Chapter Ten

Threadgill's home was a practice in self-indulgence and vanity - an attempt to impress those that would otherwise be unimpressed by him. Eric was indifferent to both. While he was all for treating yourself to the finer things in life, there was a point where it just became absurd. This home, in the middle of Arkansas was one such example.

This party was another. There was no enjoyment here. Only those wishing to gain or keep their political footholds. An evening of subtly suggested thoughts and ideas, reading between the lines, carefully worded accolades - it made Eric weary just being in the room. That was why he usually avoided such functions. Not that he didn't enjoy maneuvering and manipulating himself into higher and higher positions of power, but to make such bold movements was also to be noticed - he would rather come up quietly from behind while keeping all his bridges in tact instead of putting his plans on display for all to see.

As it was, he was simply bored. He'd hadn't even really bothered to dress up because he'd known how monotonous the event would be. If it had been a party in the true sense of the word, he would've enjoyed dressing extravagantly, drawing attention to himself. But since it wasn't, and the added fact that given what he was doing there it was better that he be as inconspicuous as possible, he'd opted for an all black ensemble - black pants, black jacket, black shirt, black tie, black mask. A boring costume for a boring party.

The last true masquerade he'd been to was in in 1845, and he'd dressed as a rather demented jester. Now that had been fun. This was nothing like that. He was starting to wish he'd gone to the orgy instead, especially since he hadn't seen his blond target even once. He was beginning to wonder if she was there at all. Ah, but had he not sent Pam with Sookie in his stead, he would've missed out on the phone call he'd gotten an hour before dawn this morning. Pam, almost unintelligible with rage and disgust, had rehashed the evening for him much to his delight. Murder, debauchery, a drunken gunman and a maenad all in one evening? Now that was a party.

A familiar scent suddenly cut its way through his amusement, stopping him in his tracks.

She was here…

Following that engaging smell, one that was both sweet and deadly, like oleander, he moved toward the west end of the room, trying not to let his eagerness show in his steps. As he got closer, he wondered how it was that all the vampires weren't flocking toward her. Was it because he'd experienced the scent up close that it was so alluring to him? With that thought came memories of her soft warm body, stretched out over his. A grin of anticipation spread over his face.

There! She stood out like a beacon to him - a flare in the dark room. As he moved closer, he wondered what it was about her that made her seem so… bright. Her hair was a stunning gold in the rooms lighting, but his own was more vivid. Her dress was perfectly fitted and sparkled delicately, but it wasn't grand or vibrantly colored. It was her. She was what was bright and interesting in this dull room. It was amazing none others had noticed. But as he slid by the King of Indiana he saw that he wasn't the only one that had noticed.

Victor Madden was approaching her, slipping into his charming persona like a wolf putting on its sheep costume.

Eric slowed and angled to the left, approaching from the side instead of the front. If Victor thought Eric was interested in the girl it would make things very difficult. They'd never gotten along and if Victor thought he could get one over on Eric by taking something he wanted, he would become relentless in his pursuit of her. He knew this because he would do the exact same thing if their positions were reversed. The only difference being that Eric would leave her in one piece while Victor was known for his brutality.

Stopping far enough away not to be noticed eavesdropping, but close enough to observe and hear them, he grabbed a glass of blood from a passing waiter and leaned against the column beside him. He gave a light huff of laughter at Victor's lines and smirked at her newest name. Sunshine, Buffy, Summer - definitely a pattern there.

So, she was claiming to be a guest of Russell Edgington's… Sophie-Anne was truly a master manipulator. Not only did this draw the focus of who this girl might work for to someone else besides the queen herself, but it also made people wonder what was "different" about her - as Edgington wouldn't have a woman unless she was part of his unique "collection". And when they realized there was indeed something off about her, it would just cement the thought that she was the King of Mississippi's.

And what was she doing here anyway? What were Sophie-Anne's orders? Actually, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure she was working for Sophie-Anne. It seemed to fit, and her presence both here and in Dallas lent credibility to the theory, but one question lingered in his mind that made him wonder: If she was truly working for the Queen, then why was Sophie-Anne having one of her alias' investigated? Was it simply an act of subterfuge? To make anyone who got suspicious think that she too had just run across her and wanted to know who she was, the same Stan Davis? Or did she actually not know anything about the girl working for her?

Putting off those thoughts, he listened more intently as the conversation turned toward "Summer's" previous vampire encounters. He heard her heartbeat pick up and saw the blood drain from her face. But for some reason her eyes started sweeping the crowd instead of focusing on Victor, who was moving up behind her. She'd been attacked before? Viciously, if Victor's statement was anything to go by. Yet another question to be added to the pile. A question that was quickly forgotten as he saw Victor press himself up behind her.

