IX.

Sleep didn't come that night. In fact, given my hellish rollercoaster ride of emotions in the past 24 hours, I wasn't sure if it would ever come again. How cruel it was that Eric had returned to me only to be snatched away even more viciously than before. His last words still rang in my ears:

This is not the end.

I repeated them in my head ad nauseam, trying desperately to remember his deep and forceful tone. I had to ingrain those words in my mind forever. What if I lost the sound of his voice? Next would be the confident swagger of his walk, and the pastel pink of his lips. The feel of his hands, creased and rugged, would slowly begin to fade. Then the way his eyes illuminated when he smiled would become hazy and blurred. I had to hold on to every piece of him. I could not forget.

Plagued with insomnia, all I could do was lay sprawled in my bed and take in Eric's lingering smell. It was a masculine musk with an undercurrent of sweetness; like the aroma of a sturdy leather jacket softened by a rose placed in the pocket. I dug my head into the pillows and pulled the sheets up to my face, savoring his mouthwatering scent—relishing what could very well be our last time making love.

Though it was less than an hour ago that we were laying in this very bed together it was almost as if he hadn't been there at all. I found myself searching for ways to make him real again—I cherished the faint tingle between my legs where he had entered me and the disturbance in the sheets our lovemaking had created. The dull throb of my wrist where he had cut into me was a more painful memento.

I thought of how he had held me and kissed me. I thought of how he had jumped on top of me and looked at me unblinkingly as he assured me I was the one he wanted, always. More tears began to fall as I took his pillow against my body and curled up in a fetal position. Though I closed my eyes I remained restless and thought only of Eric until the brightness of the morning began penetrating my lids.

When the chirping of the lovebirds became too loud to be ignored, (how annoying they now sounded), I uprooted myself from the bed like an ancient redwood desperately clinging to the soil. Though I had slept in the early evening before Eric had slid into my bed, the pangs of exhaustion crept up on me, beating their loathsome fists against my skull.

Ugh, I lamented to myself. This was not the best way to start the day. I flicked on the bathroom light and instantly saw the stained towel Eric had used to dab my face and neck after our bloody exchange. It now sat lonely and abandoned on the countertop, the color quickly turning from a brilliant red to a dull brown.

Images of us transferring blood journeyed back to my mind's eye and I could now recall his taste and his urgency at reforming the bond. The bond…I closed my eyes and desperately tried to feel for his presence, his emotions, anything at all, but was met with only a blank emptiness. I knew it was futile; wherever Eric was now he was undoubtedly fast asleep, dead until nightfall. Still, something about that emptiness compounded the misery, the rage, and the abandonment which now consumed me. Something about that blankness made the events of the previous night even more horrifically real.

I hurried up in the bathroom, eager to get away from the bloody towel which I somehow couldn't bring myself to launder just yet. Washing away that tangible reminder of the moment Eric and I had shared together would have been far more depressing than leaving it crumpled in a desolate heap on the counter.

I brewed a huge pot of coffee as I looked out into the backyard and saw the trailing tire tracks of the black SUV and seethed. I knew anger was a reaction which would ultimately hurt only myself, but the fiery emotion actually came as a relief when juxtaposed with the abject sadness I thought I would never escape.

"Fuckin' Freyda," I said out loud through gritted teeth. Gran certainly wouldn't approve of my language but in light of the circumstances I thought it only fitting. I was just pondering how many different ways I could decapitate the home-wrecking villain when I heard my cell phone ringing in the bedroom and plodded down the hall to pick it up.

"Hello?" I answered groggily.

"Sookie? Sookie, where are you?" a far-too-chipper voice greeted me on the other end and I took a moment to process the familiar tone.

"Kennedy? I'm at home, why?"

"You do know you're working the lunch shift today, don't ya?" She asked the question slowly as if she were talking to a kindergartener.

"Umm, yeah. I'll be there at 11, like always," I started to smell the coffee's fumes wafting into the bedroom and was just picturing myself stirring in the cream and sugar when the voice on the other end jolted me from my reverie.

"Sookie," now Kennedy sounded worried, "you were supposed to be here over an hour ago. It's uh…12:30."

I looked down at my bedside clock and saw she was right. You've got to be kidding me, I thought gloomily to myself. This day was shaping up to be even worse than I had anticipated.

"Oh, shoot! I'm real sorry, Kennedy. I'll be there in a jiffy," I hung up the phone and began a frantic rush to gulp down some scorching hot coffee and throw on my work clothes. I laced up my sneakers and ran into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my hair when I was greeted by a hideous monster.

My hair was a bird's nest of frizz and tangles. My eyes held not bags, but suitcases underneath them and were so bloodshot it was a wonder I could still see. Sweet mercy, was everything going to go utterly wrong today? I hurriedly combed through the knots in my hair grimacing as my scalp cried out in protest. Just as I was trying to smooth out a very bumpy ponytail I saw the gash in my wrist reflected back at me in the mirror.

I felt the sadness of the divorce wound stab me all over again, but there was no time for concealing makeup or uneven ponytail readjustment. I grabbed my purse and hightailed out the door, silently cursing myself for not getting out of bed sooner.


X.

"Christ Almighty, Sookie. You look like hell, what on Earth happened to you?"

"It's nice to see you too, Kennedy," I responded quickly as I bypassed the bar to put my purse away and fasten an apron around my waist. I spared a moment to thank whatever lucky stars I still had remaining that Kennedy was working behind the bar and not Sam. Though I'm sure he'd had time to recuperate from his resurrection and the awkward encounter which ensued, I still wasn't jumping for joy at the prospect of working in close proximity to him.

