The Dead-Pan Contest
WRITTEN BY: ELBLY AND GREENLEMONS
Title: 50 First Bites
Story/movie parodied: 50 First Dates
Characters: Sookie, Eric, Sam, Gran, Jason, Pam
Disclaimer: All character rights belong to Charlaine Harris and Columbia Pictures Corporation and the writers and producers of Fifty First Dates.
Summary: Eric Northman discovers the meaning of frustration as he attempts to woo a memory challenged telepath.
AN: Phew. Elbly and I met when I mentioned that I wanted a co-author for this contest. I thought I had too much to write otherwise but I REALLY REALLY wanted to participate. I also wanted to try out co-writing. Elbly and I were an excellent match. After over six weeks of planning, plotting, writing, combining and editing we finally had our finished product of 50 First Bites. I'm so proud of this story and it wouldn't be half as amazing if it weren't with the awesome co-writing of elbly, who kept me in check when I would get too crazy and tried to complicate everything when it came to plotting. She made this perfect. Thank you, my bot, we made a great team
We came in 3rd place in the contest and I couldn't be more thrilled! Thanks to everyone who participated, read and reviewed for the contest. I hope you enjoy this spoof!
Beta'd by DeeDeeINFJ
^v^
Eric had never been to Merlotte's before.
He stared at the bar with disdain. It looked cheap, rusty, dirty, sweaty—what else could he expect from a small town in the South? If he had a choice, he'd avoid this "bar and grill" as though it were one of Sophie-Anne's creative forms of corporal. He shuddered at the memory of the last time he had to experience her wrath some ten years ago. He got out of his much loved, red Corvette, his nose imperceptibly wrinkled from the scent of moisture off the humans' large, fat frames on the unusually warm and humid November night.
He offered up a mocking prayer to any one of the imaginary gods one might choose, giving thanks that he had fed before arriving. The idea that he might have to subject himself to their wobbly flesh was possibly more repugnant than the act itself. He walked in to the bar, and the sensation of all the beady eyes focusing on him was almost instantaneous. He glanced around casually, looking for the shifter who owned the bar, and noticed him emerging from the back, where the kitchen sent the disgusting waft of human food across the establishment. Rather a ... small man, now, wasn't he? Eric mused as he strode over to him.
The shifter snuck behind the bar, so Eric would have to address him in front of an audience.
As he leaned against the bar, he was forced to snuggle somewhat too closely to an overweight, overly-made-up human who seemed to be wearing eau-de-desperation. Her eyes latched onto him like a hungry child to its mother's full breast.
"Do you know who I am," Eric demanded with a voice loud enough to satisfy the gossip-thirsty locals, adding quietly, "shifter?" He didn't make it a point to know all the supernaturals in his area. He had yet to think of anything that could entice him to visit the community of Hot Shot.
He watched the man's blue eyes shift uncomfortably to the woman next to Eric. The vampire snorted; he'd been quiet in his address, and besides, she was too intoxicated to know how to spell her own name, let alone understand such a complex idea as "two natured."
"Yes, I do, Mr. Northman. What brings you to my bar?" the man asked, as he flipped the towel from his shoulder and began to dry a glass; His confident movements belied the anxiety that dripped from his every pore. Eric noted the shifter's internal conflict. On one hand he did not want this conversation out in the open, and on the other he was wary of being alone with such an imposing vampiric figure.
"Indeed." Eric flashed his teeth, his fangs extending. The drunken woman jumped, and he could smell her fear and excitement at the sight of his vampire teeth. "Shall we speak in your office?" Eric stood up straight, the shadow he cast more daunting than anyone or anything in the room.
"Fine," the shifter grumbled, moving from behind his bar, waving a hand for Eric to follow him past the kitchen and down the hall to his small office.
Eric didn't spend too much time evaluating the office. It smelled like wet dog, which was even worse than sweaty human. The man sat behind his desk, which was far too big to have in a room this size. Eric didn't bother with sitting. "You heard of the Monroe Were gang?" he asked, glancing at a picture up on the wall of a collie protecting a sleeping girl.
"Yes. They've been causing some trouble, I believe, but I don't think they've hit my neck of the woods yet," he replied, leaning back in his chair in an attempt to appear casual.
"Yet," Eric said, showing the shifter his fangs. "I have graciously warned you about the offense; it won't be a problem for much longer. These pups will be dealt with. Don't be a hero." His first impression was that this man was no hero. He was the sort who liked his quiet, undisturbed life.
"I assure you," the man huffed, looking annoyed, "I won't interfere with your problems."
Eric disliked being associated with the cause of the young Were pack in Monroe. He was already irritated enough that the situation called for his intervention.
"Very good. I hope to never have to visit here again. You seem to like your peace, and I shall leave you to it," Eric said, turning to the door.
"Thanks so much," the shifter muttered sarcastically. Eric left the door open when he exited, striding out into the bar once again.
"Oh, yoo-hoo!" said a voice.
Eric knew the call was directed at him. There was a strong temptation to ignore it, and his nose wrinkled at the idea of the unwashed woman it came from, but he turned sharply, halting his steps. She waved him over. In that fraction of a second he knew he wouldn't bite her even if she had the most magical blood in the world.
"Sir, please come over here," she said.
