mott fixed his leather jacket; George got up from his seat. In his hand, the silver knife was gleaming.

"I'd really appreciate if you didn't use that knife on everybody, George," said Mr. Harmon. "You already killed werewolves with that knife; any other action, involving that knife will lead them straight to you. You certainly don't think that the company has your name on the payroll, do you?"

"No, Sir."

"Good, at least we understand each other," said Mr. Harmon.

"But you certainly don't think that I will keep my mouth shut about the real owner of this knife, do you, Sir?"

"No, George, I don't think so."

"Then, we do understand each other…Sir."

The room was quiet. The tension that was already in the air was getting heavier. Luna still looked calm, but everybody could see that her eyes were orange the whole time. Mott was now leaning against the wall, watching the giant banner with the name of the company flapping in the wind. George, with knife in hand, watched Mr. Harmon sit in his chair and strumming his fingers on the desk.

"When do you want me to go, Sir?" finally Luna asked.

"The sooner, the better," Mr. Harmon stopped tapping the table. "I want this matter to be settled before the National Assembly takes place." He turned to Mott. "And I want you to stay away from Haru Kimura, Mott."

"Certainly, you do, Sir." Mott smirked. "The question is if I am willing to do it."

"Some people won't be happy if you ruin their plans, Mott." A faint smile was on his face. "You should really be careful this time. They might not give you another chance."

Mott sneered. "Like I said, Mr. Harmon. What could happen to me? I am dead already."

Xxxxx

Outside the building, Luna opened her mobile phone. She dialed a number, and then said, "James? It's me, Vicky…"

The voice on the other line was almost yelling. "What do you want?"

"I want to see you, James."

"You left me! After you'd promised that you would stay by me, you left me!" His voice was lower now, but Vicky could tell he was near tears. "How could you do that to me?"

"I am sorry, James."

There was silence on the other line.

Luna waited.

After a while, "Where are you?"

"In Baton Rouge."

"When will you come to Bon Temps? You will come back to Bon Temps, right?"

"Do you want me to?"

Again, there was silence.

Then, "I miss you, Victoria…"

A smile was on Luna's face. "I miss you too, James." She took out her car key and opened the door. "I'll come to you tonight. Leave your window open. You are at home, aren't you?"

"No, I am at the Haven."

"That would be difficult, Baby…"

"I'll go home tomorrow." Then, a short pause, "You really want to come?"

"Yes, James."

"Victoria…"

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave? Mom isn't angry about us anymore. She seems to like you, too."

"I had to leave, James. I don't want to hurt you more than I already did."

"You hurt me more when you left me like that!" the voice on the other line yelled again. Luna had to lift her mobile phone off her ears this time. "There is another man, isn't there?" His voice sounded enraged when he spat out the word 'man'.

"No, James. There is no other man."

"I love you, Victoria. If you don't love me, just say so."

Luna bit her lips. If there were something that she couldn't stand from that boy, it would be his way of saying things the way they were. "It's not that easy, James."

"So, you don't love me." Again, there was pain in his voice.

"I don't want to lie, James; but I want to be with you, to get to know you better, wait for you until you're old enough…"

"You'll do that?"

"Yes, James," she sighed. "I will."

"I'll leave the window open. I love you, Victoria."

Luna closed her mobile phone.

"You're a fucking bitch, Luna. You know that?"

Luna turned around and saw George standing some steps behind her. His cigarette was dangling in his mouth. "I can be a bitch, you're right."

George snorted. "Just don't fuck him, will you? You don't want to deal with Mott later…," he sneered. "But if you do and if you plan to tell Mott; just let me know. I want to be there." Then, he laughed mockingly.

Luna got in her car and slammed the door. She wanted to fuck James; that was for sure. However, she didn't want to get closer to him than absolutely necessary. That boy had an aura, something that she couldn't explain, that drew her near and she couldn't resist him. She didn't want to believe in that mumbo jumbo about him being the son of one of the oldest wolves, let alone being the son of a vampire. There had to be something else, beside that bullshit; something that could draw the interests of people like Mr. Harmon. She had to find out what it was, and then used it for a higher bargain.

She looked at a photo that came out of the envelope. It was James. He looked sad…, no, he looked angry, yes, he looked angry and his eyes were swollen from crying. She sighed. He's so young and yet he already had a body to die for.

Maybe later, two or three years later, when this was over and James would be old enough to be her….Fuck! She hit her steering wheel. He's just another job, like any other. She'd better stop thinking about any future with him. Grab the money, and get the hell out of that shit hole called Shreveport.

She started the car and left the parking lot in a hurry.

Xxxxx

In his office, Mr. Harmon didn't lift his head when he heard someone enter his office. "Go back to Shreveport, and make sure everything goes according to the plan."

"You don't trust them?"

"I don't trust anybody. Not even you, Debbie."

Debbie Pelt sat down on the sofa. She hated the sofa with a passion. The height differences between the sofa and the desk was significant enough that people, who sat on it, couldn't help but have a feeling that they were facing a king. "We will get married soon; how can you spend the rest of your life with somebody you don't trust?"

"I'll live. Besides, you're a good fuck."

Debbie smirked.

"You want something from me, I want something from you. I think it's the best marriage arrangement I can think of."

"You're a son of a bitch; you know that, don't you, Mr. Harmon."

"So I heard." He leaned back in his chair.

"I can't wait for this to get over."

Mr. Harmon put his hands together. "Yes, you can. You've been waiting for fifteen years; you can wait a little bit longer."

Debbie kicked off her shoes and laid herself down on the sofa. Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse. "I want something for the road," Red hair slowly appeared on her arms. "You want me to give you a good report; you have to make sure that I feel good when I leave this fucking office."

Mr. Harmon put his fingers on his lips; his eyes flickered when he saw Debbie giving him a sign to come. As he rose from his seat, a faint smile was on his face.

xxxxx