Chapter 10: Dead Ambition
"Oh, how good of you to show up,"
Sasha sighed, glancing up at the sky in search of her patience. Unfortunately for her, that bird had flown the coop and didn't look like it was coming around any time soon. Since her discovery of Montgomery House, it had been easy to avoid dealing with what it posed for her, because she'd been able to focus singularly on Jack. But with his demons now inner and his day sleep, she was left with daylight hours filled with nothing but the gnawing discomfort of terrible discovery. So now she had returned to the decrepit house, and she had to deal with a sassy ghost who also happened to be her grandmother.
Sasha clutched her to-go cup of coffee cup tighter in her hands and adjusted her sunglasses where they sat on the bridge of her nose.
"Yeah, well, I was kind of dealing with a vampire emergency," said Sasha. Her ghostly grandmother was in front of her in an instance.
"Vampires?" she repeated, Louisiana drawl thick with distress. "Oh, child, what happened? Did those nasty bloodsuckers hurt you?"
Sasha felt confident from this single utterance that her grandmother was prejudiced against vampires. She didn't know enough about witches to know if this was a commonality, but she could guess. Supes weren't exactly friendly with each other, and most of the contention happened with vampires.
"I think maybe you and I should sit down and have a chat," said Sasha. "Because I have a lot of questions,"
And she did. For better or worse, there were answers here that she wanted, and between her own reluctance and fear, her first meeting with her grandmother hadn't yielded any of them. She'd only learned of her existence—if Sasha could even call it that—and that she went by the name of Cookie Montgomery.
Cookie frowned heavily, and then took a seat down on the porch, patting the spot next to her. Sasha sat as directed, careful not to stick her boot through the missing step just below.
Her grandmother's face was plump, skin smooth, and the concern she felt now caused the lines in her face to deepen, to age her. She reached out a hand, and then thought better of it, moving to adjust her burnt orange shawl. Now that Sasha looked, she realized that her grandmother wasn't wearing the same clothing she'd been wearing the day she'd first come by the house.
"Your clothes are different," said Sasha. "How?"
"Oh this? It's just a glamour," said Cookie, waving her hand dismissively.
"A glamor?" repeated Sasha, bewildered. "Like a vampire?"
This time it was Cookie that appeared thrown. "Of course not. A witch's glamour has nothing to do with a vampire's thrall. You're tellin' me you don't know what a glamour is, child?"
When Sasha shook her head, Cookie's frown deepened. "A witch can cast a glamour over herself. There are different kinds of glamours, and they take different levels of skill to cast. They change how you appear to others—things like what you wear, or you could change the color of your hair or the color of your eyes, even your physical features. The more you practice the easier they are to maintain. They don't actually alter your appearance—a glamour is an illusion,"
"Oh wow," said Sasha. She thought about her elementary school aged self and how much she would have loved to do such a thing for her eyes. She'd been teased mercilessly at school for a lot of things—her big curly hair, the color of her skin being not quite light, not quite dark, and her "freak eyes". She rarely thought about having two differently colored eyes now, but when she'd been young she'd begged and begged her parents to buy her colored contacts so that they'd match and either both be brown or both be green. Her mother had refused.
As her eyes bore into her deeply, Cookie asked, "What happened to you, child?"
Sasha's gaze dropped to the sleeve of her to-go cup. She toyed with the cardboard sleeve meant to protect her hand from the coffee's heat, tearing a spot weak from spilt coffee. What was there to say? Yes, hi, dead grandma. Your daughter up and left my dad and I, and then when dad couldn't handle my being a witch, I went to live with vampires.
She didn't have to know Cookie particularly well to know that wouldn't go over well. Cookie had been so surprised that she didn't know what a glamor—no, glamour—was, she must have thought Sasha was a learned witch.
With a bitter smile, Sasha told her, "I have a feeling you're about to be very disappointed in your family,"
"Child, I'm a ghost that's been stuck to this house for over twenty years. I've been alone, unable to step foot off this property because of the magic that binds me to this house. I'm just happy to see my grandbaby," said Cookie.
"Well," said Sasha, tucking the usual wayward curls behind an ear. "I was born in DC. Mom and dad were living there for dad's work, then they moved back here so dad could be in his home state. I guess they both hated DC. We lived in Baton Rouge. I thought we were happy, but…I guess mom wasn't. She left when I was eleven and made it pretty clear that she didn't have any intention of coming back,"
She stared down hard at the porch, memorizing each groove in the wood so as not to look at her grandmother. "And then dad, dad started freaking out because I started to turn out to be not-so normal, and it became clear he couldn't handle me and I tried—I tried so hard to be normal. But I didn't know anyone like me, and I didn't even known what I was—mom never taught me anything, didn't ever explain anything to me about the craft and then—"
Sasha broke off, wiping angrily at the tears that betrayed her emotions by rolling out from beneath her aviators and down her cheeks. For better or worse, Sasha had led an extraordinary life. She didn't ever waste time thinking about her life before Eoin and Malachi, because after meeting them she'd been happy. But she harbored a lot of resentment and anger toward her parents, particularly her mother, and lingering on the memories of what she had gone though stirred up a darkness inside of her. Anger, fear, self-hatred and loneliness, resentment and misery… it had festered inside of her for years, untouched. Now it was creeping back up, and her hands began to spark. A purple spark burned through the side of her coffee cup, draining the last of it onto the floor and spilling it across her pants.
"Shit," she hissed, dropping the cup. She clasped her hands together against, jamming them between her thighs and rocking back and forth like it might contain the strange power. Her eyed jammed shut and she searched to recover her inner balance.
"Oh, child," said Cookie sadly, watching her. "So you ain't ever been taught anything? You even know what you are?"
"I know what I am," hissed Sasha, straining still against the storm of emotions inside of her. She struggled to find something to calm her down, anything. Her thoughts went to Malachi, but her emotions regarding him were clouded by how much she missed him, and it through her further into her spiral. She quickly searched for something else to think about, to focus herself—she found herself thinking of the sea, glacial blue and cooling. She realized belatedly that she was thinking of Eric Northman, and she latched onto the idea of him, of that control he possessed she now envied. He possessed so much power, so much strength, and yet he always appeared capable of restraining himself.