It was good for the locals to see the head-vampire converse with humans. It made them feel ... at ease. He walked over to her with his most winning smile. "What is it I can do for you?" he asked smoothly. He considered taking her waving hand and kissing her knuckles, but decided a winning smile would suffice - and would leave him untainted. The woman blushed in splotches.
"Oh," she squeaked. "Oh, I was just wondering if you're truly a vampire?"
Eric grinned with his teeth. "Yes, I am. Do you like?" Sometimes he wished he didn't have to subject himself to the schmoozing.
The woman's eyes looked downward, her skin discoloring in spots of pink all over her exposed skin. Her flabby neck was one of the least inviting necks he had ever seen, and he'd seen some awful ones.
"Woman, I apologize for my haste, but I really must be …" Eric trailed off, his eyes traveling to the end of the bar, where he saw a creature that, surely, did not belong here.
With his mind clouded, his feet led him away from the hick and over to the glowing creature. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, although she hardly looked like a witch. She was invested in her food, her attention not on him for a second. She had his.
Her long, blond hair was hanging around her shoulders, wavy, messy after a day without a brush running through it. She wore a pink shirt that hardly contained her well-endowed bosom, and her white shorts were hiked up, exposing her long, tanned legs.
She had a lovely neck.
He lost control of his demeanor, and his fangs and cock made him feel like a pubescent boy.
Regaining his composure, he halted and observed her from his spot in the middle of the floor.
Her delicate fingers moved her fork and mashed potatoes around her plate. A little gravy cup was set in the center, and he watched—fascinated, never so intrigued by human food before—her pile her potatoes upward, as if making a mountain, the steam from the gravy rising up the center. She looked pleased with her concoction and took a bite of her vegetables.
He watched the motion of her full lips and was done for. She was his mistress, and he was ready to fall to his knees and beg for his salvation.
She finally looked up from her plate, alarmed by this stranger's intense gaze.
Eric took tentative steps forward as the young woman glanced around nervously. The whole room must have been watching. He saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her throat bobbing as she swallowed; his eyes layered in a daze of lust and thirst. He closed his mouth, hiding his fangs from view. The last thing he wanted was for her to be scared of him.
He reached her table, and her neck strained back to stare at his tall frame.
"May I sit?" he said in his most sensuously persuasive tone. She nodded numbly, and he slid into the booth across from her. She blinked, looking truly confused. "Min Söta," he found himself uttering before he could think. He was surprised that he was already declaring her his. Yes. She was. He would destroy anyone who told him otherwise. "What is your name?"
The girl took a moment for the question to register. "Don't you …" she cleared her throat, her shoulders straightening and her sense of awareness heightening. The change in her intrigued Eric. "Don't you think I should be asking you that question? You invited yourself. You should introduce yourself. Manners cost nothing."
Eric was startled. Had she not known he was a vampire? He saw the hard line of her lips as she addressed him with a new wave of confidence that he hadn't seen as she arranged her mashed potatoes to create a poor recreation of a chimney.
"I am Eric," he said, his eyes flashing to her neck—so soft, so ... delicious. He inhaled, ignoring all the other scents but hers. Immediately he was overcome with an urge to drag her across the table and tear into her flesh, relishing in her sweetness. She was exquisite.
"Do you have a last name, Eric?" she asked. She had a personality. He liked it.
"Northman," he said, smiling. If she resisted his charms, he would glamour the temptress; one way or the other he would have her tonight.
"Eric Northman," she tried the name on her tongue. She was suddenly brimming with the manners she had demanded from him only seconds ago; she extended her hand across the table. He was a vampire. He did not familiarize himself with such mundane customs. He knew that humans liked to shake clasped hands as a greeting. He never understood the desire, but realized it was something she saw as meaningful. He took her warm, small hand in his. He wanted to press his lips against it, but refrained, reserving his kiss for more sensitive places when he had her naked and writhing in his arms later. She had a strong grip on his hand and shook it firmly. "How-de-do! I'm Sookie Stackhouse."
Her Southern charm worked on him. What an ... adorable name. He admitted it was absurd. "Miss Stackhouse," he said, conforming to her manners. "Do you often play with your food?" He eyed her plate. Her alarm graced his nostrils when she realized he wasn't letting go of her hand. Such a shame, he thought, releasing her hand and instantly pining for her touch. She brought it to her chest, looking a tad flustered.
"I do," she answered, a stubborn jut to her chin. "Do you?" she countered.
Now would be the perfect time to slyly admit that he only always played with his food and give her a flash of his fangs. He realized she must not know what he was, nor did he want her to, yet. This revelation shocked him to his dead core. He hadn't felt this many foreign emotions in centuries, and here was this young human, not much older than a child, inspiring an influx of them. He loved being a vampire, and yet he was reluctant to frighten the girl away.
He forced his fangs away. "Occasionally." He peered at her through hooded eyes. She looked away, a perfect blush on her cheeks. She was young. She was innocent. Her virginity was intact.
He licked his lips in anticipation. If this didn't move quickly, he would glamour her into following him to the most convenient place to fuck and bite her.
What was she?
She was more than human. His interest, his blind attachment proved this. He inhaled deeply and caught the scent of something familiar, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Before he could explore that thought more, a waitress interrupted their quiet interaction. He had blocked out everyone in this room but Sookie Stackhouse.
"Can I get you anything?" the drawl asked.
"Eric?" Sookie asked after a short pause. "Do you want anything?"
The question was for him? He wanted to be between her legs. He wanted to sink his fangs into that virgin flesh. He wanted her as his.