The other waitress on duty was India and I glimpsed her scowling at me as she bounced from table to table, desperately trying to keep up. I did feel bad for leaving her high and dry, but better late than never, right?

"Hey India, which tables can I take off your hands?" I tried to be cheery even though I could sense the lack of sleep sounding a death rattle on me. India rolled her eyes in a subtle way which she thought I wouldn't notice.

"I just served drinks at 6, 7, and 8. They'll probably be ready to order soon," India's tone was agreeable enough but her thoughts said otherwise: Course she's late. Staying up all night fangbanging vamps, she probably doesn't get much sleep.

"Beg your pardon?" I looked at India hurt and confused. She had always struck me as a nice girl—a little rough around the edges, sure—but certainly not malicious.

"I said tables 6, 7, and 8. Do you want a map?" She stalked off toward the kitchen. I had to remember that the terrible things I heard from her were only in her head. If there was ever a day I should keep my guard up, today was that day. Unfortunately, my sleep deprivation was sure to make that a difficult task.

As I walked toward table 6, occupied by two burly construction workers covered head to toe in a faint white dust, I heard a chorus of vile, disgusting thoughts:

Look at those legs, mama come on over…Wonder what she looks like nekkid without that dumb apron…I would let her ride me like the Kentucky Derby...

I shot them the extra wide grin I always used to conceal my telepathy as I spoke, "Hi, can I take your order?"

You can take more than that, sweet thing, "I'll have the crawfish fritters with some hot sauce." He gave me what I'm sure he thought was a seductive wink but which only came across as ridiculous given the dust stuck in his eyebrows and beard.

"And I'll have a cheeseburger with fries. Extra mayo on that burger now, ya hear?" Wish I could put some extra "mayo" on you, blondie. This man was younger but even stockier than his companion and I had to try desperately to hide my revulsion with his thoughts.

"Coming right up!" My smile was locked into place as I walked off, more than eager to escape their lecherous gazes and minds.

Table 7 wasn't much better.

It was a four top of elderly women from the Descendants of the Glorious Dead and though they only wanted more sweet tea and some biscuits with gravy, their thoughts assaulted me in relentless waves:

Poor Adele. If only she could see what her granddaughter has become—a fornicator with a fetish for fangers. Such a shame…Sookie used to be a nice girl. Now look at her, having premarital relations with dead men…What's that cut she's got on her wrist? Wonder if she's suicidal…She probably would be better off dead rather than living her life in sin and making her Gran roll in her grave.

"I'll…I'll be right back with that sweet tea," I realized I had been frozen in place grinning stupidly down at them with my pen pressed motionlessly to the small pad of paper. I willed myself to concentrate, to block out the thoughts which would only serve to hurt me, but my exhaustion and the horrors of the previous night simply would not let that happen. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who was sitting at table 8.

"Jason, Michele! You don't know how good it is to see you," though I had barely taken two orders I scooted into the booth next to my brother and relished the cool vinyl against my bare legs.

"Geez, Sook. You look dead on your feet, you okay?" His dark eyes showed genuine concern and I knew my brother meant well so I excused his abruptness.

"I'm fine, I just didn't get much sleep last night. What brings y'all to Merlotte's? I know it ain't the five-star cooking," Though I tried, my attempt at some self-deprecating humor crashed and burned. I could hear from both of their minds that they were concerned.

"We just wanted to talk to you about the wedding, I have some ideas to run past you," Michele's voice was warm but she talked with the slow deliberation of someone instructing an amateur how to diffuse a bomb. Suddenly, her thoughts began pouring in: Poor girl, wonder what happened to her. She looks like she hasn't slept in days.

Jason chimed in almost simultaneously: If that bloodsucker did something to hurt my sister I swear on Mama and Daddy's graves I'll…

"Guys, I'm okay, just a little bit of insomnia, that's all," as I spoke I reached my hand up to try to smooth down the bumps in my ponytail. Jason noticed my wrist and his good natured countenance disappeared without warning. Grabbing my arm, my brother yanked me further into the booth, apparently shocked by the injury and determined to inspect it further.

"Jesus Christ, Sookie! What have you gone and done now?" I pulled my arm from his grasp, simultaneously upset by his viciousness and the unnecessary attention called to my divorce. All I wanted to do was crumple into a ball beneath the table and never come out.

"That is none of your business, Jason Stackhouse," I snapped back at him. Michele just sat silently, looking deeply saddened. What had started out as a bad day was fast becoming a terrible nightmare. I heard the bell in the kitchen ring to alert me that the construction workers' order was ready. I stormed away from my brother and soon to be sister-in-law's table, relieved to have an easy escape.

Picking up the crawfish fritters and burger I attempted to secure a smile on my face as I approached table 6 but the lustful gazes of the two men were too nauseating to ignore. I set the food down quickly and turned to walk off but I heard a gruff voice call me back:

"We need two Miller Tall Boys, ma'am," One of them said with a dumb smirk on his face. His thoughts followed close behind: What the hell's wrong with this broad? She must really be a freak like they all say. I smiled back to let them know I'd heard their order and obediently went to the bar.

"Bad day?" Kennedy asked shortly when I approached.

"You have no idea," I responded miserably.

"It happens to the best of us," she said in a motherly tone. I looked back at Jason and Michele's table and saw that they had left.

The rest of the day continued on in a similar vein. I "accidentally" spilled a Diet Coke on a member of the road crew when I heard him thinking about slapping my butt. I conveniently forgot to bring a church usher some ranch dressing for his hot wings after I read his mind and found he considered me to be a godless heathen for "carrying on with vampires".

I was constantly reminded why I work so hard to block out the barrage of voices—people are unforgivably cruel. Being a telepath could really reveal humanity's hatefulness. Yet the more the day dragged on, the more tired I became and the more people's innermost thoughts assaulted me.