It worked. The sparks receded, the darkness lifted. She drew a shaky breath.
"I know what I am," she repeated. "I know I'm a witch. But I'm not exactly what you might call interested,"
"Not interested? It's your heritage—it's who you are!" exclaimed Cookie. "It's not something you can run away from—it's in you, it is you,"
"Yeah, well, watch me," said Sasha. "Look, I'm here because I had a ring. This ring," she held up her hand to Cookie, showing her the ruby-less ring. "I've been wearing this for over a decade. More than ten years I wore this thing without a problem, and it bound my powers. Now it's broken, and my powers are all over the place. I just need to know how to turn it off before I expose myself or worse, hurt someone,"
"It ain't something' you can turn on and off, child. Like I said, it's who you are," said Cookie. When Sasha's stare remained unwavering, she shook her head. She studied the ring in Sasha hand carefully, moving a hand to hover over it. "It takes powerful magic to make a ring like this. Who was the witch that made this?"
"I don't know," admitted Sasha, slipping the ring back onto her finger. "It was acquired for me,"
Cookie's dark eyes turned suspicious, and she ghosted in front of Sasha, peering closely at her.
"When you ran away, just whom did you run to?"
"Like I said," murmured Sasha. "You're not going to like this,"
She recounted her cross-country childhood travels, though she allowed for a few more details than she'd given Jack. As predicted, Cookie was incensed.
"Vampires? Do you know what they do to people like us? Why do you think there are so few of our kind?"
"I know. But I also know that everything I know, if I'm still alive, it's all because of Malachi. Not only has he kept me alive, but he gave me a family, so don't pull that all-vampires-are-evil bullshit with me, because I'm not here for it,"
Because, when it came down to it, Sasha didn't care that this was the ghost of her mother's mother. Her grandmother was essentially a stranger to her, and she was disrespecting who she considered her real family, the family that she would always be fiercely protective over.
"They are not your family—"
"Oh, because my human family is so much better," said Sasha. "My mother left me without even a simple letter outlining what I as, what I might expect—and when I left, all I had to do was leave a note for my dad saying I was going to stay with my mom and he didn't even care enough to investigate if that was true enough, because without his freak daughter he finally had time to focus on his career. I didn't even know you existed until I got stranded in this fucked up town, so I'm sorry, grandmother, but I you have no right to tell me who is or is not my family.
Cookie shook her head, disgust evident on her features as she looked away, as though the very sight of her was too much to bear. As she did, Sasha swore her image flickered a little; she wondered if this was her glamour being affected by her emotions.
"See, this is what they do. We ain't just anybody. We are real and true witches. Glamor don't work on us, so they gotta come up with all sortsa ways to bind us to them. They bite you, they beat you, they get you all hopped up on their blood, all so they can keep you under their thumbs and control you for your power. And when they can't control you, they'll kill you."
"Don't talk about what you don't know," said Sasha. "There might be those vampires that are like that. I don't doubt it. But Malachi recognized me for what I was and realized my days on my own were numbered. He gave me the option of the ring or finding someone to teach me. I chose the ring, just as I chose my fate at every turn. Never once did Malachi make me drink vampire blood, and never once did a vampire touch me. He raised me, he gave me every opportunity to have a normal life. I got to go to college, learn languages, travel—all because of him. I was even happy, go figure,"
"Please, child, you gotta be smarter than this!" argued Cookie. "'Course he took care of you! You're a powerful, powerful witch, one in a million! Do you know just how rare a born witch is? All the old lines, they're dyin' out—we're not just one of the powerful ones, we're some of the very last of our race facing extinction! When I was still alive, there weren't more then a hundred of us left in this part of the world. We were—are—bein' hunted. This, this Malachi vampire you're talkin' about, he must be one smart vampire. Raised you to be loyal to him so he can use you! It's what they do!"
Sasha let out a disbelieving laugh. She jumped up to her feet, stepping over the missing step and her fallen coffee cup. "I don't have to listen to this. I came here for answers, and now I see I'm better off in the dark, so thanks for nothing."
"Sasha—you come back here, child! You can't trust them!"
She ignored the shouts of warning her grandmother called after her as she strode to her car and got in. She peeled out of Montgomery Manor, resigned that it would be the last time she cast her eyes upon it.
Jack Connors didn't bother to hide his surprise when he opened the front door of his and Sasha's little bungalow to find Eric Northman standing on the porch not long after sunset. He blinked in shock at him, and then quickly tripped over himself to invite the Sheriff in.
"I'll be needing Miss Buckley to invite me in," said Eric. "You know, the human?"
"Human?" repeated Jack, lost. Then his sapphire eyes widened in shock and he laughed nervously, reaching up to scratch at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Right. Forgot about the invite thing,"
"Yes, the invite thing," said Eric. When Jack said nothing, he prompted somewhat impatiently, "Is she in?"
"No, she's not. She left me a note that she was going out for a bit," said Jack. He jammed his hands into his back pocket as he leaned a shoulder into the door. "Um, did you want to wait around? I don't think she'll be out to long now. I don't think she really likes leaving me on my own,"
Eric rolled his eyes, leaning against the bungalow's peeling doorframe. "Tell me, Jack, does it not bother you that she hasn't realized you're a newborn vampire, not a pet?"
Jack frowned. "I don't think she thinks that at all. She just cares,"
Eric scoffed and Jack's frowned deepened. "Come on, you must have your suspicions that she has an ulterior motive. She must have said something, done something to make you question her good charity,"
Jack shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know why the Sheriff had come around, but he had the sense that he was now seizing an opportunity to probe Jack for information on Sasha. He seemed to suspect that Sasha was something more than human. But Sasha had done so much for Jack already, there was no way he'd sell her out now.
"I think she's just good people. Has a big heart," said Jack with a shrug. "If you're waiting around, do you want a Tru Blood?"