This would be the time to reveal his vampirism. "I'll have a TruBlood. Any type," he said, not even glancing at the waitress. He watched Sookie's face.
Her eyes widened, her blush deepened. She looked dumbfounded, but after a moment, she relaxed, and he saw nothing but interest on her features. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. Ms. Manners had left their company, he noted dryly.
His cock stirred as he watched her eyelids flutter closed. Her mouth parted, and she seemed to be thinking intently. What was she doing? She reached forward, and he watched her hand wrap around two of his fingers. He imagined it was her hand around other things, and he stirred again. He watched her, curiously, when suddenly, her eyes popped open.
"I can't hear your thoughts!" she whispered in astonishment.
What?
Eric took a moment. Was she ... telepathic? No, surely not … though that would help explain her delightful scent.
"Sookie," Eric said in undertone, "are you a telepath?"
She bit her lower lip before nodding slowly.
What luck.
A woman who captivated him.
A woman who was of use to his area and his business.
A woman who was a virgin, never touched, never tasted—all for him.
His cock was straining against his pants, begging to be buried in her tight, burning core. His fangs were down, and ran past his lips. She smiled wickedly at the sight, and he felt as if she were made for him.
"You, my dear," he started said, "are a masterpiece. Would you leave with me?" She hadn't realized she was still squeezing his fingers
She flinched as though she had been burnt. The look on her face was one of pain, confusion, and repulsion. He realized he had been too forward for the young woman.
"What? No," she said quickly. Regaining her manners and her demeanor, she checked her watch and her uneaten food and added, "I have to go home soon."
The thought of her leaving him was unpalatable. He snatched her hand, her frustrated eyes darted to his, and he began to pull her into his influence. He shouldn't be glamouring her. He'd prefer to have her surrender of her own free will, but he could not have her leave him in this awful bar without a taste. He suggested to her that she leave with him, making it seem like the most logical option in the world. He pulled her further into his dark, dead mind, anticipating their sex.
What he hadn't anticipated was her blinking and yanking her hand away.
"I didn't offer you my hand," she snapped. He watched her grab her purse and stand abruptly. She put money on the table. "It was interesting meeting you, Mr. Northman. But I really must be going."
His glamour hadn't worked.
She left without him having her.
He wanted her.
She was already jogging out the door. He felt as if his dead heart were surging back to life. He zipped out of the bar before anyone could think their next thought.
He saw her approaching the most pathetic car he had ever seen. He stopped her from opening the door, leaning against it casually, although his nerves were jumping out of control.
Nerves? Eric Northman didn't have nerves!
A short, startled scream left her throat. "Don't do that!" she hissed. "What do you want?"
He stood straight, and she took a step back, overwhelmed with his presence. "I cannot have you leave me in that fashion."
"Leave you? I can't leave someone I don't know," she said. He wondered where that logic had come from, but he pushed it aside, not in the mood to question her intelligence.
"You have my interest, Sookie."
"Great. I have no idea what that means, and frankly, I don't want to. Please step away from my car," she said indignantly.
He was not having this. No one ever brushed him aside like this. He was over a thousand years old, well respected, adored by every woman he had ever smiled at, and worshiped by every woman he had ever fucked...What was this woman?
"What are you?" he asked.
She looked stunned. "I'm a waitress."
"You were eating."
She blushed and shrugged; the rise and fall of her shoulders caused her bosom to heave gently, he noted. "I like the food there, and it was my night off," she said quietly.
"No," Eric refused that answer. "What are you?" he repeated.
"Well, like you stated earlier ... I'm also a telepath," she said.
He knew there was more. He was so close to guessing it. He would have her blood, and then he would know. "Do you not want me?"
He stepped forward and she blinked, looking slightly dizzy.
"I don't know what you mean," she found herself saying, unable to really say "no" to the vampire.
"I want you," he admitted. He reached out, slowly, having her watch his gentle advancement. His hand settled at the crook of her neck. Her eyes shut, and she shivered. He beamed when he smelled her desire. It was there, and she would give into him - perhaps not tonight, but he was a patient being. What was another day or two on top of his millennia? "If not tonight, will you see me tomorrow?" He had a meeting with Andre after sunset, but come hell or high water, he would see this woman again.
"Um," she said as his fingers gently traced her jaw, behind her ear. Her heartbeat was so rapid, her blood pumped through her veins, begging to be bitten and sucked. She had no idea what her desire was doing to his own. "I guess."
As much as he hated to say it, he knew she would feel most comfortable with this: "I will be here again at this time tomorrow. Will you meet with me?" He moved in close, his mouth near her ear. She was flushed, confused, horny, hesitant ... She was mouth-watering.
"Yes," she said. He knew she hadn't expected herself to say it. "Yes, Eric, I will see you again. I have no idea why, but I will," she said, her thoughts muddled. Eric let go of her, alarmed by her change in mood. "Oh, shoot! I'm working tomorrow night."
"Here?" Eric asked.
"Yes."
"Then I will see you regardless. Goodnight, Miss Stackhouse." He leaned forward, and her heart rate increased. He pressed his cool lips against her pink cheek. All the blood in his system was pounding in his cock. He pulled back, needing a release badly. He gave her one last look, their blue eyes locking, before he disappeared.
"Well, that was different," he heard her mutter.
