A/N. I wrote this yesterday. let me know what you guys thinks. in this story Godric is king of Texas and Stan is still alive. besides that I can't think of anything else that you need to know.
_
Godric woke a few seconds before the sun had set. He lay on his back, his bare skin, an almost paper white pallet of pale stood in stark contrast to the dark red fabric that lined his coffin. Lifting his hand from where it rested on top of the other over his chest he pressed his palm flat against the underside of the lid and pushed with little effort.
The lid flew open, the hard wood of the casket hit the solid concrete of the floor below with a thud that seemed to radiate throughout the room. When the sun had set, covering the vibrant streets of Dallas in a an almost perfect blanket of black Godric rose, lifting himself from the coffin he crouched low, curling his fingers over the large brass handle before him and tugged, lifting the bed up until it latched and stayed in position. He climbed up and out onto the floor of his bedroom. Turning back he pulled the bed down, covering both the hole and the coffin within it.
The room was dark, the fact that there were no windows or lights of any kind made it clear that the room belonged to a vampire. Godric preferred to sleep underground, unlike some vampires he disliked beds, they were far too modern, far too… Human for his liking. Godric did however own a bed; he used it sometimes if he had. Company but it was rare that he found a vampire or human he desired enough to bring down into the basement.
Lifting his cell phone from the small bedside table by his hip he pressed the home button and checked his messages, once he'd finished answering all that he had to he made his way to the set of drawers near the bathroom, pulling them open he lifted some clothes out and shut the drawer with a quiet thump.
He made his way into the bathroom, setting his clothes down on the counter by the sink he reached into the shower and turned the water on. He climbed in, moving his body beneath the spray that to a human would have been scolding hot. He closed his eyes, relaxing as the water cascaded over his skin and the inked skin of his tattoos.
When he stepped from the out he reached over, lifting a towel from the rack between the bath and the shower he ran it over his skin at vampire speed, drying himself within a few seconds. He dressed then, pulling a black shirt over his upper torso, hiding the tattoos that were engraved upon his back, chest and upper arms from view. He pulled on a pair of black pants and black boots and made his way from the bathroom, throwing the towel that he'd used to dry himself into the washing basket by the door.
He left his room then, his boots heavy against the hard wood floor as he weaved his way through corridors and finally up a long set of stairs. As he stepped up onto the main floor he turned, a small smile forming on his lips as Isabel approached.
She wore a long white silk dress that moved into a V shape at her chest, exposing her cleavage to all who dared look.
"Good Evening Godric." She said softly, her accent a pleasant sound to his ancient ears. She had been by his side for many years. He had met her first on the night he had been given the position as sheriff of Area 9, the two despite their difference in age and no connections within their blood had gone from beyond simple colleagues to friends, or as close to friends as two vampires could become without fucking or consuming each others blood. He cared for her. When he had been promoted to King of Texas he had brought her with him, giving her the position of his second in command and Stan the high but undeserved position of new Sheriff of area 9. At least if with Stan as Sheriff of Area 9 Godric was able to keep an eye on him. He did not trust the vampire that much. Godric found that Stan had a personality that could rival a tooth brush.
"Good Evening Isabel, I trust you are well?"
She nodded, lifting the glass of blood that she held delicately in one elegant hand to her mouth, she let the rim rest upon her lips as she tilted her head back and sipped. Grimacing as the red liquid slithered down her throat. It was obvious from the smell that emanated from the glass that the blood she was drinking did not come from a human.
"Why don't you order a donor? I am sure that there are several humans who would willingly donate their blood and allow you to feed on them." it was true, many 'fang bangers' as some liked to call them would willingly bare their necks to Isabel, she was a beautiful woman.
"After all" He continued "it is clear that you dislike the taste of that." He gestured towards the glass. He himself had tried the synthetic blood when it had first been revealed. He had never, in his almost three thousand years of existence tasted something as bland and horrific as TruBlood.
"King Godric." one of the guards said as he approached, halting the reply that Isabel had on the tip of her tongue. "Forgive me your majesty but there is a human waiting in your office." the guard was a large man, thick in girth, particularly around the middle. He stood taller than Godric but shorter than Eric. He lifted one arm, one gloved finger pointing towards the room where he had led the human.
Godric nodded his expression unreadable. "Forgive me." he said to Isabel. "I will return as soon as I can, feel free to order a donor and while you're at it please remove Stan from the basement, both he and his hat are beginning to get on my nerves."
