Chapter 4

I'm tired, confused and scared, and landing straight onto the moss beside the stream doesn't improve matters. Alone seems the only benefit, given the flood of emotion last time he was here.

All the same, something is different, and it takes a moment to realise this time I remember what is going on outside my dreams. Parallel universes? At least I can make sense of the dreams in a real life context, although whether there's a point escapes me.

I wrap my arms around myself. The events at Rhodes are too close, the visuals too immediate, and it's so hard to think any further. It's been months since I was here, even though it feels as though it was only yesterday.

At least I can put a name to the face now. Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five. 1000 year old Viking. Protector, lover, irritant, killer, master confuser.

We confuse each other, yet when chaos happens, we trust each other. We've done so repeatedly. We know each other, body and soul, yet so often we also doubt each other. He comes with so much baggage, but then, so do I. And his dominance in my life is confusing, given for so long I was determined to live independently of anyone, male or female, due to my disability.

I brush my fingers over the vivid green moss, trying to make sense of the messiness inside my mind. I notice around me the scene has changed. Once pristine, then ruined, now it's more real. The trees have new growth even though some branches are broken. The hills have scars, yet they shine green in the light. The stream has muddy patches, yet the current flows clear.

My dreams are clear as well. I'm compulsively and helplessly attracted to the dream him. I fought for him and claimed him. I healed him. He rejected me. Why have I done this for someone who has spoken less than a dozen words to me? Is it just because he's pretty? Am I that stupid? That shallow?

It's not as if it's similar to our real life. Yes, he's physically the most beautiful man I've ever seen. But so was Bill when I first met him and I understand why Bill is no longer someone I love. So, do I look only for physical beauty? Someone whose basest thoughts I cannot hear? Even though I've long realised vampires as a whole are more violent, more vicious, more sensual and more acquisitive than the humans who I've rejected in disgust. Is that why I get continually disappointed? Continually betrayed?

Eric staked Longshadow, which must have cost him somehow, vampires being vampires. Nothing comes free in their world. Yet he went to the orgy for me, and demanded nothing in return. He risked much to assist me at Russell Edgington's estate, and has taken several bullets for me. And just tonight, despite the sun and his child at risk when her coffin smashed, it was me he'd held onto when he'd flown from the hotel window.

I remember his humour, his joi de vivre, his continual blatant attempts to get me into his bed and the kisses he's given when words failed. The practical help and gifts which, coming from a man who can't even hang up a wet towel, is remarkable. And I remember his love, his passion, and his words of commitment when I was all that stood between him and the unknown world. That sort of beauty is visible, even in the dark.

Yet so often I've continually pushed him away, rejected what he is as though he can ever change that, treated him as if he had no importance in my life, walked away without a backwards glance, even after all the times I've asked for or accepted his help. Been angry and stubborn about my much vaunted independence, at the same time relying on his protection. There is a pattern we've both followed, maybe because we've both been damaged by who we've become because of what we are.

He's pushed me as I've pushed him. We've been full of excuses, using them as reasons to reject, condemn, defend, love, hate, mess with each other's heads. Neither of us are entirely human, yet we've behaved like fallible humans from the very start. No doubt we'll continue to do so.

I let out a long breath and hope some of this reflection will help, even if I remember nothing in the future. Will the rollercoaster continue?

The building's walls appear worn and cracked even at a distance, but the structure is sound, and the window space symmetrical again. And Eric is sitting on the ledge looking down at me, his back against one side, one long leg hanging down the wall, the other hitched up with an elbow resting on it. His face and body are unscarred, his clothes fresh and clean again, and his hair is shining.

I think he is smiling.

THE END