^v^
Eric sat at his desk, his eyes glancing over painfully dull paperwork. His mind, however, was lingering over the events at Merlotte's.
Miss Stackhouse. Miss Sookie Stackhouse.
His fangs slowly descended at the memory of the delicious scent of sunlight. He shook his head to try to clear her from his mind and pushed some air through his nose realizing the fact that air had just occupied his lungs. Air? The thought of her made him want to breathe?
He had had a chance to clear his mind now that her presence was unable to cloud his judgment, and he had come to one simple conclusion: This woman was dangerous.
Pam appeared in the doorway with an attractive creature, but Eric paid them no notice; his head remained bowed as he faked his concentration on his work. Without shifting his glance, he flicked his hand to usher them away. To his chagrin, Pam remained.
"Okay, so what was wrong with number three?" she asked incredulously, sending the fangbanger out. Eric allowed himself a slight smiled at the tone of her voice. She was a good child, and she was doing her best, but he had no interest. Pam rolled her eyes into her eyelids, placed one hand on her hip, and shifted her weight onto her right foot. It was the dance of the petulant teenager, one Pam had gracefully perfected over the centuries. With her free hand she waved away the meal-and-fuck combo she'd brought for him.
"Too plump," he said lamely, searching for any excuse, knowing that no matter what he said it would be a lie. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had just tipped Pam into a guessing game. Perfect, he thought miserably. He did not want her to know about Sookie. He wanted the delightful creature from Bon Temps to be his secret, only of his knowledge.
"So, who is she?" Pam asked him, lithely sideling to his desk and hopping up, ignoring any paper work that may have been important. She picked at some lint on her dress. Eric looked at her with amused irritation as she leaned across him and fished a nail file from the pencil holder.
"She's no one."
"Oh, so there is a she! Oh, goody." Her dead eyes lit up. Teasing was Pam's raison d'être. Anything she could use to wind up her maker was fair game, and here he was, presenting her with a new toy on a plate. "It was the trip to the shifter's, wasn't it?" she demanded with zeal, waving the tip of the nail file at him. "I knew I felt something from you. You fed off a hick and developed a taste for chicken fat and cheap perfume!" Her cackling was certain and insistent and was going to drive him to distraction.
Eric slammed his fist on the desk and growled. "Enough, Pamela! Go and enthrall the vermin."
"Fine," she huffed; Pam knew when not to push too far. She hopped off the desk and sauntered to the door. Just before she slinked out, she turned to him and added, "But this isn't over!"
^v^
He woke early and waited for the sun to set. It was rare for anything other than a true emergency to raise him prematurely from his death, but his run-in with Sookie yesterday had thrown him for a loop. He was curious, he was compelled. Her face, her body, her smell, her smile, her voice…they all shook him to the bone, and that was something he couldn't recall experiencing in his millennia.
Pam had been right. This wasn't over.
As he had the previous night, Eric walked into Merlotte's; the shifter was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the bar and saw Sookie in the exact same spot as she was the night before, eating the exact same meal. A delightful fragrance of fear and panic began to flow from the bar's patrons as he advanced toward Sookie, making his undead body feel more alive than ever. She didn't stir. He slid into the booth, across from her. She looked up, startled and confused, her mouth gaping open.
"I thought you said you were working tonight," he said, noting her lack of uniform, his words flowing from him in a deep purr.
"Who are you?" she demanded with a slight tremor. He brought his eyes from her smooth tanned neck to meet her dilated pupils. She was scared. Was this a joke?
"Sookie." He leaned in. She blinked rapidly at her name coming from his lips. "I won't play games with you." He was hard with her scent surrounding him, her fear urging him on, although, strangely, he found himself wishing her calm.
"How do you know my name? I've never seen you before in my life," Sookie insisted as she began to slide out of the booth. Eric was trying to figure out what angle she was teasing. He stood up, too, and she gasped at his height, glancing around at the other customers. "Please! Leave me alone," she pleaded, backing up.
"Do you need any help, Sookie?" asked a voice. She looked over at the person, but Eric paid them no mind. "This man won't leave me alone."
"What? Sookie …" Eric had never felt more helpless. This woman was infuriating.
"Sam!" she cried out, rushing to the kitchen, "SAM!"
A few of the patrons stood up, ready to defend their Southern belle. Eric had no idea what the fuck was going on, but he wasn't going to waste his time on these dumb hicks. Eric followed Sookie. She gave a shout and cried for the shifter again. He was really getting irritated now. He reached her and grabbed her arms just as Sam opened his office door.
"What the fuck?" Sam snapped. She screamed in his hold, and Eric let go of her immediately, as if he'd been burned. Sookie darted behind her boss. "Eric, what are you doing with Sookie?" Sam was furious, but Eric paid him no mind.
"Sookie, what are you afraid of?"
"I don't know you!" she shouted.
"We met last night," Eric frowned, his frustration seeping into his being, but he had no desire to lash out at Sookie.
Sam turned around. "Sookie, stay here. I'll deal with this. You will be fine, cher." Eric watched the shifter close the door to his office and nod for him to follow outside. Normally, Eric wouldn't take kindly to listening to a lowly shifter, but he really had no choice. He couldn't force himself onto Sookie. She was scared, and he wasn't going to do anything to make that worse.
They were outside the bar, and just as Eric geared up to ask the shifter what the hell was going on, Sam exploded, "You need to leave Sookie alone!"