Eric's fangs ran out, that possessive feeling he'd felt when Joseph Velasquez had appeared in Dallas came back ten fold. The glass in his hand cracked as he saw Victor going in towards her neck. Just as he was about to step in and snatch him away from her, her hand not holding her champagne glass came up across her chest and over her shoulder, palm slapping Victor flat in the middle of his face and pushing him back while she exclaimed something about a dress. Surprisingly, the force was enough to actually send him stumbling back a few steps while she slipped off through the crowd like smoke.

Eric was sure his face looked just as shocked as Victor's. But while Eric's shock turned to laughter, Victor's turned to fury. His hands clenched at his sides and he moved to go after her. Eric, still laughing, stepped in his path.

"I see your way with women hasn't changed any, Victor."

"Northman," he hissed. Then, drawing in a calming breath and straightening, he found a more diplomatic air. "I wasn't aware you would be attending."

"Last minute decision."

"It's been a few decades," he went on, his mask of geniality slipping into place once again. "How go things in Louisiana?"

"Things are well," Eric answered, playing the game. "And in Nevada? Castro is doing quite the business I hear."

"Oh yes, if it weren't for that nasty bit of legislation about vampires being unable to own casinos, it would be better," Victor said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find Delilah. Though that shouldn't be too hard considering what she's wearing…"

So, he'd grown as bored with the small talk as Eric had. Good. Eric wasn't fooled though, he knew perfectly well who Victor would be looking for.

"By all means," Eric said, stepping to the side and waving a hand by him. Victor nodded and disappeared into the crowd seconds later.

Setting his cracked glass on the tray of a passing waiter, he slipped into the crowd as well, focusing all his attention on catching Summer/Buffy/Sunshine's scent. It didn't take him long. He spotted her walking leisurely around the perimeter, her eyes on Peter Threadgill and a look of speculation on her masked face. Knowing Victor wouldn't be far behind, he stepped up next to her quickly and grabbed a hand, bowing over it.

"A dance, if you will?"

"Uh, well-"

But he'd already turned, still holding her deliciously warm hand and tugging her behind him. He heard a sputtered protest but ignored it, stopping in the middle of the crowd of other dancers and pulling her to him sharply. His one hand remained in her own while his other landed on her waist. Her free hand came up to rest delicately on his shoulder and he pulled her in closer. At the feel of her small, warm body against his, something in him loosened and tightened at the same time and he sucked in a lungful of that heady smell.

"Hey… I know you… Gnomeo!"

"Gnomeo…" He closed his eyes briefly - was that the name she'd given him? "And I suppose that makes you Juliet?"

She blushed slightly. "Sorry, I didn't know your name, so when I was thinking about you I just called you Gnomeo in my head. Not that I thought about you a lot! Not much at all really. Just, you know, once or twice. Probably closer to once."

Her words tumbled over one another in her haste to get them out, making him smirk as he fell into step with the music. A flash of white caught his eye and he saw Victor watching from the edge of the crowd. He shot him a grin full of fang, giving the impression he'd only taken interest in the girl because she'd turned Victor down.

"So, uh, I know I kinda left you holding the bag last time, but you, uh, haven't told anybody that I'm here, have you?"

He watched her eyes sweep from the left of him to the right, as if she expected to get snatched up by security while he held her captive on the dance floor.

"No, you happen to be the only thing of interest here tonight. Why would I risk losing that?"

"What is it with you vampires thinking I'm some kind of entertainment just for you?" She asked with an irritated frown. "It's all, 'dance monkey-Buffy, dance'."

"Buffy? Not Summer? Or Sunshine?"

"Well… all of the above actually," she said with a grimace. He couldn't help but smile, she was so adorably not cut out for this. If Sophie-Anne thought she had some super-spy working for her, she was quite mistaken.

"And which do you prefer to go by?" He asked, leaning in closer and whispering the question only inches from her lips. Not an easy task since she only came up to his chest.

Her green eyes locked on his, wide and unsure for a second before she relaxed a little and smiled. "Buffy."

He was a little taken aback by her acquiescence. Maybe it was just the fake name she preferred?

"You punned with me. We've bonded," she said with a little laugh, answering his unvoiced question.

"Buffy it is then. I am Eric," he said, feeling an intense rush of accomplishment. Which was absolutely ridiculous since all he'd done was learn her name, and it probably wasn't even her real one. Realizing they were gliding around the dance floor easily, he looked at her in surprise. "You dance incredibly well for a human of this era."

"Eighteenth century dance steps are a little unwanted skill I picked up," she said with a little secretive smile.

