A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows. There may or may not be a chapter next week depending on how many visitors I have, so I'll wish you all happy holidays now.
Briefly to a few guest reviewers:
1. Good points about Sam versus Eric and marriage. Sookie has reasons, doesn't she?
2. No offence taken at all. I'm not meaning to bash Sookie. She didn't shout across the whole club. She's not acting on every lusty impulse she has. I don't see her behaviour as stupid, I see her as passionate. Those damn pesky emotions get in her way sometimes.
3. Rory is definitely Eric's friend, and what she senses from Sookie... Well, it's probably confusing.
Right, here we go. Stars indicate footnotes as the site doesn't support superscript. Grr.
And Eric is a little upset. There will be cussing.
Duty
I blurred passed Diantha and burst out of the back entrance of the club, seeking solitude.
The private parking area was deserted. Thank fuck. I paced the gravel, agitated and barely aware of my surroundings. Sookie's glistening blue eyes filled my vision and her harsh recriminations echoed in my ears.
You said she wouldn't win… You left… You gave up.
She spoke as if I had abandoned her. In spite of her begging me to let her go, in spite of her eagerness to turn to the shifter already hovering in the wings…
She felt I had broken my word and betrayed her.
I could still smell her tears. Tears that welled in those blue eyes because of me. Because I hurt her.
Because I let her down.
Worse, there was nothing I could do to make it right, to undo it.
Ocella.
Fucking Ocella.
A fierce hatred lanced through me and I turned violently on my heel, scattering a spray of gravel against a nearby car. The chink of expensive paint chipping pulled me out of my spiralling rage and I ground to a halt, vibrating with anger, fangs down and fists clenched.
I turned slowly, taking stock.
A half-dozen cars, with VIP owners who would be pissed if I crushed their vehicles. A handful of weedy decorative trees, too flimsy to satisfy. The blank walls of the surrounding buildings, rising up around me like a prison.
Fuck.
Nothing to hit, rend or destroy.
I stared up at the open sky with longing before throwing myself bad-temperedly against the side of my car, a VW Jetta. The panel crumpled and the whole car rocked, setting off the fucking alarm. The wail lasted the microsecond it took me to yank the door open and silence it with my fist. Seriously tempted to rip the door off too, I settled for slamming it. Hard.
Fucking car. I hated the fucking thing. Inconspicuous, my dead ass. Fucking tasteless piece of shit.
I slumped against it, furious with myself, not the damn car.
Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut around her?
I barely had the presence of mind to say 'my feelings were'. Not are. As in my feelings are tearing me a-fucking-part. I growled, tugging my hair back roughly.
What the hell was Sookie doing here?
She had blind-sided me. Literally. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might visit Sanctum. Focused on my agenda for the night, I hadn't even noticed her a scant few feet away.
Seeing her again after I vowed to stay away from her was a cruel twist indeed.
I almost kept walking when she called after me. Then she made that 'interrogation' dig and I felt … remorse. When I agreed to talk, I planned to stay calm and leave Sookie in no doubt I was a manipulative high-handed bastard. Again. It was over. If she held me in contempt so much the better for me.
That was my spur-of-the-moment plan.
It was a shitty one. Calm? While she was hurling accusations left and right? Not fucking likely. I warred with myself, struggling not to reply, not to react. Not to reveal anything.
Like how much her nearness affected me.
I hadn't kissed her, but my mouth had hardly co-operated otherwise, letting loose far more than I wanted. When she accused me of only wanting her for sex, I was livid. Thank fuck I realised how ridiculous my angry retort would sound and shut the hell up, saving myself that small scrap of dignity.
To admit out loud that the only time she dropped her guard, the only time she truly let me in was after we'd… That during that dark time I needed every minute with her, needed to feel … That I didn't know how else to ask for the comfort I…
Fuck. I didn't even want to express that to myself.
I rubbed at my face roughly.
Enough. Enough allowing this insane vulnerability. I was done with this. I tipped my head back against the car and stared up at the stars. Emptying my mind, I focused on their cold unreachable beauty.
…
"Pam."
She blurred over from the door, where she'd been hovering in the shadows and said, "You should be inside."
"You didn't tell her."
She shrugged. "She didn't ask. Bill got to her first. I presumed she knew."
Reasonable. "Why did she think I'd taken Indiana?"