When Holly finally came in to relieve me I almost mistook her for an angel, wings and all. I quickly indicated which tables were mine and what they needed before scurrying to the back to retrieve my purse and get the hell out of dodge.


XI.

When I got home, I heated up a pathetically meager dinner of frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave and sat on the couch watching Jeopardy reruns. Today had been horrible. Beyond horrible. And it wasn't even 6 o'clock. Though I hated the sentiment, a small part of me held out hope that Eric would return come nightfall. The sky was steadily darkening and I kept glancing anxiously at the time beneath the television, willing myself to believe that it was possible for Eric to defy all odds and come back to me.

My eyes glazed over, dried out and red, as I pictured him swooping down from the heavens and gliding into the house through the front door. He would stand perched beneath the frame, his towering figure imposing but somehow gentle. Then Eric would walk slowly over to me, scooping me up into his arms to lay me on the bed and take me away from the terrible pain in my soul.

Right on schedule, there came three soft knocks at the door and I leaped off the couch with all the vigor of a Jack-in-the-Box. The plate of chicken nuggets and crumbs spilled to the ground along with the honey mustard sauce I had spread over them, but I couldn't be bothered worrying about the mess. My pulse began racing and tears of happiness fell as I rushed to the door and swung it open, so assured I would be met by the pale yet handsome face of Eric Northman.

Disappointment washed over me as I saw Mr. Cataliades standing in the doorway wearing a dignified navy suit.

"My dear, what is wrong?" the demon lawyer looked genuinely concerned and I had to take a moment of self-reflection to assess my appearance: my hair was still somewhat tangled with a definitive dent in it from the ponytail holder, the dark circles under my eyes had no doubt grown exponentially since the afternoon when I had last looked in a mirror, and glancing down at my work uniform (I hadn't had the strength to change), I saw streaks of yellow sauce from my mishap with the plate of nuggets. Is this what rock bottom looked like?

"Mr. Cataliades, please come in. I've just had a hard go of things lately, but I'm okay."

I noticed Mr. Cataliades eyeing my newly fallen tears suspiciously and I hurriedly moved to wipe them away as I shut the door in his wake. Those had been tears of joy, damn it.

"I noticed your name as some paperwork was moving through the channels my office oversees," Mr. Cataliades began slowly, sitting in an armchair. "Your vampire husband has filed for divorce."

"Yeah, that happened." Was there no escape from the torment? If Mr. Cataliades noticed the aloofness in my voice he didn't let on.

"I'm terribly sorry, dear. As a lawyer, I thought you should know you may have certain entitlements to Mr. Northman's estate."

"Entitlements? What do you mean like the bar, Fangtasia?" Even if I did want some sort of recompense for my marriage, I didn't think a vampire bar in Shreveport would have filled the Viking-sized hole in my heart.

"Oh, heavens no! Vampire-human marriages do not recognize that kind of dominion over a spouse's assets. What I mean is a sort of quid pro quo. The entire matrimony was based on blood and yours has been shed despite your faithfulness to Mr. Northman. If it is your wish, I may file a motion for alimony," Mr. Cataliades plunged into this monologue of legal jargon and I felt a headache blossoming as each new alien term was spoken.

"Mr. Cataliades…"

"Desmond, please. Call me Desmond."

"Desmond, I'm real appreciative of your concern for me and all, but it's not my intention to get any money out of Eric. The only reason he divorced me is because he's now contracted to marry the Queen of Oklahoma," speaking about the evil troll and her manipulation stoked the fire underneath me all over again.

"A Queen? Oh, my," the demon lawyer looked pensive at this news. I wondered if maybe he could somehow use his legal know-how to magically halt the union and to perhaps kill Freyda in the process? Preferably via a slow and painful death? After all, they didn't call lawyers "bloodsuckers" for nothing.

"No, that's not really what I do. If it is a royal marriage with a binding contract nothing short of a miracle would stop that," Mr. Cataliades looked grave at delivering what he presumed would be earth shattering news to me, but something to the tune of "Heard it All Before" began playing in my head. However, just to sate my curiosity, I inquired further.

"Now by "miracle" you mean…"

"If she were to meet the true death, of course," The lawyer spoke quickly, matter-of-factly, and I was understandably crushed. Eric had tried to stake Freyda last night but her loyal band of minions waiting silently ensconced in the woods had been a bit of a buzz kill. I was starting to grow weary of the endless stream of bad news when Mr. Cataliades spoke again:

"Or, I suppose, if there was some sort of political uprising in her kingdom—an insurgency for instance—that would potentially dethrone her and negate her sovereignty," a tiny glimmer of hope reignited in my chest at these words. "But the likelihood of that is slim. By all accounts she is a decent Queen whose subjects are more than happy to oblige her."

The faint glimmer was extinguished faster than a waning camp fire in a monsoon. Mr. Cataliades rose to leave at that moment and I got up to see him out the door.

"Thank you for all of your help. I really do appreciate it," I said these words on autopilot, so overwhelmed by the injustice on the horizon I could barely think straight.

"Of course, Sookie. I understand this may be a difficult time for you. Please call me if you need anything," Mr. Cataliades then leaned in to give me a hug and though his demon otherness rendered a mild discomfort I was still glad he cared.

Once the lawyer left I journeyed back into the kitchen, not content to continue watching the happy people on the spirited game show. I checked in the cabinet over the sink and found exactly what I was looking for. I then opened the fridge: no cranberry juice, but I still had an abundance of OJ.

I poured a tall glass half full of the vodka I had extracted from my cabinet and filled the other half with orange juice.

