A/N: Part 1...

Tara Thornton thumbed at the stake in her hands, remembering the horrors she had experienced at the hands of Franklin Mott. No, she would never fucking trust another vampire – or leave herself unarmed; their capacity for evil far outweighed the good she had seen. Good she had only ever seem from Bill Compton, her best friend Sookie Stackhouse's boyfriend, who Sookie had risked life and limb to save from his sadistic maker.

Tara patted her hand not once but twice on the panel behind her, grateful that God had brought her friends to Mississippi – if not for them she imagined that she would be dead. She wasn't trying to gain the attention of Sookie and Bill, who were in the back so that Bill's bloodied body could be shielded from the noonday sun, but as a reminder to herself where her salvation had come from, a semi and reassuring thank you to God above.

Tara glanced over at Alcide Herveaux, their pseudo partner-in-crime, who had volunteered to take them all the way back to Bon Temps in the Herveaux and Son's moving van-like truck. She knew Alcide was sweet on Sookie. Shit, fucking blind men could see that Alcide wanted to take Sookie home and do nasty things to her. But Sookie was a one-man kinda woman and Tara was sorta hoping Alcide might want her shoulder to cry on after Sookie inevitably rejected him. Tara had no problem going after Sookie's scraps; Alcide was hot-blooded and just plain hot – and, to top it all off, he wasn't a vamp! Who cared that he was a werewolf? Werewolf, Smerewolf! She wondered if his sexy wolfy side caused him to howl during his climax; she shuddered at the thought.

Tara imagined all the ways she and Alcide might get closer, shaken from her lusty thoughts as the truck hit a speed bump going a bit too fast, knocking both front-seat passengers' heads against the ceiling.

"Sooks? You okay?" Tara yelled, cupping her hand against the metal panel behind her in hopes of helping her voice to transfer through.

Nothing, not even a rumble.

"Sooks!" She said, banging her hand open-palmed, causing a loud clanging.

Nada. Zilch.

"SOOKIE!" Throwing her fists into the wall.

Tara didn't need to wait to know that Sookie wasn't going to respond – Sookie would never ignore anyone, especially her friend Tara. Sookie was a good Southern girl, always thinking too much of others and not enough of herself. Suddenly, Tara was overcome by fear – and guilt – why had she considered Bill to be one of the good guys? What if he was just a bloodthirsty monster like the rest of those undead assholes? Shit! What if Sookie was dead?!

"ALCIDE, STOP!"

Alcide slammed his foot onto the brake causing the truck to fishtail ever so slightly as he veered the vehicle off of the dirt road onto the shoulder. Not waiting, Tara flung open the door and jumped from the vehicle, rushing towards the back to throw up the latch and rolling door. She almost retched at the scene in front of her.

Bill's bloodied body was on top of Sookie, fingers digging into the skin of her arms, writhing as he moaned into her neck; Sookie was convulsing, gasping for air, as blood pooled around her body.

Tara screamed bloody murder, her emotions an unhealthy mix of sheer terror and absolute fury, lunging at Bill without a single thought of her own safety in her mind, staking him viciously through the back. Bill exploded in mess of goo, covering both Tara and Sookie. Tara fell to the side as Bill disintegrated, and clutched Sookie to her chest, begging her to be okay.

It had all happened so quickly that Alcide had barely rounded the corner when he saw Tara deliver Bill Compton the final death. He felt both relief and heartbreak, briefly thinking Bill was no longer a romantic threat only to see Sookie's pale and limp form laying in a pool of blood as Tara rocked them both back and forth, crying and pleading with Sookie to keep breathing.

Alcide was in shock, spurred to action by Tara's frantic yelling.

"GET. US. TO. A. FUCKING. HOSPITAL." When Alcide didn't move as quickly as Tara wanted, she followed up her order with a "FUCKING NOW ALCIDE!" and gently rested Sookie onto the metal floor to roughly pull at the interior rope, closing the door with a loud BANG.

Alcide ran, jumping back into the driver's seat and tearing off down the road, paying no attention to the bumps or potholes, with one purpose in mind: save Sookie Stackhouse.

Eric Northman woke during his day rest, his eyes snapping open, unnerved by the feelings he was receiving from Sookie Stackhouse. She was a veritable roller coaster and he was strapped in for the ride – fear to happiness to relief, finally resting on sheer terror before the tie muted permanently. He mentally tapped at the string in his mind that he knew was hers to find it was tenuous and breaking.