Eric let a friendly smile split his lips, and he agreed, turning to sit on the top porch steps as Jack retrieved the drinks. Within seconds they were both seated and sipping on synthetic blood. While Eric didn't particularly care for the drink nor was he hungry, he could at least serve as a good example. Newborns were hardly a threat to other vampires, at least directly; it was their taciturn nature and the bloodlust that lingered close to the surface that was cause for worry. Newborns that lost control became messy, easily falling prey to feeding frenzies and making a right mess of things. Once it had threatened exposure; now it threatened to have the AVL punish any vampire it could lay responsibility on.
After clinking his A negative to Jack's bottle in a mock toast, they sat in silence. But only for a little, because the newborn began shifting a little, and Eric was certain he was burning to asking him something.
"How are you…coping?" asked Eric. Jack shot him a sidelong glance, as if to say, do you really care to know? When Eric simply stared back, Jack sighed. He peeled the label off of his Tru Blood, then set the bottle down to fiddle with the flimsy paper in his hand.
"I'm fine," he said slowly. "And I know I won't be if I stop and really think about what happened to me, if I let those memories he glamored locked tight resurface. So I don't think about it, because if I do…"
He trailed off, something akin to revulsion crossing his face. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His fingers moved in a blur; a moment later a paper plane was sitting in his hands. Jack held it up between two fingers. "Is it bad that I think this tastes like shit?" asked Jack. "It's just…I mean, it's drinkable….and it's better than the pig's blood…but I just keep thinking about…"
"You keep thinking about Ginger's blood," said Eric, nodding in understanding. Jack's head drooped. His long legs kicked out, the toes of his Doc Martens scraping against the dirt.
"Worse," whispered Jack. "I—I keep thinking about Sasha's blood. From that first night, in the cemetery when she found me…I couldn't help myself, and I feel awful about what I did and I hate myself for even thinking this, because she's been so good to me, but she just smells so good,"
Eric observed the conflicted newborn, considering his dilemma. He was somewhat envious that of the newborn for having tasted the elusive girl's blood, and part of him was eager to inquire after it, to ask if she tasted just as good as she smelled, if her blood was even better or not. It turned out he didn't have to ask.
"When I was like, really little, I was at this foster home for a little while, and I swear it was the happiest time of my life. The woman who hosted me made this pie—apple, cinnamon, and brown sugar and I swear that's what Sasha tasted like," said Jack reverently. Then his expression of wonder crumpled, and he took a large swig of the Tru Blood as though he was trying to purge the memory of Sasha's taste from his mouth. "I'd never hurt her, but I just can't get the memory of her blood outta my head. And the whole house just smells like her and it's driving me fucking crazy, and sometimes when she's sleeping and the whole house gets real quiet, I swear all I hear is her heartbeat and—" he sucked in a large breath.
Eric pursed his lips, forehead wrinkling as he thought back on Sasha's scent. Salt and the cool freshness of the sea, honey and a hint of spice. Could that have been cinnamon? But Jack's description of her scent didn't match his—Eric couldn't recall ever having come across the scent of apple pie, but he could guess it didn't smell like what he smelled off Sasha Buckley—and it didn't match what the vampire in his club had smelled, nor what Pamela had described.
A chameleon scent? Wasn't that new.
"We drink Tru Blood to fit in," said Eric. He had not forgotten the newborn's plight despite his unintended slip in information on Sasha. "Because it is expected of us. But most of us still drink from humans, as we should. There is nothing wrong with who we are, Jack. And there are plenty of willing donors from whom to sate your thirst," Eric paused for a moment. "As for Sasha Buckley…yes, she smells uncommonly good. I suspect that she is not entirely human…though you might suspect something as well. Maybe you even known the truth,"
"What if I fuck up?"
"It is likely you will," said Eric with a shrug. "You will learn to control your thirst with time. Drink Tru Blood for appearances, dine on humans for pleasure. As long as you don't leave a trail of bodies, you're in the clear,"
"Thanks," said Jack, looking mildly horrified at the prospect. "I think,"
They settled into an easy silence for a little while. Eric tuned into the sounds around them; the early evening was warm, the air thick, and it was filled with the buzzing of insects and the bustle of humans in their homes. A television was on in the house across the way; two doors down a mother was arguing with her toddler to get her to eat.
"What will you do when Miss Buckley leaves town? I don't imagine she'll be sticking around much longer," said Eric. There was a hint of regret he couldn't stop in his tone, regret that he'd been unable to foil the mystery she presented before her departure. "Will you continue to live here? I believe that this home belongs to Sam Merlotte, but I believe I might be able to sway him into buying. I can purchase this place, get you set up. I am duty bound as Sheriff to do this; you can rest assured that I consider that duty quite seriously,"
Jack looked at Eric, pondering him. He trusted that the ancient vampire meant what he said; despite the fact that the Viking was incredibly intimidating, Jack thought that the way he'd treated he and Sasha had thus far been honorable, and more tolerant than he would have ever expected of a vampire so ancient and powerful. But Jack didn't want to be tolerated, he wanted more than that. Acceptance, family; Sasha had outlined these things for him. And while a part of him was absolutely terrified of falling for such another daydream that would crumble to grasp the moment he reached out for it, he was also already hooked.
"I really appreciate that," said Jack slowly. "I do. But Sasha said she had stuff figured out for me, and I think I might take her up on it. It sounded really nice,"
"And this would in California?"
"Yeah. You ever been?" Jack asked, feeling somewhat awkward. He knew the Sheriff didn't exactly approve of Sasha meddling in vampire affairs, but he felt just comfortable enough to voice his plans. Had that been a mistake?
"Yes," said Eric. His attention had been drawn elsewhere, down the road. "And I thoroughly detest it,"
A gleaming red Camaro rolled up the driveway. Sasha stepped out a moment later, boots hitting the ground hard and car door slamming with pent up anger. Her expression hardened even more when her eyes landed on Eric. His eyes roamed over her, drinking in the details whatever emotions were churning within her betrayed. He could sense her discomfort rolling off her in thick waves, and noted that her eyes were red, glassy, skin puffy beneath. She'd been crying.