"Cheers," I said solemnly. And then I began to drink.


XII.

Once I had polished off my third screwdriver I was, to my relief, starting to feel surprisingly good. Well, numb. But numbness is a welcome alternative when contrasted with the bleakness of melancholy. I set to work pouring another drink without pause. The day had been such a misery that I actually took solace in intoxication and my cares and worries began to rapidly diminish with each additional swig of the tumbler.

I turned on the radio which sat in arm's reach on the countertop and sang loudly (and terribly) to a vapid pop song. I didn't know half of the words and mumbled and gargled through the verses; the display would have made even Britney Spears cringe. I scooted out of my chair so forcefully that it actually tipped over onto the kitchen floor as I shimmied my way into the living room. Still dancing and singing like a fool, I noted the honey mustard sauce settling into the carpet and the sight actually prompted me into a childish giggle fit.

After a truly awful dance number and some more off-key harmonizing, the radio announcer's voice signaled a commercial break and I started back to the kitchen to take another huge gulp of the screwdriver. The warmth of the alcohol and the dizzying effects it garnered were fast turning me into an obnoxious spectacle of shameless self-indulgence. How curious it is that at first taste alcohol will make one grimace and shudder but once inebriation has set in the burn becomes a welcome one. I was thinking about how far beyond the legal blood alcohol limit I was when a grating series of knocks sounded on the back door.

Given the less than favorable string of visitors a previous series of knocks on my back door had announced just recently, I should have sat bolt upright at the sound, listening intently with all my senses for any indication of danger. I should have gone to the front closet to extract my shotgun. I should have, at the very least, peeked through the window first to see who it was. But, not having a very clearly defined grasp on reality given my departure from sobriety, I rose nonchalantly from my chair and swung the door open while still holding my fourth screwdriver.

"Sookie, you look, ahem, ravishing."

Pam was standing in the moonlight exhibiting her very particular brand of sarcasm. Dressed to the nines in a white pantsuit with a lavender cardigan and matching pumps, she put my sullied work uniform to shame. Her hair was beautifully arranged in an elegant chignon and I envied her impeccable makeup application. If I hadn't been knee deep in cheap vodka I probably would have politely complimented Eric's progeny and inquired as to the purpose of her visit, but the sounds which emitted from my mouth were slightly less articulate than a Neanderthal's grunts.

"Heyyyy, Pahhm. Looka GREAT!" I moved to give her an overenthusiastic hug but Pam stepped aside at vamp speed, leaving me stupidly grasping at air.

"What the hell is going on? Eric divorces you one night ago and you're already getting tipsy at home? Alone? Sookie, this is sad. Even for you."

I was about three and a half drinks past tipsy, but I didn't bother correcting her. In fact, I now found Pam's deadpan tone utterly hilarious and wild laughter consumed me as I retreated back into the kitchen, spiritedly waving her to follow.

"You wanna screwdriver? I got PLENTY!" I seemed to have completely forgotten that Pam was a vampire and as such only drank blood or some synthetic blood beverage. The power of alcohol is truly amazing.

"You're drinking vodka out of a plastic bottle?" Pam's eyebrow arched as she examined my poison of choice.

"It's Popov!"

"Classy."

I started toward the refrigerator to get the orange juice but Pam's cold hand stopped me just as I began to open the door.

"It has been more than a century since I've even tasted alcohol but I can tell just by the smell of you that you're way beyond your limit," Pam's voice was growing colder and I should have sensed her increasing irritation but one of the many joyful effects of alcohol is obliviousness. All I could manage to do was smile sweetly at her and step away from the fridge with an awkward curtsey-like maneuver.

"What in God's name is that infernal sound?" Pam scoffed in annoyance. The Dixie Chicks were now crooning on the radio and as my ears perked up I grabbed Pam by the wrists, suddenly excited by the prospect.

"Oh, you wanna dance? Let's DANCE!" I tried to spin her around but was brutally rebuffed by the click of her fangs emerging as she looked daggers at me.

"Sookie, you better get it together post-haste. The drunken college girl act is starting to wear on my nerves," Pam snarled at me and her white fangs gleamed under the fluorescence of the kitchen lights. She sauntered over to the radio and flicked the off switch dramatically. "I didn't come here to join in on your pity party. I need to talk to you. About Eric."

The mention of his name jolted enough reason into me to fight through my intoxication and formulate a coherent sentence.

"Eric is…gone." It may not have been my most eloquent statement but at least I wasn't offering screwdrivers to a vampire anymore.

"No shit," Pam's eyes were narrowing on me and I sensed her patience growing thin. I gave myself an internal pep talk to wade through the cloying waves of drunkenness before trying to process her next statement.

"Felipe de Castro and that Freyda bitch came to Fangtasia last night absolutely livid. They're now talking about the need to draw up a new contract for the royal wedding," Pam continued on, sensing that I'd finally regained focus. "I imagine the sudden necessity was born out of Freyda catching a certain Viking sheriff in bed with a certain telepathic waitress?"

Uh-oh. I knew where this was going.

"Yes, Eric was here last night but it wasn't our fault she saw us together. She was snooping through my window like a middle-aged peeping Tom," I pleaded with Pam, hoping she wouldn't hold me wholly accountable for the terrible turn of events. Unfortunately her demeanor remained icy and I could tell she was placing some of the blame on me, even though Eric had arrived at my house of his own free will. When I spoke again it was in a small voice:

"Well, who cares if they're making a new contract? It can't be any worse than the previous contract…"

"Actually, it can," Pam's tone was level and emotionless, but did I sense some underlying pain in it? "The problem is the King has decided he trusts me even less than he trusts Eric. I was supposed to take over as sheriff of Area 5 but in light of these new circumstances Felipe is bringing in one of his sycophants from Nevada to take Eric's place instead."