Suddenly she went stiff in his arms, even though her feet were still moving. She was watching something behind him and to the left. He was about to turn and see what it was when she stopped and pulled away.

"Well, this was fun, Eric, but I've gotta run. Places to go, people to see and all that. See ya!"

Then she was lost in the crowd once again. He really should put a bell on her…

Turning to see what had caught her attention, Eric watched as Threadgill went toward a side exit with two others - Jade Flower, who was his head of security and a psychopath, and Jennifer Cater, his first lieutenant and a bitch of epic proportions.

This isn't going to end well, he thought, now knowing where Buffy was headed. He gave them a few minutes and then followed after.

Buffy snuck silently down a deserted hall three floors up, knowing that Threadgill and Badhair had come this way with a brunette who wasn't in a costume. She guessed the only way she was going to find out what she needed was get it straight from the source, so she was following them - straining her Slayer hearing to catch their words as they turned down another hall, already two turns ahead of Buffy.

"The contract was just finished," one of the women was saying. "Ink's not even dry yet. But I figured you'd want to see it right away."

"You've looked over it? There are no loopholes for her to get through? Everything appears to be genuine and straightforward?" Threadgill asked.

"There's a human on this floor," a flat, slightly accented voice said - most likely Bad-Hair-Chick.

Buffy tensed, ready to make a run for it. But, Threadgill dismissed her presence almost immediately.

"Much to far away to be any concern to us. Probably got lost looking for a bathroom, pathetic, base creatures that they are."

Never had Buffy been so glad to be a "pathetic, base creature".

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" The other woman asked. "Leclerq is known for being crafty…"

"She's not half as smart as she thinks she is," he said darkly. "I'll be well within my rights when I take Louisiana for my own."

The snick of a door shutting cut off the conversation. Well, she didn't know what he was planning, but he was definitely up to something. Something that he thought he could get away with because of the marriage contracts. For a moment, she thought of trying to get closer but dismissed it after a second. She'd pressed her luck enough by even following them up here. What she'd found out would have to be enough.

Turning back down the hall she wondered what Sophie-Anne would do now. There wasn't any proof, just some marriage contracts that were apparently flawless and Buffy's word. Crap… she wouldn't want proof, would she? Was she supposed to be wearing a wire or something? This spying stuff was hard, why couldn't she just get pointed at some big nasty beasty, slay it, and still make the big bucks?

Sighing, she took a left at the end of the hall to get to the stairs. Except the stairs weren't there. Okay, who moved the stairs? She looked around with her eyebrows furrowed, wondering where she made the wrong turn. She should've been paying more attention… Turning around and retracing her steps, she came across a huge marble statue of a man being eaten alive by a beautiful naked woman, something she was sure she would've noticed had she been this way before…

Yep, she was lost.

For the next ten minutes she searched for the stairs, but somehow seemed to keep winding further and further into the mansion. The sound of the string music was barely audible now. What the hell? Was the house evil? Was it trying to eat her? Her sense of direction couldn't be that horrible, could it? Stopping in the middle of yet another hall, she looked back and forth in irritation. Both ends stopped in a T with options of continuing either right or left. A huge window sat at each junction, overlooking the night darkened grounds and sending her distant reflection back at her.

Suddenly, she felt a vampire approaching. Her vampy radar had been pretty fuzzy all night long because of the amount of them in this one place, but this one was close. Really close. Turning to the left, she went to intercept the vampire approaching her, her reflection growing in the window with each step as she neared the end of the hall. At this point she'd rather just find a way out of here than worry about getting in trouble for wandering the King's house.

Unfortunately for her, help was not what the vampire approaching had in mind. When she rounded the corner, she came face to face with none other than Victor Madden.

"Summer! Fancy meeting you here. A bit lost, are you?"

His voice was still as smooth and sincere as it had been in the ballroom, but something in the way he was standing - head cocked, eyes almost glowing - screamed predator. Buffy smiled back at him and kept her body relaxed, but watched him warily.

"Just a bit," she said, adopting a clueless little smile. "This place just keeps spinning me in circles, maybe you could-"

And that was as far as she got before he was on her. He moved so fast. Even after facing off against Andre, Victor's speed still took her off guard. She found herself pressed against the wall right next to the corner. The sconce nearby shaking a bit with the impact and making the orange tinted light shiver. She tensed, ready to retaliate.

Then he kissed her.

He tasted like blood and darkness, his cold mouth pressing on hers with brutal force, fangs out and on the brink of breaking the delicate skin of her lips. It lasted for all of three seconds before she snapped. She snaked a hand between them, gripping his red tie and shoving him back just far enough to punch him. It wasn't well aimed and didn't have as much force behind it as she would've liked, but he still flew back. His back hit the wall next to the window hard enough to make it shudder, cracking the drywall and sending a painting further down crashing to the floor.