"She asked me where you were."
I raised an eyebrow. "She got back while I was with Bartlett?"
Pam nodded.
"I see." Pam hadn't mentioned it until two weeks later. Normally I'd be pissed, but I told her not to involve me with Sookie's protection unless it was absolutely essential and I was busy at the time. These nights I was always busy.
She side-eyed the dented car. "There will be others here."
As if I didn't know that. As if I couldn't be trusted to be on display. I needed a few minutes peace, not Pam's insolence. I said as calmly as I could, "Go check the club."
Giving me a sharp look, she walked away. As she got to the door Rory came out of it. Listening to their exchange made me want to hit something again.
"I see why you didn't tell her," Rory began. "She would have shot the messenger."
"Sookie doesn't react well to surprise," Pam said stiffly. "She's young, she overreacts."
"Pfft. She's headstrong and rude. But I see why you like her. She has spirit. Is he fit for company?"
Pam glanced back at me. "Don't piss him off. He has work to do." She slipped inside.
Rory's approach spurred me to lock down my emotions as best I could. She stopped when she saw the dent in my car.
"You really hate that thing," she said, eyeing me warily.
Her tense smile irritated me and I was in no mood to be subtle. "What do you want? Spit it out."
She came closer, bracing herself. "I owe you an apology. Sookie is here because of me. I asked Ariadne to send Amelia Broadway three invitations for tonight."
"Knowing I'd be here," I said grimly.
"Yes." She stood taller and looked me in the eye. "I knew Sookie was visiting the witch this weekend. I overheard Thalia mentioning it to Pam."
Fuck me. "Deliberately overheard."
"Eavesdropping is a terrible habit," she said without a trace of guilt.
"So is meddling," I said acidly. "I see you have a ringside seat."
She winced under my glare. "I really am sorry, Eric. I assumed the witch would bring her husband, not Quinn. Levi says the tiger is here as her guest."
"The witch does not like me. You know this."
She flinched, but inched closer. "I thought you'd be pleased to see Sookie. I knew you wouldn't have an opportunity to run into her otherwise."
"Wrong on both counts."
Her eyes widened. "Oh." She leant on the car next to me so we were side by side and asked quietly, "That interrogation she mentioned?"
My turn to wince. "It was … an interesting evening. Pam didn't tell you?" I was honestly amazed she hadn't, but grateful not to have endured the teasing in stereo. One of them was enough.
"No. Did it go better than tonight?"
"There was less shouting." I hesitated. Pam would tell her anyway. "She ... offered herself to me." Rory gasped and I clarified, "Only for a night. She was intoxicated."
"Are you–" I hissed at the sympathy on her face, and she dropped the hand she was about to put on my arm and grimaced. "No wonder things went badly tonight. Nothing stings a woman's pride like a man refusing to bed her."
If only that was all it was. She didn't know the half of it. "Perhaps this will teach you not to meddle without the facts."
She smirked a little. "I'm allowed to meddle with the facts?"
I groaned. I was off my game, leaving that open. "No. Definitely not."
She gave me a small smile and slid sideways along the car until our arms touched. "What did you ask her during this interrogation?"
"I'm needed inside."
She raised an eyebrow and gave me a cut-the-shit look.
I stared coldly back but she held the eye contact.
"Stubborn vampire."
"Infuriating fairy."
"Fine." She shrugged. "You can tell me later."
I growled at her.
She grinned suddenly. "I can always ask Pam."
I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling a flicker of amusement despite myself. "Spare me that, please."
I felt a light touch on the back of my hand. When I opened my eyes, her face was soft.
"You're unsettled, Eric. May I?"
The quarrel with Sookie had rattled me. I considered briefly and relented, turning my hand to take hers. She interlaced our fingers and her magic washed into me. She didn't let go until we were back in the club.
I needed her soothing. It was a trying night.
…
Ariadne showed me to the booth. I took the centre, speaking idly with Pam until Thrash and his wife joined me. We were both here to mediate the meeting, but Thrash wanted a word about politics first. The human kind, the kind that involved a donation.
Who better to ask than me? My coffers must be overflowing, judging by the numerous requests for funds I was sick of receiving. However Thrash's suggestion had some merit. It would be good publicity. And focusing on our conversation kept my attention off the bar.
Acute hearing was sometimes a curse. Sookie's voice was far too easy to pick out.
