"Poppin' Eric's Cherry" One-Shot Contest

Title: PlayMate

Pen name: serendipitous imp

Status: Almost Virgin ;-)

Primary Players: Eric Northman

Beta'd by: the sweet ammNIwriter (Alice!) and the amazing Pixiegiggles, whose beta skills are awesomesauce and make my words more comprehensible! Any mistakes left are, of course, all my own.

Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris is the sole owner of the incredible Eric Northman; I'm just daydreamin'.

To see other entries in the "Poppin' Eric's Cherry" contest, please visit the C2: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Poppin_Erics_Cherry_One-Shot_Contest/75492/

A/N: The word "Viking" typically calls to mind an image of the warriors and explorers that discovered and settled Iceland, Greenland and the New World, but they weren't the only ones by far. Swedish and Danish Vikings also traveled eastward into Russia around year 850 and began their conquering and settling there as well. These were fierce men of the sea that over time evolved into traders of the precious furs, amber and silver they acquired in these rich lands. For the sake of my story I imagined our beloved Eric as a descendant of this brood of Viking. Using the early recorded history of the Russians and the Byzantines, our Eric could have been amongst the Vikings that settled in Kiev (now in the Ukraine). It was these Vikings that made trade treaties with the Byzantines in Constantinople and whose legendary warriors became part of the Varangian Guard of the Byzantine Empire. In the beginning the Varangians were the all-Viking elite guard known for their fierceness and loyalty. When a Viking left the ranks of the Varangian Guard they came home very wealthy and much glorified by all their clan. So, now that you've had a history lesson, a little warning: this is not a terribly romantic Eric that I have written. That being said, I still find his tale to be very interesting and him quite endearing. Hopefully you will too. Enjoy!!

One more thing…the title is "Playmate" and the Old Norse word for that term is "Leika"

Eric Northman, Present Era, a wooded area alongside a suburban neighborhood

"Tell me, I shouldn't," I whisper, painstakingly slow.

I'm standing directly behind her now, just barely out of contact with her delicate ear. I smile to myself, pleased in denying the touch she so craves. She draws in a raspy breath through parted lips and shuts her eyes, her body betraying what she has not yet acknowledged aloud.

"Tell me, it's impossible," I say, each syllable a barely audible puff causing her to clench her shoulder muscles. "Tell me, I can't," I continue in a pitch and timbre so deep my voice nearly hums with vibration.

Go ahead; I dare you, little one.

I gently trace the fall of her hair from crown to nape with the tips of my fingers, sliding the blonde locks to her opposite shoulder as I go. The sight of exposed flesh is exhilarating, as always, but it's her response on which I wait.

Come on, don't make it easy. Fight!

"I…n-no, we…you shouldn't…wrong…p-please, no," she stammers weakly, taking minutes to stutter even those pitiful words.

I'm delighted to see her mouth struggling to find cohesion with her brain, fighting to bridle the all-consuming lust racing in her body. She is all but lost in the illusion of passion I'm weaving, but it's what comes next that I truly covet. I surround her small frame with my body, pinning those useless arms to her side; she is focusing only on the cool caress of my lips and notices not the entrapment.

Running inferior to her desires, the fear is meager as it first begins to take hold. I extend my fangs and trace the curve of her neck; the press of them is what triggers the anxiety. I feel her eyes pop open in uncertainty and her chest strain against my grip as she is jolted back from her romantic delusion. Panic ripples off of her in allegro waves, filling me with increasing bouts of arousal and necessity.

"Oh, my dove," I hiss viciously into her neck, all pretense of courting cast aside, "I can; I must."

Primed, I linger over the jugular to let my words writhe through her emotional gyre until she relinquishes all but the terror. Fisting her blonde locks, I force her head to the side revealing even more of the neck I've seized.

"No, no, NO!" she screams, piercing the shadows of the night.

Those cloying lips may be attempting to deter my advance, but alas, the opposite is achieved.

Yes, yes, RIGHT NOW!

Piercing her tenuous skin, I suck the very essence from her dread-stricken form until she hangs limp in my arms. I turn her in the embrace to peer directly into the eyes that are even now glazing over. She is alive, barely, but clinging to the lifeline I offer with my gaze.

Eyes on me, my dove!

For a few precious moments locked in this stare, we are all that exists. Light and dark, predator and prey; separate, yet one unified spirit. The energy flittering between us is so palpable that even she must be conscious of it on some level.

"You are not dying," I coo to her in soft tones even as the life slips away from her completely.

I cradle her barren shell tightly in my now ruddy limbs and hover on the precipice of time itself.

What once was, now is…and I, I will go on seeking eternally.

Eirikr, circa 1033, in a riverbank camp along the Dnieper SW of Kiev

I trudge through the sandy marsh on the river's edge towards the grove of trees in the distance which will provide our shelter for the evening. Though the wind is chilling, the black soil has not yet started to freeze here; we will likely be home in time to beat the snows.