"Oh my gosh, Pam. I am so, so sorry," I moved to place a comforting arm around her shoulder but she flinched and backed away.

"It's nothing personal, Sookie. You just smell like a Floridian AA meeting gone awry."

"Right, sorry. Have you at least talked to Eric about this? Maybe he can negotiate a better position for you?"

"There is no negotiating with a King who's suspicious of you or a Queen who has just been wronged. Felipe is still pissed about Victor going missing and Freyda has been keeping Eric smothered under her wretched little thumb. I can scarcely get a moment alone with him. But the feelings of hopelessness and regret I've gathered from him, they're…awful," for the first time Pam looked genuinely sad. I wasn't the only one who stood to lose something from this untimely marriage.

"Well we've at least got to see what's on that contract—the wedding is less than a month away!"

"I agree. All sorts of stipulations had been made to protect you in Eric's absence, but now that Freyda witnessed Eric breaking one of his contractual obligations, she practically has free reign to outline a completely new set of demands."

I felt a golf ball-sized lump appear in my throat and I struggled to swallow it. Eric had been making arrangements to ensure my safety in case he was unable to stay, but now that the old contract was basically void who knew what kind of horrors Freyda was planning to exact upon me? I felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety and that coupled with about three too many drinks prompted me to hastily sit down in one of the wooden chairs at the table.

Pam sat across from me and her voice was notably softer as she said, "Sookie, you may be in grave danger. It is imperative we find out what's on that contract," I felt the seriousness in her voice and my fear began rising rapidly.

"Why does she want Eric so bad? She's a queen! Eric doesn't even like her and I'm sure she has other suitors."

"I'm not privy to her secret desires or her incredibly ridiculous reasons but I do know this: she was pissed last night. Seeing you with her beau ignited some sort of rage inside her. The more Eric resists her, the more badly she wants him."

"Huh?"

"I know. For a Queen, she's incredibly stupid." Pam still maintained her desert dry humor but there was something forlorn about her. I rarely ever saw her look anything besides mildly perturbed or extremely perturbed. I dare say depressed and mournful didn't exactly suit her. I had to do something.

"When are they drawing up the new contract, Pam? I can go there, I can find out what's on it!" I wasn't even remotely sure infiltrating a vampire meeting was within my power, but I said this with as much grit and determination as I could muster. Perhaps delusions of grandeur were another side effect of heavy drinking?

"From what I was able to gather from their impromptu club crashing last night, I believe Felipe and Freyda are going to be back at Fantasia tomorrow at 1am to outline a new document."

"I need to be there!"

"No, you don't. You are Eric's ex-wife. The only purpose your presence would serve is to exacerbate the situation further and make Felipe want to drain you even more than he already does." I remembered Felipe eyeing me carnivorously when he smelled my blood dripping onto the floorboards of the back porch and a shiver passed through my body unpleasantly. "He kept going on and on about how delicious you must be, he could barely keep his fangs in his mouth."

"Ew," even when they've been dead for hundreds of years some men were still dogs. "So if Felipe doesn't trust you to attend the meeting and I'm not welcome on account of the divorce and the bloodlust then how will we know what the new contract says?"

"We won't," Pam frowned grimly, "I'll have to think of a way to get Eric away from Freyda and find out what happened after the fact."

"Well, that doesn't sound very promising…"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Pam's voice was glacial and her eyes seemed to stare bullet holes into me. "I only came here to tell you out of courtesy to Eric," Pam now rose from her chair and smoothed down her fancy white pants with her French-manicured hands. "Get some rest, Sookie. And stay away from cheap liquor. You know you're better than that."

And just like that, Pam vanished out of the door in a flash too quick to be processed by my human vision. Once again, I was alone.


XIII.

Sleep came quickly that night but was marred with terrible dreams which roused me from my slumber in a sheet-soaking sweat. In one instance, Eric embraced me lovingly as we lay on a bed of roses but when he leaned in to kiss me his face grotesquely transformed into that of Freyda's. Her fangs emerged and she struck like a serpent, hell bent on draining me dry before my breath caught in my throat and I was awakened.

In another dream, I found myself frolicking through a field of sunflowers so tall the shortest ones reached my shoulder blades. I spun around in circles merrily, taking in their wonderful aroma but as I bent a stalk to smell one, insects began falling out of the seed head and rained down upon me in torrents. Suddenly darkness fell and I was surrounded by gun wielding, thirsty vampires dressed in black suits. I woke up in my own bed kicking and screaming with a cold sweat running down my back.

I ran to the bathroom and vomited, actually relieved to be ridding myself of some of the alcohol. After this episode, I got back into bed and tried futilely to fall asleep again. I kept thinking of Pam and the melancholy that had clouded her usually impassive face. I thought of Freyda writing some awful new contractual terms down with an evil grin, contractual terms which I may never even know. There had to be something I could do…

Finally, an idea smacked me in the head so hard it might as well have knocked me unconscious.

"Yes, of course!" My voice echoed as I spoke aloud to my empty bedroom. It was so supremely simple it was brilliant. I just needed to do a little coaxing and then it would be golden. I made some calculations in my head then clapped my hands together victoriously as I realized it really could work, should work, had to work.

With the blessing of an actual plan, relief washed steadily over me and I had only to execute some preliminary tactics to begin the first phase of what I now dubbed Operation: Free Eric Northman. No longer would I lie down and concede defeat. I was tired of crying, tired of feeling sorry for myself, and most of all, tired of constantly worrying if the next knock on my door would be a harbinger of my death.

