Well, hellooo lovelies ;p
I just wanted to thank you all for ALL of your wonderful review love, and your patience with me. Now that school work has let up and I'm all caught up on RL, I can finally devote more time to you. Yays!
I also would just like to pimp out a couple of great oneshot contests that are going on right now. I hope you take the opportunity to enter and to read and review the entries.
Poppin' Cherries www . fanfiction . net/u/2130969/Poppin_Cherries For all you ff writing virgins ;p
And
Eric & Sookie: Cowboy Up www . fanfiction . net/u/2114441/EricStravaganza
(btw - my beta services are available for theses o/s contests ;p)
Okay...here ya go...enjoy ;D
The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
--Lord Byron, "Darkness"
Her body was soft and warm underneath him, his hands tangled in her silky hair. He gazed down at her beautiful form only to be startled, once again, to see the leather strap wrapped around her golden arms. But her whimpers and moans brought his attention back to her face, more specifically to those plump red lips, now parting with her desire, while her back arched, reaching for him in the only way her bound arms would allow.
She began to move underneath him in rhythm to her breathless panting, and bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to slow herself down. When she drew blood, the sight and smell of it proved to be too much for him. He hissed deeply, a wave of want overwhelming him, before bending down to trace her swollen, bloody lips with his cool tongue. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth as he reached his hands above her head to untie her bindings.
He pressed his lips on to hers, seeking entrance. She eagerly obliged and reached up to cup his shoulders with her tiny hands. He pulled away for a brief moment to look at his beautiful wife, his bonded, his heart. Her hair spread like a golden halo around her, as her gaze settled into him, just like she knew he loved. He stiffened at the sight, and bent down to trace a path of kisses and nibbles down her glorious body, his hands roaming with as much hunger as his mouth.
She was so close – he could feel it, in the way her body's writhing picked up urgency underneath him; he could hear it in the way each moan that escaped her lips was concealed with less control; and he could smell it, the heady scent of her desire surrounding him. But then, she was just gone.
His face was suddenly buried in the cool folds of the black silk sheets, instead of her warm, smooth skin. He groped around, trying to find her, but all he felt was the cool emptiness all around him. Even her sweet scent had disappeared without the faintest trace.
His eyes flew open. He focused on the familiar bumpy white pattern of his bedroom ceiling as he oriented himself.
His skin still felt uncomfortably stretched from last night's gluttonous binge, but he reveled in the feeling, because he knew it meant he had that much more to give to his lover – strength, healing, power. Life.
Damn fucking fairies.
Eric crashed through the doors of the make-shift hospital, moving towards her faint presence. He could barely sense her, but even that tiny trickle of her was enough to soothe him. She was still there.
But as soon as the relief washed over him, it was overrun with irritation and anger, as he thought back to the events and misguided decisions that brought them here. She had whined that he was 'high handed' as she so eloquently put it. But was that so wrong, if he was right?
He rushed through another set of doors, sinking deeper into his mental assault.
She had practically begged for it, and, he had to admit, he was looking forward to the sweet moment when she would realize that it was not the bond that held them so closely together and could admit that he was right all along. But was all the collateral damage worth it? And why did she have to be so damn blind and obstinate, sometimes? How could she read minds so clearly, yet not be able to see what was in her own heart? And how could he forgo all of his better instincts and put them all in so much fucking danger, just to give her her heart's desire?
This is exactly why he hated feelings, he thought, as his strides grew longer and faster, the hum of her presence growing louder as he closed the distance between them.
He stopped in front of her room, standing next to the closed door. Gently feeling around the edges of their remaining tie, he tested out the feeble borders of their connection, a pale shadow of the former bond they once shared. Really, it was just like the faint imprint left on a carpet by a piece of heavy furniture.
He took as much time as he could afford before opening the door, bracing himself for the ugly sight that would greet him, the physical evidence of the brutal pain he had felt her suffer through the night before. But of course, it wasn't enough time. Really, would there ever be enough time? He shook his head, attempting to shake off the vivid memories of the agonizing pain, and turned the handle.
He hardened with arousal as he was hit hard by the intoxicating scent of fairy, one who was now leaving the room as quickly and discreetly as possible. But he grew limp at the sight of Sookie's damaged form, imploding into a numb, impotent paralysis.
He waited in the doorway, keeping at a respectful distance until the fairy made her exit. As soon as they were alone, he moved to his lover's side with vampire speed.
He could only see her face and arms, but that was more than enough to push him over the edge. Her beautiful golden skin was covered in a blanket of bruises, cuts and bites, and her face was swollen and unbearably mutilated by the brutality of those inhumane creatures.