Good. Sailing in freezing waters makes me uneasy and I miss the familiarity of home.

Two days will be plenty of time to provision our stock of fresh meats to last the remainder of our journey, but I hate to take the time to make camp. Motionless, I watch a few of the men set off to the north to begin a short twilight hunt with my brother, Hedinn. Most of the others are relieving the vessel of unnecessary cargo.

"Eirikr," my eldest brother, Ba'ulfr, called down to me from his perch at the prow of our ship, "drepa upp eld."

Of course, we will need a fire! At least that is something I am confident I can do well.

Though I was counted man enough to join my brothers on this year's trading convoy, I have been constantly reminded how much I have yet to learn. Months of sailing along the perilous trade route to the great city, Miklagard, and my ten years of life are surely being put to the test. Striking the fire for our meal is an honor and my swiftness in calling Thorr's lightning will remind the others why they have been burdened with an unseasoned warrior.

I am brave and bold. I am my father's son. I will be strong and proudly fulfill his wishes, bringing glory to our people.

I untie the larger of two pouches from my belt, empty the contents into my palm and poke through them searching for the fire-steel and flint. Someone has already gathered a small pile of dry kindling and left it in the clearing of the grove which will be our camp. I kneel down on the cool earth and stack the kindling in a crossing pattern leaving just enough room for me to be able to slide my hand into the center. From my pouch I retrieve some small clumps of dead sea grasses and bits of shredded cord and juniper bark. Looking around to see that I don't have an audience, I make a compact nest of the scraps. This is something I have thought of on my own and it is what allows me to strike the fire so swiftly.

Ha! Let them think I have special parley with the gods.

In a downward motion, I strike the flint in short but sharp strokes across the fire-steel as I hover over the precious cluster of shavings and grasses. Each contact of flint to steel sends little orange sparks tumbling down onto the pile I am shielding from the wind with my body; it takes only a moment for it to light. I wait as the tiny bursts of flame take root, then pick up the burning mass with a forked piece of tinder and carefully insert it into the center of the waiting kindling. Still kneeling, I sit back on my feet and cross my arms to watch as the parched branches spring to life from within their core. As if they have been thirsting for my fire-gift, the kindling erupts into a spectacular blaze.

Geir and O'leifr, the youngest of the men besides me, come into the clearing carrying a net of fresh fish to add to our supply. Geir nods his head in approval and then takes off to help Ba'ulfr open a cask of mead. O'leifr, having seen me at this task before, comes to kneel beside me on the ground to warm himself knowing his presence won't disturb the sturdy flames. Hedinn and the hunters return to the clearing carrying wood along with their small kills of rabbit, but keep back away from the fire. Geir brings three steins of mead and seats himself on my other side while the rest of our group gets situated, still at a distance. Knowing all eyes are on me, I stand placing my fire-steel and flint back into the pouch and tie it tightly back onto my belt. Owing the gods my respect, I place one hand on the shoulders of each of my friends and glance upwards shouting my thanks for their blessings.

…and for one minute I am not the lanky third son of our settlement's leader.

The blaze only continues to grow as more wood is added. I see the eyes of the men glancing at me with curiosity as they move closer and we set about our evening meal. The flames dance merrily higher, stretching their tendrils to the twinkling stars.

Later in the evening I sit staring into the smoldering fire long after the others have gone off and fallen asleep. I am weary of this trip but not of the night itself. Even now, I find a soothing comfort in the sound of the wind blowing through the trees while all else is quiet and still.

Wait, what is that?

A slight rustling is the only warning I'm given before a pain spreads from my head and I am lost in blackness.

What is happening? Am I being dragged? Is that a…no…not a woman…there are no women here. I must be dreaming!

Blinking, I try to make the face of the person standing above me come into focus. I am clearly not in our camp, but she is here and I am not afraid. Standing before me is a truly magnificent creature. The woman is small with blonde locks spilling out of a thin, black lambskin hood and mantle. Her pale skin glows like the moon itself, and a whole new fire begins to burn as I notice the woman is naked beneath the fur. That most sacred rite of passage being, as of yet, unknown to me, I blush furiously and stare at her supple body, drinking in the sight of her pleasures.

But…this doesn't make sense!

"Y-you," I stammer trying to quickly gather my wits.

I must be dreaming, my brain is in a fog!

"I shouldn't be here," I explain to her as she pulls me to my feet, "and you shouldn't either."

By the gods, she is beautiful!

She only smiles wickedly at me and licks her lips. In an instant, she is behind me and pushes me down to my knees. Utterly bewildered I attempt to speak, but the words never make it past my lips. She is pulling me back, pressing me against her naked body, and all thought is lost. My muscles tense and burn in sheer excitement at the feel of this strange woman's cold flesh pressed into my back. The woman bends to place her lips to my ear.

