As I stride through the bar, the usual murmur runs through the crowd. The tourists wonder who I am, how old I am, how many people I have killed. The truly stupid ones ask one another if I am a vampire, and I cannot stifle a sneer. What other creature would dare strut through a vampire bar looking this predatory?

I figure Niall would... and the tiger's boss, or 'senior partner' as he likes to be called in this realm... any of the other demon overlords, too... maenads... a few very arrogant witches... every turned fairy who has not yet found a way to die... the handful of Gods that still live... many of the more powerful species of fae... quite a few creatures, really. Of course, these idiots consider every one of them to be myth, so the only creature they know that hunts in a vampire bar is a vampire. I marvel that beings too stupid to deduce what I am are able to live at all. Humans, I roll my eyes.

My disdainful glance falls on a random black-clad blood bag and she flutters with excitement. At least our regulars are trying to remove themselves from the gene pool, which makes them marginally tolerable. I have always had a certain regard for those smart enough to know they are stupid. Like my bonded, I think, and an involuntary smile curls the corner of my lip. That just encourages our pathetic patrons, and their inane conversation gets even louder around me. My feeding habits are the topic of discussion, the timid wondering who I will leave bruised and bloodied tonight, the bold asserting it will be them.

It is three nights after my trial and I am in enough pain to be irritable and impatient, but it is important I be seen here tonight. When I am gone for any length of time, the bar's profits drop because the morons my bonded calls my Fang-banger Fan Club stop coming in. They are essential to the business's success, despite being stupid and faintly revolting. They come in every night and buy overpriced drinks for hours, contributing healthily to our balance sheet, plus they give blood to the vampires, who in turn attract the tourists. Most tourists do not allow vampires to feed on them, so it would be much harder to get all the local vampires to visit without the fang-bangers offering them blood here. Additionally, a typical tourist visits us just once, so even though they spend freely while they are here, during the seasonal lulls it is the fang-bangers who keep us open.

I scan the bar, looking for someone worth feeding on tonight. I have come in late to make this grand entrance, so the selection is as good now as it will be all night... but as usual, nobody piques my interest. But I must eat for my injuries to heal, so one of these blood bags will have to do. I will have to feed copiously for weeks to restore my full strength, and in truth, that thought does not please me as it once did.

I rue the day those witches cursed me, taking away my greatest pleasure by sending me to the one who would spoil my taste for all others. I do my best to hide the lasting disability their curse has caused, but in my darker moments - most often while my fangs are in the thigh of some uninspiring woman - I contemplate monogamy. I shake my head at the thought, knowing my bonded would never cater to most of my appetites with her prudish Christian upbringing. Even the most debauched fang-bangers find some of my tastes too extreme, and they pride themselves on doing things that disgust other humans. I hope once more that this lingering curse will wear off, so I may feed and fuck with the pleasure I ought, once more.

I head back to my office, ready to catch up on some work now I have shown I am back. Pam can select my dinner again tonight; I do not hunger for any of these dull creatures.

When I open my laptop, almost four hundred emails greet me. I have been gone a full week, and it will take me two or more nights just to catch up on these blunt electronic missives, leaving me little time for anything else. I hunger for news of my bonded, so I read the emails from James, Bill and Quinn first, even though Pam has already relayed everything important from them.

I quickly realize that James is an appallingly poor spy. He reports to me each day as ordered, but tells me mostly about her house, as though he really is there to fix things. The end of each email says, "Sookie is fine" or "Sookie's training goes well" or "Please call Sookie, she is upset about what Bill told her", but that is the full extent of his intelligence gathering. I am unimpressed. I dial his cell phone number.

"James," I bark when he answers, "you are a terrible spy."

"Hello to you too, Granddad. I guess I'll go take this somewhere private." He is as cheeky as his Maker, my Childe Pam.

For a few seconds, air rushes past the mouthpiece of his phone erratically, telling me he is running into my bonded's forest, dodging trees as he goes. I briefly think of torturing some manners into him, but remembering how that turned out with Pam gives me pause. I lack my own Maker's flair for such things, and a half-hearted effort is worse than no effort at all, I have found. All I ever managed to do was excite my Childe, and since I find it hard to resist a woman who is bloodied and aroused, disciplining her always resulted in sex. Her manners did not improve; in fact, she became more provocative with every punishment, earning even sterner discipline. Fond memories indeed.

"Your reports are terrible," I tell James the moment he stops running, getting back to the task at hand. "You think you are a contractor."

"I am a contractor," he tells me, "I'm good at building things, it's what I do."

"Pam assured me you are skilled at information gathering. She told me you always found out things nobody else did."