He clenched his fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms and drawing blood.
"Fucking fairies." The words and his anger spilled out of him violently, before he could conceal them.
"Dead now," she croaked.
"Yes. A fast death was too good for them," came his carefully measured response through clenched teeth.
She attempted a nod, and the pain that prevented her from making much of a noticeable movement was almost unbearable for the Viking Warrior who had never faced an enemy he could not slay.
He swallowed hard against his rage, not wishing to add any more stress or pain to her ordeal.
"I'm going to look at your wounds," he warned her in a quiet voice, carefully devoid of any emotion. He sacrificed the soothing healing of comforting tones so that he could be sure to hide his seething anger.
She whispered her assent as she glanced at a non-existent spot in the distance, not willing or able to meet his eyes. Her shame made the anger boil inside of him.
Eric moved the blanket off of her with the gentlest touch in an attempt to cause her as little pain as possible. He closed his eyes for a moment, torn between the overwhelming need to see the damage inflicted on her body, with the desire to postpone that sight as long as possible.
He opened his eyes and stood beside her in perfect, silent stillness, attempting to tamp down his anger at the sight that filled his vision, before speaking again. The only external clue to the storm raging inside of him was the clenching of his jaw.
In for a penny, in for a pound, as his lover always said. After what seemed like an eternal moment, he requested in a soft tone, "Pull up the gown."
When she fixed a helpless stare at him, he realized that she did not have the strength in her arms to do as he had asked. Pulling up the gown, he did his best to detach his lover's suffering from the damaged body in front of him, instead assessing the wounds as he would for any other injured soldier. But he felt her shame-filled eyes follow his along the war path that was her shredded body. Seconds later, a strangled gasp escaped her lips as she shut her eyes against the horrendous sight, and it tore a ragged hole right through his undead heart.
He pulled the gown back down and rearranged the sheet around her to cover up her mangled form as he rose to his full height. For once, he was grateful that their bond didn't connect them, so that she could be spared the burden of the furious waves of anguish and anger that were crashing against his soul. Yet, even while he was thankful for this, he wished that he could comfort her as only her bonded could, from the inside out.
"I'll be back in a minute," he whispered as he swiftly turned and hurried out of the room.
Eric walked across the hall, placing the flat of his palm and his forehead on the cool wall. He rested there for a moment, before tearing through the wall with the clenched fist of his other hand. Shit. This is what Niall considered rescuing his great-granddaughter? Why on earth had he agreed to trust a goddamn fairy? He should have realized his error in judgment as soon as the Fae asked to have Compton accompany him. Fucking Compton. He could not even keep her safe from those homicidal creatures for a few hours. Why did he trust Compton to rescue his most treasured possession?
He retracted his hand and dusted off the debris, walking further down the hallway to the cooler, grabbing two bottles of True Blood. As he walked back towards her room, he grasped for his pragmatic reasoning. Niall and Bill may not have gotten to her as fast as he would have liked, but the Fae prince was correct about one thing: Eric was the strongest, oldest vampire in the area, and he would be the man to save her... even if it ultimately meant his final death.
He took an unnecessary breath, pulling himself together before re-entering her room.
"Move over," he said as soon as he reached her side, but his request was only met with two very blank, uncomprehending blue eyes.
Fuck. He knew such an experience could put a fragile human into a state of shock, but he'd really hoped that she would be stronger than that. Especially now, with a fierce battle only moments away. He repeated his request, now with more urgency, when he realized that she couldn't move. Son of a fucking bitch. They had hurt her so much that she couldn't even nudge over a mere few inches? And he was too much of an ass to even consider that, he thought to himself with regretful bitterness.
He set the bottles of TrueBlood down as he lowered himself next to her on the bed. He tried his best to find a spot on her body that would cause the least pain, but those damn evil creatures didn't leave any part of her body unmarred. He settled on placing his hands behind her lower back and knees, and moved her over as quickly and gently as possible.
He could heal her outer injuries, but what he truly feared were those soft internal wounds that were, even now, ripping deep scars into her heart. There was not much he could do about those. As he stretched down next to her, he wished that he didn't have to rush her through this, but there was simply no time for patience and hand-holding.
He ached to hold her in his arms, but realized that it would only cause her more pain, so he stretched his arm on the pillow above her head. "I'm going to feed you," he told her, and he brushed the matted golden locks away from her face.
"What?"