"This will flare your fire even better, young warrior," she whispers as she drops some charred fabric looking pieces in front of me.

Touchwood. Touchwood?! I do not even know what that means. How did that word just pop in my head right now?

I look down to the ground to grasp her gift and a white-hot pain sears my neck. I am lost to the blackness again.

The call of the song thrush reaches through the abyss and brings me out of my haze. Those sweet little birds coo loudest just before dawn, so even before I open my eyes I know it must be nearing morning. Sitting up and looking around cautiously, everything appears to be in order. I am in the grove, the remnants of last night's fire smoking near my feet.

Ah, see! It really was a dream!

I shake my head to rid myself of my fantasy and a stiff pain throbs in my neck. Reaching up to smother the pain, I notice the odd material in my hand. I gasp in surprise and jump to my feet to search the line of trees for signs of anyone or anything awry. No matter how I search, the wind is the only answer I am given; her face, though, teases at the tips of my memory.

Eirikr Eiforr Norseman, circa 1039, sailing into the mouth of the Dnieper at sunset

Perspective is everything…

The tedium of crossing the Black Sea behind us, I embrace the sight of my homeland and drink in its simple beauty. Eventide descends gracefully, making the black marshes and plains glow with a vibrancy they do not actually contain. Off in the distance where the waters settle and the trees commence, the river itself steals the glory of the sun's completion and wears it like a billowing red flag, guiding us home. The men are a boisterous lot, and their rough sounds cut the night's awakening as they continually oar through the shadowy depths of the Dnieper.

…and to think I was ever in such a hurry to leave.

"To the right, men," my eldest brother shifts and shouts instructions from his reclined perch at the prow of the ship, "we will camp there for the night!"

Always a gruff man, my brother, Ba'ulfr has lost even the light in his eyes to the harsh years of war we served for the Emperor. Nearly four years' worth of amassed gold, silks and a multitude of other treasures are not enough to scab over the brutal battle scars for either of us, but Ba'ulfr does not have the exuberance and eagerness of my youth to brush past the pain. We won many glories in battle though, and made quite a name for the Norsemen brothers. Our fierce loyalty in defending the Imperials as well as our savage sword-wielding skills, were revered amongst Lord and common folk alike. The Emperor himself bestowed us both with gold embroidered cloaks and gilded weapons for our bravery in his defense and granted us leave from his Guard to carry our fallen brother home.

I would not relish telling our father of Hedinn's death. At least my shoulders are only burdened with glory. Surely father will be proud of the man I've become…well, nearly.

"Eirikr Eiforr," my brother taunts, "see if you can live up to your name and get these men to move!"

Ha! I'm 16 and even the elders call me Eiforr, 'ever fierce'!

Geir and O'leifr, still traveling and fighting at my side, rumble with laughter as we reach the shore. Only those two among our men know that even though the Emperor counts me a fierce man, I am still lacking in certain areas. I've yet to have intimate knowledge of a woman, but at least my friends respect me enough not to taunt me openly.

No pleasures, but not for lack of opportunity, that's for sure! I don't know if it's my gilded sword that draws them or the stories of battle, but the women seem to pay no heed to others when I'm around. Every time I get close though, another fight breaks out! Maybe at home I will be still long enough to take a wife or at least have a woman in my bed.

Still healing, Ba'ulfr requires help off the ship and Geir and O'leifr are quick to attend him while I get the others moving to set up camp. I make quick work of things, and it isn't too long until all of them are laying about the clearing with full bellies and dreaming of home. I stand and survey our lot; making sure my brother is still settled, I give a nod to O'leifr, the only other who remains awake.

"I am going to walk circuit in the woods," I say to him as I pass where he is stretched out by the fire.

"Bah!" O'leifr groans and kicks at my shin. "They should have named you Eirikr Vesuppi instead."

'Do not sleep', yes, appropriate indeed! Well, my insomnia has aided as much as any fierce display I ever made. It pays to be alert when others are not.

I tread carefully and pick my way through the brush so as to disturb as little as possible. The sounds of the night creatures are a comfort as I move further into the woods. I pause and look up at the stars between gaps in the tree branches to take measure of my direction. So far away from the camp and its fire, the wind blowing through my cloak carries a chill and I exhale a ghostly breath. Suddenly, a silence shrouds the night and nothing is everywhere around me; I feel a presence in the forest and the prospect is actually quite exhilarating.

I am not alone…perhaps someone is looking for a fight!

A twig snaps to my right, leaves rustle in front of me, and both are followed quickly by a slight scrape to my left. I remain perfectly still, tightening the grip on my sword, and only follow the sounds with my eyes. The quiet laughter that comes next is directly behind my position in the trees.