Unease. Eric felt at unease as he saw the evidence of her tears. In the brief time he'd known her, she'd been strong and feisty, and seeing that she was vulnerable felt like something that he wasn't supposed to see. Yet she looked at him like she was simply bothered by his appearance, not like she was ashamed of her tears, like she wanted to run an hide from him. Perhaps this little girl was even braver than he'd originally thought; even as she knew that he was aware of the weakness and humanity that her tears displayed, her head remained held up high. When their eyes met, he swore she was daring him question her.
"Sasha, you okay?" asked Jack, looming over her at once. Sasha flashed him a quick, easy smile, nose twitching a bit as she waved him off. "Fine, but my allergies are a bitch though,"
It was the weakest lie she'd told since Eric had met her, and it sparked his curiosity further. He didn't take her for a crier. He knew her as secretive and charming, flirtatious and weary, and even as a small force of nature when she was angry. But seeing the evidence that she'd succumbed to her emotions made him uncomfortable, and his resolve in attempting to persuade more information out of her loosened some. Strange, because if she was currently emotionally vulnerable, she'd be easier to interrogate.
"Can I help you, Eric?" she asked, turning to him.
"Just checking on Jack," said Eric. "Technically, he's a ward of Area Five, and therefore mine for his first year as vampire,"
"I am so not in the mood for this right now," she grumbled. She walked around him to the house. "Jack wants to go to California. Let me know if you're thinking of keeping him bound here, so I can lawyer up,"
"Now, now," said Eric, unable to resist teasing her. "There's no need to bring the courts into this. I think we can figure this co-parenting thing out,"
Her look of weariness broke out in favor of a small, exasperated smile as she turned to face him, and he felt like he'd achieved some small victory by putting it there.
"I'm sure we can factor in some visitation rights," she told him. Eric smirked, eyes flicking back to the newborn, who was watching him with a hint of a scowl. He looked back down to Sasha. He considered her for a moment. "Accompany Jack to Fangtasia tonight. The boy's young, he needs to be feeding regularly on the real stuff,"
With that he turned on his heel, flashing Jack a wink before disappearing off down the road.
"What did Eric really want?" asked Sasha as she and Jack entered the house.
"I think he really was just checking up on me," said Jack. Sasha made a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement as she went to collapse on the couch. Her eyes slid shut as she leaned back, thoughts returning to her grandmother. While she hadn't expected butterflies and rainbows, she'd a small part of her had hoped for some sort of positive reunion.
"Sasha? What happened? I know it's not allergies," said Jack. He came to kneel in front of her, taking one of her hands into his, giving it a gentle affirming squeeze.
With a heavy sigh, Sasha filled Jack in on her visit to Montgomery House. He listened quietly, voicing his disappointment on her behalf when she finished.
"I'm really sorry," said Jack. "I don't even know what to say, actually. Ghost grandma? That in itself is already…wow,"
"Yeah," Sasha agreed with a little laugh of disbelief. "I don't know what it is about this town that draws crazy like bees to honey. I've met a few ghosts before, but two ghosts in less than a week in this tiny hick town?"
"Is it true? What she said about vampires using witches?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Sasha. "Which is why I keep what I am under wraps. There are those vampires that might see witches as a threat and prefer us exterminated; there are others who would prefer to harness a witch's power. I don't doubt that. But that is not what the vampires I fell in with are like. Just like humans, just like everything else, there are good and bad vampires and every shade of grey in between. Some of the worst, most brutal vampires were monsters long before they were turned, Jack,"
Jack considered this for a while. Sasha checked the clock on the DVD player beneath the TV. They still had hours before Fangtasia opened.
"Wanna veg out in front of the TV for a bit?" asked Sasha. Sitting on the couch and thinking about nothing for a while was very appealing.
"That actually sounds awesome," said Jack with a wide smile. "I was flipping through the DVDs earlier—can we watch Star Wars?"
"Sure," said Sasha. "But let's have a quick chat before we do about feeding habits. Jack, have you ever heard of Hep D?"
When they arrived at Fangtasia that evening, there was an unusual tension to the air. Sasha was weary for Jack, being back at the scene of his maker's execution, but the young vampire, true to his word, did not seem bothered. Instead he seemed interested in the dancing crowd, in the mingling of humans and vampires, and he didn't need much encouragement to go dance after two fangbangers spotted him and began to chirp around him for his attention. Sasha didn't think they were much older passed legal, and deeming them harmless, encouraged Jack to go dance.
She took a seat at a stool at the bar. Daniel was immediately in front of her, holding a finger to his lips went she made to order a drink. He winked and promised her a special concoction. As he prepared her drink, she tuned in to the atmosphere and conversations around them, well aware that the throne on the stage was empty and that Pam was also mysteriously absent.
Something was off, Sasha decided. Other than Daniel, the vampires in the bar seemed to be clumped in together more than usual, less concerned with picking up sex and blood and more with their conversations. Whispered conversations in many different languages swirled around her in and out of the heavy beat of the music. The murmurs were too low to figure out, but one thing was certain: something had happened in the vampire world.
Could this have something to do with Peter? Had word spread of his execution?
"Here you are," said Daniel, flipping his brown locks away from his forehead as he placed her drink in front of her. The concoction came in a short glass. It was an inviting blush pink, on the rocks, and adorned with a bright green umbrella and garnished with a slice of orange. "I'm calling this, 'The Buckley',"
Sasha returned Daniel's dazzling smile, flattered to have a drink named after her. For a moment she forgot about the hot vampire gossip fluttering around the room and picked up the glass, giving it an appreciative sniff. She clearly smelled the orange, but there was something else. Something like…
"Is that…hibiscus?" she asked, pleasantly surprised by the unusual choice.
"Yeah," Daniel grinned. He leaned his forearms on the black bar top, hands locking together as he pointed at her drink. "Hibiscus-infused gin, orange zest, hint of syrup for sweetness. I went to Hawaii a few years ago, when I still had a pulse. I crashed at a buddy's house, and his yard smelled just like that, I swear,"
"Then maybe you should call it the Hawaii," laughed Sasha. She took a sip of it through the little black straw. It was absolutely delicious, a perfectly balanced mixture of sweet and tangy. "Holy shit this is really good!"