"You should really learn some manners," she hissed at him. She'd tried being Blend-in-Buffy for long enough, avoiding fights and trying to be quiet. But she'd be damned if some sleazy bastard (even a hot sleazy bastard) would be putting his lips on her without her permission. That equaled immediate ass-kickage.

"As should you," he said, stepping away from the wall and glancing back at the damage with narrowed eyes. "Wandering the host's home in such a manner. One might think you weren't here for the party, but for some other, less scrupulous, reason."

"I was looking for the bathroom," she said, rolling her eyes.

"As if I'd believe such a-"

"I really don't give a crap what you believe. Just know that if you ever touch me like that again, I'll rip off something you'll really miss."

When his handsome face twisted in a nasty snarl, the Slayer in her almost crowed in victory from the place it'd been locked since Buffy'd arrived in this dimension. She was more than ready for him when he came at her again. Now that she'd adjusted to his speed, she was more than a match for him - dodging his first attempt to grab her and landing a knee to his stomach as he tried to recover from the surprise of her own swiftness.

He brushed off the hit like it was nothing though, and was ready when she threw a punch, snatching her wrist midair and landing a backhand of his own to her cheek. She stumbled under the assault, her heels momentarily catching in the fabric of her previously loved, but now cursed, dress. She hit the ground hard, flat on her back. Blinking at the ceiling and trying to regain her breath, she saw him leaning over her, reaching for her throat. She quickly pulled her knees to her chest and then shot them straight out, hitting him in the chest and sending him backwards.

Right through the huge arched window at his back.

The sound of the of shattering glass and snapping wood was extremely loud. Cringing, she pulled herself quickly to her feet and whirled around, intending to put as much distance between her and the mess as possible, only to run smack right into another body. Buffy, tangled with the other person - vampire, her senses whispered - met with the floor once again.

"We should stop meeting like this," a familiar voice said, his words brushing the top of her head.

Jerking her eyes up, she met the glacial blue of none other than Gnomeo- uh, Eric, now without the mask he'd been wearing on the dance floor.

"Did you just kick Victor out the window?" He asked, looking up over her at the window, seeming both amused and curious.

"Uh, yeah," she said, sliding off of him and getting to her feet. "He started it though."

"Always a valid reason," he nodded. "Not that you need one where Victor is concerned."

His eyes raked over her and she got the distinct impression he was looking for injuries. She was proved right when a little line appeared between his eyes when his gaze landed on her cheek, which she was sure was already bruising. Shaking off the blush and the butterflies that threatened, she eyed him suspiciously.

"Why aren't you raising the alarm? I'm in a place I shouldn't be, kicking guys out of windows and you seem almost happy about it? What's the what with that?"

"It isn't my home, I don't care what you do here," he said with a blasé shrug. "As for Victor, I'd be happy to watch you kick him out of windows all day. In fact, I might actually pay to see it…"

She couldn't help but smile a little at his view on the situation. And she swore every time she saw him he got hotter and bigger, like a giant Hottie McHottington… Seeing a sexy smirk spreading over his handsome face, she realized she'd been staring. She gave a cough and ripped her eyes off of him, backing away down the hall.

"So, it was nice seeing you again and all. But I really need to be getting out of here. You know, beauty sleep for the still living and all that. The dance was fun, and uh, thanks for not tattling, so, see ya!"

She spun, making a bid for freedom, but he was suddenly in front of her, his blue eyes laughing as he blocked her way. She was momentarily breathless at how fast and silent he was.

"You keep running away… Buffy," he purred her name out, his slight accent curling around his words delightfully. "You always seem to cause some kind of chaos and then leave me with the mess. What am I to say if someone comes along and sees me leaving this area? Or smells my scent when they come to investigate?"

"Oh, right," she said, her shoulders slumping in guilt. She really didn't want to get him in trouble… A light bulb suddenly flashed to life in her head. "I've got it! Okay, so, in advance, I want to apologize, but really this is for the best."

He barely had time to blink before she hit him, full force, full swing, all out Slayer strength, right in the face, then followed it up with another from her left. He crashed to the ground, his huge body making the floor shake slightly.

"Really, I'm sorry," she said again, biting her lip and trying to arrange his now unconscious form in a more comfortable position. He smelled really good… manly and clean… She patted his chest, giving him one more apologetic glance. His chest was really nice, too. Really hard and defined…

Stop touching him and get the hell outta here!

She pulled her hand away after one more pat and then ran off down the hall.