I am either surrounded, or confronting a very stealthy foe! Oh, this is proving to be good!

In one swift movement I draw my sword, pivot to face the direction of the laughter, and press my back against the closest tree.

"Show yourself," I say with emotionless conviction, but casting my words to the shadows.

A giggle, like that of a maid, is the mocking response.

Is this some faery trickery? Or the night playing with my senses? Even if a settlement were near, they would not let their women roam at this hour.

A sharp gust of icy wind through the tree branches slaps at my face and I close my eyes for a second to adjust to the force of it. The air smells of earth and moisture but there is a hint of something more tickling at my memory. It is faint, but sweet and natural, like moss and newly tanned animal. I open my eyes to better determine its origin and surprisingly she is there, right before me, just a few hands away from my face!

Odinn's beard! What is she doing out here? And how did she appear before me so quickly? Confound it all! Get it together, man!

"Who are you?" I say, the question sounding almost like a demand.

I stab the ground between us with my sword tip, not yet ready to put it away, and clasp the hilt with both hands in wait of her reply.

How puzzling! She is clearly the one I heard in the woods, but…no, I do not trust this. Is she really alone? No, much better to stay alert…stay alert, and live to fight another day!

My eyes study her furiously, for some sign that she understands my words. I take a deep breath, throwing my shoulders back square, and elongate my frame in order to appear imposing.

The lady before me is silent and because of the tilt to her head, her face is covered by the hood of her white fur cloak. She wears a long tunic of black silk and a belt giving off an ethereal glow, but without breeches, her legs are bare to the elements. Her feet are covered with simple leathers the cords of which cross precisely up her pale calves and extend all the way to her knees. She is a slight thing under the heavy winter cloak, but something in her posture says that she deserves a much closer appraisal. She giggles again, and I grow impatient with this game.

"Hear me now, woman," I begin, expelling all of my air with a huff. Before I can finish the threat, however, she is gone.

Gone? Not ran away. GONE! But, where? Which way? I will resolve this!

Wiping the dirt from my sword, I sheath it and quiet my muscles as I scan the woods with my eyes, once again searching for a hint as to which direction to head. An instinctive hunter, I do not expect difficulty, but I initially find no trace of her steps in the brush. It is as if the silence of the night has swallowed her whole; even the faint scent from earlier has dissipated. In unaccustomed frustration, I cross my arms and stand motionless in my uncertainty.

From behind me, in the direction I was originally heading, I hear the soft flapping of a bird's wings.

Birds, now those I trust. You can always count on them to be still in danger and take to flight when people venture near. That is the way the lady went! I am sure of it!

I turn in pursuit of this enigmatic creature, and move nimbly into the forest making precious little noise. As I dash, each step adds to the building intensity and I let the vigor of the hunt saturate my soul. A fog has drifted in and bathes the night in an eerie veil, so I slow my steps as a precaution. Just beyond the next clump of trees is a clearing of sorts and light strains to break through the curtain of fog.

Fire? Is that a fire ahead? Perhaps I have ferreted out the lady's camp!

I peer through the trees and struggle to make sense of the scene set before me. There is indeed a fire cutting through the misty veil; the lady is stretched out on her side atop her winter white cloak. Her supple bottom teases out from under the folds of black tunic, one exquisite knee pointing towards the stars. All wary thoughts I immediately cast aside. I consume her beautifully pale and feminine form, no longer troubled over the absence of others. I drink in her full hips, gently tumbling blonde locks and the thrill of my hunt progresses deeper still, becoming a lustful vitality.

Sweet Valhalla, what goddess of the night is this you bestow on me?!

I lean in closer, my hardening swell pressing uncomfortably into the tree, but dare not make further disruptions. The lady fiddles with her belt and flings it forgotten to the side before rising a bit to pull the silken tunic up over her shoulders. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her breasts tumbling out of their trappings. An abundant heat spreads like wildfire inside me, and my cock twitches in time with their movements.

Blessed be. For once there is no battle on the horizon! I will have this woman, if she be willing! Look at her! Beautiful! Her back, even it's gorgeous! How can I possibly be transfixed by a back? She's flawless, though, down…every…single…rung…of her spine. Oh, my tongue will fit perfectly there! I can trace that groove all the way down…

Facing this lady, so unperturbed by the cold and free with her body, a low moan escapes my lips. She is about to unlace the straps on her legs, but pauses having heard my gasp. She chortles loudly, throwing her head back from her shoulders to punctuate her generous spirit.

"Eirikr," she laughs merrily. "Come here, Viking, and warm yourself even more," she calls out in a voice rich with cajoling.