Daniel grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. "I'm calling it the Buckley cause I hadn't even thought about Hawaii 'til that first night you walked in. Your scent is just like it. Brought some really cool memories back,"
Sasha smiled. Daniel had somehow managed to mention her scent without making her feel like a Happy Hour special, rare for a vampire. With a final sweet smile, Daniel moved on to tend to other customers, leaving her to sip on her drink. He hadn't collected payment, so she shoved what she might have paid for the drink in the tip jar. She'd all but forgotten about the bar's odd atmosphere when a couple came to stand next to her.
Vampires, both female. They both clutched Tru Blood cocktails, though it didn't look like either of them intended on taking a single sip. Both were tall and willowy, dressed in black. The blonde's grey-blue eyes were heavily lined, and her companion was a Japanese female with incredibly long, inky black hair. They were sitting close enough that she could hear them speaking in German.
Their tones were clipped, obviously filled with some degree of edge and care. She tried to make out what they were saying, though it was difficult. German wasn't exactly a strong suit for her.
"It might be time to find a new home," the Japanese vampire was saying.
"Give him a chance. Maybe he will surprise us," disagreed the blonde. She said something else Sasha couldn't make out. "…treason to speak of."
"…know I'm right. A queen is dead…" Sasha smoothed out her frustration when a gaggle of loud fangbangers passed by, preventing her from hearing the rest. "…should have been the Viking,"
What on earth was going on?
Sasha checked on Jack. He was still dancing with the two fangbangers. She made it her mission to listen in on as many conversations as she could to find out what was going on. If what she'd heard so far was correct, it sounded like Louisiana had a new monarch.
Pamela was in one of her moods, and while Eric could sympathize that it stemmed from worry now that Bill Compton was their new king, it did not help settle matters. Earlier in the evening he had been summoned to Compton's house by the new monarch, where he and the other Louisiana Sheriffs were made to swear fealty to their new king.
It had been, simply put, one of the worst fucking experiences of Eric's life.
Since the night of Sookie's disappearance, it had been the first of Bill Compton he had seen, and he had played their meeting very carefully. Bill had been just as weary of him, waiting for him to make the first move, which was why Eric had stuck to script and had been the first of the five Area sheriffs to swear loyalty. He had been pleased that Bill had been caught off guard by this gesture; he was certain that Bill was just itching for the chance to scratch him off, but even as King, he would be unable to get rid of his one thousand year old Sheriff without a valid reason. Eric would therefore have to walk on very thin ice.
Good thing he could fly.
Pamela's fears were not so easily put to rest, and her bitchiness had struck an all time high since Eric had returned to Fangtasia and filled her in. She hated knowing her maker had knelt before Bill Compton of all vampires, and she was fearful that Bill would make life hell for them purely out of spite.
"This is such fucking bullshit, Eric," Pamela fumed for the hundredth time that hour. Eric's patience was slipping. Fast.
"If I hear you bitching one more time, Pam, I will Command your mouth shut. Are we clear?"
Pamela's frosty eyes burned as she glared at him, but she remained silent. He hated issuing out Commands to her almost as much as she hated following them. But this wasn't so much about patience and frustration as it was about safety. The Vampire State of Louisiana was in a precarious position, just as any territory was at the start of a new monarch's reign. It didn't help that the circumstances regarding Bill's ascension were so dubious. He would not allow Bill to off him or Pamela on the charge of treason. He would play the part of good, obedient little Sheriff.
For now.
"Fine," growled Pam. She pushed off the wall she'd been leaning on, her red latex skirt catching the overhead light as she moved. "I'm going to go fuck something. Don't worry; if I kill it, I'll be sure to hide the body really well,"
Eric watched her go, lip curled in annoyance. He wondered if he should call her back; remind her that they really could not be leaving a trail of bodies right now. But instead, she came storming back in of her own volition.
"Your mulatto bitch is here," she informed him, sounding disapproving as she did. Then she was gone again. Eric rolled his eyes, pushing off his desk.
Sure enough, Sasha Buckley was sitting in the same corner of his bar she had the night before, when he'd introduced Ginger to her and Sasha. He was surprised to find the newborn absent from her side; a quick scan of the bar found that he was on the dance floor, sandwiched between two fangbangers.
"Jack seems to be having a hard time coping," Eric noted dryly as he flashed into the seat next to Sasha's. Her eyes darted to him quickly, though he saw with a mild trace of amusement that she relaxed when she saw it him.
"I think he actually is," she admitted, watching the newborn sadly. "As far as I can tell, he considers himself pretty ramrod-straight, so I think he's feeling some kind of need to…I don't know, assert his sexuality? He was shy about a sales girl flirting with him two days ago, then suddenly he was making eyes at Jessica Hamby and now he's allowing two half naked fangbangers to grind all over him,"
Eric's gaze strayed to the two girls. He recognized them as regulars, often throwing themselves at his feet. He'd tasted neither girl, their immaturity unappealing to him.
"And you? No dance floor?" asked Eric.
"Not really in the mood," said Sasha. She picked up her drink and took a sip. When she placed her glass back down on her napkin, she placed it directly on the ring of condensation it had already left behind previously in the very center of the napkin. He didn't know why, but it made him want to smile.
"Atmosphere is a little different tonight," she commented.
"Is it?" asked Eric. Her eyes searched his.
"You know, rumor has it that you're the one that…took care of Russell Edgington," said Sasha.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Did this girl really not know which topics to leave untouched when it came to vampires?
"And?"
"And you're old, yes," she said. She scooted closer to him, letting her curls fall over a shoulder, shielding her from the rest of the club. "But he's—he was—three times your age. Now how the hell did you manage that?"
Eric sighed deeply, propping up an elbow on the tabletop so that he could tease one of her curls around his finger. He watched it spring back into place after a tug. To the rest of the bar, they might appear to be two lovers sharing an intimate conversation.
"Allegedly, I took care of Russell Edgington," he said slowly. "And, yes, I'm considerably younger than he was. In this hypothetical scenario, if I couldn't possibly physically overwhelm such a vampire, then I might have had to outsmart him, wouldn't you say?"