Salome* and Neb arrived. The two vampires were well-matched: both short, graceful and dark-skinned. They shared a taste for silk too: Salome was wrapped in chocolate brown silk embroidered with pink flowers. Neb wore a dark grey silk shirt and black dress pants. They nodded deeply to me.
I inclined my head. "Sheriff. Salome."
They slid into the booth to my right, Salome next to me, leaving the space next to the Thrashes for the packmasters.
Salome was slightly younger than me, but Neb was much older. Making him sheriff was a calculated risk. I hardly knew him, but Salome did. He was one of backers behind the Seven Veils. Having shunning the hierarchy for a century, Neb was reluctant to take on Area 3. Perversely that encouraged me to appoint him. That and Oskar thought him reliable, having known him centuries ago in the Old World.
I introduced Thrash. Neb watched me closely, his expressive brown eyes guarded. We were still fencing, feeling each other out. He was proving an excellent administrator and that was enough for now. I hadn't regretted my choice yet.
Ariadne brought those of us with fangs some of Sanctum's blood cocktails, synthetic laced with rare human types. Ethically sourced, she assured the Thrashes with a twinkle in her eye.
"Got any Long Island flavoured with Tea Party supporters?" Thrash deadpanned, raising a smile from Neb.
"David! That's in very poor taste," Thrash's wife scolded him playfully.
"I love a woman who wears the pants," Salome purred, smouldering at the female wolf.
"Oh honey, I don't go for submissives," Genevieve shot back, catching Salome by surprise. Thrash laughed.
Neb and I chuckled quietly. It was rare to see Salome wrong-footed in a game of flirting. I was sorry to see the politician's quick-witted wife leave when the packmasters arrived.
Clay Pellissier was black, barrel-chested and remarkably even-tempered for a wolf. His second, his nephew, was not. Hot-headed and not a fan of the fanged, he had already taken a dislike to Oskar, which was why I was taking Oskar's place tonight. And I provided a familiar face; Neb was unknown to the local packs.
The other packmaster, Mattias Laroche, was a scrawny, dark-haired Cajun. His second was a stocky woman. Mattias seemed neutral towards vampires, but Oskar advised me to tread cautiously with him. He was younger, lacking Clay's experience and restraint.
Clay's pack had been stronger of the two, but Swiftfoot ran out east of the city, in the wetlands towards Slidell. Katrina hit them hard. Laroche's pack ran out of Marrero, in the swamps south of the river where she'd been kinder. Lune de Sang, Blood Moon, were in the ascendant, their strength rising.
Neb wanted both packs on side.
Once the wolves were seated and supplied with beer, Malcolm traced the inlay on the table and chanted some Latin. The hum of other conversations faded, much to my relief.
"You have privacy, ladies and gents. Your majesty," Malcolm said, bowing before he left.
Neb explained his proposal: an openly supernatural tour company, daylight tours of New Orleans for families, night tours for the more adventurous. It was exactly the sort of joint shapeshifter and vampire enterprise I wanted to see. Neb already operated a swamp tour in Area 3 with the Lake Charles packs. He envisioned similar collaboration in Nola, but didn't have time to be directly involved. His idea was a good one and Salome had the experience to make it work.
On cue, Salome took up the baton. With extensive experience in the casino industry, she was perfect to run the vampire end of the tour. And Seven Veils had reputation for dealing fairly with its two-natured employees.
Clay spoke up first when she finished her pitch. "So you ain't looking for muscle. You want showmanship?"
She nodded. "Yes, exactly."
Clay's nephew snorted. "Want us turning tricks like circus animals."
Salome gave him a cool stare. "Performance is an art. Humans will pay handsomely to be entertained."
He folded his arms. "Yeah, and you'll cream off the profits."
"No," Neb said. "We're looking for investors. Put in the dollars; share the rewards."
The cub was not impressed, but Clay was chewing the idea over, watching Mattias to see which way he jumped. Mattias rubbed his chin and leaned forward. "Same return you get?"
"Yes," Salome said, Neb nodding to confirm it.
"Sounds good, Mattias," his second, Beth, encouraged. "Seven Veils pays great. My cousin works there."
Clay's nephew muttered, "Whole damn family loves deaders."
"Get over yourself, Ty," Beth said sharply.
"Me? I'm not the one too good for my own kind."