He chastised himself for tricking Sookie into drinking some of his blood. He should've expected that the little troublemaker known as Sookie Stackhouse would cause him more pain than pleasure – why had he ever thought otherwise? Of course she was in danger; she was only ever in danger. He'd never met anyone so willing to walk into a lion's den, so blind to how fragile her human form was. She disregarded her safety the same way he disregarded other's feeling – absolutely and without exceptions.

But for her, he had made an exception. Her tears had moved him; they had… touched him in a way nothing ever had. Usually he reveled in other's misery – it signaled his victory – but with her? It had only served to wound a heart he had not realized he possessed. It had not mattered that he was not the cause of her tears – he had not taken Bill Compton – because he had spurred on the one who had. And in that he felt some modicum of regret, an unfamiliar and revolting fungus of a feeling growing within him if ever there was one. Gods, he hated it! Hated her for infecting him with it, and yet hate is what he told himself to shush his own fears that she was changing him, breaking him out of his cold, hard shell. A small human woman was defeating a 1000-year old Viking vampire! Reducing all his carefully crafted walls to dust!

She had bested him, and what was worse was that she did not see herself as the victor, had not lowered herself to take the spoils of war – him. Quite the opposite, she seemed to pay him no mind at all, as she plagued his every waking moment. When Bill went missing, Sookie came to ask him help – 6 fucking hours later. She had exhausted every other possible lead before deigning his dungeon with her presence. Of course, he had never wanted her to see his dark proclivities, but his lovely progeny enjoyed a good ribbing at his expense – Pam knew Sookie would be sickened by what she saw.

But that's not what Eric felt from her in that moment; he felt the tiniest bit of intrigue drowning in a sea of disappointment – he would never be what she wanted. He'd told himself, Pam, and even Sookie that his efforts to hunt down Compton were his duty as Sheriff of Louisiana's Area 5, but it wasn't the whole truth. In fact, it was a tiny miniscule speck of the truth that he used to fool his progeny – who had a hardline into his emotions, and was therefore his own personal bullshit meter. He had done it for Sookie – of course he had done it for Sookie! Like a pathetic little adolescent human boy, he wanted her to like him so he had been pulling her hair and bullying her. Helping her find Bill… was a different kind of tactic, mostly dusty from being the most underused of his manipulative tricks. He'd tried pushing Sookie away, which had neither quelled his emotions, nor sparked her interest. Perhaps, being… nice would help him to find her good graces.

Eric had even cleared a debt – quite a large one – with a mangy werewolf to ensure Sookie had protection as she traipsed around Mississippi hunting for her precious Beehl. A favor he came to regret – experiencing once more the blooming fungoid – when he gathered that his hired help, Alcide, had come down with a rather nasty case of Sookie-itis. She really was quite contagious, spreading feelings wherever she went. And worse yet, the fucking wolf had let Bill back into her life, bringing a ruthless King – Russell Edgington – to her. And in pure Sookie form, she had exposed her powers, trying to save the pathetic vampire who had just risked her life. And for what? Bill was leaving her!

Oh, and what had the little fireball of trouble done then? She'd begged Eric in front of the King to help her, to help Bill. How could she have the worst fucking timing in the world?! He had just found the man who had slaughtered his family, who had danced in their blood, and he was not going to let the chance to deliver the 3000-year old monster that had haunted his few vampiric dreams the death he had so rightly earned. Eric could not risk his opportunity to exact revenge by helping her, not with a King watching.

So what had he done instead?

Eric had treated her like sniveling human filth not worthy of his, or any other vampire's attention. And when she plead with him again – again! – giving him a second chance to prove she could trust him, and this time in private, what had he done? He'd spit all of it in her face, told her he was the monster she had seen before, and that she meant nothing to him – Nothing. To. Him. – with fangs drawn, ready to strike, to divest himself of her once and for all.

Eric could've almost cried along with her, as tears spilled down her face and her eyes widened in a fearful panic. It was a different emotion that tremored across their tie, one he had not expected – a teeny-tiny bit of disappointment choked out by terror and dread. He hated that for the first time ever he had scared her beyond belief, that she thought truly he meant to rip her to shreds. But he did not cry; instead he donned his impenetrable mask of apathy and detachment, abandoning her to deal with the King, on her own. As he walked away, he thought he saw heartbreak in her eyes, like he had finally shattered any chance he had of gaining her acceptance – lost her forever. To the wolf? To Bill? To whomever; all he knew was that she would never be his.