What would Gran say if she saw me weakened by cowardice and fear? Bullied by monstrous villains? Crouched in a darkened corner as my one true love had a brutal fate dished out to him? The humble Stackhouse home on Hummingbird Road had become a pit stop for every murderous supernatural in the great state of Louisiana. I and I alone controlled my destiny, and it was high time to take the reins.

The Queen might want to draw up some malicious contract to make me suffer but I didn't have to let that go down without a fight. Some danger would be inherent, yes. But what would my life be but a sad sham if I didn't go to war for my own happiness? That is a pathetic excuse for a life—a life of regret and fruitless yearnings. If I was going to die, I'd rather it happen while I was standing on my own two feet than cowering on my knees in defeat.

"All right, Freyda. You're on," I spoke quietly but forcefully and then delved into the dreamless abyss of deep sleep free of nightmares, tears, or fears. In my own determination I had finally found rest for the first time in days.


XIV.

The next morning when I rose I had a slight hangover but also a concrete purpose. I was supremely relieved to have actually had a relatively uninterrupted night of sleep. My body thanked me for it in addition to thanking me for my late night expulsion of the surplus of alcohol.

I prepared a quick breakfast and made a strong pot of coffee (the orange juice in the fridge now looked decidedly unappealing). After cleaning up the crumbs and sauce from the living room carpet, I ventured into the bathroom and took the bloody towel to the washer. There was no need to brood on mementos now that I was sure I would see Eric again.

I was working the night shift and the bar wouldn't officially open for lunch for another hour but I hopped in my car and journeyed straight to Merlotte's, intent on talking to Sam. On the short ride there I went over my game plan, trying to pinpoint the best angle to appeal to him. It hardly occurred to me that the last time we had seen each other had been riddled with awkwardness.

I pulled around back and parked next to Sam's trailer, taking a brief moment to admire the sun in the sky and the brisk Louisiana breeze as I walked toward the door. I knocked gently and Sam's eyes lit up when he opened it.

"Hey, Sookie. Good to see you," he had on Levis and a flannel shirt which he had failed to button up and I saw his bare chest bore the same reddish hair he had on his head. He moved to hug me and I returned his embrace, the skin-to-skin contact clarifying many of his shifter thoughts:

She looks so pretty…thought she was still mad at me for trying to kiss her…wish I could do that over again, I would do it all different…mmm she smells like oranges…

"Hi, Sam. It's good to see you too. I hate to burst in on you early in the morning like this but I really need to talk to you, it's important," I hoped my earnest tone of voice would signal the significance of the visit but from Sam's thoughts I gathered that he was interpreting my arrival in an entirely different way:

I knew she would come back to me…gosh, I've been waiting for this for so long…

"Of course, come on in. It's really no problem I was just making some cheese grits, do you want me to fix you a plate?" Sam was being extra hospitable and I felt the incessant tug of guilt on my conscience as I realized I was about to burst his hopeful bubble like an overfilled water balloon.

"No thanks, I just ate breakfast," I replied kindly as I stepped inside his humble trailer and took a seat on the old yet comfortable couch. He closed the door behind me and moved to the kitchen to scoop out the grits from a steaming pot. He spread some margarine onto two dark brown pieces of toast on his plate and then joined me on the couch. I spared a second to admire his simplicity before I began.

"Sam, I really need your help. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't extremely important, you know that," I started slowly, hoping to first get him to agree before he knew exactly what was required of him. I didn't mean to be subversive, but if I couldn't get him to help me I wasn't sure where else I could turn.

"Sookie," Sam placed his plate of toast and grits on the coffee table before he continued, "you hardly have to ask. I owe you my life for God's sake. Whatever you need, I'm here for you," he was looking deep into my eyes as he spoke and he placed his hand on my knee, rubbing gently.

More thoughts came flooding in with this added contact and I had to concentrate to halt them in their tracks. For a shifter, he was broadcasting mighty clear.

"Well, Sam," I took a deep breath, knowing I was about to shatter his initial perception of my impromptu visit, "it's about Eric. He's kinda been, um, kidnapped into an arranged marriage with the vampire Queen of Oklahoma," as I was speaking I saw a dark cloud sail over Sam's friendly face and he hurriedly took his hand away from my knee, running it through his hair and exhaling sharply as he did so.

"Jesus, when are you going to realize that vamp problems aren't your problems?" his voice had become brusque and though I felt the guilt washing over me, I knew I would have to fight to convince him.

"It is my problem when it concerns someone I care about. There's nothing I wouldn't do to help Eric. It's not about vampires and humans, it's about right and wrong," I was looking at Sam intently, trying to find his eyes but he was staring off into space. I sensed his anger rising and I tried to turn his head toward me by taking his cheek in my hand when he spotted the cut on my wrist, currently in the early stages of scabbing over.

"Christ Almighty, Sookie! What happened?" I picked up from his thoughts that he suspected a vampire was to blame and I decided to bend the truth only slightly in confirming his theories.

"It was the Queen's doing, the one who's trying to take Eric. Her and the vampire King of Louisiana forced some ritualistic divorce upon us and this was the result," I indicated my wrist and secretly prayed for Sam not to inquire who the actual one wielding the knife had been.

"When are you going to stop letting yourself be a punching bag for vampires? When are you going to realize that all they really want to do is use you for your blood?" Sam's face now held desperation and I felt I was losing him as we slid down this slippery slope.

"Eric is not out to use me for my blood, he loves me. And I know you have enough compassion in you to realize I love him too."

At these words Sam flinched like he had been stung by a wasp. The energy in the trailer was quickly diminishing from hopeful to hateful. For all my planning I never anticipated a reaction like this. I knew Sam would be hesitant to agree to help me if it meant helping Eric too but I never realized he would become so enraged before I even had a chance to really outline what I was asking of him.