"What can I say? Chester was better in the sack than you."
The cub sneered. "Your husband know 'bout your taste for fangers, Beth?"
"Theo ain't threatened. He's a real man. Knows how to keep it in his pants, too. I guess you never learnt that lesson."
Clay gave his nephew a sharp look, but the idiot washing his dirty laundry in front of us was too busy snarling at Beth to notice. Clay grabbed his arm and growled, "Settle down, Tyrone."
Thrash cleared his throat. "Let's get back to business. What sort of investment are you looking for Neb?"
Negotiations began in earnest. All they required of me was an assurance of support, so I let the haggling over percentages wash over me, ignoring the faint teasing sounds from the bar.
Mattias was definitely hooked. Beth even named a few pack members involved in community theatre who would be interested. Tyrone glowered, sullen and disapproving. Clay didn't want to miss out, but I knew he didn't have the capital. I mentioned a foundation that gave out small business loans.
Thrash took the hint and elaborated on ways Clay could get financial help. Clay stiffened at the politician's advice – there was long-standing rivalry between Swiftfoot and Alpha One, the well-to-do Metairie pack Thrash ran with – but Clay grudgingly took down some details. If he swallowed his pride his pack would benefit.
Negotiations over, I traced the inlay on the table to unlock the ward. The sounds of the club washed over us at full volume, just as Sookie's laughter floated over from the bar.
Regrettably, I couldn't leave. Not yet.
I chose this venue partly as it was acceptable to all parties, partly so I could see and be seen. Every move I made was being scrutinised by watchful eyes. Two groups of vampires had arrived, and there was a known spy for de Castro amongst them.
They were all drinking Sanctum's expensive blood cocktails though, so at least my coffers were filling.
That was the other reason I picked the club: to check on my investment. Malcolm, Ariadne and Levi were determined to market Sanctum as neutral ground, hence my part-ownership was secret. Other species, the fae especially, would not find it comforting that I had a share in the place, even if I had given my subjects an edict not to cause trouble here on pain of silvering or worse.
Malcolm and Ariadne's wards would eject anyone who broke the rules anyway. No-one had been stupid enough to test them yet, but Levi assured me anyone who did was in for an unpleasant experience.
Rory – the fifth partner – had been confident that more adventurous fae would come for walk on the wild side, despite the vampire presence. A few bold souls were in attendance tonight, wearing the ingenious scent-dampening charms Malcolm had created to ensure they were reasonably safe mingling with us.
I caught Rory's eye across the room and she smiled. She was sitting with two dark-haired males and a blonde female. Her companions looked relaxed, but looks were deceiving with the fae and they were keeping to the other side of the club.
Malcolm arrived at our table with another round of drinks and the conversation turned to neutral topics. Beth and Clay bantered over sports teams with an air of friendly rivalry. Tyrone scowled into his beer. Salome and Mattias argued the merits of various sports cars, Neb listening quietly. Thrash and I compared notes on the BSA's latest batch of bureaucrats.*
It wasn't enough to hold my attention. Each warm laugh Sookie shared with the tiger stung a little more.
When the band played the first notes of zydeco, Beth asked teasingly if Clay's ancient bones were up to cutting a rug. The older wolf grinned broadly at her and they took to the floor with a handful of couples.
Including Sookie and Quinn.
Curious looks and a ripple of whispers from my loyal subjects made me regret one of my first actions as king: sending out Sookie's description with my decree of protection so none of them could claim ignorance of her identity.
That had definitely come back to bite me on the ass.
I'd almost attached an addendum saying no-one could think badly of her, in honour of a playful conversation we once had. I should have added a no-gossip clause instead.
Salome noticed what was attracting all the attention and said casually, "Your ex-wife dances well."
To my left, Thrash pricked up his ears. Fuck. Salome loved gossip, the more malicious the better. I needed to play it cool, steer the conversation to safer ground.
Sookie was dancing enthusiastically, flushed and smiling up at the tiger. I forced myself to watch disinterestedly, and said blandly, "Yes, she moves well."
Salome's eyes flashed with intrigue. "A good dancer, a good fuck, isn't that what they say?"
"Dancers might say that," I said carelessly, not looking at her.
"Oh, my liege, call a spade a spade. I wasn't a dancer, I was a whore."
Mattias choked on his beer.
