I thought it best I probably put on a disclaimer. I own nothing to do with SVM, all belong rightfully to C.H. I am just a very big fan of the book series, as well as the T.V show True Blood, and wanted to try write my first fanfic for fun (which I've probably failed at). I hope you enjoy and that you'll be kind, as I'm very nervous!


You Belong To Me

It was a reoccurring dream I had often.

I know some people put a lot of stock into decoding their dreams, but with this one, it's significance wasn't one I could figure out.

There was a man.

There was me.

And then, there was a bed.

Put a man and a woman on a bed, and I think you can work out what happens between the two. Kissing, tender and affectionate touching of the face, declarations of love... you name it.

So, the instance I turned out my lamp-light after I arrived home from a busy night of work, it was only bound to happen.

Silky blood-red sheets.

We were tangled in blood-red, silken sheets together. It was always a birds-eye view, and he was always on top. He must have enjoyed dominating me in the bedroom. I could only see the back of his head, his luminously long blonde hair that flowed just beneath his muscular shoulder blades in thick strands.

Iron and barley. I could smell him vividly, even in my dreams.

He must have been a real charmer, because I was giggling fondly at something he was obviously telling me, and reaching up, I had raked my fingers through the long locks of his hair.

Then the raid happened, always the same. They came in out of nowhere, holding long spears and shouting orders at the top of their lungs at us. Only we were oblivious. It always happened like this; We would go on talking, as if we were too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the danger almost.

One of the men grabbed him and shoved him off me. I stretched out my arm to bring him back to me, only I would always end up grabbing nothing but air instead.

But I could never grab him back to me, no matter how hard I tried. They would take him away, always, in the end.

This was how it always happened, and when I jolted awake with a jerk, trying to catch my breath, I was left feeling bereft again, as if I had lost something important to me, something I didn't know I had to begin with.

My eyes focused on the ceiling in the darkness. I could distantly hear the early morning wind rattling my window. My room felt hot and damp, and my body felt all sticky with sweat. My head was throbbing. My heart was racing. I constantly felt this way after the peculiar dream I had experienced. Once it slowly settled onto me that I was safe and sound in my bedroom, I settled back down on my pillow. I was in the safe confines of my Grandmother's ancient house, the house that generations of Stackhouse's had lived in before my time. The dream was only a dream. It hadn't really happened, so I told myself I could rest easy. What was wrong with me, though?

I'd been having the exact dream for years and years now. Even though sometimes I couldn't remember it, the part that stuck to me most was always what haunted me best. The way the long-haired man I had canoodled with was taken from me. The way I couldn't grab him in time to spare the crazy people with spears from taking him from me. I felt such loss, even if it was a dream. As if I knew the person and he had touched me. I had grown to care about him, and it distressed me every time he was taken away from me, no doubt, to suffer an unpleasant fate at the hands of these spear-wielding fellows.

It was crazy to feel that way over an unreal figure in a dream, I know, but there were many times I woke with tears streaming down my face over it. Hell, I didn't even know what the man's face looked like. No matter how many times I had the dream, I never once got the chance to see his face. But I know that, in the dream, he had made me feel loved. Happy. Safe and content. All I could ever see of him was that beautiful, pale-white long hair that ran down his back. I clapped a hand over my mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit. All the time, after the dream, I had the most ill feeling knotting away in my stomach, all because I couldn't bring him back to me on that bed. The loss I felt was that strong, that severe.

I had to often scold myself, remind myself that it was just a silly dream and that I was being downright ridiculous.

It wasn't real. The man wasn't real. Nothing about it was real.

Maybe it was just a sign of me losing it? Maybe I was going crazy? I do have a reputation around town for being a little nutty. Why? Because I'm telepathic. I can read minds. Everyone in town tended to consider me a little coo-coo, which they were probably right about. Maybe the excruciating loss I felt over the man in the dream was another tell-tale sign of that?

Half an hour later, my alarm clock told me it was time to get up to start the early morning shift at work. This was another thing that constantly happened. The dream would seem to occur right before I had to get up to work, so whenever I arrived, I would feel drained and tired and just not in the mood for working. But, as always, sometimes you just have to build a bridge and get over it. So that was what I attempted to do.