Perhaps I underestimated the strength of his feelings for me. I figured his misplaced attempt to kiss me could be attributed to some lingering effects of the cluviel dor, something we would both laugh about later. I saw now that Sam's intentions had been heartfelt and I struggled to continue my appeal for his help.

"I didn't come here to hurt you. I came here because you're my best friend and I need your help. You told me after I saved your life that you wished there was some way to repay me. Here it is." I emphasized each word when I spoke, trying to impart on Sam the importance of what I was asking him. His thoughts were now in cryptic tangles and I felt it was unfair to pry into them any further than I already had.

He continued to sit motionless, staring straight ahead apparently deep in thought, his breakfast growing colder. The tension was palpable and the silence was deafening. I finally stood up, obviously defeated, and started for the door but something within me refused to give up. I looked back at him, now sitting so lonely on the couch.

"Please, Sam. I need you."

He didn't speak again. Could this be what our friendship had come to? I turned towards the door with my head hung low. Just as I placed my hand on the knob I heard his voice sound off:

"Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me what I need to do."

A huge smile spread across my face as I rushed back to the couch to give him a grateful hug around his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!"

"All right, easy now, watch the grits," Sam said good-naturedly as he accepted my spirited embrace. I felt his warmth and hoped I could somehow transmit how truly appreciative I was to him.

He ate his breakfast quietly as I detailed the plan, pausing only when he returned to the kitchen to refill his plate. Operation: Free Eric Northman was now in full effect.


XV.

That night at work was one of the slowest nights of my life. It wasn't for lack of business—Merlotte's was booming with customers. Every time I cleared a table I heard the door chime anew and another group of hungry patrons would enter the bar. It was slow for a much different reason: the anticipation of what was to come, what Sam and I were about to do, made the clock hands move slow as molasses and the seconds tick by agonizingly.

Each time I caught Sam's eye or passed behind him as he stood at the bar I sensed his nerves clear as if they were tattooed across his forehead. Though his manliness wouldn't allow him to admit it, I knew he was scared. I was scared too. The further into the vampire world I delved the more vicious and uncompromising they became. Now I was purposely thrusting not only myself but my friend directly into their warpath and I could only pray that all would go according to the plan.

At least my anxiety wasn't due to inadequate preparation. I had spent all afternoon getting ready. I procured a long black wig from the depths of my closet leftover from a Halloween many moons ago when I was Elivra. I visited Tara at her clothing boutique and picked out a risqué red corset and tight black skirt combination I thought very befitting of the occasion. Afterwards, I went to a specialty shop at the mall in Monroe and bought some black nail polish and lipstick, a spiked dog collar, and some thigh-high patent leather boots that were almost as cringe worthy as the amount of money I paid for them.

Finally, the grueling shift came to an end and closing time was upon us. Sam and I rushed the other employees to complete their duties so that we could leave the bar as soon as possible. I was thankful it was a weeknight and that Merlotte's closed early enough for us to make it to Shreveport before 1am. I changed hastily in Sam's trailer as he was locking up the bar and met him at his truck (taking my car would have been too conspicuous).

"You're looking very…gothic," Sam grinned as he saw me waiting on the passenger side of his old Chevy. I had already painted my nails the matte black color before work but now coupled with the long wig, the overtly sexual ensemble, the lace-up, high heeled boots, and copious amounts of dark, smudged eyeliner and black lipstick I thought the disguise was complete.

"Oh, shoot! I almost forgot," I ran back to my car and fished out the spiked leather dog collar from a plastic bag. Tightening the clasp around my neck as I jumped into Sam's truck I heard him let out a playful chuckle.

"Nice touch," he winked at me and we began the drive to Shreveport.

Though I had made the journey more than my fair share of times, every mile seemed to drag on and I kept nervously asking Sam for the time, worried that we wouldn't make it. He patiently reassured me:

"We'll be fine. We're already more than halfway. You don't have a watch?"

"Fangbangers don't wear watches, Sam. Didn't you know?" I tried to make light of the situation but Sam remained stern.

"Your disguise is pretty thorough, but I'm telling you right now you still smell like sweet, good-hearted Sookie. Don't let the Queen or King get too close, they'll sniff you out like bloodhounds."

I didn't even want to think of the accuracy of that comparison.

"I know. I'll be in and out, promise. All I need to do is find Eric or Pam, let them know the plan, and figure out where the meeting is being held. My guess is Eric's office but there are plenty of other places where it could be. Pam's been blacklisted so they might hold it in the underground basement area to avoid her overhearing anything," the mention of a secret subterranean vampire lair made Sam swallow audibly and I placed a comforting hand on his forearm.

As we took the exit for Shreveport I picked up my cell and scrolled through the contacts to dial Pam's number. It rang and rang to no avail. I pressed the end button and clamped the phone shut perhaps more forcefully than was necessary. I hadn't really been expecting her to pick up—she was probably busy taking drink orders or checking ID's at the door. I prayed for the latter, I didn't want a surly vampire doorman studying my driver's license and asking why I had dyed my hair from blond to black.

When we finally pulled up to the strip mall that housed Fangtasia my heart started beating erratically as the full danger of what was about to happen began to set in. The urge to tell Sam to turn his truck around and drive straight back to Bon Temps crossed my mind, but I quickly chastised myself for this cowardice and refocused on the task at hand.

He parked in one of the end rows and I was relieved to see that the lot was densely populated for a weeknight. Good, it would be far easier to blend in with more people inside. Sam cut off the engine and I looked at his face, so full of dismay and reluctance. I asked him what time it was, hoping the mundane question would quell some of his nerves.