She gave him a wicked smile. "A profession that meant neither husband nor father owned me. I commanded a high price for my," she paused to lick her lips, "talents."
Mattias gaped at her, stunned. Salome gave him a very predatory smile. Tyrone muttered some unintelligible Cajun that sounded distinctly derogatory.
Eyeing him coldly Neb said, "Whoring was a valued profession in my time."
Tyrone looked away, his disgust poorly hidden.
"Oh yes," Salome drawled, giving me an appreciative glance. "Especially valued by warriors. They were always my favourite, most enthusiastic clients."
Neb eyes lit with amusement. "They who deal death have a taste for pleasure. A taste you share."
I said, with a warning look right at Salome, "Or perhaps she shares their taste for danger."
Salome dipped her head briefly, accepting the mild chastisement for her blunt comment earlier. She raised her glass and toasted me, grinning, "Whores and warriors. Good together like blood and sex."
I chinked my glass against hers and took a sip with a smile showing a hint of fang to reinforce my point.
Thrash shifted uneasily besides me, drawing my attention. He was watching Tyrone, who was scowling at Beth as she danced with his uncle. Mattias saw it too and asked Ty how his wife and children were. Not the most tactful question given Beth's earlier comment about his straying, but it shook the angry wolf's focus from the dance floor.
Salome set her sights on Mattias, asking him to dance just to see him squirm. The wolf rose gamely to her challenge, joking that business partners that danced together made money together.
The zydeco music faded.
Quinn and Sookie stayed on the floor, but Clay had had enough. Beth's teasing about his creaking joints, and the shuffling as they resettled into the booth and Mattias and Salome left, provided a welcome distraction as next dance began.
A waltz.
How fitting.
The dance we shared at Rhodes.
The strength of my reaction surprised me, a ball of loss settling heavily in my gut. I shifted position, clenching a fist under the table and taking care to blank my face. I kept my eyes on Salome, following her and Mattias. As they passed Rory's table, our eyes met and Rory raised her glass to me. I nodded back, unsmiling. Damn her interference.
The waltz brought Quinn and Sookie past our table. I couldn't look away without being obvious, couldn't avoiding seeing his hand stroking the small of her back.
Neb stiffened beside me. He waited until Clay was regaling the wolves with a story about Beth's wild youth and said quietly, "That is the tiger that betrayed Sophie Ann to Nevada?"
Ah. "Yes. Quinn, the pit fighter."
He took a sip of his blood, flicking his eyes to the wolves who were embroiled in their own conversation. He said carefully, "You are magnanimous to allow him into your state."
I shrugged, and answered quietly. "Nevada lost control of the tiger's leash. Quinn is a free agent." Technically. Bartlett told me who held that particular leash now. It hadn't been tugged yet, so I doubted Quinn was aware of it.
"Free agents can be bought," Neb said. "Forgive my directness, Eric. It is many decades since I have been exposed to the cut and thrust of our politics. I am uneasy."
I nodded, understanding his caution only too well. "The tiger is not in a position to do us harm. He is here for a pack issue." Oskar was building bridges with the local packs, and judged it safe to admit the tiger. No vampire in Louisiana was likely to trust him after what had happened to Sophie Ann. We had long memories.
Neb sipped his drink, watching Quinn with an expression of distaste. "My people killed those who betrayed a queen."
"Alas, we must move with the times," I said drily.
He glanced across the table to the wolves, catching Beth's eye. "Yes. And not all shape-changers are disloyal."
"Not all of us are Tiger fans either," she said, winking at him. The male wolves were too engrossed in their discussion to notice her comment.
I chuckled. "I think you made a friend, Neb."
He nodded to her. "Yes. I foresee a profitable alliance with this one."
Beth grinned back, raising her beer. "Here's to that."
I glanced over the booths. Several heads turned away as I did, but I caught two younger vampires looking between Quinn and me with anticipation. I suppressed a hiss of annoyance.
One of them was recently turned. He seemed especially contemptuous of Quinn. Dark, hairy… I knew him. Ah, yes. Herve, Cleo's human. He was with her at Rhodes, when she pulled that arrow out of Quinn's shoulder. He had reason to be aggrieved: the tiger's subsequent betrayal led to Cleo's death. Herve saw I was watching him, stiffened and looked away. Good. He better not do anything stupid here. It would be a pity to end one so young.
