They called him The Vampire because he'd died once.
Or, so they'd all thought, until Eric had miraculously risen from his stately coffin after three grueling nights with a vengeful bloodlust that had staggered even the long buried consciences of his sordid associates when he'd grotesquely ripped out the heart of one female traitor and drunk the crimson flow of his victory straight from his foe's still quivering vein. Obviously, his life had been hardly worthy of saintly canonization or divine intervention, his resurrection was all just a very carefully orchestrated plot to weed out the enemies that couldn't help but try to dance a little jig on his proverbial grave.
Of course, he'd been the one with all the deadly moves that evening and, truthfully, every time since.
It was one of the reasons that Eric had been given his position of authority within the Unione Corse- the lethal organization of Corsican and French mafia based out of Marseille that was so secretive that the U.S. government didn't even have it on its criminal watch list yet- even though he'd been born a native of America on his mother's Swedish soil instead of being of true foreign descent from the gangs homeland. Although, it had also been his utter and complete silence as a former diplomat's son who had been extremely well versed in what immunity and a high priced lawyer granted at home and abroad- when he'd been detained by law enforcement with a cold half million in cash- that had kept his own affiliation with the gang and its very existence a clandestine group to this day.
That six month stint for obstruction of justice had shackled him to his own little piece of Louisiana for the foreseeable future but as a reward for his mute loyalty, Eric was now running both the legal and, more importantly, the very profitable illegal enterprises of his French connection as well. Power, money, and influence suited him far better than his custom tailored jackets so he was more than pleased with his current situation even if it was tediously boring most of the time.
His predatory gaze coldly slithered over the pulse and bob of the slick bodies undulating on his club's dance floor hopelessly looking for something that wasn't a step below human riff raff to entertain him for the evening. Unfortunately, the vermin that steadily populated his bar bled pathetic desperation more profusely than they sweat out their over-priced alcohol in the crowded place.
Dispassionately, he nominally adjusted the cuff of his leather blazer and wondered if he'd be stuck fucking Yvetta yet again tonight for what would seem like an interminable length of time before he could muster up enough desire and friction from the wide mounted slut to actually get off. She might not have any more self-respect than the other tramps blatantly advertising their well-used wares tonight but while she was undoubtedly dirty Euro trash, she, at least, tested very clean.
Seeming to be ailing from nothing more than an insufferable case of incurable boredom, Eric was almost pleased to spot the disconcerting patron who'd just walked into his domain as if the other man owned it. The older male must have a very good reason by his own standards for invading Eric's territory but The Vampire was sure that his kind was likely to object as the normally silver tongued rogue forced his way past Pam, his second. At this intentional slight, the Sheriff discourteously spat under his breath, "Fucking Fairies."
There was no way that this impromptu meeting was going to go unnoticed by anyone of import tonight unlike so many of their past encounters with this type of posturing, especially when the man was sporting a few rather bloody scrapes along his regal features as an unexpected adornment to the older man's seemingly ageless appeal.
"Northman," the Prince of the Fairies insistently addressed him without concern for their normal protocol. Of course, Eric hadn't been so mentally polished either because nobody he knew would dare call the other man that nickname to his face unless they had a swift and violent death wish. Brigant's men were devious, ruthless, and more vicious than any other rival gang in Louisiana and they always came in pairs, a twinset of predators that never failed to capture their target but they were all of Gaelic descent and the pejorative term for the Irish Mob just seemed to roll easily off the tongue just like their thick Irish brogues.
"Brigant," he coolly intoned with the slightest nod to indicate that the rival mobster could sit for now but he wouldn't offer him the customary drink to let the other man know he was already on shaky ground.
Not wanting to seem weary, the older gentleman purposefully moved as if he wasn't injured but Eric could tell the signs of fatigue and strain from the other man's injuries were beginning to take a toll. With a respect he'd thought was lost long ago amid their petty turf squabbles, Eric opened their verbal playing field by asking, "So what can I do for you this evening."
"Ah, my old foe," the Irishmen heartily chuckled with an equally grudging admiration, "you should be asking me what I can do for you."
"Interesting," he conceded without preamble because Eric wanted to clear up whatever mess the fairy was trying to land in his lap quickly and efficiently. This was not the type of excitement he'd been looking for this evening.
With an impish smile the wise gangster easily baited him after a minute, "How would you like to personally own and command the distribution of… Fairy Dust?"
Just the mention of the designer drug had Eric's body on high alert. It was the hottest product on the market at the moment with a unique buzz that was highly intoxicating without impairing judgment or risking the negative side effects of becoming physically addictive. Plus, it didn't show any trace in tox screens and, even better, wasn't formulated from controlled substances.
Basically, it was a legal high that could bring you to euphoria faster than most orgasms with less hassle and with a commendably longer duration. His body knew it intimately because he'd tried it a time or two. It was hard to find sometimes but the street value of that concoction was not only pleasing … it was…well… staggering.
