Vicious darkness stalked him; possessive fury relentlessly hunted him.

Doggedly, bloodlust effortlessly pursued Eric as an all too unnerving smile dawned across Sookie's golden features welcoming the other man into her store as naturally as the rising sun. Rays of happiness filtered across her face, pleasure spread across her supple lips, and the warmth of her luminous gaze intimately caressed the interloper's all too smug countenance.

Obviously, Sookie knew the tiger and, even worse, liked him.

Intolerable.

Seething, Eric watched the smelly beast practically claw at his new treasure, the feline's meaty paws digging into the not altogether platonic embrace of Sookie's soft flesh, and almost savagely ripped through over a thousand years of restraint and dominance over his own ruthless Viking temper.

"Baby girl," the jungle cat purred contentedly from their mutually entwined greeting, "you look good enough to eat."

Demurely, Sookie blushed in response, a pink tinged wall of inexperience and naiveté barring anything else from happening but it was obvious that the Bengal wanted to wrap more than just his meaty limbs around the tasty blonde morsel in his arms. The cat desperately wanted to cover her with his mangy hide and the stench of his striped inferiority.

Hungrily, the tiger sniffed, inhaling deeply for Sookie's intoxicating scent like a greedy little kitten trying to steal a bit more than his allotted share of kibble. Nostrils flared wide to soak all of her in, the tawny skinned man salaciously grinned in anticipation like he was already licking his blood smeared whiskers after a successful kill, then, just as quickly, Quinn pulled away, seemingly troubled, as the angry cat nearly roared his displeasure.

That's right, fur ball, my scent is all over her.

Never doubt, silly kitty, you're in my territory now; where Sookie is mine.

Anger, ravenous and predatory, fought for release. It was apparent as Quinn's dusky features rippled with powerful energy; each muscle visibly struggled not to shift at the unspoken claim wafting from Sookie's womanly frame.

Much better.

Fangs bared, Eric greeted the legendary fighter with the condescending smirk of a superior being; one that knew his competition was of no consequence as he implacably stated, "This woman will be mine."

###

Tension flashed like lightning across the store's interior as two animals primitively faced off against each other. Maybe, if she was a different sort of girl, one that thrived on boorish, psycho frat boy behavior; Sookie would have been oddly flattered by their primal instincts just as the owners of both sets of jumbo sized canines probably expected but she truly wasn't. Really, were her ovaries just supposed to do backflips worthy of a Gold Medal for their flagrant display of unbending possessive male pageantry? Was it supposed to wantonly land her on their personal version of a pommel horse as well?

Men.

At the moment, Sookie loathed anything that walked with a third leg dangling self-importantly between their thighs but especially those masculine beings with fangs or tails. Really, could supernatural males be any more archaic, territorial, and plain old annoying even when they had absolutely nothing to be overly protective about?

This was ridiculous; she didn't belong to either one of them no matter what Mr. Tall, Clueless, and Assaulting snarled to the contrary.

Sure, the man was sinfully put together. Sookie would willingly cop to finding his cool blonde physique scandalously attractive because her sexual desires were normal, just like any other red blooded woman's, even if her telepathy wasn't standard issue on other female models. However, becoming rather up close and personal with his domineering attitude put quite a damper on the potential for kindling that ardor.

She wasn't a fang-banging hussy who self-loathingly yearned for anything with spikes of slurping demise to notice her so that she could be used in vile, degrading, and prurient ways without her consent. Nor would she hide that she thoroughly enjoyed a trashy romance novel or two thousand. The wickedly naughty things that the brooding, reluctant, hero could get away with within the dog eared pages of a literary smut fest were vastly different than what would wind her clock in the black and white text of the real world.

She simply wasn't the kind of woman to be claimed in such a barbarous manner.

Ever.