The look of awe on her face brought a sense of satisfaction that had been missing in the whole Russell Edgington situation. Eric had expected a lot more gratification, especially with the knowledge that he was rotting in a block of cement even as they spoke. And yet Eric didn't feel any better—actually he felt worse knowing his entire family had been slaughtered over nothing more than livestock for that piece of shit's wolves. Sasha might have been a human, but she understood more than most just what it meant to outsmart a three-thousand-year old vampire. Still, Eric wasn't so sure why his instinct to brag was being set off.
It wasn't like he was trying to impress her.
"Why not you?" His gaze dropped down to the hand she'd placed on bicep to get his attention. For a moment he stared at it. "Why aren't you king?"
His eyes flicked back up to meet hers, trying to divine what motivation lay behind all of her questioning. If he wasn't mistaken, she wasn't anything but curious. Dangerously so. Then again, from what he heard she was friendly with Jessica Hamby. Perhaps, unbeknownst to Sasha, she'd been put up to these questions by Jessica, and she by Bill. Eric wouldn't put it past the new monarch.
"That isn't a question you want to be asking around," said Eric.
"I'm not asking around," said Sasha. "I'm asking you,"
"All the same," said Eric.
"I only ask because you're probably the oldest and most powerful vampire in the state, and clearly tested and proven what with Edgington—"
"Shut up, Miss Buckley," said Eric.
Her mouth snapped shut, though a small furrow formed between her brows and the corners of her mouth turned downward. He had to resist the urge to smooth out the creases in her skin with his forefinger.
It was her fucking blood. He swore it was. It was intoxicating and clouding his brain, drawing him in and just fucking with his head.
"Look, I know what's being said," he told her.
"It sounds like you have a lot of support if—"
"I don't want to be king. I've never been interested in a crown," he said, speaking over her.
"You don't?" she asked, thrown. "So being Sheriff isn't a stepping stone towards king?"
"You sound so surprised," murmured Eric. Had that been what she thought of him? That he was a power hungry vampire itching for a higher seat of power?
"I am," said Sasha. "I don't get why a vampire like you would end up Sheriff of an Area in godforsaken Louisiana if it wasn't all a ploy to eventually wear the crown. How did you even get mixed up with Edgington? Were you involved with why he went off kilter on national television? Or did you just take care of it because it was happening in your Area? And why—" Sasha sighed, reaching for her drink instead. If a bit forlornly, she said, "If you were a little less interesting, I'd be less likely to get into trouble,"
Eric chuckled at the candor of her admission. "Curiosity killed the cat,"
"Satisfaction brought it back," countered Sasha. Eric quirked an eyebrow in her direction, his hand dropping to caress the top of her thigh. Her skin was just as silky as he remembered.
"Is that what you're looking for? Satisfaction?" he purred. She stared at him for just a moment to long. Then she crossed her legs, elegantly putting some distance between them in the process.
"You're very respected as Sheriff, then, if you have so many vampires supporting the idea of you on the throne—"
"I said shut up," said Eric, exasperation and incredulity washing through. "Don't you ever listen?"
"We're just talking," said Sasha. "I don't see what the issue is, I mean unless—" She broke off, eyes narrowing. Her nose wrinkled—she was putting pieces together.
"You're not on good terms with the new king, are you?" she said so softly he almost didn't hear her. "Or the new king is very jealous of his position. Maybe both. Vampires supporting you weakens his claim. I can't imagine he'd be happy a vampire surely much older than he is having so much popular support,"
She looked up at him for confirmation.
"How do you even know about the new king? It's a very recent development," sighed Eric. She shrugged.
"Bar's full of vampires talking about it. I have ears,"
"You'd be far less trouble if you were just a pretty face, Miss Buckley. But instead you're far too observant for you own good,"
"Thanks," she said brightly, pride plumping her cheeks as she smiled. "So I'm right?"
"You're trouble," repeated Eric.
"I'm a historian," she said. "Asking questions is kinda my thing,"
"I think you've asked enough about me," said Eric. "Let's talk about you,"
"To be clear, you didn't actually answer any of my questions. I did all the inferring here," pointed out Sasha.
A hint of a smile threatened to change his expression. He gestured a pale hand in the direction of her drink. It was mostly ice now. "Would you like another drink?" asked Eric.
"So you can liquor me up and get me to divulge all of my deepest, darkest secrets?" asked Sasha. Her smile was far too devious for such a thing to be that easy, he decided. "Yeah, all right."
Without tearing his eyes from hers—they were absolutely stunning he decided—he called for Daniel to refill her drink. He appeared at their table, grinning his easy going smile as he arrived.
"Another Buckley for Miss Buckley?" asked Daniel. When Sasha nodded, he turned to Eric "Anything for you, sir?"
"That will be all," dismissed Eric. He turned to Sasha with an inquiring expression.
"I didn't realize you were on our menu," said Eric. Rather than be annoyed at his double entendre, she laughed.
"Daniel just made up a drink earlier, and he named it after me. Apparently it's what I smell like to him. Romantic, huh?" grinned Sasha.
Interested, he nodded to her empty glass. "And that would be?"
"Hibiscus, orange, and gin," said Sasha with a shrug. "I'll have to take his word for it,"
Eric slid closer to her, resting a hand on her hip as he leaned over her, pressing his nose just beneath her ear. She froze at his sudden nearness, breath hitching and heartbeat skipping. He inhaled deeply; the sea during winter, honey and spice. Maybe something more—crisp mountain air and trees.
He could tell she wanted nothing more than to push him away; the hand she'd placed on his chest wasn't pushing him away, but it wasn't exactly pulling him in any closer either. Eric had to marvel at Jack's self control; having his face in her neck was having him second guess his no-feeding rule at the bar, and he did not think that at Jack's age he would have restrained himself from tasting her. She just smelled so fucking good;
He also would not harm her. The longer he stayed pressed against her skin, the more wild an effect her scent had on him. Just as he wanted to sink his fangs into her, he also felt his arousal ignite and something more: his protective instinct. He might call it a possessive instinct if it wasn't so undermined by a sudden desire to please her.
