Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood, Southern Vampire Mysteries, Eric or any of the other inhabitants and visitors to Bon Temps, though if someone were to offer me a thousand year old Viking, I've a hunch my answer would be "yes please with a cherry on top".
Her body pushed beyond its limits, her mind shattered by exhaustion and agony, she ran as if the end of the world were on her trail. Because it was. If he caught her, he would kill her. But not until after he had nursed her back to health so he could take his time with the killing.
She smelled the people before she saw the lights. As fast as she was running, there was still almost nobody there by the time she got there. This was a good thing, she simply wanted a place to hide where he might not find her right away. If she could hide near to these creatures, he might not sense her as quickly. She would need a secure place, though, because she did not want them to find her either.
Either way, her life would be forfeit.
She saw the neon sign and her pain-fogged brain realized she was already too close. She tried to change course, to skirt the edges of the pavement but that decision came too late as well. Her abused legs betrayed her, buckling and dumping her face-down onto the tar where she slid to a halt and lay unmoving.
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Eric Northman, owner and proprietor of Fangtasia, was headed to his Corvette after a long night suffering the aural assault of modern-day club "music". A thousand years is a long time to perfect the art of tuning things out, but he was still weary and ready to be home enjoying a warm snifter of Type AB+.
He heard her coming before she even knew where she was headed. He froze, perfectly motionless beside his car. He was nearly invisible in the dimness of his parking spot but it did not matter, she could not see where she was going anyway.
Puzzled, he watched her stampede almost into the parking lot moving at a speed no human could ever reach. In the merest fraction of a second he knew three things.
One: She was not a vampire.
Two: She was desperately hurt.
Three: He knew what had hurt her by the smell preceding her and was immediately alert to the possibility that it could be in his territory.
As Sheriff of Area Five, it was his duty and responsibility to learn if that were the case or not and, if so, to take care of the situation before it became a situation.
That fraction of a second was all it took for her ill-fated decision to change course, however, and by the time he reached her she was most decidedly unconscious. With a thought to the warm snifter and a weary sigh, he reached down and carefully rolled her over onto her back.
She was covered in so much blood it was difficult to tell how badly or from where she was bleeding, or even if it was all hers. He had taken her for a shapeshifter when she had sped onto his property, but a closer view of the blood let him know that was decidedly not the case. The red neon Fangtasia sign had reflected off everything about her for a moment before she went down, and that was where the confusion sprang from. As he knelt between her and the building to gently cradle her body to him he registered the shock and tried to shake it off as he hurried her inside.
Her blood was purple.
Some crazy stroke of providence had dropped her there just after the last customers of the evening had left. The only ones inside were Pam, Eric's second-in-command, Chow, a trusted Fangtasia bartender, and the door-vamp who averted his eyes when Eric ordered him to.
He summoned Pam to his office with a flick of his mind. She arrived just as he was laying his bleeding bundle down on the couch in his office.
"What is that?" Pam asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
"That, my dear, is either a blessing or a curse. However, if you do not go call Dr. Ludwig to get here immediately, it will be a corpse."
"Shall I offer her the usual fee?"
"Make it a little more, since our problem is a little more...exotic...this time." He was choosing his words very carefully in case his office had been bugged again. He hated the thought of having to take care of this without the certain knowledge of secrecy, but he could think of no other place he could bring her that would be as comfortable as the couch she was currently lying motionless on. Besides, he admitted to himself grudgingly, he did not really want to move her again.
She whimpered and began to twitch slightly. An idea began to take shape in his mind.