I got up, made my bed, and collected my work clothes. Then I trotted to the bathroom and jumped into the shower, hoping it would wake me up a bit and make my spirits more lively for the long day ahead of me. I tried to forget all about the dream and the man, as I washed myself. Whenever I shampooed my hair, I would close my eyes for just one second, lathering the shampoo into my hair till it was a foamy consistency, and his hair would flash by instantly in my mind. A bit like I was touching his hair instead of my own. By opening my eyes up, it always tended to bring me out of that foolish thought pretty quickly.

Often, I tried to push that dream back into the darkest corners of my mind. But when it came to him, it wasn't that easy. Sometimes I even found myself contemplating about him at work, wondering whether he actually was real, or just some made-up figment of my imagination. I guess I pretty much was losing my mind.

The instance I rushed inside Merlotte's, it gave me a distraction for the time being at least.

I got to work pretty fast. I scrubbed down tables and set up the salt-and-pepper shakers, and laid out the menus, so everything was neat before the lunchtime rush came in. When the lunchtime rush came in, so did the beginnings of a headache. I found the lunchtime rush most unbearable of all, because I have always had trouble putting up a mental guard, which meant I unwantedly had to listen into people's thoughts. Most of the time I heard things I had no interest in knowing. One elderly patron was fretting over whether or not her son was gay, because she had found a pornographic magazine hidden beneath his mattress. The pictures mostly consisted of naked men. Go figure.

One of the busty, black-haired waitresses who worked with me, Dawn Greene, was thinking about a bar she had went out to in the late hours of the night last night. It was a vampire bar, in the Shreveport area, called Fangtasia. I tried to tune out, best as I could, trust me. But like most times, it couldn't be helped. I got a real clear visual of the bar; The red walls, the plush vinyl leather seats.

I was just going around tables, jotting down orders, when her next mental image hit me. It was like a slap to the face. It was really lucky I had mastered the practice of facial control, otherwise I would have been scaring half the patrons off.

A scowling face looking at me- no, looking at Dawn as she preened herself in a mission to get his attention. He had a peculiar glow to his face, to his skin. Even in Dawn's vision, I could tell he was pissed and not at all interested in her, which was utterly opposite to what men mostly find themselves in when they see her. Dawn was considered sexy, by the opposite sex- their thoughts told me as much. However, she was about as appealing as dirt to this man. He was displeased by Dawn and yet a man never looked more handsome.

"Yes, can I please have a side order of onion rings with that..." I hummed and tried to look as if I was paying attention, but it was difficult to.

The picture in Dawn's head flashed by again so vividly that I had to grab onto the table to steady myself.

For a second, it was as if all sounds and the customer in front of me, everything, dissolved into silence. I recognized that face Dawn was thinking about. Well, actually, I recognized the long hair.

It was the same man haunting me continuously in my dreams every night. Apparently, he was a vampire. And, apparently he had shot Dawn down, something she was feeling in a huff about.

He was real. I had been dreaming about a real person. Now how the hell was that possible? How could-

"Excuse me, young lady! Are you retarded or what?"

Just like that, I was brought back down into the present. And the present was one mean lady peering up at me as if I was mentally incompetent. As I said, it was lucky I had practise in facial control.

"Oh, sorry," I laughed unevenly. "Could you repeat your order for me, please?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed air through her nostrils. Rude lady indeed. "I said I wanted a Diet Coke with all that, or are you deaf?"

"Whoops, sorry. I spaced out for a moment there," I told her, trying to work on some charm. "I'll get your order done and ready. Excuse me."

Once I was done putting the rude lady's order through, I went straight over to Dawn. She grinned at me and pushed up her boobs in her white shirt, making them stand out. She was hoping she'd get more tips that way.

"Hey, Dawn. How're things going?"

Dawn and I weren't exactly what you would consider the best of friends, but we got on all right, so long as we didn't get on each other's bad sides.

"I'm good, girl. Real good." Her thoughts told me otherwise.

"Late night last night?" I asked her, hoping to coax some information out of her.

"You could say so, yeah. I finally went down to that vamp bar last night and got my first taste of the undead."

"Cool. What was it like?"

"Kinda boring."