And now, if he was reading their tie correctly, she would be no one's.

He beat his fists on the lid of his coffin, not because he was confined, but because he was furious. Sookie was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it, save staggering outside to burn to a crisp within a matter of minutes. He had failed her, yet again, and somehow during his day death. He didn't want to see it that way – blame himself for what he was sure was her own foolishness – but wanting something did not make it a reality, as he had proved time and time again in his pursuit of Sookie. He had never felt so impotent and weak in his entire existence. He roared out his frustrations, stymied only by the soft pulsing in his mind, as if someone was tapping in a rhythmic beat. Her heartbeat, he realized, this was her heartbeat – someone out there was trying to save her.

Eric succumbed once again to his rest, soothed by the gentle thrumming, believing that as long as her weak heart was still beating she was most certainly on the mend.

When Tara and Alcide arrived at the ER, Alcide whisked Sookie into the waiting room bridal style, yelling and demanding that she take priority over all others. Tara hated in that moment that her thoughts strayed to how hot Alcide was when he was acting like a badass. What was wrong with her? Her best fucking friend was dying for Christ sakes! But his anger coupled with the limp, blood-covered woman he was holding was enough to grab Sookie first place in the queue – a small respite during an otherwise fucked-up day.

A male nurse came rushing through the swinging doors pushing a gurney, asking Alcide to put her down. He growled like an animal and made a move to refuse – like he would rather she die hugged up against his chest than in some cold and sterile operating room. Tara's hand rested on his arm, and the expression on her face was enough to shake him from his possessive thoughts. He set Sookie down on the metal contraption and the medical staff wheeled her to the back so that they could begin their ministrations.

Both Tara and Alcide had attempted to follow, but they were stopped by open-faced palms against their chests, telling them that "this area is for medical personnel only."

The hospital staff had not allowed anyone in the room as they tried to restart her small and fragile heart with shock after shock from the defibrillator, rushing to shove tubes and needles into Sookie to push oxygen into her body as her heart resumed with a weak thump-thump. Once that obstacle was overcome, they sought to replace her blood loss, but were not finding success to be as easy as they had hoped. Nurses were running in and out, whispering with worried looks, carting vial after vial of blood, presumably to the lab. Every so often, from their well-worn path pacing in front of the double doors the led back to their injured friend, Alcide and Tara caught a glimpse of Sookie, as still as the dead; her coloring extremely pale.

Finally a doctor came out to deliver some news, and while Tara prayed for a miracle, one glance at the doctor's disheartened countenance told her that maybe this time God wasn't listening. Sookie was in a coma, unable to breathe on her own – a machine forcing the rise and fall of her chest – and, the worst new of all, there was nothing they could do; she had lost too much blood. When Tara screeched at the doctor, screaming in his face that people donated blood every damn day for situations like this fucking one, he dejectedly shared that people did, but they all had blood types – and Sookie did not; it could kill her just to try.

He patted Tara on the shoulder, as she stood in shock, softly telling her that she and her boyfriend should sit with Sookie and pay their final respects, call any other family members to join her in her final hours. Tara watched a tear slip down the doctor's cheek as he told her it wouldn't be much longer until Sookie passed, and was grateful, at least, that her friend had been blessed to be worked on by a man who felt as deeply as she had. Overhearing that they were finally allowed in the back, Alcide rushed to Sookie's side, clasping her hand in his, using his other to push her sticky hair from her face. She looked so small in the hospital bed, white as a ghost with a breathing tube down her throat, hooked up to multiple machines to monitor her last moments. The rhythmic beeping provided at least some relief that, as long as the obnoxious noise persisted, Sookie was still with them.

Tara slumped down in the hospital chair next to her friend, grabbing her other hand to try to provide some semblance of comfort. Never letting go of Sookie, Tara dialed Jason, but he didn't answer. She called over and over, but he still didn't answer the damn phone. Tara could not believe that he would be so fucking irresponsible – didn't he know that hundreds of missed calls meant some bad shit was going down? She left him a scathing message, telling him he'd regret it for the rest of his fucking life if he didn't call her back as soon as possible.