As the waltz finished, Salome's flirtatious laugh carried across the room. I glanced over and smirked. Mattias was blushing. Unfortunately, they were standing close to the tiger and I couldn't miss Quinn pulling Sookie into an embrace. He sneered at me over her head.
I supposed I deserved that. There was only one way to respond.
Conscious of the eyes on me, I raised my drink and smirked broadly, as if to say she's all yours. His expression faltered. He looked down as Sookie pulled away from him. She thanked him for the dance with warmth in her voice.
Fortunately the band took a break and the two of them disappeared towards the bar.
Salome came back draped over Mattias, teasing him and complaining that waltzes were far too stuffy for her. Not long after that, the wolves made their excuses. I was moderately pleased. The meeting had gone well, and the relaxed hour of socialising afterwards was more than I'd hoped for. Oskar had been over-cautious about the local packs and their tolerance of us. He always was a pessimist.
Once our furry friends had gone my subjects demanded their share of my time.
I beckoned the younger group, including Herve, over first. The oldest was barely half a century. She made an unsubtle and falsely sympathetic remark about the tiger and my ex-wife – fuck, I hated that term – but wisely didn't push the issue when I shrugged it off.
Another, Herve's friend, made maximum use of the opportunity to waste my time, launching into a hare-brained real estate scheme. Fixing him with a steely glare, I dismissed them all with a flick of my hand. He had the grace not to mutter his discontent until they were back in their seats.
Reluctantly, I waved the older trio over. The youngest, an attractive slender male, was de Castro's spy 'Eddie', doubtless a false name. Milena, a sturdy blonde with Slavic features, had arrived from Russia after she heard Oskar had taken control of New Orleans. They had history. Becker, sandy-haired and boyish, had resided here since before Katrina. Always on the lookout for a way to feed his avarice, he struck up a conversation with Salome about Sanctum. He called it the club of the future, excited by the profits to be made. Pity. He'd missed that boat.
Older vampires were more patient. It was a whole ten minutes before they brought up the gossip dripping down everyone's fangs.
Milena started it, rather bluntly. "I haven't hunted tiger. Is it more challenging than bear?"
Neb said sharply, "We don't hunt the shape-changers here."
Milena looked to me. "If the tiger offends my king, it would be my pleasure to remove his head."
"There is no offence," I said. "And I remind you we are keeping peace with the shapeshifters."
Milena's pale eyes expressed confusion. "He was disrespectful to you."
This was the fucking problem with being king. Nothing was personal. Insolence to me was insolence to the throne, and new kings needed to suppress that ruthlessly. Other states were watching, their dogs snapping at my heels, waiting to see if my grip on Louisiana faltered. It was important to inspire confidence in my subjects.
"Yes. I would be offended if it was my wife," Becker put in.
Salome derided him. "It would be a miracle if you had a wife, you old queen. Such a miser. You wouldn't even spare a ring's worth of gold for a man."
Unruffled Becker insisted, "My point stands. If the tiger insulted me in such a way, he would leave with his tail between his legs."
"She hasn't been mine for years," I said casually, hoping to brush it off. "And the tiger has a habit of tripping over his own tail." One could hope.
"Of course. You traded up for Freyda," Becker conceded. He waited a beat for them all to recall how well that went. "But Freyda is gone. You could reclaim the blonde; a telepath is a valuable asset."
Milena's eyes widened, and she murmured, "Valuable indeed."
She hadn't known what Sookie was. Neb and Salome exchanged a glance, but I ignored them.
"She is under my protection," I said firmly, letting the power roll off me to reinforce the warning.
"Yes. We all remember your majesty's decree," Neb said. He looked first Becker, then Milena in the eye, his influence bearing down on them. His support was unexpected, and very welcome.
"Her talents could be used for the kingdom without harming her," Milena pointed out, unbowed.
I bit back a growl. I couldn't explain why I was allowing Sookie her freedom. Not unless I dropped Brigant's name, which required his consent and wasn't a good idea.
Instead I said calmly, "I owe her a debt from Rhodes, as do many others. And I have no need of her skills at present."
"As you wish," Milena conceded, but Becker frowned and opened his mouth to protest.
Fuck. Before I could think of a way to reinforce my reputation that didn't involve ripping off Becker's head, a movement caught my eye. Rory was crossing the empty dance floor. She came to a halt six feet in front of our table, smiling, her eyes fixed on mine.