I stumble into the misty clearing and stare stupidly; my mouth agape, all pretense of swagger being lost at the incredulity of her knowing my name. A voice whispers inside my head saying: peace, warrior, I have known you long. I've watched from the shadows these many years. Unburden yourself and join me. I close my mouth and eyes to savor the liquid bliss of her words, unclasping my cloak and sword in the process. Again, whispers flutter in my head: come quickly, lover, join me in the night. My heart races like a fox and my hands work with an otherworldly speed to free my body of its clothes, just like the whispers suggest. All of it piled at my feet, I swallow hard to dampen my lingering fears; I drum up the courage to open my eyes to see if this mysterious lady is naught but a dream.

"Lady Bright," I whisper. "It's impossible!"

She is standing up, hands on hips, her figure haloed by the fire. The mist, the glow of fire and moonlight, they hold her illuminated in silence like a picture, like a perfect picture from my dreams. She is a vision of creamy skin, unchanged from my memories, now demanding my attention. My cock rises to its full height as my body floods with 16 years of unspent desires.

"My, your sword is grand warrior," she says, her voice dripping with lust.

I look down to the discarded weapon at my side and flush realizing it is not the sword of which she speaks.

"Your innocence," she explains, stepping close enough to boldly reach up and trail her fingers across my blushing face, "is what lures me back to you, warrior."

Her gentle touch sends a wave of pleasure down my spine which lingers even after she pulls away.

"Lady," I reply, attempting to regain some semblance of composure by crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm a grim war-hardened Viking, innocence and vulnerabilities left me long ago."

"Hard indeed," she says with a smirk and a raise of her brow, "but who are you trying to convince?"

As if the evening's fog has seeped into my brain, I am at a total loss as to how to respond. My voice is irresistible to you, lover, come the soft words inside my head and once again, I am undone. My arms fall pathetically at my side, as I stare, lost in her captivating eyes; I am unable to figure out the mystery.

"Go, kneel by the fire."

Though I feel as if I want to run to my siren's cloak, I walk determinately slow and even pause when I reach her abandoned clothing. Bending down, I pick up her belt and run my fingers against the oddly glowing material before awkwardly continuing on towards the fire.

Touchwood. It glows as it ages. So, it is her…has she really been witness to my life? How impossible! …and how magnificent that she shall be the first!

I kneel with hesitation, but anxious to get to know this baffling creature. Though naked in the cold, my palms are sweating out of nervous tension, and I am painfully aware of her presence as she joins me in front of the fire. Kneeling before my arousal, she again trails her fingers slowly across my skin; this time she starts at the apple of my neck and moves down sideways, circling my nipple. I quiver in anticipation of what she will do next; every follicle and fiber of my skin is erect and straining for more of her caresses.

Eyes alight with a hunger to rival my own desires, she says to me smoothly, "I will taste you now, lover, to slake your initial thirst."

Thirst? But I do need her. Now, right now! I suppose I am parched; 16 years in the desert of not yet, ends this night!

Strangely willing to let her lead, I try to calm my breathing so the hot puffs of air escape my nostrils. Her lips are deliciously cold and wet when she kisses my navel, and I shut my eyes in sheer delight. Then, with her tongue, she begins to trace my muscles even lower. Gently she cups me with one hand and surrounds my length with the other; just this simple contact is enough to force the first droplets from my tip.

"Now, watch me lover," she says with a wicked smile as she licks them away without ever taking her eyes from my own.

A deep groan builds inside as she continues her ministrations. Wrapping her succulent mouth around me, her fingers are relentless in their tender massage. Brimming with unfamiliar sensations, I instinctively grasp her hair to encourage the pleasure with a bit of a push. Two thrusts later and I am already overcome; expelling my seed into her mouth, I throw my head back giving an exultant yell of release. Flexed muscles tremble and relax and I lump on my haunches in a puddle of spent need.

"Precious one," I croak after taking a second to revel in the moment, "I don't even know who you are, but I thank you."

"Suppress your gratitude, lover, there is plenty more to come," she quips with her now familiar chuckle.

So damn charming! This lady is bold and soft, fierce and silly…whatever is called for! I will revere her always! If only I could make her mine.

My newly growing beard being little more than scruff must be irritating to the touch, but the lady seems utterly unbothered by it as she nuzzles her own petal soft face next to mine.

"What life is inside you, my warrior," she whispers, her lips a breath away from my ear.

She twines her arms around my shoulders, letting one hand sift lazily through my hair while she muses.

"Your essence is striking," she continues. "So clever and adventurous you are; so daring in your enterprises, the way you plow forth undaunted by expectation. You adapt, you survive, my warrior."

She is now kissing my neck in between words and in combination with her breasts pressing tightly against my chest, I feel myself begin to expand with longing. I run my hands fervently up and down the back I was, not so very long ago, coveting from afar, and knead the lithe muscles beneath.

"I have found your kind of verve exists but cannot be created. Likewise, your strength in spirit is an energy that cannot be destroyed."

