A/N: Thanks for all the encouragement and feedback. Viking goodness is always on my mind, and your comments are always welcome.

Chapter 4

He came to slowly, realizing with chagrin, that a petit mort, of all things, had rendered him almost human, and he'd fallen asleep immediately after sex. Granted, it had been the most intense orgasm he'd ever had, and that was saying quite a lot, when one had lived over a thousand years. Sookie would never let him forget that! His only hope was that she'd fallen asleep first. It would be worse than him telling her that she was the best he'd ever had, when he was under that damned curse of that Were-Witch, Hallow.

Old news. The witch was dead. He was alive, although he'd wager he's just been fucked pretty close to his final death. He never thought he'd smile at that, but he did. He even laughed.

In the flickering light of the dying fire, he shifted his head, his lover's familiar scent filling his nostrils, along with a new perfume he found he liked; it was expensive, and he was pleased that she'd indulged for him. Delighting in the smell and the feel of her, he rubbed his cheek against her bare skin, as he nestled deeper into the softness of her breasts. He could not think of a better place to be, as he lay, his body prone, a dead weight upon her. Could he be any other weight, he mused. Beneath his ear, her heart beat in a steady cadence that told him that she still slept. It was a delicious sound and paired with the blood meandering through her veins and rushing through her arteries, intoxicating, nearly irresistible. His fangs ran out, and he wanted to drink from her again, but tamped down that urge. Raising himself, he transferred his weight to his elbows, as he eased his body from the tight sheath of hers, groaning as a frisson of pleasure shot through him, stiffening his cock with need once again. He bit his lip and fought the urge to drive forward, claiming her once more. Instead, he dipped his head and let his mouth drift over the tip of a pert breast, his lips open, his tongue stiff and teasing, as it wetly circled her areola. He blew gently, watching entranced, as her nipple tightened just before his lips closed about it and he sucked hardily. She stirred beneath him, her heartbeat stuttering, before increasing its pace. He tugged again, rolling the thickening tip against the edge of his teeth, watching her face flush as she came fully awake with a strangled moan. He lived for this.

The bond quivered anew and began to swell between them. However, he was ready for that heady feeling which it imparted when it sang with their mutual lust, their confused and unsettled emotions and feelings. It was almost primitive, and it made him want to do bad things to her that they'd both enjoy…Bad, after all, was surely relative…

Her blue eyes clouded with renewed desire for him, as she watched him, their eyes meeting as he dove to capture her other breast in his lips, pulling it upwards with a bob of his head. Her lips parted, and she arched against him, and the sound of his name on her lips made him nearly rough, as a sharp pang of need rocketed through his belly. He gave her breast a sharp nip with his teeth, that set her in motion again, and then he leaned forward on his elbows, and captured her lips with his, sinking down in a kiss that brought her hands tangling in his hair, and her toes curling against the rug.

She was sweet, his Sookie. So sweet.

He savored the kiss, as he drank her in, licking and nibbling her lips, devouring her moans, the urgent little noises in her throat that sparkled like nectar, the finest mead on his thirsty tongue. In the back of his mind, he heard himself humming with pleasure with each sip of her. He wanted more, and breaking the kiss, his lips skimmed greedily over her face, her hair, her ears. He licked and nibbled down her throat, across her shoulder, while he rubbed his chest against the tips of her breasts, his cock against her stomach. He wanted to rub himself all over her, and he would, too. As many times as he wanted to. Was the night long enough?

She writhed beneath him, chanting his name, rousing him further, and he teetered on a fine line, the ferocity in him barely held at bay. Her legs curled about him, her left foot sliding against his calf, as her hips ground restlessly against him. She ran her nails from his behind up to the small of his back, and then down again. She leaned into him, and he felt her licking him, her tongue making long sweeping motions along his throat, the back of his shoulder. He paused, reveling in the sensation, silently asking her not to stop. She didn't. She licked some more and then she ran her teeth over the ridge of his throat and bit down, drawing blood, and pulling on the tiny wounds she'd made. Something in him shifted, and the power in him surged, as a tidal wave of pleasure rolled through him. He grew harder, and he turned to her, swiftly, surprising her, taking her lips again, tasting his blood on them, and thrusting his tongue deep within her mouth, wanting to leave her in no doubt of what he intended for the rest of her body.

She was his bonded. All of her. His.

He growled and reached between them, his fingers gliding into the molten heat of her, as he held her eyes with his. She was ready for him, and he rose above her, pushing into her, even as he struggled to remember she was mortal. He immersed himself in her to the fullest, bringing their bodies together with a gentle slap, that thrilled him. Somewhere in the distance, he heard her cry out, knowing that it wasn't with pain, but pleasure. The same pleasure, that pooled in his loins, seeking release, completion. He lifted her hips and drove into her, silently calling her to his rhythm, to the need that pulsed in him, in her. He called to her, body to body, mind to mind-he gave it his all… He was Master.

She heeled. She heeled just fine.

II.

I awoke, what seemed like hours later, naked and slightly disoriented. Heck, I was wholly disoriented! I blinked several times and flushed to the roots of my hair as the last three hours came back to me, and the heavy arm around my waist made sense. Eric. What had he done to me? And how many times had we done it? My body was blissfully sore and more relaxed than it had been in ages. Eric, I thought again. Talk about the devil… to think his name, was to call him; he moved behind me, all of him coming awake.

"Lover," he whispered, nuzzling my hair, purring softly and trailing a hand down my side. I shivered, and not entirely from the cold. Eric had pulled the quilt over us, but I wasn't worried about blankets, now. Neither was he. Lifting the covers slightly, he rolled me over onto my back, threw a heavy leg across me, leaving his gracious plenty butting cheerfully against my hip. He leered knowingly at me, when I gasped softly; I don't care how many times you saw or felt it, it always gave you a shock, then a thrill. He propped himself up an elbow, cupping his face in his palm, his hair a heavy curtain against my pillow. He was clearly waiting on me to say something, his contented eyes fairly laughing, his restless hand straying under the quilt.

"Eric," I began, smacking his hand away, and garnering a chuckle from him. Despite the fact that he'd just rocked my world, I wanted to know what had taken him so long. I could have spread tonight's sexing out over the last couple of months, easy.

"Where the hell have you been?" I demanded.

He laughed even harder, roared even, throwing his head back. "Ah, sookie, now…"