Disclaimer: I do not own this characters. Alan Ball and Charlaine Harris do. I owe nothing.

A/N: Hello everyone! This is not my first fanfiction story ever, howether it's the first True Blood story, and the first one in English. I apologize to you for all mistakes I've done (there probably are a lot), because English is not my first language. Please, rewiew.

Chapter One

Butterflies and hurricanes

It was past midnight. I was walking to my home from one of my girls I went to visit. She became pregnant and had to quit the business for a while. Absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn't notice anything, but now that I was paying attention I heard footsteps. Someone was following me. I decided to turn around. Another woman would have tried to deny it, to walk further, believing that if she pretended that everything is fine, it will be. Another woman, but not me. What's the point in hiding from the danger? You'll have to face it, sooner or later. So why not right now?

I turned around as fast as I could.

"May I help you?" – I said, sounding confidently.

"You are… Quite lovely". – responded the man in front of me. He was clad in a black suit and a cloak, as ast every man in San Francisco. I couldn't see his face because of the dark, but somehow I knew he must be in his later thirties.

"I'm off the clock." – I said, - "come by tomorrow. We open at eight." – With these words I turned around, preparing to leave. I was caught off guard, however, when the man took me by throat, slamming me hard against the wall. I shouted from fear, and my mind was racing, trying to find any exit from this horrible situation.

"That's right, whore." – said the rapist, taking a long knife out of somewhere, and putting it to my neck – "I like it when you struggle!"

I don't know how, but I stopped struggling the very moment I heard that it brings him satisfaction. If I had to die, I will die. But not to his great pleasure.

But then something happened, something that, even if I didn't know it then, had changed my future. In a flash, even quicker than my eyes could follow, the image before my eyes changed. The rapist was lying on the asphalt, blood dripping like a river from his neck. After 2 seconds or so, he wasn't moving anymore. He was dead.

I took my eyes off him and landed them on my savior. He was a tall man, with wide shoulders, wearing a black suit. His blond hair was tousled a little, the color almost the same as mine. He was handsome. He certainly was, but it was not this that drew me to him.

I watched mesmerized as he brought his hand to his mouth, took his big finger in and sucked the blood from it, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he did so. I shivered, trying to convince myself it was from fear, but of course I was more than aware that it was not.

There was something about him that was raising this in me – maybe his composure, or the way he stood there, so confident of himself… or maybe the fact that him sucking blood from his finger was the most erotic thing I ever saw.

I felt dampness pooling between my things, something that, ironically, due to my profession, wasn't something I felt very often.

I didn't notice the moment he stopped, but he did. He was turning his gaze to me as he said, almost for himself: "You're not afraid". The tone of his voice clanged surprised, intrigued, calm, smooth, and so fucking sexy!

"I'm no stranger to dead bodies" – I replied. Seeing my girls die one by one, being… drained of blood by someone, had made me pretty accustomed to death, and dead bodies.

"The streets can be dangerous at this hour" – he went on explaining, like a father would with his little daughter, as he was cleaning the rest of his fingers with a kerchief. – "A lady should really be more careful"

"If I meet a lady I'll let her know" – I said, sarcasm dripping from my words. This apparently made him smile, the corners of his mouth just barely going up.

He made a pair of steps, approaching me, now only inches separating us. I was slightly uncomfortable near this stranger. He was making me feel something I never felt before. Yet, strangely, I wanted this moment to never end.

"That… is a… lovely dress…" – he said slowly, almost "tasting" every word, as if this was not something he sad often, and I gasped, feeling the need for air. His eyes roamed my body, from my eyes to my neck, breasts and waist, then back to my eyes. His voice became huskier, rougher somehow. "I'm sorry about all the blood"

I tried to say "It's fine", surprised to see that my own voice did sound just as husky as his.

"This should cover it." – he said, giving me some money.

"Thank you, mister…" that's when I realized that I didn't even know his name. I stopped, waiting for him to present himself, but he just smirked mysteriously, and disappeared in the darkness, at a speed too high for my eyes to follow.