Her tongue flicking out of each kiss is like a jolt of icy current and I am drowning in the passion of the moment. I brazenly grab hold of her bottom and pull her closer, fiercely eliminating all space between us, and let her feel the extent of my excitement.

"It may shift," she manages, after a loud gasp of her own, "migrating form with you throughout time, but it will never be stolen or taken no matter what may befall you."

Is she some kind of Far-Seer? I've heard tales that they exist. Regardless, I am glad that I please her. I will please her often.

Pulling back to look me directly in the eyes she says, "I seek; I long to quench my own thirsts with a kindred spirit. Will you stay with me, warrior, so I need not seek further?"

Stay with her? I will walk the world thrice over if this beguiling lady will be mine!

"I will stay," I say quickly as I push her backwards in my enthusiasm, "I will make you mine."

I delight in devouring her softness as I kiss languidly over her neck and chest, letting my weight lay heavy atop her slight frame. I slide lower, my cock teasing down her entrance, and lick the delicate underside of her breasts, eliciting a growl of pleasure from my lover. Encouraged, I drag my bristly chin down her abdomen and continue my kisses around the thatch of blonde curls. A little uncertain, I nip and lick everywhere but where I long to go, until she bucks her hips upwards and my tongue is buried in her wet folds.

Ooooh, she smells of the earth itself but tastes of ambrosia!

Both of us ready for more, I dovetail my waist to hers and plunge inside the treasure I just tasted. She is slick but tight, and cries out as the length of my thrust fills her completely. Like ice wine at festival her sweetness burns and I give over to the drunken ecstasy, thrusting into her again and again. She arches and wraps her legs around me passionately, pulling in even deeper than before, and I feel her clench around my cock. Her hands grip the fur cloak beneath us as she has her release, and the feel of it is so exquisite, it spurs my own. Panting and sweating, I collapse in rapture beside my nameless love.

"Please, tell me who you are?" I ask when I am finally able to speak again.

"I am whatever you want me to be, Eirikr; I am your heart's desire."

"Lady, please, don't keep me in the dark any longer," I plead.

"Oh, but the dark is where we must stay," she says, turning away from me to reach for her tunic.

"What does that mean?"

Dressed and standing, she responds only with a mischievous grin. She pulls me to my feet, embraces me fiercely and burrows her head into my chest.

"Get dressed, lover, we have company."

Company? My men are all asleep…and some distance away. Besides, I would know if someone approached.

Wary enough not to want to be caught in this state, however, I make haste in dressing and gathering my belongings. Just as I close the last buckle and straighten my sword I catch movement out of the corner of my eyes. The man at the edge of the clearing is about my age, but that is where the similarities end. He is dragging a bundle of something that smells definitively dead, or at least dying, but it's hidden by the shadows and mist.

"You insolent child!" my lover shouts at the man. "Did I not say I would come collect you before dawn?"

Not understanding, but also rapidly ascertaining I want no part of this curious development, I start to backpedal slowly. In the time it takes to blink, the lady is behind me, stopping my retreat and pushing me to my knees.

"Pay him no attention, lover," she murmurs in my ear while placing one hand firmly on each side of my shoulders to hold me in place. "He is unimportant, and at this rate may not be around much longer. He has none of your zest for life or will to survive. Sadly, his spirit was broken before I found him and he has remained unimproved through the centuries," she finishes with a dissatisfied sigh into my neck.

She can't possibly mean…but how…damn she is strong! To what have I given my heart?

"L-lady, I need to get back to my men," I stutter. "They will wonder at my absence."

"Yes, you're right, but I'm afraid you will not like what you see," she explains while wrapping her right arm around my chest. "If I'm not mistaken, my impatient Child did not want to wait for my return and has already paid your camp a visit," she continues while lazily sifting her left hand through my hair.

What are these visions popping into my head? The camp, under attack from an unseen foe. Screams and drawn swords, hisses from the shadows. My men, bleeding and broken or dead. How could one man have managed all of that?

"I simply cannot condone his behavior," she says sternly, while at the same time using my own hair to force my neck aside. "This means, we'll have to pause our little game. There's just one more thing before you go, lover."

This time I did not pass out from the pain but I certainly may as well have with all the good being conscious afforded me. The only woman to ever have known me intimately is holding me motionless and slowly sucking my very life-force, leaving me wavering; my hold on reality in this instant is such a tremulous thing. I sway a bit when she releases me from her grip and shakily draw my sword, only to find I haven't really the strength to put it to use. I lean heavily on the hilt for balance, determined to focus and ride out this situation.

