A/N: Hello! I'm new here (obviously) but I want to give this a try, I guess. I'd really like some constructive criticism, but any review would do. Just don't hate! It's going to seem fairly - hm what's the word - well, it might seem a little "overused". Or something to that point. However, I'd really like to point out that I do have a direction in this fanfiction. Just as a forewarning, this circles around the HBO series because I haven't read the books - yet. Oh gosh, I hope at least some people might like it.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything in this except for Camilla and my storyline.

It was noon and the sun was high in Shreveport. The sky was cloudless and the southern heat offered mercy to no one. People bustled around to finish tasks in a flurry. They shuffled around the streets, shopping, talking with one another, or doing nothing at all. Businesses ran and citizens lived their lives. Everything was almost normal. Almost.

Things were almost normal, except for the red Ferrari tearing through the paved roads. It took a sharp left in front of the local grocery store – forcing several patrons to jump back onto the sidewalk. The vehicle made its way past the popular vampire bar and onto the unpaved roads of the outer areas of the city.

The car only accelerated and was moving well over 180mph. The gravel ground loudly under the angry spin of the tires and dust billowed from behind the moving automobile. It travelled another twenty minutes before turning unto the driveway of a large, looming house.

It squealed to a quick stop beside a red Corvette and the driver's door opened and shut with a shattering bang. The driver of the Ferrari approached the black double doors of the house at a nearly inhuman pace. Pulling out the key to the house, it was quickly shoved in and turned, violently. The 25-digit key was punched in and the doors were forced open.

The home was silent. The buzz of the fridge echoed in the stillness and the glow of the oven clock burned a green '12:32' into the dark. The figure that had just entered narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the area. She knew none of the appliances were ever actually used and were really just for show. A low, guttural growl came from the female visitor and her head snapped in the direction of the stairs.

"ERIC!!"

He had known she was there as soon as she pushed the key into the door. When she stepped in, his senses were filled with her. Her scent, her emotions, and all of her movements – he knew them all. He started to push the naked human on his bed with his foot – a weak attempt at waking her up. He frowned when the human breathed out, her stale breath rank with alcohol. He groaned and pulled the bed sheet from the human who had served as both last night's meal and entertainment.

Then all hell broke loose.

Eric heard his name ring sharply throughout his home. The voice was angry and his vampire hearing picked up on bare feet running up the stairs. He waited and the footfalls finally stopped in front of the doors of the room he was in.

The double doors slammed open and there stood a tiny, dark-haired woman. She was wearing a pair of white, drawstring trousers and a white wife beater – his white wife beater. He inhaled and he smelled the sun that was constantly the one scent that stuck with her. He looked at the intruder's face and noticed one thing. She was seething with rage.

"Decency. Please." She hissed, glaring at him through the dark. He smirked and pulled on a pair of boxers. It was only then that his dinner finally decided to stir and make her presence known.

"Who's there, babe?" The human sat up in the bed, chest out and unabashed. Eric's frown returned and opened his mouth to retort.

"Leave now, human. This does not concern you." He looked at the dark haired woman at the door who uttered a snake-like hiss aimed at the blonde in his bed.

"I don't know who you are," she stood from the bed, her southern twang drawing out her vowels, "but I know that Eric and I are long from finished."

The clothed woman sighed in irritation and was instantly in front of the blonde, neck in hand. "I suggest you leave." She shoved the girl's dress into her bare chest. "You smell disgusting. I never want to see you again." She drew her face closer to the frightened girl. "Leave, or I'll kill you."

Without a word, the girl was dropped and she scrambled to put her dress on. Eric looked at the girl, who seemed like she was waiting for something. He cocked an eyebrow. "Do not come back. Ever." He told her without glamouring her. His words were harsh, but it expressed him quite well. The two waited until they heard the girl's feet stumble down the stairs and out the door, which slid closed behind her.

"Camilla, to what do I owe this plea-" She turned towards him sharply.

"Eric, Godric is gone." And suddenly, Camilla's British accent did not amuse him so much.