He sighed internally. They didn't have time to have this discussion, he thought with impatient irritation. The sooner his blood was in her, the sooner she would start to heal, and they may have just barely enough time. Of course, it would also mean that he'd be able to feel her, once again, not an unwelcome side-effect.
"I'm going to give you blood," he explained in a cool, even tone. "You'll take weeks to heal otherwise. We don't have that kind of time."
He didn't wait for her to protest or concur. He could see her resigned agreement in the slight relaxation of her tense body. He punctured his wrist and put it to her mouth, relieved that her pragmatic side was, once again, taking the driver's seat when the crisis required it. He nestled her head in the crook of his arm as she wrapped her lips around the wound and began to suck greedily.
When his wound closed, he raised it to his mouth to reopen it.
"Are you sure you should do this?" her worried words floated up to him.
"Yes, I know how much is too much," he assured her. "And I fed well before I came here. You need to be able to move."
"Move?" she croaked, as she put her lips to his wrist once again.
"Yes. At any moment, Breandan's followers may—will—find this place," he explained. "They'll be tracking you by scent now. You smell of the fairies who hurt you, and they know now Niall loves you enough to kill his own kind for you. Hunting you down would make them very, very happy."
She pulled away from his wrist, but her fingers dug into him, almost breaking through his skin, one hand wrapped around his wrist, the other resting on his thigh. A moment later, he could feel the wetness of her tears against his shirt, and the fear and anxiety coursing through her blood as it mingled with his own healing elixir.
"Stop that now, you must be strong," he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and raising her face to his. Their eyes locked just as another tear wound its way down her cheek.
And that's when he saw it, deep in her eyes. She was hurt and weak and beaten... but she was still his Sookie, the embers of her fiery will still burning deep within. He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against her wet cheek, and allowed her sweet scent to surround him before licking the remainder of her tears away with his cool tongue.
He pulled back, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm very proud of you, you hear me?"
"Why?" she asked, resting her head against his chest.
"You are still together; you are still a person. Lochlan and Neave have left vampires and fairies in rags— literally, rags… but you survived and your personality and soul are intact."
"I got rescued," she croaked in protest. As always, never willing to credit herself with her own successes, always finding external entities to be grateful to. Did she truly not understand her own strength, he wondered, or was it just her warped Christian upbringing?
"You would have survived much more," he assured her, as he reached for a bottle of TrueBlood and downed the disgusting excuse for sustenance.
"I wouldn't have wanted to," she replied. "I hardly wanted to live after…"
He pressed her closer to his body, touching his lips to her forehead. "But you did live. And they died. And you are mine, and you will be mine. They will not get you." I will not lose you again, he thought, you will be my bonded again.
"You really think they're coming?" she asked.
Right on cue, he thought, asking questions to which she already knew the answers. But he humored her, since they had to wait, anyway, while she healed.
"Yes. Breandan's remaining forces will find this place sooner or later, if not Breandan himself. He has nothing to lose, and his pride to retain. I'm afraid they'll find us shortly. Ludwig has removed almost all the other patients."
"Who else is here?"
"Bill is in the next room," Eric replied. "He's been getting blood from Clancy."
"Were you not going to give him any?" she asked in an appalled tone.
"If you were irreparable . . . no, I would have let him rot."
"Why?" she demanded, seething with rage and hurt. "He actually came to rescue me." She pulled back from him, laying her hand on his chest for support as she leveled her angry gaze on him. "Why get mad at him? Where were you?"
Eric winced and looked away, unable to withstand her words, and the agony that he now felt coursing through her veins.
She looked down and laid her head back on his chest, hurt and shame bubbling up through her voice and her blood. "It's not like you were obliged to come find me," she whispered, "but I hoped the whole time—I hoped you would come, I prayed you would come, I thought over and over you might hear me..."
"You're killing me," he whispered, the pain of her misinterpretations and misguided conclusions tearing through him. "You're killing me. I'll explain. I will. You will understand," he assured her.
But even as he ached to find the words and the time to soothe her, he knew what he must do, what role was his to play. Maybe he could not be there to save her from the pain and trauma of her terrible ordeal, but at least he could protect her now – the way he always had, he thought, as he wrapped his arms tight around his heart.
A/N So...how did you like rolling around in Viking angst? Huh? Not enough for ya? Well, no worries! There's some good evil fairy ass-kicking coming your way very, very soon :-)
Humongous Viking-god-sized hugs and thanks to my betas, VampLover1 and Nyah. Thanks so much ladies!
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Sookie Stackhouse Series or the HBO series True Blood