She injures me, my lover, like an animal. She's so ruthless and yet pure seduction…I cannot help but be impressed by her ferocity! Though I thought it would be for different reasons, I will revere her all the same. But…later. Now I have to figure out how to make it back to what's left of our camp…

In one swift movement I have my unspoken thoughts answered as the lady pries one of my hands off my sword. Her touch is delicate yet thoroughly unyielding as she drags me off into the woods, fast as a runaway horse. Humiliating as it is being dragged by a woman, especially one so tiny, I am far too weak to balk; at least there is no one around to bear witness. When she finally stops, I feebly stand and resume using my sword as a crutch.

"Eirikr, this is as far as I dare go," she tells me, her voice once again filled with a rich sensuality, "but just through the next clearing you will find what's left of your men."

"Lady, damned or no, I will always be beholden to you, for now I am a man. I am a man who knows his own mortality in a way which even battles cannot teach."

A cryptic smile takes over her face as she listens to my hoarse words. She steps closer to me and looking deep into my eyes she drops her fangs. Even in the waning moonlight, they are impossible not to recognize for what they are. My eyes widen at the sight, breath hitching with the force of my heart's pounding in its cage, and my jaw goes slack.

Fangs? Fangs! She really is some sort of demon, then. I am luckier than I thought to be escaping with my life tonight!

Pricking her own index finger on her fangs, she balances the droplet of blood on her fingertip to raise it level to the bite marks on my neck. Rubbing her blood in my wounds, she alleviates the sharp pain there immediately. Even if it does nothing to relieve my tension, somehow I am able to stand a little straighter.

"I will find solace in the shadows until we meet again, my lover," she says just before turning to leave.

"Wait!" I shout and clasp her wrist before she gets away. "Your name, I must know what it is."

"I have had several, but you may call me, Leika."

Removing my hand, she winks at me, and to my utter amazement takes off into the night sky. I watch her swiftly fly, dove white and free, until she blurs and blends with the stars themselves. Knowing I cannot shirk my responsibilities much longer, I traipse back to assess the damages. My heart is heavy, as with each step my mind dwells on the impossibility of this night.

Heir Eirikr Norseman, 1046, being held by Pecheneg assassins

So, I am to die. Not that much of a surprise really. These Pecheneg fighters keep reminding me how I'm asking for it, and perhaps they are right, but it isn't as if I could stand aside and let them destroy my father's life work.

Ambushed. Condemned. Tortured. Certainly not pleasant, but I remain loyal to my people. I will die with honor and take my secrets to the grave. I am doing exactly what I am meant to do. I am a warrior first and heir second. I will not be any more difficult to replace than my brothers before me in that regard.

The deaths of my brothers not only made me next in line to rule, but husband and father as well, as it was expected of me to keep my brother's wife as my own. Is it shameful that in my last moments I'm not thinking of Aude and our six children? Though in fairness only three of them will survive their father, and I would be lying if I said I knew them at all.

No, I am thinking about butterflies.

After being held for five days of beatings, without bathing in the height of warm weathers, I finally convinced one of my guards to allow me to sluice off in the river. They would not allow me to submerge out of fear I would escape, so I knelt at the edge with a Pecheneg axe digging into my already bloody back. I was born in the water, or so I was told; I sailed and fought on it for much of my life and it has always been a source of calm and focus.

In the midst of taking note of my plight, I kept getting distracted by the sun's saffron light sparkling on the surface. I was mesmerized by the swiftly moving current dancing in the rays, its little white caps of excitement bursting up, and the life going on in and out of the water. Then the butterfly fretted into my view; it was black, orange and bluish-green, so it blended nicely with the water. Flapping its gossamer wings furiously, it skimmed the surface and dodged the threatening spikes of white foam all in an effort to snatch some bit of sustenance. I thought it odd that it worried so over these tiny and inconsequential gnats when it could have had a much easier time getting food on land. Then my captors pulled me away from the water and I resigned myself once again to the final act of dying with dignity.

Today the butterfly flits in and out of my every waking thought. Every blink I manage through my blood-crusted eyes is another beat of its gauzy wings. Blink. A seemingly reckless predator, that butterfly. Blink. Swift and beautiful in pursuit. Blink. A killer with discerning tastes. Blink. Did it always have this drive? Blink. Chrysalis. It morphed, changed, was made anew. Blink. How much of the caterpillar does the butterfly retain?

Blink. Blink. Blink.

The butterfly was back and hovering over me. Blink. Flashy white wings this time. Blink. Right in front of me. Blurring wings flapping frantically. Blink. But where has the sun gone butterfly? Should you really be about in the night? Blink. Floating. I am flying with the butterfly. Blink. So strong and beautiful. Blink. So nice of her to save me from my captors. Blink. Much better to die with a butterfly than with those barbarians.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Not flying. Cold now. Dark and damp like moss. Blink. Pain is leaving with her every touch. Blink. My wounds feel better, itchy. Blink. Grateful. My end won't be so bad. Blink. Wait…where is the butterfly? Why is the white woman staring so expectantly at me? Blink. I've seen that face before. Is it really her? After all this time…has she come for me? Blink.