Tara made a couple more calls – Sam and Lafayette were on their way. She scooted the chair closer and rested her head on Sookie's arm and stomach, fighting the urge to break into full-on snotty sobbing mode. She didn't want something like that to possibly be the last thing Sookie heard.

"Girl, I'm so sorry. I knew he was a blood-sucking bastard. I shoulda known this woulda happened. I'm sorry Sooks that I didn't stake his ass the second ya got him into the van."

Alcide's eyes widened at Tara's words, but he said nothing – she had a long hard day. They both had.

When Eric rose at dusk, he smiled; Sookie's tie was producing the same soft pulse as it had earlier in the day. He wondered if it was normal for human hearts to beat so slowly, but he accepted that he was not used to humans at rest – his presence was known to cause a sudden torrent of fear and adrenaline. He was glad humans were scared of him; this whoosh-whoosh would barely push the blood to the surface, would force him to suck much harder than he preferred while eating his dinner.

Eric checked his phone – he had missed nothing; although he couldn't imagine a single person who would bother calling him to update him on Sookie's comings and goings. Still, the absence of panicked calls pacified his growling beast; she was not yet lost to the world and that was all that mattered – even if he was a bit irritated with her for waking him during the day. Even through her hate, she still had her claws in him, and he grimaced at himself in the mirror while fixing his hair; why couldn't he shake her?

"Find them!" He heard Russell screaming from the foyer, "Miss Pelt says Miss Stackhouse staked Lorena and absconded with our dear Mr. Compton. Guards, search the grounds! You bring them back to me in one piece or in several, but get them before they cross the border."

Eric was not surprised by this news; Sookie would've never left without Compton. He also figured that she had probably jumped Lorena during the day, at her weakest, which meant they were long gone, kicking up dust in the wind behind them. Good, that meant he could focus on the task at hand – and finally avenge his families' deaths. Eric smiled wickedly at Talbot, Russell's consort, who had already openly expressed a sexual interest in him – an interest Eric intended to exploit to his full advantage. He licked his lips and watched as Talbot shivered in anticipation; it was almost too easy.

Almost.

Eric wished he would've knocked on some damn wood, as the saying went; perhaps it would stopped the S.S. trouble storm from blowing back into his path. A guard burst unceremoniously through the door, "King Edgington! We have intel, from a hospital in Jackson." His words echoed through the great hall. Eric felt a weight drop to the bottom of his stomach – impossible. It became heavier as Russell swept into the room, dramatically twirling his long smoking jacket in a huff to hear what news there was to share.

Eric did not want to hear one word, but he stood there, and smiled, pretending to be eager at the King's boon and disinterested in the girl all at the same time. Vampires did not need hospitals; humans did. "Blood loss… coma… dying…" were the only words he heard, and he wondered how his acute ears had missed so much, instantly aware that perhaps he had not bothered to listen – for fear of what he might hear. Suddenly all his revenge plans were backburnered – he'd waited 1000 years; surely he could handle waiting a couple more measly days.

"Oh, well that's just too bad," Russell drawled out in his Mississippian accent, "And our dear Mr. Compton?"

"Presumed dead, sir. One of the Were nurses indicated that Stackhouse and her black friend came in covered in a goo smelling strongly of vampire." The guard responded in monotone, looking forward, and standing up as straight as he could.

"Could that have been from our Lorena? Perhaps he's simply gone to ground."

"Unlikely, sir. We think Stackhouse saved him, and he paid her in kind for killing his maker by attacking her. Our source said she had bites in her neck from a fanger."

"Hush now! Such disrespectful language!"

Russell said laughing a bit, while displaying his fangs menacingly. Russell was the epitome of Southern charm, but he also believed he deserved to be shown respect – as a King, but also as a vampire; his race was superior to them all.

"Sorry, sir. Would you like us to dispatch someone to the hospital to end the girl?"

"My now, wouldn't that just be cruel? She's dying anyways; let her have her last breaths in peace."

"Yes, sir."

The guard did an about-face and exited through the front door to patrol the grounds. Russell walked to Eric and hooked their arms together, pulling him into the dining room – a set table before them.

"Humans, such trouble aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't make a habit out of playing with my food," Eric retorted. Outwardly he looked as apathetic as always, but inside he was in shambles, tugging at the small tie to find it was, in fact, fading, crackling and breaking – how had that escaped his notice?