When an offer was too good to seem true, it usually was, a lesson Eric had painfully learned in his teens with the loss of his entire family. However, when a carrot of this high caliber was dangled in front of him, a notoriously sensationalized undead mobster, there was most certainly a very nasty string attached, something with cutting barbs and slicing daggers …perhaps.
Cautiously, very carefully, he replied, "Proceed."
The winsome smile that spread across the older man's features made him seem much younger than his advanced years as Niall bartered, "I can't give it or sell it but it is available to the newest member of my family."
Instantly, Eric knew that Brigant's game wasn't referencing a business deal to join his mafia relations here but something that would likely bind him to the Prince's more immediate kin when he used the possessive familial term. Just who was the old buzzard expecting him to marry anyway?
Instantly, he thought of a mass of innocent golden curls but knew that it couldn't be the precocious Sookie because she was probably still just a kid, nor Claude because Louisiana didn't allow same sex marriages- he wasn't certain but Eric thought they might even have sodomy laws still on the books down here as well- so that only left the possibility of Claudine.
Undoubtedly, the woman was model slim and ethereally beautiful, she could instantly throw a man off his balance and make him feel starry eyed and drunk with desire just by looking at her womanly form but, if he wasn't mistaken, that particular female was already spoken for by an Albanian. There was no way his name or any other part of him would be going there, you didn't mess with those crazy bastards if you could possibly avoid it. Although, for a big cut of the Fairy Dust trade; he might just make an exception.
"Who and why," he raised an inquisitive brow to deftly indicate that there was potential for him to be persuaded into matrimony with a blood member of a rival house of mobsters if all the terms were mutually acceptable between them.
Hesitantly, the older man queried like he was a faltering Atlas being crushed by the dangerous weight of the tilted world on his shoulders, "If I were to entrust you with my greatest treasure, would you keep her safe? Would you keep anyone from touching her?"
This went without question but he coldly leveled with a possessive authority that quietly foretold death to any and all who tried to harm whatever The Vampire chose to claim as his, "If she were to become mine, then nobody would touch her."
His reprisal would be swift, bloody, and a final demise that none would escape as Eric mercilessly added, "Ever."
"That's good, Northman," Niall affirmed with apparent relief, "but you don't fully understand. People literally can't be allowed to touch her."
"What do you mean," Eric wanted immediate clarification thinking that the loud music of his club must have finally made him miss some minute detail in their conversation.
"My dear child, she's got a disability," the don with the silver mane paused. "Sookie suffers from an acute case of sensory defensiveness."
"What," his facial muscles didn't even flex with his confusion. "What does that mean?"
"Quite literally, it means that if someone touches her, it puts my great granddaughter into neurological distress, it's too much stimuli for her brain to process, and her survival instincts kick in causing her to either fight or flee what her body instinctively perceives as a threat or an attacker."
"Is this a recent development for her," Eric queried remembering his previous encounter with the youthful imp quite clearly. She definitely hadn't run from him then, in fact, Sookie had seemed to frantically cling to him as if he was a silent void of salvation amid the utter chaos that had surrounded the bullet riddled restaurant.
"No, my granddaughter has suffered from this condition her whole life," the elder man sadly related.
"But, she didn't-"
"Yes, I know," Niall's voice cracked over his admission, a King's worth of treasure sagely reflected in the other man's gaze as he added. "That's another reason why your previous encounter with my granddaughter is so atypical and has put me further in your debt."
Not wanting to remind himself of the senseless nobility he'd shown the blonde urchin when one of Brigant's own clan had tried to assassinate the Fairy Prince during one of their testier business meetings, Eric reluctantly questioned, "Is Sookie even old enough to wed?"
"Oh, she's definitely of age," the Irish patriarch assured with a penchant of amusement before he somberly conveyed. "If she can't bear your touch upon her body, well, then fidelity would not be expected but, if she still can," the older man drilled him with a meaningful stare, "then I would expect that she merely be granted the proper respect of a valued wife either way."
The old codger was smart; he wasn't demanding that Eric curtail his sexual exploits with other women, in fact, quite the opposite. Brigant was only ensuring that his granddaughter would always remain idyllically unaware of her husband's perfidy. That was a very cunning tactical move on the older man's part. How could he possibly object to the ties of a wife's apron strings now when they didn't bind him in any meaningful way?
Again, a prime example of exactly why the ruthless don sitting across from Eric had survived in their cutthroat underworld of crime and corruption for so very long. He literally gave people an offer they couldn't or wouldn't refuse and, yet, Eric knew that Niall still hadn't revealed what was really motivating his spontaneous show of uncharacteristic generosity.
"So why me," Eric rightfully questioned as he sharply noted that others from his retinue were keenly attuned to the lucrative maneuverings happening at his dimly lit table.