"Care to dance, your majesty?"
Neb's eyes widened comically as the enticing scent of female fae wafted over us. Salome licked her plump lips, fangs peeking between them. Becker was openly gaping.
Rory was not wearing one of Malcolm's charms, and that wasn't her scent. Not that the rest of the table knew that. I coughed pointedly. Neb and Salome blinked at me, and moved to let me out of the booth.
I followed Rory as the band picked up their instruments and played a few stray notes. Once we were in the middle of the floor, I whispered low enough that only she would hear, "The scent is your blonde friend?"
"Yes," she whispered back. "Can you stand it?"
I nodded.
"Good." She cast whatever illusion fae used to change their appearance, and her features became breathtakingly ethereal. Eyeing my mouth, which was still fang-free, she leaned closer and breathed, "Your subjects doubt you."
I sent her a wave of frustration in reply.
"Let's change that. You tango?"
Oh, that would be perfect. I grinned. "When needs must."
She signalled the band. They started a bold rhythm, and she walked away from me with a matching sway to her hips, her dress swinging against her calves. I flicked my jacket open, admiring the view.
She turned around, beckoning me. I stalked towards her, until she put her hand on my chest. We circled each other, my eyes never leaving hers.
We stepped apart. I slipped my jacket off and tossed it aside carelessly.
She glided back to me and we danced a few steps together. She pulled away but I caught her outstretched hand at the last second, spinning her back and sliding my arm around her waist to slam her against me. She hooked her leg around mine, the slit of her skirt falling open, and she arched backwards, her hair cascading to the floor.
She lifted up effortlessly and I let her go. She was a fantastic dancer. I was beginning to enjoy myself.
This time I stalked away, just to see what she would do. She followed and pressed against my back, sliding her hands sensually around my shoulders and her bare leg up my side. As I turned to face her, she let go and backed rapidly away towards the band. I chased her, and she slid graceful to one knee, bowing her head. I pulled her to her feet and against me.
"How's my audience now?" I whispered into her ear under cover of the music.
"Green with envy."
Perfect. I glanced towards her fae friends as we turned. A pair of stormy brown eyes met mine.
Ah. Oops.
"Your date is ready to stake me," I breathed as I lifted her off the floor against my hip, and she kicked her legs.
"Date?" she whispered, sliding down my side and finding her feet without hesitation.
"Dark hair, brown eyes, pissed."
"Not my date." She was amused.
I assumed she wasn't attached to him and gave her a smouldering look. She gave as good back and turned away.
I pressed against her back, and she guided us across the floor towards the asshole. I let her lean towards him and pulled her away at the last second, taunting him. She turned to face me, grinning impishly as she wrapped her leg high around my hip. I slid my hand provocatively along her bare thigh just as she whispered directly into my ear.
"That's my son."
Astonished, I froze, abruptly conscious of her naked flesh under my hand. I recovered in time to tighten my grip as she threw herself backwards again, arching towards the floor. Her son was seething, glaring down at her.
Not easy to watch your mother dance like this…
When she flicked back up I took us back to the centre of the floor, but she whispered sharply, "Don't you dare hold back on his account."
She asked for it. Time for a big finish.
As the music crescendoed, I pulled her leg tight around me and used it to lift her off the floor. I dropped fang very obviously and dipped her as we spun. Rory didn't disappoint, arching her neck back with no hesitation. I lunged, pressing my mouth against her jugular, fangs retracting, just as the music ended.
Perfect timing.
The sudden silence was broken by a raucous whistle, followed by thunderous applause. A crowd of spectators had gathered along the glass mural overlooking the dance floor.
I set Rory on her feet and winked at her, sending her a swell of gratitude. Smiling, she kissed me on the corner of my mouth. I stepped back, taking her hand, and bowed to the crowd as she curtseyed.
I said quietly, "Better calm your offspring down; he's frothing at the mouth."
"Pfft. I'm long past mollycoddling him. He's almost two hundred. Time he accepted I have a life."
I laughed. "Good luck with that."
She squeezed my hand and let go. I watched her sashay back to her table, shaking my head. He was in for a tough night. Pam was waiting by the booth. She handed me my jacket and licked her lips. "You smell delicious."
Grinning smugly, I slipped the jacket on and adjusted my cuffs, revelling in the jealousy my audience was trying so desperately to hide.