"But you and Miss Stackhouse seemed like you had been… well-acquainted with one another," Russell waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "She practically fell at your feet begging you to help her. Why would she bother if you hadn't been… playing with her?"

Eric had no patience for the King's euphemisms. If Russell thought that he and Sookie had fucked, it should be said forthright and without preamble – none of this playing and well-acquainted bullshit. He knew Russell was no more Southern than he was, and it irked him to no end that the King played up a fake persona. Eric pretended to be many things, made of cold hard stone and empty inside, but he had always openly embraced his Viking heritage.

"I fucked her once; you know how they are – they get so attached."

Eric lied, popping his fangs out as if he was relishing the memory, but of course he wasn't. Why couldn't the hospital save Sookie? How could it be possible? What was she dying of? His mind could not stop rattling with questions and it made it nearly impossible to follow his conversation with the King – nearly, but not quite. He was nothing if not strategic, and right now he needed to move the pieces in such a way that he could walk out the door – immediately – without arousing suspicion.

"That they do… That they do… No matter! She's no one's problem anymore."

Eric flinched at Russell's words; he tried so hard not to, but they echoed his own earlier musings when Sookie's heart had stopped. The King took note of it, raising a single eyebrow – a significant gesture. It was the worst thing, for one vampire to show any tiny shred of emotion in front of another; it was like showing one's hand in a game of high-stakes poker. Thinking on his feet, Eric doubled over, slouching towards the wall to rest against it, as if for balance.

"My child, Pam," He choked out, "The Magister must be taking silver to her again." After fake-writhing in pain for a couple minutes more, he righted himself, apologizing profusely and bowing to the King. He hated to grovel, but what else could he do? Head down, he flicked a small drop of blood from the corner of his eye – Sookie was going to die while he was putting on airs for a vampire he wanted dead. The irony was not lost on him.

"No need to be sorry, my dear Mr. Northman. It is I who should offer my regrets. I had almost forgotten about your captured progeny. Whatever will we do to free her now that our dear Mr. Compton has met his final death?"

"Whatever indeed. Too bad there is no one to vouch that he met his final death," Eric said, realizing that he had forgotten about Pam; Compton's death would surely mean the death of his own progeny. Once again, he was going to lose everyone he cared about, and Russell was, once again, present to witness his pain. Inwardly he was livid, but outwardly, nothing.

"Why my dear, Mr. Northman, you've found your answer without realizing it!" Russell clapped his hands together, "There is a way around all this trouble! Grab Miss Stack…," and Eric, in that brief second, felt the weight in his stomach lift, only to drop again, "…house's clothes. Surely the stench of Mr. Compton is all over them, and it's not like she will be needing them."

The King had no use for Pam, so Eric understood that his concern was like his manners – all for show. A show he needed to play into.

"This is why you are King, and I am merely a subject who serves your interests," Eric said, knowing that plan was bullshit at best, "Thank you for your insights and your concern for my progeny. She will swear fealty to you and Mississippi post-haste; we will spare no time relocating to your fine state once I have her back."

Eric thought of Sookie; the Magister could not deny the testimony of an unglamourable human. If he saved Sookie's life, she would owe him a debt, one he could cash in to save Pam – and if staving off Sookie's death helped to warm her to him, all the better. Two birds, one stone.

"Now, now, Mr. Northman, no need to rush your reunion. Don't be silly! Your progeny has been through a traumatic event and surely she will require time for recovery. Take your time, enjoy your freedoms. One just never knows when they'll be snatched away without warning."

There was a glint in Russell's eyes that Eric could not ignore – he had other purposes for his little speech, for letting Eric go, and Eric knew it. Russell hadn't made to 3000 years old without possessing a deep understanding of strategies and manipulations. Survival of "the fittest" when it came vampires always meant "the smartest" – at 1000 years old, Eric was similarly no fool. But at this moment, the Viking simply didn't care; from the slowing thump-thump in Sookie's weak tie, he knew there was no time to waste agonizing over ulterior motives or fucking riddles. There would be time later – as a vampire, all he had was time.

As Eric flew into the darkened sky, he heard the King shout from the ground, "Oh Mr. Northman! Do be a lamb and tell Miss Stackhouse that I said 'hello'! It's only polite!"

A/N: Don't forget to follow, favorite and review if you're interested in finding out what happens in part 2...

Dedicated to Sluggysmom, who is my friend and possibly biggest fan :)