"My son, Fintan had been left the executor of Sookie's inheritance after her parents tragically passed. Given her condition, he made certain provisions in his will concerning my great-granddaughter's trust which includes the pharmaceutical company that manufactures the dust," Niall quickly explained with a slight wheeze to his words. "One of those details is that her husband would assume all legal responsibilities for her holdings upon their marriage so that Sookie wouldn't be forced to deal with the public or the family business if she didn't want to leave the solitude of her childhood home. He was trying to shelter and protect her," the Prince expounded with frustration, "unfortunately, Fintan didn't include a requirement that either he or I approve of her nuptials."
There was a torrent of dark pain swirling in the other man's gaze when Niall reluctantly admitted, "Fintan was murdered this afternoon, and he'll be joining the rest of our kin in the family crypt at Summerland." Brigant dejectedly looked to the blood finally pooling on his suit-coat and exclaimed, "And, I'm not far behind him."
And there it was; the deadly snag in Niall's lavish pie in the sky offer, Sookie was unclaimed and up for grabs to anyone who was greedy enough to put their bloody paws on her and force the exchange.
Swiftly Niall added, "Preston would willingly take her and Sookie's comfortable with him but my apprentice is not nearly strong enough to hold onto our organization and keep her safe with Braendan sniffing around. That bastard would just murder her after a marriage alliance was formed anyway."
Of course, Eric had known that the Black Water Clan from Boston was trying to move in on their fellow Irish Mobsters in New Orleans amid the wake of Katrina's destruction but he couldn't help but ask regardless, "What makes you think I would not do the same thing?"
There was a warrior's knowledge shielding any doubts in the older man's shrewd gaze as he rejoined, "We both know that when given, you keep your word."
True enough. That's exactly why he didn't give it often. He was no fool.
Muffled sounds of distress filtered back to his corner and, adroitly, Eric surreptitiously glanced toward the possible threat absorbing all the breathtaking details simultaneously.
The disturbed woman was young and golden, with luscious curves just ripening in all the right places over her ice cream social dress. Her sun kissed skin beckoned him to take a little sip of the radiant perfection her nimble limbs promised as the blonde swayed atop her perfunctory fuck me heels to evade Pam's hold. It was apparent by the deep crimson shade that brushed across the blonde's cheeks to innocuously match her sexy footwear that Pam's frisking wasn't at all to her liking. His second might try and claim that her pat down was necessary for security reasons rather than highly personal ones but he knew better. When the blonde goddess once again whimpered at the contact with such distress, it pulled at something long forgotten and primal deep within him.
Instantly, Eric was up and moving between the obstacles of his drunken patrons without any concern for the important business arrangement he'd left dangling unresolved at his private table.
Silently, he stalked toward the flustered lady still being badgered by a sexily cooing Pam. The female's blonde curls were vaguely familiar and a sudden suspicion rushed through him to explode with hardness below the cinch of his belt. Without thought, he deftly snuck a proprietary arm around the deep bend of the delectable blonde's waist, his extremity nestled perfectly under the plump mountains of her femininity and he softly purred a previously uttered promise, "Don't worry, I've got you now."
Immediately, the blonde stilled, captured in time as if she was a priceless golden statue within his expert embrace.
Slowly, not wanting to startle his precious bundle, Eric breathed in the sweet nectar of her scent, it was fresh, clean, and wholly unspoiled. So out of place for his establishment and, even more so, in his life but he quickly craved it. Ignoring the curious murmurs swelling around them, he gingerly nuzzled closer into her neck with tiny caresses of reassurance. Gradually, finally, she turned her angelic face towards his as if gently pulled by an unbreakable chain.
Her breathless recognition was somehow expected, the harsh tug of feral need that ripped through him certainly wasn't but Eric's eyes never wavered from the enchanting blonde's while his smooth lips dipped low to claim hers for the first time.
The five years of absence between them had been noticeably good to Sookie. Very good.
Eric had dabbled in the Prince's designer drug on his last trip to New Orleans. The experience had been keenly memorable and highly pleasurable but just the small taste that he'd just gotten from the hesitant slip of Sookie's inexperienced tongue was far better than any chemically doctored ambrosia. She was like mainlining bliss, a human piece of heaven and hard parts of him wanted to be knocking at her pearly gate.
Determinedly, Eric growled his declaration between the sensual knot of their tangled tongues, "Sookie… you… are…mine."
Abruptly, her formerly yielding frame sinuously slipped through his grasping hands like turbulent water rushing over a non-existent dam. Easily, she disappeared through his front door to hide from him- not because of her condition but because of their instantaneous bond of attraction- under the dark cover of night.
"Fucking Fairies," he couldn't help but gruffly exclaim at the unwanted loss of Sookie's unique heat and flavor while Niall tauntingly snickered behind him about them obviously having a deal.
Oh, yes, they certainly did have a bargain now. And this particular fairy could dust any of the harder parts of his body with the magical drug of her curves any time she wanted. Now, he just had to catch her because fucking and fairies was suddenly a fascinatingly entertaining combination.
And, when Eric finally caught up with his reluctant bride, that's just what he'd being doing. Indeed.