Eric raised an eyebrow, wondering where the shifter got the nerve. "Will you explain what is going on? I met her last night ..."
"She doesn't remember you."
Eric found that highly unlikely. He was pretty unforgettable. "If this is a game that she plays, then I am … only more intrigued," he found himself saying with a little smirk. He wanted to go back in there and see her delicious face again. He wanted to fuck her, mostly, but he found himself drawn to the mere thought of talking with her.
"It's not a game," the shifter spit out. "She suffers from short-term memory loss. She can't hold onto new memories."
Was the shifter playing a game with him now? He felt his fangs drop and his gaze was heavy on Sam. "I do not respond well to pathetic ploys."
"I'm not lying. Sookie repeats the same day over and over ever since her accident a year ago. She has no idea of the year, the month—she is stuck in time." Eric saw the agony the shifter was feeling over the situation, and he realized that Sam was in love with Sookie. That irritated Eric. He would be better for Sookie than this malodorous shifter.
"I don't know if I believe you."
"You should," Sam said firmly.
"She can read all of your thoughts," he found himself saying. "How does she not know what's going on?"
Sam hesitated. "She has difficulties reading the supernatural, but with the humans, there are ..." He searched for the right words. "… bad days. But for the most part, her grandmother and brother have learned to keep their thoughts in check. Everyone else is so used to it, they hardly think about it anymore. She's been pretty solid for a few months now."
Eric hmphed, unsure of how to take this. He felt frustrated. This would make seducing Sookie more difficult. He scoffed. This little incident would not stop him from getting what he wanted. He wanted Sookie, and he was going to do everything in his power to make her his.
^v^
He mulled over the shifter's words as he waited around the back of Merlotte's for her fear to subside and the rest of her night to progress. Time meant nothing to him, and from what he had heard, it meant nothing to her either. How could this be?
Amongst the meaningless noise of the bar's patrons, Eric could make out snippets of conversation between Sam, Sookie, and another human whose dialect suggested he was black and very definitely not heterosexual. They were calming her, soothing her, easing her fears. Jealousy flooded his being. He wanted to be the solution to, not the cause of, her anxiety.
When she finally emerged from the bar, she was still twitchy, but resolute. She insisted she would be fine without an escort, climbed into her car, and headed off into the night. Silently and secretly, he followed.
He stuck to the shadows as Sookie threw herself out of the car and into her grandmother's waiting arms. The old woman had been waiting on the porch, and it didn't take too much to assume that the shifter had made a phone call. Eric could sense the excitement and anticipation rolling off Sookie's grandmother as she listened with interest and only a hint of concern while her granddaughter shared a tale of fear, frustration, mistaken identity, and an evil monster. The story was being lapped up with hunger by a woman starved of variety; he had seen the subtle signs many times over the centuries.
The news imparted, a well-practiced routine was conducted between the two women, a young man called Jason joining them part way through. Only Sookie moved and interacted with what appeared to be spontaneity; her relatives moved as though choreographed and spoke as though their lines had been over-rehearsed.
Having seen enough, Eric moved around the house to investigate the surroundings. A shed in a secluded area of the grounds showed him the final proof of Sookie's time-prison. The contents of air-tight containers showed him the day, repeated over and over, in physical items: tops and pants to replace ones that were over-washed, a new newspaper to start her day.
"So you are the one Sam chased away?"
Eric turned to see the grey-haired matriarch with her arms firmly crossed across her chest. She, like her granddaughter, had an air of confidence in his presence that he had rarely witnessed amongst humans.
"I would not say chased," he replied, insulted at the concept.
"Vampires never would. I don't care who you are, or what you are, you leave my Sookie alone! Do not go to Merlotte's again." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
^v^
He could not believe he was doing this. But here he was, waiting outside the shithole, disguised as a bar and grill, waiting for Sookie to make an appearance. When Pam suggested he try and seduce the girl the "old fashioned way," he truly wondered if that would work. What kind of woman was Sookie if she could be easily swayed by some random stranger, no matter how delicious he looked? No, this required very delicate handling. There could be no glamouring, so he would have to try to dazzle her with something else, something more… human.
He brought out the big guns: his red Corvette. Women loved a man with a high-end car, and his was certainly top of the line. He wondered if Sookie would be taken with it. He found himself doubting it, and he rarely doubted his actions. He growled in frustration. This woman would be the death of him if he wasn't careful.
For a fleeting moment he saw himself leaving, driving off, and she would continue, never knowing he existed. The thought was torturous. He wanted her to know him. He wanted to know her. How foolish, how ridiculous, to be smitten with a human woman with recollection hindrances.
He straightened as he spied her leaving Merlotte's. He was thankful he had found a willing donor earlier because he felt his fangs pop at the sight of her, her white shorts showing off her shapely, long, tanned legs. He wanted to drag his fangs from her toe up to her juicy, throbbing, pulsating femoral artery and bite. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the idea.
He advanced toward her. How she hadn't noticed him before baffled Eric. She looked startled, her eyes widening as she checked him out, her gaze wandering up his tall stature. He smirked smugly as he watched her cheeks turn pink. There was a natural attraction between the two of them that was something he didn't have to force.
"Miss Stackhouse," he said, stopping his approach in front of her, blocking her from continuing to her car.
She balked before shaking her head. "Do I know you?"
"Mmm," he murmured. He hadn't meant to say just that. "I am Eric."