"Was there any hot vamps there?" I asked her, pretending to be real interested. Hunky men was really the only subject that mattered to Dawn.

"Pretty hot, girl. I tried to get me some vampire."

"And how'd that go for you?" I knew fair well how it had gone for Dawn. I didn't feel it polite to say so, though.

"Not too good," she admitted, scrutinizing her fake nails with a frown. "There was one vamp I was real interested in, only turns out he's waiting for somebody extra special. Can you believe that? A celibate vampire. How fucking lame is that?"

I murmured half-heartedly in agreement.

When conversation halted and we both got back to work, I was oddly enough considering heading off to that vampire bar, Fangtasia, myself. Vampires had come out of the coffin two years ago, and everybody here in Bon Temps had a mixed opinion on it. Some hated them and went out of their way to actively show it. Some, like me, just tolerated it and didn't have much to protest on the matter. Truth be told, I found it oddly exciting. But we hadn't had any vampires come here in Bon Temps, so I guess, if you really wanted to go out of your way to meet one, you'd have to redline it to this bar in Shreveport.

What got me intrigued, most of all, was the image of the man Dawn had presented, courtesy of her vivid mind.

He was the same man I had in my dreams. Although I never saw his face once, I just knew it. I had this feeling in me that was impossible to describe. And, like metal to a magnet, or a moth to a flame, I felt I had to go to Shreveport, as if my life depended on it almost. I wasn't sure why I felt that way, but I just did.

So it was exactly what I planned to do. I decided I would go to that bar tonight, the instance my shift finished. I had to see him, in the flesh. Maybe then I would understand what this reoccurring dream meant?

The ending of my shift couldn't have come soon enough. I didn't even bother checking my appearance in the staff bathroom, making sure I looked decent and polished enough. I just had to get going, and time couldn't be wasted. All I merely did, was pull my hair undone from its tight bun that I wore for work, letting my long blonde hair fall down my back in waves. And, there. Done.

Fangtasia, it turned out, wasn't an easy bar to miss. It had a sign, right out the front, blaring in red halogen lights. Apparently they also did good for business, because there was a massive line out front, and a woman in what looked like a black corset was carding people before allowing them entrance. Thankful that I had thought to bring my purse with me, which I kept my license in, I got at the back of the line and waited patiently for my turn. I became self-consciously aware that I was rather underdressed compared to all the other people wanting to go into the bar for the night; Half were wearing very revealing outfits. Some Gothic, and others just downright trashy.

When my time finally came, I put on my best smile and handed the woman my license. She took one quick look at it, turned her eyes on me, then scrutinized my identification again quickly. It was apparent she was having second thoughts on letting me into the bar. It seemed that way, although astonishingly I couldn't hear an ounce of her thoughts.

"Oh, you don't need to worry," I told her politely. "It isn't fake. I really am Sookie Stackhouse, and that really is my license."

It seemed it didn't help any. With a foreboding look, she told me she would be right back. She took my licence in with her, too.

A bad feeling overcame me. What was going on? Why wouldn't she let me in? I certainly was old enough to enter the premises. So what was wrong with me heading in?

I peered in through the door nervously. I could see a bunch of people standing around. Heavy metal music slipped out the door, assaulting my ears from inside. Then the most oddest thing happened. The crowd of people parted, giving way to somebody. As if that person was awfully important. Like a rock-star.

Or a dangerous thug who slaughtered anybody who dared to get in their way.

But all I could see was that woman who had taken my identification sweeping through to reach me again. Did people really think she was that scary? Geez Louise. And then it hit me why belatedly a moment later. He was behind her, following her. It wasn't the woman people were scared of and wary of. It was him.

He stood tall compared to the woman he was following, and just with the way he walked, he oozed dominance and physicality, wearing a tight black shirt that had the words Bite Me on it in red writing, and tight black pants that had various dangling chains attached to the pockets, with skulls and other scary little things attached to them. I couldn't take my eyes off him, but it seemed he couldn't take his eyes off me either. He stared at me past the woman's head, his eyes a piercing, arresting blue and intense. I almost felt as if he could see straight through me. Most of all, it was his hair that got to me most.

He was the most scariest thing in the entire world. But, at the same time, he was also the most handsome.