Isabel nodded, an amused expression on her face as she made her way down to the basement, her almost full glass of Tru Blood left unwanted on a small wooden table by the stairs.
_
Godric entered his office through two large hand carved doors. The room was lined from floor to ceiling in thick Mahogany panelling. On the wall directly opposite the doors, above a limestone fireplace hung a portrait of Eric and Nora that had been painted over three centuries ago. The colours had faded a little but otherwise it was in pristine condition.
Like the panelling on the walls Godric's desk was solid mahogany. It, like the painting above was around three hundred years old. Bookshelves, filled with various books from multiple genres stood from floor to ceiling and lined almost every wall in the room.
The human who was waiting sat on one of the small chairs in front of his desk. Godric couldn't see the man's face but he could tell instantly by his body language, smell and the uneven beats of his heart that he was nervous.
The room was silent; the only sound within the four walls was the man's heavy breathing. As Godric closed the door behind him the man jumped, his body physically pulling away from the chair as the click of the two doors slotting together disrupted the silence.
"Hello." The man hurried to say and stood to his feet. He extended his hand, his palm sweaty and shaking.
"Hello." Godric returned but did not shake the human's hand. He kept his expression unreadable, unknown to the human Godric had caught the scent of the liquid that he held in the small transparent vile in the left pocket of his coat. Silver.
"How can I help you? Mr?"
"Jones." the man supplied "Peter Jones." He lowered his hand to his side, slipping it into his pocket he curled his fingers around the vile, his fingers slippery with sweat as he tried to hold onto it. He only had one chance after all.
"How hard can this be?" he thought to himself, shifting his position slightly. "This vampire is just a kid, get a hold of yourself." He smiled but couldn't look Godric in the eye.
"But those eyes man, he's gonna tear you apart. Thos fucking eyes they're not right, not human."
Godric kept his expression blank. The eyes that peter couldn't look into stared at him unblinkingly. It was often Godric's eyes that made humans turn away. It was looking at his eternally youthful face and seeing eyes far too old for his young features stare back at them that made that feeling of unease work its way through their skin.
"Why are you here Peter?"
"I'm from the Donor Company." He lied. It was clear he was lying, Donors were designer food, they were dressed in clothes that would make them appealing to customers, it was a business after all. This man, dressed in his dark brown leather jacket, unfitting blue shirt and baggy jeans, with his greasy hair and untrimmed beard and moustache was no more a donor than Steve Newlin himself.
"No, you're not."
Realising that he had been caught out, Peter moved quickly, reaching into his pocket he pulled the vile of silver out. Raising his arm, his body shaking with both fear and excitement he threw it at Godric.
As it moved through the air, the liquid inside swishing back and forth like water in a bathtub Godric smacked it with his hand. The vile flew back, hitting one of the book shelves and shattering into pieces, coating several books in silver, books that Godric would need to have replaced before he could touch them.
As the small shards of glass it the floor Godric grabbed peter by the throat, his small hand holding the human still as his fingers pressed in at various points on the tender skin of his neck. Godric could feel his pulse; he could practically taste the fear in the man's blood as it flowed feverishly through the humans veins. Godric did not hold him tight enough to cut his air supply off completely after all he wanted the human alive, for now.
The guard who had introduced the two barged into the room, holding another human several feet in the air by the collar of his shirt.
"We caught him outside." he informed Godric, momentarily distracting him from the sweaty idiot he held loosely in the grip of his right hand long enough to allow peter to reach into his other pocket and plunge the silver knife he held there into the right side of Godric's chest.
The knife tore through Godric's shirt and into the dark skin of his tattoo.
Godric roared, a primal animalistic sound leaving his throat that echoed through the entire house and the grounds that surrounded it. He threw peter several feet into the air, causing him to hit the floor with a sickening thud as the bones in his nose and both his legs broke. He screamed, his throat raw and painful as he screamed for help that would not come,
Godric gripped the thick handle of the knife, he pulled it free from his chest, the flesh that surrounded the wound sizzled like sausages on a barbeque. The wound healed the second that the silver left his body but the anger within him flared as he stared down at the human who lay sprawled on his floor. Blood, snot and tears streamed from the man's face like a grizzly waterfall.
His bones, bloodied and snapped, jagged at the edges as they protruded from his legs like two candles on a birthday cake scraped noisily against the floor as he tried to crawl away.