"Hi," she said, a scowl on her feminine features. She was ... mouth watering.
"Do you know me?"
"No, I do not know you." Her sass made him harder.
"I own Fangtasia," he said slowly, tilting his head as he watched her. She was a human woman, and Pam had assured him that if appearances alone did not suffice, news of his successful business, along with his show of wealth, should at least spark her interest. He was not convinced.
Neither was Sookie. "I don't know what that is. Can you get out of my way, please? I'm not in the mood to talk to strangers," she said, sidestepping him toward her car. He turned on his heel and sensed his failure as she ripped open her car door, glancing back at him fearfully. He sped over and closed it before she had a chance to slip inside.
She yelped, jumping back. "Who the heck do you think you are? Get out of my way!"
He caught her eye and attempted to pull her in. Maybe she'd be susceptible to his glamour tonight. She stared at him for one hopeful instant before she turned her head sharply. He frowned, not pleased with how this had gone. They should be in the woods by now, naked, at least from the waist down.
"Listen, I have a gun in my glove compartment, and if you don't get out of my way, I will use it," she said. "Excuse me." His shock allowed her to push him away from her car. She got in, slamming the door. He stood there stunned. The car door window rolled down, and a gun was pointed up at him from her disadvantaged point. He could toss it away before she could blink. He stared down at it, unable to decide what to do. "Get the heck away from my car."
This was not the same girl who went crying to Sam just last night. He did as she said and watched her car peel out of the parking lot.
Tonight had not been his victory, but there was always tomorrow...
^v^
Her routine was precise. So precise he could almost time it to the second. There was the chimney in mashed potatoes, the compliment to the waitress about her hair, a joke with the queer. She would leave at exactly 10:13 each night, turn as she left the bar, shout back a goodnight, wobble slightly to the left, regain her footing, then continue on her way to her car.
Tonight Eric timed it perfectly. He casually strolled towards her … she wobbled, turned back … they collided.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Miss!" He held out his hand to help her up and smiled gently.
Taking it with one hand, she dusted herself down with the other. She chuckled. "No harm done. I guess I should probably look where I'm going." A bright and brilliant smile spread across her captivating face. "I'm Sookie. Let me get you a drink to apologize."
His undead heart leapt as he followed her back into the bar.
Later, she invited him back to meet her Gran so he could tell her all about his involvement in the Civil War. The old woman was so very much less than pleased to see him, but he could charm anyone.
Anyone!
He failed to taste any blood that did not come from a bottle that night, but he had tasted the victory of her attention, and he was addicted.
^v^
Aggravated.
Eric had managed to pass three out of the past ten nights pleasantly in Sookie's company. The other seven were memories he would rather erase, particularly the delight Pam had shown as she reveled in his failings dissecting them like a frog's carcass.
He was thankful that those who owed him fealty would never see him like this, standing outside a shifter's bar, holding a bouquet of flowers, waiting for a blank-slate human woman who was nothing special. Except for the way her hips swayed when she walked, or the way her mouth curved upward when she spoke and her lips were dry, begging to be licked, or the way her light blue eyes brightened when she was amused, or her fierce personality that could switch in any which way at the drop of her hat – innocent and shy to defensive and spunky. She was simply edible.
For the second night in a row, he stilled when she left Merlotte's. She parked her car in the same spot. He walked over.
"Miss Stackhouse," he said in his most alluring voice. He had to pull out all the stops.
She looked over her shoulder, smiling pleasantly at the sight of flowers. "Yes?" she asked.
"I have a delivery of flowers for you," he said, holding out the arrangement of lilies.
Her smile broadened as she accepted them. "For me? Who are they from?"
"Me," he said simply. She did not seem pleased by that. She kept her eye on him as she inhaled deeply the scent of the flowers. When she brought her head up, looking ready to say something, for her smile did not disappear, she scrunched up her face, raised her head, and sneezed right into the flowers.
He watched her carefully, unsure of how to take this response. She put a hand to her nose. "Oh," she laughed slightly, her voice deeper as her nose was now clogged up. "Sorry," she said before sneezing again. He was surprised when she shoved the flowers back at his chest as another sneeze, a loud, messy one, escaped her. He took a step back, alarmed by the reaction. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, her eyes watering as another one convulsed her body. "I should go," she uttered, shutting herself in her car and driving off, stopping before pulling onto the highway to sneeze again.
Failed.
^v^
He waited by her car, the hardback book in his hand bound with an ice blue, silk ribbon, to match his eyes. His own personal early edition of Pride and Prejudice, previously unsullied by pen and ink, now had "To my dear Miss Stackhouse, with kindest and warmest regards, Eric" beautifully inscribed inside the front cover.
Hearing her voice in the distance as she called good-bye to her friends, he slipped the present onto the driver's seat of her car and sped off to wait for her reaction.
She was smiling, relaxed, contented. This was a good start, he mused; all he had to do was keep her that way. Pulling open her car door, she stopped, confused, then leaned over to pick up the book, bending at the waist. His fangs slid down at the sight of her firm and oh-so-bitable behind. She twisted herself around and sat on the driver's seat, her legs dangling out into the cool night air. Her eyes fluttered with a heady delight as she breathed in the musty fragrance of "old book." The ribbon was wrapped between her fingers once she had untied it, and her brow furrowed in confusion as she read his inscription.