"It's 12:30, we're right on time," Sam grinned casually but the smile didn't spread to his eyes.

"Just wait for me here, I shouldn't be longer than fifteen minutes," I said hurriedly as I checked my appearance in the small fold down mirror over my seat. My lips were still a creamy black color and my eyes looked depressingly somber with all the eyeliner. I checked that the wig was on securely and with that final assurance I opened the door and hopped out. Sam gave me one last admonishment:

"Sookie, please be careful."

"I always am," I said with as much lightheartedness as I could muster. I then shut the door and quickly began walking towards the entrance, my gait growing braver with each additional step.


XVI.

Something remarkable happened as I made it about halfway through the parking lot: a wave of comfort spread over me like a child's security blanket and I suddenly felt greatly at ease. As I got closer the feeling increased exponentially and I had no more fear or aversion to going inside the club—how ludicrous those prior sentiments now seemed! On the contrary, I now felt an irrepressible, almost blinding urge to enter Fangtasia. The eagerness was so immense that I literally had to stop myself from full on running to the door and attracting unnecessary attention. It was like some kind of magnetic pull had overtaken me, and finally, realization dawned: the blood bond.

I could feel Eric's presence inside the nightclub and I'm sure he could feel mine closing in rapidly. Our blood yearned, demanded to be reunited and as I stood in line to gain access the desire pulsating through me built up to a fever pitch. My anticipation was almost too much to bear. I would see him again; sure as the sun would rise tomorrow morning I would see Eric again.

I counted less than five heads in front of me and I pulled my ID out of my tiny clutch purse to be ready. I had guessed that Pam would be at the door but there was a tall, burly, black vampire checking ID's instead. Great, I thought to myself, but even that slight roadblock couldn't distract me from the wonderful feelings of complacence I was now experiencing being so near to Eric.

"Next," the doorman muttered in a disinterested way to indicate it was my turn to step up and present my ID. I complied immediately. Up close the vampire looked incredibly fierce. He was well over six feet tall with the intimidating musculature of a seasoned bodybuilder. His skin was smooth and dark as ebony and he had two blindingly flashy diamonds in each ear. His hair was cut painstakingly close to the scalp and his eyes were an almond-shaped dark brown.

I looked up after I had finished studying him and horror dawned on me as realized he was not checking my ID but was instead staring at me intently, completely motionless. I privately scolded myself for dressing so provocatively but it wasn't my exposed skin that had incited his interest.

"Well, well, well. Don't you smell sweet. What brings you to Fantasia tonight, sugar?" Far from the disinterest exhibited just seconds ago, his voice now sounded rich and deep with a distant accent I couldn't quite place. The blood bond had hit its zenith—Eric was amazingly close now and I could barely concentrate on answering the doorman's probing question.

"Just, umm, looking to get drunk and find a nice vampire man to sink his fangs into me! You know, typical Tuesday night!" It was actually Wednesday morning and I sounded way too vivacious to suit my gothic appearance but Eric's proximity was making my blood pump wildly and I couldn't help my excitement.

"You need not look any further," the dark skinned vampire said hungrily as he leaned in close, "my name's Jackson, and I'd be happy to make all your dreams come true tonight."

I jumped as his fangs emerged with a sharp click and he smiled broadly, obviously pleased with my reaction. He inhaled my scent ravenously and I felt an inkling of fear prickling up in my chest.

"Something about you is so mouthwatering, sugar. If somebody told me they made 'em like this in Louisiana I would have visited a long time ago…" I could tell he was becoming aroused and the patrons in line behind me started backing up inadvertently, perhaps sensing something was amiss. Overcome with my anticipation to see Eric and my steadily growing fear I all but froze up, racking my brain desperately for a plan to circumvent this unforeseen obstacle.

Just then, the black double doors of the club burst open and there stood Eric, his golden blond hair gleaming in the glow of the lights and his pale blue eyes leering icily at the lecherous doorman. Though it had barely been two days since I'd last been in his presence his perfection hit me like a ton of bricks, making me stagger uneasily in my high heeled boots.

My blood coursed through my veins feverishly, fully awakened at the prospect of reuniting with the other half of the bond. He looked glorious in a simple white v-neck t-shirt and dark slacks. All I wanted to do was run towards him, hug him, kiss him, but he sent me a strong warning to stay put and I obeyed without a word.

"Only on the job for a couple hours and already lusting after some poor girl," Eric's voice was smooth as butter, "Maybe you're not cut out for this position after all?"

"I'll be a better sheriff than you, Viking," Jackson struck back with snakelike quickness and with his words a critical piece fell into place. He must be the new sheriff who was taking over Area 5 instead of Pam; he was Felipe's new man brought in from Nevada. I glimpsed my ID still clutched in his left hand and prayed he hadn't read the name before becoming distracted by my smell.

"How can you be a better sheriff than me when you're already failing miserably as a doorman?" Eric smirked in his characteristic way as he said this and I had to stifle a laugh as he continued, "How many years do you have until you reach my age, Jackson? About 800? I'll check back on you then, hopefully you will have made some progress."

Jackson growled menacingly at this slight to his ego but he handed back my ID without any further protest and waved me inside. Eric held open one of the double doors and I walked slowly forward, trying to contain myself despite the building electricity reaching its crescendo. I dipped underneath his arm to step inside and sparks flew out where my shoulder gently grazed his chest. The door closed as Eric followed me inside and we were both plunged into the darkened club with the music pounding.


Author's Note: To all who have read this story, followed it, favorited it, and commented on it: THANK YOU! Your kind words of encouragement are truly inspirational and mean a great deal to me. Part 3 will not disappoint so please stay tuned and Happy Halloween ^_^

- Peach