Annoyed, she scolded both men before one of them had the audacity to spray a bodily fluid on her leg like she was a freaking fire hydrant. "Quinn, stop snarling and, you," she paused significantly because the baker didn't even know how to address the blonde intruder who'd suspiciously claimed to be her new landlord, "leave before I call the police and tell them that you've been harassing me."

Instantly, the vampire's hard form was towering over her, the only thing he'd lost from his previous vantage point was the smug grin that had framed his lethal points, the deadly pillars that supported his low admonition as he rumbled, "I don't respond well to threats."

The warning vibrated through her, touched off tremors of uncertainty but she maintained level ground despite the landslide of his potential wrath. Temporarily, she might be trapped in the muck of this testosterone induced insanity but she'd never bury her free will under the rubble of this vampire's patronizing beliefs.

"Neither do I," she firmly replied, her statement an anchor against the churning intensity that raged in the mercurial storm of his blue gaze.

Then, foolishly, Quinn tried to take charge of the situation. Adeptly, he nuzzled in between them, pulling her to the side, using his massive body as a prowling shield of muscled animosity as he dismissively instructed, "Babe, I'll take care of this."

Idiot.

Quinn's actions seemingly subtracted her from the bloody equation puzzling them but their problem was suddenly compounded by the addition of her cutting ire. "Thank you," she chided with about as much sweetness as a fresh squeezed lemon, "but I can take care of myself."

"Awe, Babe," Quinn cajoled over his shoulder without letting the dam of his physical resistance against the vampire break. "Don't be that way. I only want what's best for you."

Sookie knew exactly whose interests the tiger had uppermost in mind while exhibiting his predatory instincts tonight. Unfortunately, her needs weren't anywhere near the top of Quinn's mental list.

###

"Careful, tiger," he calmly ordered, thoroughly enjoying Sookie's ornery display of independence from the Were and her strange ability to withstand the blasted heat of his own anger as well. She certainly was a delightful treat, with intriguing layers that tempered her honeyed scent, making her bittersweet richness something he couldn't wait to indulge in more this evening. With certainty, he added, "It is not my pet that needs protection from me."

"She's not yours," Quinn immediately snarled back in challenge. "At least, she doesn't have to be."

Oddly, there was a tenor of confident knowledge in the kitty's tone that belied Quinn's relative lack of power. The feline was a strong, fierce fighter in the pits with more than the fabled nine lives hiding under his skin but he still held no position of authority in Eric's world. Yet, the light of conviction that glowed in the cat's eyes was bothersome as the other man stated, "Sophie Ann is aware of the ruling from the Tribunal but doesn't feel that Sookie must accept your ownership. After all, she shouldn't be punished for Bill's actions."

So his regent had duplicitously sent the tiger, someone who Sookie was already acquainted with, to parlay a negotiation for her. His monarch's backing explained the Were's lack of deferential respect but not the feline's possessive regard for his new pet. The ancient vampire had no doubt that the 'she' in question, the one Quinn mentioned who shouldn't be penalized, wasn't referring to Sookie at all despite what the dirty cat wanted the blonde woman to think. It seemed that the Queen of Louisiana had decided to flex a little royal muscle after the assassination plot had become the public fodder of her court.

Unfortunately, the immature red head had decided to strike her pose in a competition where the winner had already been judged by the Magister. Sophie Ann would score little by going against The Authorities ruling but it seemed that she wanted his new pet anyway.

Interesting.

Unpleasantly, Eric was distracted from his political musings when Sookie desperately took Quinn's hand in her own and pled, "What happened to Bill? What do you know about this? What should I do now?"

Anger, sharp and strident, cut into his tone as Eric furiously spat, "You really think that he is trustworthy?"

"Like I can trust you," she automatically scoffed back in brutal defiance, "You practically fang-raped me and I still don't even know your name."

Instantly, Sookie's words quelled the rebuke he'd intended after the blonde embodiment of vampire perfection had reached for another instead of looking to him, her rightful Master, for assistance. Maybe knowing that the baker's rather luscious ingredients were already considered his had caused Eric to act a little over exuberantly on his instantaneous desire for her and, now; he was paying the price of not using more discretion with his pretty bottle of sunshine.