Yes, he was the man who had haunted me in my dreams, all right. I just wasn't sure why he did.

Staring at him, I felt a funny sense of déjà vu.

When they reached me, it was far more scarier up close and personal. My hands actually started to shake, and I felt a rash spread over my chest. Still, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his, and he stared right back at me, keeping up with me for all it was worth.

The woman cleared her throat loudly, capturing my attention. Briskly, I made myself look at her.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked. Her voice was husky, pure American, and she looked very beautiful. But then, her image was sort of ruined, when her fangs ran out at me. I inched back a step cautiously. Then she laughed at my reaction, and the man behind her did as well.

"Um, my name is Sookie Stackhouse," I clarified, sounding way more frightened than I would have liked. "Is there some kind of trouble here? My identification isn't fake. I don't understand why this is happening?"

Without any control on it, my eyes flew up to the man standing behind her again. He was still staring at me, in an oddly intense way. All due to it, I suddenly felt a weird tingling sensation down my spine.

The female vampire thrust my licence back into one of my trembling hands and then, wordlessly, she turned and left, leaving me standing with the man. Strangely enough, I wished she would have returned. Somehow it was all the more nerve-inducing with this man. The man inclined his head, strands of his hair fell into his face, and he gave me a very hard once-over, as if he was memorizing my features or something. He started with my head, paused at my bosom area, paused impolitely at my thighs in my shorts, and then brought his eyes back up to me again. And then, as if his expectations had been met, he stepped back to allow me entrance into the bar.

"Gudinna," he said, in a very evocative way that told me he was expecting me, "You have kept me waiting very long. I was beginning to grow impatient."

"You've been waiting for me?" I asked incredulously. He didn't even know me, did he?

"I have for over a century," he said, managing to sound matter-of-fact, despite the crazy length of time. "I do hope you don't expect me to wait that long again." His voice rose and swelled with emotion.

When I followed him slowly into the bar, I turned and found him still looking at me, with intense scrutiny. He really, really was equally intimidating and gorgeous. It was unnerving the way he couldn't seem to look away. I felt almost afraid to turn my eyes away from him, for one second, because what if it was exactly like my dream? One moment of looking away, and then he would be taken away from me forever?

"Come with me into my office."

I felt like I had been walloped across the side of my head. Come with him into his office? What for? Somehow, I still felt as if I was in trouble, as if I had done something wrong.

"Look, am I in trouble or something?" I asked nervously, praying he would be straight with me.

A smile broke out across his face; a dazzling, wide, all-teeth-showing smile, with his fangs glistening at me and everything. It took my breath away, and that tingling sensation infected me again, all the way down to my toes.

He didn't bother easing my mind, either way. Startling me, he reached over and hooked his index finger through mine, leading me through the crowd, towards where his office was located. For some reason, I was willing him with my mind inwardly not to let my hand go. Naturally, he did, sliding his finger free when he held the door open for me and, inside, I went. I felt the loss of contact immediately, and for some reason, it left me feeling grief-stricken. It was a stupid feeling, a pathetic one. I didn't know the man at all, aside from some dream. So why should I feel it so intensely?

"Please, take a seat." He showed me over to a leather sofa at the furthest end of his office and I plopped down, keeping my eyes on him anxiously. I still didn't know what this was all about.

I felt a lot happier than I probably ought to have, when he sat down beside me, and turning to face me, I felt our legs touch. Even that roused the most ridiculous feeling of contentment throughout my entire body, and the loss that plagued me instantly receded.

"So, Miss. Stackhouse. What brings you here to Fangtasia?"

"Call me Sookie," I said, my voice hesitant and shy. Or hell, you can go ahead and call me anything you damn well like.

"Sookie, then," he said, and my name sounded extremely good falling from his tongue. "Whatever the reason was for your visit here tonight, I do hope it was me."

Oh, and that reason sure was him. Maybe he was even aware of it himself.

This was my first attempt at writing a fanfiction. I would love to hear your thoughts.

Gudinna is Swedish for "Goddess", which Eric called her.

Would you be interested in more? Sorry if it's real crappy. I don't know if anyone is interested in soul-mate themed stories, but I would love to have your thoughts. Thank you!