Leika, my very first love, having stolen me away from my captors is now crouching at my side. I watch intently as she bites her wrist and dribbles her blood over a cut on my forearm. I love the tingly feel it creates seeping in and renewing my skin; I feel much better on the whole, almost as if I'm not dying.

Mine. My beautiful, Leika. How I ever thought her a monster I do not know. Aude is gone; my men think I'm dead at the hands of the Pechenegs. Now it is our time. She saved me and now I can make her mine.

"Don't speak, Eirikr, my love," she coos softly. "Your wounds have healed but you are still extremely weak."

Leika gently pulls me up enough to slide in behind me and for a moment I lose myself in the feel of her arms wrapped around me in embrace. The stinging pain of her bite is unexpected yet familiar, of course, this being the third time. She pulls at my neck hungrily, her mouth imbibing more of my blood than she ever previously took. The panic I exert is reflexive but useless by the time it tries to control the situation. The pain is blinding and I know it is the last thing I shall feel on this earth as my heart beats slower and slower in my head.

"You are not dying, my lover," she whispers softly at my ear, still holding me ever so tight.

Leika bites her wrist again and places it in front of my lips, her thick blood slowly surfacing out of her creamy skin.

"Drink this, Eirikr, and stay with me forever!"

I hesitate for a moment. "I can't!" I try to shout but realize I have no voice.

"Eirikr, drink this or you will die," she explains biting her wrist again as the wound has already begun closing. "I can sanctify our union with my ancient blood. I must have you! Yield to me, warrior!"

My only acquiescence is in the parting of my lips, but it is enough. Her blood drops languidly into my mouth and after the first painful swallow my doubts disappear. I want more of the honey fire copper flowing inside of her and I manage to latch my mouth around her wrist.

Each time I pull on the wound, Leika moans, clearly aroused by this process. Twice more she reopens her wrist so I may continue deliberately lapping, my tongue and lips the only part of me strong enough to participate. Every tug on her wrist seems linked to the heat spreading from her sex until finally, jerking erratically, she has her release and leans back away from me exhausted from the passion of my turning.

It is in this moment that I see him lurking in the shadows. The man she calls her disappointing Child, sits in wait for just this moment of weakness. Leika, spent from my rescue and draining, is preoccupied with lust and does not notice when he strikes. Before I can utter a word, he flings me aside like waste and stabs my lover in the heart with a short wooden staff. I lay crumpled in my angst and weakness, as he stands proudly over her disintegrating body watching it reduce to a gelatinous puddle of mire.

After admiring his handiwork a bit longer, he pivots and pounces on me. I have no fight left and a blackness is threatening to consume me, but he only grips my tattered clothes. Hate pours out of him as he stares, seething directly into my closing eyes.

"Before you say good night, Brother," he hisses down at me, "a little advice. Never underestimate your inferiors. It is better to show them a little respect lest you force them into action."

The man turns away and leaves me lying in the dampened dirt of the cave where Leika had stashed us from my captors. I feel my consciousness slip and I blink to try to watch him go.

"You will be safe from the sun as long as you rest in this cave," he says as an afterthought. Not even turning round to face me again, he adds, "if you are lucky, Brother, I might even be here when you rise."

There is laughter and then, there is nothing.

Eric Northman, Present era, a wooded area alongside a suburban neighborhood

I heft the lady's lifeless body over my shoulder and fly upwards into the heavens to search for a good place to leave her remains. I am unnoticed as always, humans only seeing what they can wrap their feeble brains around, and lay the body to rest in a fresh grave in the local cemetery. Looking down at her pale form, a very human feeling of melancholy settles about me, threatening to take root.

"No," I remind myself, hoping that speaking aloud will help disrupt my mood. "She may have been fun to play with for a time, but she was not my Leika. She was only food, not a mate."

I give myself a good shake and mentally close myself off again. I'm pragmatic enough to realize I cannot survive wallowing around in the human heart. Thoroughly chastised, I take flight to see what other antics I might get into this evening.

Perhaps someday another will touch my soul like my first lover; then again, perhaps I won't give them the chance.

A glorious wind blowing in my face lifts my spirits, and I laugh wickedly, loving the sound as it echoes through the woods.

So, I hope you all enjoyed my story...please let me know what you thought! I know Dark vampires are not everyone's favorite thing, but please don't let that stop you from leaving a review. I simply thrive off comments!!

A great big hug to my GC sheba6086, all the ladies I've met on the Sookieverse, and my FF Twitter peeps for their support, encouragement and just all out LOL good times! MUAH!

A special thanks to the fantasmagorical S Meadows and VampLover1 for their understanding of the fears of newbie writers, and for hosting such an awesome contest to get us all involved! Check out the Contest C2 to read more from some truly talented virgin writers!