Godric moved to him, bending himself at the knees he crouched in front of the human, gripping his hair, taking a large clump of it within his fist he tugged until Peter looked up, his face contorted in pain, several teeth in his mouth chipped and broken, most of them completely pulled out from the impact of his face hitting the floor.
"Who sent you?" Godric asked as they locked eyes, Godric pulling him into a trance, glamouring him.
"The Fellowship." Peter replied his voice soft and quiet, his mind compliant.
"Why did you target me?" Godric's voice held and edge, he had tried with the humans, had offered them piece between their species, they had returned his offers with nothing but violence, cowardly attacks and stupidity.
"I don't know why." Peter said, still staring into Godric's eyes. "I was told you would be easy, you're just a child after all."
Godric broke the glamour, Peter's eyes blinking tearfully up at him
"Oh Peter.." perhaps it was in the way Godric spoke, in the way the words left his lips, like a snake slithering from its hiding place in search of it's next meal or perhaps it was the smile that spread over Godric's face, contorting his face with a grin that was more like a sneer. There was no kindness in that smile, none of the innocence his appearance falsely portrayed. "I am far from a child."
With those words he gripped Peters face; gripping his jaw with the thumb and second finger he hauled the snivelling man up, being sure to drag the limp lower half of his legs along the floor for a few seconds before he lifted him high.
"WAIT!" Peter said and gripped at Godric's arm, digging his nails into the skin of his wrist and forearm.
"WAIT PL-PELASE I can tell you who they're going after next."
"I'm sure your friend can tell us." Godric gestured towards the man behind him who was still held by the guards.
Peter began to struggle as best he could. His breathing becoming laboured as he struggled to free himself from the vampires grip.
"ERIC Y-YOUR PROGENY!"
The grin fell from Godric's lips, pressing his fingers harder into peters jaw he growled, a low rumbling sound that came from deep within his chest.
"What did you say?" he heard a tooth snap, felt it give way beneath the pressure of his finger, the only thing louder than the sound of it cracking was the yelp from peter.
"They're g-going to…"
"Going to what peter?"
"B-bomb his bar." His speech was gargled, the small shattered jagged remains of what had once been his teeth were floating in the blood that was filling his mouth like tiny icebergs in the sea. The fact that Godric was slowly crushing his jaw did not help.
-T-to." Peter spat out some blood, the red crimson liquid hit the floor at Godric's feet. "T-tonight."
Before the human could say anything else Godric tore into him. Ripping the screeching man's body apart within seconds Pulling his shoulders from their sockets and tearing the organs held within his chest and stomach to shreds until all that remained of peter resembled chunky tomato soup.
When he finished, he found his gaze travelling to the painting, his eyes drifted over its smooth lines, delicate brush strokes and the blood that covered the glass frame over Eric's face. His blue eyes once electric and alive within the painting of a dead man were distorted by the blood that coated them.
Was this a sign to come? Some sort of omen? No, he couldn't believe. Eric was fine. Godric had never released him, they had remained bonded for over a thousand years, if anything was wrong he'd feel it. He'd feel it in his bones, in his blood… in his soul.
Still holding Peter's heart in one blood stained hand he tossed it back over his shoulder. The organ that had once pumped life into the human who now lay in shreds over the floor and across the walls of Godric's office hit his friend in the face, smearing the human's skin in blood and hitting the floor with a soft squelching sound.
The human, stunned into stillness and silence came too at this point and began to panic. He wriggled his way free from the shirt that the vampire held and fled from the office, screaming as loudly as he could on his way out. Godric turned. His fangs still exposed, glinting in the bright moonlight that shown through the large bay window, casting a monstrous shadow across the floor and over the blood spattered walls.
"Get him." The guard, surprised at what he had witnessed nodded hastily and made his way from the room followed by several others who held their guns high.
Godric left the room at vampire speed. His boot bursting the heart that lay on the floor like a balloon.
"Where are you going?" Isabel asked as he passed.
He stopped, turning to face one of his most trusted and loyal companions.
"Shreveport, Eric is in danger. I need you to call Sophie-anns replacement and tell them to warn Eric, there's a bomb at Fangtasia."
With those words he left, lifting his body from the ground he took off high into the sky, his body moving as fast as his abilities would allow. If anything happened to Eric, the Fellowship would pay.