Heroine

I stood in the middle of the bar, panting. My heart was racing so hard and heavy that I could hear it echoing in my ears. There was blood on my pretty white Merlotte's uniform, and I was sure some of it belonged to me. I dropped the broken tequila bottle and let it crash into even more pieces on the dirty, damp floor. My knees trembled, and I was pretty sure they were going to give out underneath me if I didn't start moving. My blood was already pumping, but every bit of me felt numb. Had that just happened? Had I helped?

"Sookie," Sam whispered near my ear. I turned slowly, looking at him over my shoulder. He was panting too, just as heavily, and for the first time, he didn't look dog-like at all. His shirt was unbuttoned, and I could see a deep cut on his abdomen, leaking blood. I was leaking blood too, from somewhere. Something hurt. Oh hell, everything hurt--everything that wasn't numb. He reached out and touched my cheek, brushing my face with the side of his thumb. "Breathe."

"I don't think I remember how," I whispered. His hand fell away from a moment and he took a half-step back. His thumb was damp and red and glistening, covered with my blood. That was definitely my blood. His adrenaline was palpable. I could taste it.

"You cannot forget how to breathe, lover," Eric murmured, suddenly at my shoulder, hidden in the corner of my vision. "You cannot forget until you die."

"Oh," I muttered, only half-aware of what I was saying. "That's right."

"Not dead," Sam whispered, "Not yet."

"Not yet," I repeated in agreement.

Sam leaned in again, near me, close to me. I could taste blood on my lip, a lip which I licked before he came too close. His arm grabbed me at the waist, pulled me into his sweaty, hot embrace. I moaned, maybe out of pain, maybe for another reason. I sank into his damp mouth like falling into a dream. He cradled me there, roughly and tenderly. I'd definitely forgotten how to breathe.

Eric hissed between his teeth, a snake, a lion. His cool hands twisted around my shoulders, and his hungry mouth licked at my open wounds. There we were, tangled in each other, standing in the center of former chaos. My mind flashed to old memories, battles and demons, witches and nightmares. This was how these things were supposed to end. I was a slayer, a hero, a warrior. This sort of thing happened to me all the time or it should have.

I leaned back into Eric's chest, his arms welcoming me, falling open to catch me. I brushed Sam's shoulder, turning the soft collar of his flannel shirt. It fell down his shoulder, exposing bruises along his arm, across his side. He was muscular and strong, spritely, virile. His chest rippled with slender musculature. His skin was pink, radiating heat. I balanced between the two of them, hot as the sun, cold as ice. My fingers tripped cautiously over the pulsating wound under his ribcage. He exhaled between clenched teeth, and his eyes rose to mine, deep seas of blue and hazel.

"You saved me," I whispered.

"Didn't have to save you, Sookie," he replied, grinning a halfway grin. "You did well on your own."

"I'll be feeling it tomorrow," I smirked. His hand rose to cradle my face, and he touched two rough fingertips to my brow. I winced, but welcomed the pain.

"That's why you have a vampire," Sam smiled thoughtfully, looking over my shoulder at the gorgeous Viking.

"I want to feel it. It's like victory."

"That's not victory, Sookie," Eric whispered against my earlobe. His fangs touched my throat but didn't bite down. "This is victory."

Sam's mouth found mine again. Eric's hands rolled down my arms. Their joint affections made my scraped knees wobble, made my bones shiver. I couldn't take them both, but I didn't want them to stop. Was this what victory felt like? Was this what hero worship really meant? They were heroes too. I wouldn't resist worshipping them.

Both of them.

Sam reached for my hand, raised it to his waiting lips. Eric turned my hips, and I gazed up toward his immaculate face. His lips were crimson, his cheeks pink with life. He'd fed well, quite well. Some of the coolness of his features radiated light. He bent his head to kiss my hair, my forehead, the apple of my cheek. He sucked at the blood over my eye, causing my breath to catch, my heart to stop for a moment.

"Your hands, Sookie," Sam frowned, nuzzling the split skin of each knuckle against the gruff fur of his cheek. It was an inhuman movement, a loving gesture. I rolled my hips involuntarily to the distant music playing on the juke box.

"You want to feel this pain, my lover?" Eric asked me, speaking into my skin, his hands pulling at the fabric of my stained shirt.

"I want to feel everything," I replied, only half aware of the words.

"Everything?" The Viking grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Mm, everything," Sam growled under his breath.

The hand that slid around from behind and flicked the button on my jeans didn't belong to my Viking vampire, but to the hot-blooded Supe at my back. The strawberry blond hair on his arm was standing up straight, and his flesh seemed to be sparking. He dragged his short fingernails along my abdomen, and I felt his ragged denim pelvis press against my backside. I lifted my eyes to Eric's fiery blue irises, and saw lust reflected back at me.

Cool hands pushed at the shirt and I lifted my arms to let it pass over my head. Blond hair, stained with blood and scented with liquor, fell back around my shoulders like a curtain. His perfectly long finger tipped my head back, pushing my hair over Sam's waiting shoulder. The Supe's mouth was wanton on my tongue, while the vampire tickled my throat with fingers and fangs. Was I Xena? Was I Buffy? Sookie Stackhouse, waitress, telepath, kicking ass and taking names.

I moaned like an animal.

My jean shorts fell down around my ankles and I stepped out of them, kicked them aside. Only barely aware of the fact that I'd worn a decent set of panties that morning, I caught myself blushing. Eric couldn't contain a chuckle, but Sam didn't even look up. His hands knew where to go, and they dove there insistently. How long had he been waiting to touch me? How long had I been aching to let him? I caught the sense of his desire, buried in the depths of his heart, and it only made me want him more.

"Look at me, my lover," Eric groaned. I opened my eyes, hadn't realized they'd been shut. He'd clasped one of my nipples between his teeth, and he rolled it now while I watched him. A thousand swear words rolled through my brain like cars at a race. At the same time, Sam's agile, experienced fingers found another round nub of flesh to fondle.

I rocked and rolled on numb feet. Their outstretched arms supported me. We danced like Ecstasy slaves, compelled by the rhythm of a hallucinogenic drug. Except there were no drugs. There was only us.

There was blood on the floor, pools of liquor, broken glass, empty plates. I couldn't see the wreckage for long. I crushed my eyes shut and writhed, wriggled, squirmed. I moaned so loud that the remaining glasses shook. I wrenched a shoulder in my hand and dug in my fingernails. There was a cry, of pain or pleasure I wasn't sure. I couldn't let go. I needed someone to hold.

"Sookie," Sam groaned, growling like an animal. I twisted like a doll, turning to face him, his hand momentarily freeing me. The clatter of dishes forced my eyes open. I saw him free a table, one of the few still set for dinner. Not anymore. Nothing was the same anymore.

"Let me have you," Eric breathed, or would have breathed if he was capable. He was hard, so very hard, a diamond or a steel pipe. I couldn't decide. It didn't make a difference. I imagined the two of them, at once, and I felt tears of excitement and pain and joy fill my eyes. They dripped down my face before I could stop them.

"I'm yours," I gasped, looking right into Sam's eyes. "Take me."

Sam crawled on top of the table, his pants around his knees, his buckle dangling. The vampire lifted me, right off the ground, seating my splayed legs atop his v-shaped hips. His arms reached out to embrace me. The vampire's hands danced over my spine, teased the tighter of two entrances into my body, my heart. Soft, warm touches guided my eyes shut, stroked the weeping cut above my eye.

"My lover," Eric moaned at my shoulder, his mouth on my skin, his hips behind me. He was gentle, cool and caressing.

We locked together like a bolt.

Is this what heroines do?