Eric pulled away from Sasha Buckley just far enough to look her in the eyes. Her hot breath mingled with his cool breath, and his hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb teasing her bottom lip. Her heart rate sparked again as she realized his intention, he leaned in—
Sasha shied away, eyes on something over her shoulder. "Thanks Daniel,"
Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Daniel had arrived with Sasha's drink. Daniel flashed her a friendly smile, another to Eric, though this was filled with good-natured envy, and left them to their dark corner of the club.
"Huh," said Eric. He pulled away to lean back against the black leather cushions, throwing an arm casually over the back of the booth back. "Absolutely fascinating,"
For her part, Sasha looked dazed and confused, gaze dropping down to her hands. She flexed her fingers, and then reached for her drink. As she did, her ring glinted in the flashing strobe lights. It was a simple gold band, the gems it once held missing from their grooves.
"Don't do that again," she told him. Her voice was steadier than he expected.
"Why not, afraid of what might happen?" asked Eric.
"I don't do one-night stands,"
"Are you asking me to go steady?"
"I'm asking you to respect my personal space," said Sasha. She said it firmly enough that the flirtatious, playful bubble they'd been in was officially popped. He'd missed something.
"And by that do you mean me imaging the taste of your blood, or that I was about to kiss you?" His voice was laced by curiosity, but there was something about her firmness, her rigidity and composure that was alluring. She wasn't acting coy with him, she meant every word, and yet it was having the opposite effect she might have desired.
"I don't care what you imagine," said Sasha. "Just keep your hands, dick, and fangs to yourself,"
Eric wasn't exactly sure what he'd done to incite this reaction from her, but he liked it. It wasn't the first time he'd come on to her—neither of them expected it to be the last—so what had it been? Was it the attempted kiss specifically? She found him attractive, he was certain of it, so why was she cold all of a sudden? She said she didn't do what nightstands; was she afraid of breaking her own rule with him? He hadn't given it much thought, but he hadn't taken her to be a no-sex outside of a relationship type of girl. Perhaps because of all her claims about being around vampires, he'd associated their same sexual liberation to her.
"Very well," said Eric. "I will keep all three to myself until you beg otherwise,"
Her eyes rolled and lip corners twitched; whatever had offended her she'd moved past, and he knew he was forgiven. Eric was, at the very least, already pleased by this latest encounter of theirs. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with all the information he was gathering yet—her scent, yet another vampire recognizing it as entirely different to what he smelled, her strong observational skills, the way the scent of her blood alone was affecting him—but he stored it away all the same.
"You have a high tolerance?"
"Excuse me?"
Eric gestured to her drink. "You don't seem all that concerned with mixing alcohol and your secret-keeping,"
Sasha shrugged, a small shy smile gracing her features. "I went through a brief party girl phase when I was eighteen. I know my limits now,"
"Due tell," purred Eric. She shook her head, fighting a smile.
"I'm sure a respectable vampire such as yourself wouldn't want such sordid details," she told him.
"Tease," said Eric.
"So why don't you just ask whatever it is you want to ask me?" said Sasha. "Maybe you'll get lucky tonight,"
"We've already established that's not happening," murmured Eric. "Besides, I already know you won't answer the questions I want to ask,"
"Sounds familiar,"
"How about this," proposed Eric. "I'll make assumptions about you, and you tell me how close I am. Deal?"
He was unsurprised when she agreed. In this she was like vampires, easily drawn into games. Vampires like games all too well, and the higher the stakes, the more fun.
Eric studied her for a moment. "The first night we met, you said the car you were driving was stolen. So, I'm going to say that you left California because of a bad break up, and you decided to keep your ex's car,"
Sasha smiled and took another sip of her drink. "Absolutely not,"
Again, this was no surprise. Still, he wanted to get the jilted lover guess out of the way.
"But there was a boyfriend?"
"Definitely not," said Sasha. "But I think you'd already assumed as much. You want to get me drunk, you want to keep asking me bullshit questions just to get my guard down…you must be very bored, Mr. Northman. Am I hot or cold?"
Eric smirked at her, hiding the ripple of surprise that shot through him. "Hot,"
"Liar," she said quickly, grinning. "Therefore, for every wrong assumption about me you make, you answer one of my questions,"
He'd been leaning towards her, and now he sat back once more, considering this proposal. Eric wasn't too sure he liked this feeling, like he'd been the one to have fallen into a trap. His own trap; so concerned with likening her to a vampire, he hadn't stopped to think he might be drawn out into the open in a similar way. But now that she had proposed her own set of rules to the game, giving him something to lose, his interest in it had increased tenfold.
"Such fucking trouble," he murmured. What could she really ask that he'd be reluctant to divulge? Whatever high tolerance she boasted, the girl was drinking, sipping more strongly than she might even be noticing. "I will answer with a true or false, Miss Buckley,"
"If you're so concerned with what's being said about you and a throne you don't want, there is no way you're wasting time with me, a human, just because you're bored. There's a reason you're so interested in me; true or false?"
"True," said Eric. "My turn. "You weren't kicked out of your nest; you left voluntarily,"
"Spot on," said Sasha.
It was still Eric's turn, until he got it wrong anyway. "From what you've said in the past about your nest, they're your family. So why leave? Maybe because something happened at the nest that frightened you,"
"Cold," murmured Sasha. She played with the black straw of her drink for a moment, twirling it around the glass. "You're masquerading your interest in me as your duty as Sheriff; you think I'm something other than human so you can pretend that I might be a threat so you just have to find out what I am while I'm in your Area, but the truth is I'm just a distraction, aren't I?"
If his blood could run cold, it might have, thought Eric. He was stupefied by her accuracy, and for a moment he wondered if she could read minds—vampire minds. When he said nothing, she smiled in satisfaction.
"Thought so," said Sasha. "I'm interesting, but I'm not that interesting."
"I wouldn't sell yourself short just yet," muttered Eric. Perhaps starting this game had been a mistake after all, because curious as her nature was, he hadn't counted on her own motivations, on her asking very specific questions and what they'd reveal about him, nor did he expect her to read him so well in such a short time.
Observational, indeed, thought Eric.
"If this wasn't a game of true or false," said Sasha. "I'd ask her name,"
He didn't deign her with a response, and perhaps that was answer enough. So far she'd more than leveled the playing field between them—dare he say it, she might be at the advantage.