The tiger grinned in triumph at him, coddling Sookie to his side as the cat attempted to reassure her with banal promises that he'd take care of everything. After all, they were more than friends, he'd never let anything happen to her, the Were swore with the annoying tenacity of a broken record, the drivel of his lyrics playing over and over again until they simply lost all meaning.

With each skip of Quinn's repetitive tune, Sookie's hostility spread like the aggravating drizzle of an overcast fall day, misting the entire room with her unhappiness. Her discontent became slick, wet with the deluge of misery that continued to rain down on them with each of the tiger's useless platitudes. Suddenly, the room was flooded with the putrid scent of her infuriated despair threatening to drown him in the foul odor of her defeated emotion.

Yet, contempt continued to roll forth from Sookie's mouth like the unyielding current of the Mississippi, mighty, frigid, and strong. "Now that I know what you want from me," she paused to move away from both of them before stonily promising him, "You will never get it."

Unacceptable.

Perhaps Godric was correct; he may need to broaden his repertoire when dealing with humans. It was obvious that Sookie had previously held no ill will toward his kind, she even had a business that catered to the desire for equality in the human vampire dynamic and, yet, he'd treated her as if she'd been little more than a nicely dressed fang-banger.

His Maker would not have been pleased. Not only had he let raw sentiment rule his actions but he'd also abused the sensibilities of a human who should have been given the utmost care and respect as his pet.

Contrition was a bitter pill to swallow but in well over a thousand years of existence, he'd figuratively tasted worse.

###

Viciously, they'd chained him in silver, left him to rot in a coffin until his skin withered to nothing more than brittle leather strips binding the skeletal frame that would remain all too alert to his torture for the next five years. Cruelly, he'd watch his body crumble to nothing but dust around him.

Fervently, Sookie wished that she hadn't had to touch Quinn earlier to unknowingly cull the particulars of Bill's gruesome situation from his mind. Somehow, it now made her feel sullied to have been in his embrace knowing that the Were callously wished another of her friends, someone that she cared for, such harm simply because Bill was a vampire.

That kind of prejudice and hate had just never made a lick of sense to her but so little of her life did after tonight.

Now that she knew Bill wasn't coming back any time soon, she'd need to follow his advice for such a dire situation. The Southern gentleman had always told her that if something happened to him, she'd need to seek out the Sheriff at his bar and formally request his protection. Certainly, tonight's debacle had to count as an emergency worthy of that extreme action; after all, the infamous Viking was probably the only vampire who could keep Mr. Broad, Primal, and Delusional, plus the rest of his kind, from devouring her whole.

Thinking of the blonde miscreant seemed to make the stranger's sensible tone just that much more gratingly insolent when he formally stated, "Forgive me, Miss Stackhouse, allow me to introduce myself and, perhaps, start our first meeting over."

Rolling her eyes at his faux show of respect, Sookie folded her arms peevishly across her chest and waited for her would be- attacker, stalker, and rapist - to identify his fanged self. "Fine," she haughtily rejoined, "That would certainly make it easier for Sheriff Northman to track you down after I tell him about your shameful behavior."

Suddenly, she was wary of the amused twinkle that flashed in the stranger's eyes as his low tone sensually caressed each word, "I am your new landlord, Master, and the Sheriff of Area Five."

Fuck.

Abruptly, Sookie wanted to scratch the smirk right off of the blonde's condescending face when he winked his latest addition, "I'm also known as the Northman but you may call me Eric."

This was Eric Northman; this was the strong, loyal, fair minded vampire that Bill had told her to seek out if she was ever in trouble and Bill was no longer available to protect her?

Seriously.

Panicked, Sookie knew that she was screwed now and, likely, very literally, later too, by the same vampire that was supposed to be her saving grace. Damn. She was in so much bloody trouble now.