"That's true, but I don't tattle about every little thing like your other spy does. I earn people's trust and they talk to me, because most of the time I keep their secrets. If I hear something that effects Sookie's safety, I will call you. Otherwise, I'm here to fix her house, nothing more. You already get daily emails telling you Sookie sneezed and Quinn's hand brushed hers as he handed her a tissue, so I don't see the point of gumming up your inbox with more of that bullshit. Besides, she's smart enough to spot a spy. I like her and I'll do what I can to keep her safe, including calling you if she's in danger. I've told her as much and she's fine with me being here, even talks to me freely."

"So you are not completely ineffectual."

"No, Eric, I'm not. I passed things on to Pam maybe four times a year when I worked for her, and they were all worthwhile. I won't bother you with trivia; it's a waste of both our time and you have plenty of others to do that for you. If I call you or Pam, it will be important. But if I don't, Sookie is OK."

"Fine." I snap the phone closed, satisfied. Like my Childe, he is useful and intelligent enough that I tolerate his sometime disobedience.

I check the daily emails from Bill, and sure enough, one mentions that Sookie sneezed and Quinn's hand brushed hers as he handed her a tissue. I snicker then, amused not only that Bill reports such trivia to me, but also that James knows exactly what trivia he is reporting. I have gone from annoyed to intrigued, wondering exactly how James came to know this. He is clearly a better spy than I supposed, even though he took the role somewhat unwillingly – unlike Bill, who volunteered to report her every move to me, so he can also report to someone else.

Then I move on to the daily emails from Quinn. He is also ineffectual, blathering on about her lessons as though he is truly there to train her. I only agreed to his fool's errand to give him a good cover story so she would let him stay there and guard her in my absence. I was pleased when he changed the first few lessons to teach her to teleport away when she is in danger; that would actually keep her alive. Training her to fight is pointless though; she is slow, weak and easily damaged. Even a Were could kill her before she has time to react. Still, she is perceptive and stubborn and he is not known for stupidity (or he would not be guarding her), so perhaps he has been forced to make this charade realistic, in order that she let him stay. Or perhaps he was serious about this ridiculous exercise all along.

Just as I am about to give up reading his drivel altogether, one of his emails finally shows he's doing his real job as well as his pretend one; an email he sent the morning after my trial.

To: Eric Northman
From: Quinn
Subject: Update on Sookie's training

Eric,

Sookie's lesson yesterday went well and her teleporting is going to be very useful next time she's in trouble. She's learning quickly and improvises like a pro, creating openings wherever she needs them. Pam already approved the next three days' lesson outlines and I'll work through them as planned, unless Amelia teaches her something that's even more useful in a fight than her telepathy.

Why does he waste all of our time with this? I wonder, perplexed that he goes to such lengths for this pointless task. Was he honest in his offer to train her? I assumed he offered because he heard I was being punished and wanted to get to her while I was weakened. And yet, he approaches this training so earnestly. Perhaps he thinks this is an indirect route back into her bed, I laugh to myself.

Also, as the asshole next door has no doubt already reported, I spent last night in Sookie's room. She was upset about what she felt through the bond and I couldn't sit across the hall listening to her cry and not do anything. Nothing sexual happened.

And it won't, I smirked. Fucking amateur. I smile briefly at my own pun, amused by his stupidity. My lover can cry on his shoulder all she wants, he is only proving what a good friend he is to her. I felt no lust through the bond that evening, so his strategy is as successful as I would expect. Women aren't sexually attracted to the sentimental fops who follow them around writing poetry, those men are their friends and cuckolded husbands.

For a thousand years, women have invited me into their beds - often while their sweet, caring husbands are barely out of earshot - and it is not because I hold them when they cry. I don't. For all their talk of wanting romance, women all secretly want to bed a handsome cad who is sexual, not sensitive; a man who takes command of their bodies and gives them the fuck of their life, despite their objections that they really oughtn't. Even women as prudishly Christian as my bonded yield to me, knowing exactly what I am.

Besides, my bonded is a proud woman. She doesn't let anyone she respects see her cry, I think admiringly.

Let me know what the penalty will be for breaking our agreement that I stay out of her 'bedchamber', as you call it, and for the other night when she had that nightmare, too. I guess a gentleman's agreement only works when at least one party is actually a gentleman.

I almost laugh at that. I briefly think of something harsh to do to him so he thinks twice about going to her at night again, but holding her in his arms with no prospect of fucking her would be a miserable experience in itself. It's almost punishment enough, really. I decide to keep my options open for now, waiting for the right chance to impose some penalty on him for breaking our agreement.

Lastly, as I'm sure you already know, Compton is reporting Sookie's movements to someone by phone each morning. He calls them after he hears James go to ground, so I assume he's not talking to you. So far, he's put his phone in his back pocket before he went to sleep each day, so I haven't been able to retrieve it and find out who he calls. But I'll keep checking.