A little irritated now, Eric said, "You're human,"
"Ding-ding-ding," she said. "Hardly fair, because I gave you that one just now,"
"You would make for an absolutely lethal vampire," said Eric, shaking his head.
Unexpectedly, Sasha's focus broke at his comment, her cheeks flushing beneath her toffee skin. He realized belatedly that she'd taken his words as a compliment.
He would realize, someday, that it was that blush that did him in. How she'd gone from so confidently reading him, a thousand year old vampire, to blushing because he'd insinuated she'd make a fantastic vampire.
For now, Eric could only feel uncertainty. Uncertainty because he'd been so sure of what he was, what he felt—at least until this very moment. Meeting Sookie Stackhouse had awakened in him feelings he had not felt in centuries, had awakened possibility; it had been an unexpected comfort, because although he would not dare call what he felt for the blonde fae girl love, whatever it was, he might have once called it a weakness. Now, after experiencing the loss of Godric, Eric wasn't so quick to call such things like love weaknesses. It was daunting to think that a vampire like his maker might choose to meet the sun; Eric did not fear death, would meet death gladly in open battle once again, but the thought of seeking out death simply because there was nothing more to discover, nothing left to fear, because centuries and centuries had been enough? No. So yes, Sookie Stackhouse had been a comfort, to know not only that he had discovered something new, but that he, a being that never changed physically, might still experience something new... she'd been a breath of fresh air, a relief.
He had wanted Sookie Stackhouse; he still wanted her, right? His little competition for the unlikely little blonde had been new, exciting, her resistance to yield to him made interesting at the risk he might lose to a competitor, even if that competitor was Bill Compton of all creatures. Eric hadn't wanted anything—bar vengeance—as much as he had wanted Sookie in a very long time, but what he was feeling now was not that. His want for Sookie he understood—she appealed to him, her and her sweet, sweet blood. Blood that was as useful as it was delicious, and her ability, and certainly her physical attractiveness—but this?
Sasha Buckley had shot out of left field so unexpectedly even he, who was so used to being in control, was at a loss. And suddenly he didn't just simply want her—oh no he desired her in a way that served no logic, on a level so raw and primal it made him dizzy. He wanted to unravel her just as she was unraveling him, wanted to fuck and feed and devour her—
"Eric? Are you alright?"
He was certain it was the first time she'd directly addressed him by his first name.
Her blush was still there—Eric tore his gaze away from her cheeks, meeting hers. He realized he'd been frozen for a while, and that he was very nearly on the edge of losing all self-control. There was really no telling whether he'd simply bend her over and fuck her over the table in full view of the bar, or if he was going to drain her dry and then some.
Her. Goddam. Blood. He was no longer charmed, no longer fascinated or intrigued as he realized what was truly at work. That was it—this was all an illusion. It had to be. It was—she could say she was human all she wanted, but even Sookie's blood, enticing as it was, didn't influence him by scent alone. Eric didn't know if she knew its effect, if she was oblivious to it, but he'd had enough. Whatever the fuck it was, he refused to act the fool and let it rule him. Whatever was going on here, whether Sasha Buckley was actively trying to fuck with him or not—Eric wasn't having it.
Before she could blink he was on his feet.
"We're done here," he snarled. Eyes blown wide in shock at his sudden fierceness, she opened her mouth to say something—perhaps apologize. He didn't stick around long enough to find out.
As he stalked to his office, vampires sprang out of his path, avoiding looking directly at him as they felt his furious energy. All moved away from him except one, idiot human.
"Eric, hi, do you know where Pam went? Because I need her signature—"
Her wrist was in his iron grip in the next second, words cut off as he sped her to his office. It was a wonder he didn't break her as he pushed her against the door of his office, his hand wrapped around her throat and twisting it to expose the long column of her pale flesh.
"OhmyGodohmyGod—it's finally happening, isn't it? Oh my god!"
Eric grit his teeth harshly against her high-pitched squeal. "I'm not fucking you, Ginger, now shut up while I feed."
She went silent, though her pulse only shot higher. Perhaps she'd finally gained enough sense to notice he was in a black mood. His fangs descended and he sank them into Ginger's artery. She cried out, her exclamation quickly becoming a moan of pleasure. Her bony fingers scrambled up his back, twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. She began to spasm against him.
"Fuck yeah, baby! Rough, just like that!"
Eric groaned, rolling his eyes. Her blood, the whole experience, it was a poor substitution for what he truly craved.
Pulling away from Ginger—her thin arms tried to keep him locked in plain in vain, trying to take advantage of the rare opportunity as he rarely fed from her—he backed away, sighing in a mixture of frustration. He was still an unidentifiable mixture of emotions, and his fangs still ached.
"Wow!" gasped Ginger. "That was, I ain't ever had an orgasm from just a simple bite like that before!"
Eric's eyes lingered on her neck. He'd bit down so hard that around his fang marks were the traces of the marks made by his blunt teeth.
"Get out of my sight, Ginger," he hissed.
She shuffled away, still high on her post-orgasmic bliss. Collapsing in his desk chair, Eric rubbed at his temples. She might not have realized how right she was, but perhaps Pamela had been right. He didn't not need to be concerning himself with Sasha Buckley, especially not if the scent of her blood alone had such a strong influence. Had that been how she'd come by her nest? Used her scent to manipulate vampires to care and provide for her? Was she that conniving?
"No more," Eric murmured to himself.
Jack Connors was being taken care of, and soon Sasha Buckley would be gone from his territory. He would not have to worry about her or her blood ever again.
Holy shit this was a long ass chapter! It originally was going to be on the shorter side of average for this story (somewhere around 5,500-6,000) and then I wanted to add in ONE conversation between Sasha and Eric and it became this monstrous 10,300 word chapter. So there's a lot to unpack here, between Sasha and her grandmother and Eric taking over this chapter, which, admittedly I adored.
To the guest that reviewed: thank you for your review! I was a little discouraged by the lack of response to the last to chapters, especially when I saw there were a lot of views. Yeah, this story is well outlined, as is it's sequel so no fears about it being left unfinished!