There was no fear floating through the air; she smelled bemused, delighted, slightly excited, but not scared.
This was going well.
"So, are you out there? Eric?" she called, looking around.
He stepped forward.
"Care to explain who you are, and why you have given me such a beautiful gift?" Sookie waved the book in front of her. "It's one of my favorites," she added with a shy smile and a light blush.
"I know," he replied, casually and with confidence. "Lafayette didn't tell you he was setting us up on a blind date?"
She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated and somewhat jokey manner as she sighed. "Lafayette! Of all the nights to pick! Well, I only have time for one drink tonight."
^v^
Stupid Pam. This was her idea. Not his. He would never come up with this sort of ridiculous hijink. He felt offended if anyone suggested otherwise. He looked up and down the empty, whiskey-tango road, realizing that no one could possibly come across him in this hick town. A few may recognize him, but they never would admit to their family and friends that he was a vampire from Fangtasia and reveal their embarrassing secret.
He had been playing this game for nearly three months, and it was getting out of hand. On the upside he was Gran's favorite suitor now that they had come to an understanding, not that he saw the shifter trying all that hard.
He saw Sookie's dilapidated car barrel down the road, and he found himself waving her over. Just like he expected, she pulled over without hesitation. She got out of her car and jogged over to his position, leaning against the hood of his car.
"Are you alright?" she asked right away. "What's the problem?" He caught a gleam behind her, and he realized she tucked her gun into the back of her shorts. He smiled, glad she wasn't a total fool.
"I seem to have broken down. I'm not good with cars," he said playing the adorable Southern rich-boy idiot. He did the accent and showed off an overbite, trying to look as defenseless as possible. He saw her eye him suspiciously.
"Oh well." She walked around to the front of the car. "Can you pop the hood?"
He wanted to bend her over the hood, but he leaned into his car and did what she asked.
"Do you, uh, know anything about cars?" he smiled at her, clueless.
She smiled at him sweetly, lifting the hood. "A thing or two. Where ya from?"
He watched her lean over, her ass begging for him to pull it against his cock. Their dance had been going on for nearly two months and still he had only grazed her lip once or twice in a parting kiss.
"Mmm, Monroe," he spoke huskily, his fangs threatening to lower. He had spent enough time in the South to perfect the accent.
"Oh?" she grunted, and he was overcome with lust, as he inched toward her.
It had been centuries since any human had affected him like this, not since he was young. He had forgotten this feeling, and he really liked it. He missed it. If it were fluid, he would bathe in it, and he fully intended to immerse himself as soon as he possibly could.
"Ah!" She made a noise of satisfaction as she stood up straight, just as he had advanced from behind, so close to her inviting bottom. She closed the hood and let out a yelp of surprise when she turned and saw him so close, her hand immediately going to the gun in her pants, careful of him.
"Thank you ... Miss ..." He waited.
"Stackhouse," she breathed, overwhelmed by his presence, he noted triumphantly. "Sookie Stackhouse."
"I'm much obliged."
"What are you doing out here? Coming from somewhere?" She stepped away into a more comfortable zone. He regretted them not being closer but understood her need to feel in control of an unfamiliar situation. Soon, he'd have her submitting to his will.
"On my way from Shreveport," he said, squinting slightly, trying to look as human as possible. The lack of lighting helped. He smelled her sweat, her rapidly beating heart as she took a few more steps away from him. She must have realized she couldn't hear his thoughts; her breathing was labored.
"Oh, well." He heard her nervous swallow, saw the bob of her neck. "You should be good to go. Everything's in working order," she said. As she walked back to her car, he followed her, unable to leave it like that. "I have to get home, so ... good luck with everything."
With an anxious confidence she slipped inside the car and turned the key.
Nothing.
Eric knocked on her window. "Do you want me to tow you home? It's the least I can do."
She sighed out her frustration and muttered "Fine!" so quietly that no human would have heard her, then she turned on her charm again and said with a smile, "Why, sure, that'd be sweet of you."
He was unhooking the towrope from his fender when Jason appeared in the doorway and greeted them both. "Hey, Sookie! Hey, Eric!"
"You know this man, Jason?" Sookie asked, confusion forming like a sweater in the knitting of her brows.
"Errr…." Jason had never been very good at new situations, Eric had already noted.
"Oh, we've known each other a long while, haven't we, Jase?" Eric covered. Internally, he shuddered at the thought of being Jason Stackhouse's friend.
"Sure, yeah, he's a good vamp, Sook, you'll like him." And with that he turned on his heal and headed straight back to the waiting clout around the back of the head from Gran.
She was shocked, but pleasingly; this time she was not frightened. "You're a …"
"A vampire," he finished.
"Are you gonna bite me?" He had experienced her excitement before, but she was always so restrained.
"Not unless you ask." The strange thing was, she hesitated, considering it. He was thrilled; had Jason's recommendation done what he had, so far, been unable to do?
"Shall we sit? There's a swing on the back porch." She walked off, leaving him holding the rope, wondering what he was waiting for. He was a vampire for fuck's sake! Things didn't leave him in shock, least of all a human woman. He pulled himself together and reached the swing before she did.
"You do things to me, Sookie," he uttered, gently rocking himself on the swing.
"You don't know me," she trembled.
"Then let me."
They talked for several hours, barely noticing the occasional appearance of Jason or Gran with a glass of wine for Sookie and a bottle of blood for him. He relaxed, content in the knowledge that her family approved of him enough to get her drunk with him. He wanted this, they wanted this, and from the heady aroma he knew that she wanted this.