Quinn

Of course I know, I think, rolling my eyes. It is my business to know. At least the animal is doing his real job of guarding her, though. He has shown initiative, finding Bill's daytime resting places and trying to retrieve his phone, but he is playing a dangerous game; it is only a matter of time until Bill picks up his scent and challenges him. Still, when they last fought, it seemed unlikely Bill would win... perhaps the tiger knows what he is doing.

PS: Telling someone to 'get on with their life' has a very specific meaning to us breathers... as does 'fuck off and leave me alone', which I heard Pam tell Bill and I'm pretty sure Sookie 'heard' in my thoughts. She's really upset, so if you didn't mean it, you should call her. Seeing her cry for hours isn't exactly fun.

I roll my eyes again, perplexed that Sookie minds so much that I told Bill to fuck off and leave us alone. Then I recall that she took much of the pain of my punishment, and it is unsurprising she cried for hours. To a human, my injuries would likely have been fatal, and that link with death seems to make pain all the more upsetting to them. The unwanted feeling of hneykja (shame) returns and I close Quinn's email without reply, moving on to something else.

As I scan the rest of the contents of my inbox, I spot a message from Felipe and a chill runs up my spine.

To: Eric Northman
From: King Felipe de Castro, monarch of Nevada, Louisiana and Arkansas
Subject: Wonderful news about our business venture

Good tidings, my loyal Sheriff,

You will be delighted to hear the AVL have approved our new venture, in exchange for a cut of proceeds and a telepath of their own. They found that neither your bonded nor the Queen's are regarded as human by humans who know them, so if our activities become publicly known, they will publicize that to counteract any PR problems. We are simply breeding working animals, much like humans themselves do... although I doubt many of their livestock have a market value of a million dollars each.

Fuck, I think. It's not wonderful news for my bonded or I, and I'm really not delighted about it - as he knew I wouldn't be. I hate him more by the day.

I was sure the AVL would forbid this, because it would harm vampires' reputation so much if we were caught breeding humans for our own purposes. I am shocked they approved it, and since I cannot simply refuse to participate in this ridiculous scheme because my King has ordered it, I must find another way to stop him. I hope I can come up with some brilliant strategy to shut this down, and soon. So far, I have failed her.

I just received our dozenth deposit, so this will be a very profitable venture for us all. Even with fertility treatments, it will take three or four years for your bonded to produce enough merchandise to fill the existing orders. The other telepath readily agreed to do his Queen's bidding on this matter and is keen to begin, insisting he can do his part without the help of doctors to save us money.

How kind of him, offering to fuck her when a turkey baster could do the job just as well. Probably more enjoyably for her, too, I think darkly.

I briefly wonder whether Felipe is stupid enough to think this will work; that he can simply mate two telepaths to breed more. My bonded is likely God-touched, and those gifts do not inherit the way other attributes do. My Maker lived in times when such gifts were more common, and often only one person per generation inherits the gift... so those million dollar babies will likely grow up to be nothing more than tasty food. Or have the gift of seduction my bonded's brother and cousin each got instead... which would give them some chance of surviving, at least.

I will expect your telepath delivered within the month so we can begin, preferably before she is next fertile. I will even allow her to spend the gestational periods with you, subject to the conditions in my decree. I will send you the Zurzub you enjoyed so much, to ensure you are still well fed with part-fairy blood while your bonded is away, if you would like?

No, I wouldn't like, I think, grabbing the nearest object and hurling it across the room in rage. What are the fucking AVL thinking, approving this idiotic scheme? Have they lost their minds?

I cannot tell what angers me more: that Felipe would make me 'lend' him my bonded so she can be raped and forced to bear children for him to sell... or that he thinks a mere Zurzub can replace her. They are the best food we vampires ever managed to breed for ourselves, but a Zurzub is no substitute for Sookie.

I hold no grudge regarding your recent misdeeds; your punishment is adequate and I trust there will be no repeated disobedience.

Your King

I think of Felipe's sword, stored safely in my home, and how much I will enjoy removing his arrogant head with it.

I forward his email to Mr. Cataliades, hoping the lawyer has found a way to get the laws against vampires breeding fairies for their own purposes enforced while there are so few fae left in this world. It is our last line of defense now the AVL have sold out my bonded, who has saved so many of our kind. I say a brief, silent prayer to Freyja that I will find a way to keep my lover from Felipe's clutches. I know that once he has her, he will find a reason not to send her back to me, so he can have access to her gift, her blood and her body whenever he wishes. I cannot allow her to meet that fate.

My Childe enters my office without knocking and looks around, to find out what I have broken this time.

"Whatever that stapler did," she deadpans, "I am sure it has learned its lesson and will not displease you again."