"Will you allow a kiss?" he asked her.
She nodded her head weakly, her lips parting. He took that as an invitation. He put a hand at the nape of her neck, and her head fell back. He showed her his fangs, and her eyes widened in a sense of horror and fascination. To his deep shock, her hand reached out; he watched curiously as she touched his fangs, the tender sensation exciting and inviting him. He felt a shudder go through his body as she passed her hand under the points of his fangs, allowing them to scrape the length of it. His eyes never left hers the entire time. When she brought her hand away, it rested on his extended arm.
"I shouldn't ..." she mumbled, looking too captivated to ever go back to her real life tonight.
"Just one kiss, dear one," he rasped and was overjoyed when she allowed his lips to touch hers. He felt a deep, satisfactory groan hit his body as she pushed herself into his groin. She took a sharp breath at the feel of his erection, her skin becoming flushed as she let him lean into her against the wooden slats of the swing. This was heavenly, he noted as she gripped his shirt, uselessly searching for a solid as her rationality floated high up into the air, leaving her on the ground with a blood-thirsty vampire.
Her mouth opened under the pressure of his lips, and he was deeply content when her tongue begged for entrance first. His other hand wandered up from her waist to her perky breast as he gripped it in his large hand as if it were a perfect fit. She moaned when their tongues touched and when he kneaded her breast. Her leg, involuntarily, rose up and hitched at his thigh. His hand on her neck dropped down and lifted her leg higher. She moved up closer as their tongues played easily with one another. Her mouth was warm and wet, and it was one of the many glorious crevices he wished to explore further in this flawless body. Her skin was smooth on her leg, and he traced a slow circle with his thumb just at her knee. She tightened her leg closer to his hip. He wished to lift her, the height disadvantage becoming an inconvenience—he couldn't get enough, he had to be closer. Inside her.
Her moaning was not helping his situation—which she was now blatantly aware of as her hips involuntarily thrust, hitting his groin in sweet agony. He felt, through her bra, her hardening nipple, and he tweaked it, causing her to jerk against him. She let out a breathy noise at the sensation, probably one she had never experienced before. That just made him harder. Her tongue grazed his fangs, and he almost came right there. He felt the deepest impulse to bite into her flesh and feed himself. He groaned, pulling away from her mouth, realizing she had to breathe. He kissed down her neck, dragging his fangs along her throat. She was panting, her hand winding into his hair, tugging at it. He was on fire; he actually felt hot with desire and need—never wanting anything so much in his entire existence as he did Sookie Stackhouse.
"Would you bite?" she said breathlessly.
He didn't need any more incentive than that. He sank his fangs into her warm, soft flesh, groaning at the sensation. He took one mouthful and he was a goner. This woman was exquisite. He wanted to drop to his knee and beg her to never let him go. He had her hot substance in his mouth, and it burned down his throat in the most delightful way as he took in another mouthful. She cried out, feeling nothing but pleasure.
"Should I … relocate us?" he asked. A weak and almost unperceivable nod was all he needed before taking her in his arms and moving them both at vampire speed to her bedroom.
Sitting on the bed, he positioned her between his legs. She was not in need of his blood, she was not hurt, but she would know him the next time—feel safer, calmer, more willing if he could encourage her to drink from him. He sank his teeth into his wrist and ripped the flesh away. He put it to her mouth, and to his intense pleasure, she latched on and began to drink with a thirst that would befit one of his own kind. He sank his fangs into her neck once more, gently pulling at the existing wound.
He was bucking against her, and he felt her body coil with tension as she was building to an orgasm, so close to it, like he. He was moaning and grunting around her wound, and she was, clawing at his bare arm uselessly, her legs rubbing against his. She gasped loud, and then ...
She shook in his arms, her orgasm wracking her body, and he let go too, relaxing, pulling his lips away, carefully licking her wound as she leaned them back against her bed. He had never experienced anything so intense before. She moaned, basking in the relaxation and post-orgasmic rush. He angled his head back to her lips, and they lazily kissed. He wondered if she felt that this was much more powerful than a simple bite to eat. She had her arms around his neck now, welcoming the kiss.
They continued to talk and play throughout the night, until just before dawn, Sookie drifted off into a contented slumber, wrapped in her vampire's arms. He was careful not to disturb her as he moved away, conscious that death would be upon him soon, and he had to get himself to a safe location. There were a couple of gentle clunks outside, and Eric moved himself to the window and sniffed the air.
"Jason?" he asked.
"Just shutting up. I fitted light tight shutters a week or so ago. Gran has been waiting for you to get your act together. You'll be fine here. See you at dusk."
Eric smiled. He trusted the old woman and knew Jason to be a good craftsman. He would be safe; he would wake with his lover.
He wrapped himself around Sookie and died.
^v^
Eric felt the call of the night pull him from his death, and he congratulated himself at finally having her blood, if not her virginity. It would only be another night or two, and she would be his completely.
He could feel her stir through the blood even before her eyes opened. She lazily rubbed her eyes and curled into his embrace a little more as consciousness began to take hold. Her eyelids fluttered slowly. She looked up and their eyes met. She breathed in sharply, and before she said anything, he knew she had no memories of him. He was as empty as her recollection.
She screamed.
Here we go again, he thought.