"I see why the telepath is yesterday's news," Salome said. "The healer dances very well."
Milena stated the obvious. "She's fae. Half at least."
Becker added nonchalantly, "Higher status than a human telepath. And dripping with jewels. Those emeralds are flawless."
Greedy as ever, that one.
Watching me closely, Neb murmured, "A more talented asset too?"
"Perhaps." I was non-committal, but Rory had certainly proved herself on that front.
Eddie spoke up, with false concern. "She doesn't have a protection decree."
I raised an eyebrow.
De Castro would be a fool to try anything. Rory wasn't fragile and attacking her would only gain him more enemies. For a start, the treaties with the fae were active again now the portals had reopened. And she had Bartlett and Russell's respect already. As a healer willing to work on vampire, she was worth her weight in gold. De Castro would be vilified if he spoilt that.
"Miss Kingfisher hardly needs protecting," I said. "She's not human. Gentlemen, ladies. It's time I left."
They nodded respectfully. Good, my reputation was somewhat restored. I stopped for a brief word with Ariadne about the club, and then went out the back. Pam followed me.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "Neb had a point about Rory. She is a talented asset. And she knows how to behave." Fingers of her curiosity poked at me. Pam was dying to know what was going on between me and the healer.
So was I.
I ignored Pam's fishing, and threw my car keys at her. She caught them and scowled. "Is his highness above being seen in that piece of shit?"
"Exactly. Drive it to Oskar's. I'll meet you there."
"Fuck a zombie," she muttered as I leapt into the sky.
…..
I landed on a deserted rooftop halfway to Oskar's. Distracted, the comments about Rory rattling around my head, I paced the roof.
Rory had put her talents to use for me willingly, more than once. She understood how to play to an audience, how to play politics. She held some power over me – having thanked her, I carried her mark – but amazingly I trusted her not to abuse it.
I liked her. Sorcha wasn't a doormat. She was sassy, and challenging, and … she cared for me. Truly cared.
At first I thought that was some reverse saviour-fixation, that she over-identified with me after she experienced my torture second-hand. But as time went on, I realised there was more to it.
Not love, she wasn't in love with me.
At least I hoped not, that would fucking complicate things.
But … something.
She couldn't or wouldn't feed me her blood, but she did make more sense than Sookie. On paper. But Freyda looked good on paper and I wanted to rip her fangs out most nights in Oklahoma.
If only it was that simple.
That tango with Sorcha was just an act. An enjoyable act, but it didn't stir my blood. Or anything else.
No-one made me feel like Sookie did.
Sookie. Our fight.
I leaned against an air vent and swore softly. Not all those feelings were good.
Sorcha's meddling was fucking annoying, but all she did was pass on some invitations. I smirked. And she had bent over backwards, literally during that tango, to make up for her fuck-up.
My smirk faded.
It wasn't Sorcha's fuck-up. Things had fucked up between me and Sookie long ago.
Misunderstandings, the lack of trust on both our parts, our differences… Victor's death. Ocella. A whole slew of problems, in fact. Even if Sookie's feelings for me had been stronger, deeper… She wanted things I couldn't give. It was fucked beyond repair.
And it was a distraction I could ill afford when I had a whole state depending on me. I would let it die. The past was just that: past.
I shook myself. Time to deal with the present. Checking the streets were deserted, I took to the sky.
…
Landing on the roof of Sophie Ann's old headquarters, I waved the guards away and went down the stairs without any fanfare. Eventually they'd get used to my unannounced arrivals. I strode down the quiet corridors to Oskar's office. His door was closed and Pam was perched on a chair in the anteroom, looking at her phone.
"You took your time. He's just finishing a call."
I sprawled on the couch. This room held many memories from Sophie Ann's time. And recent ones, from a moonless night in February.
The blood had washed out of the carpet well.
I hadn't spilt much that night – only a few trigger-happy idiots eager to meet their makers. With several key vampires away at the Amun sheriff conference and plenty of inside knowledge, subduing Teresa's guards had taken only minutes.
Minutes that ended with Felipe's regent on her knees in this very room, my sword on the back of her neck.
I gave Teresa a choice. Lose her head, or surrender and I would help her escape Felipe's wrath. She chose to flee, leaving on the flight I had waiting for her. Back to Italy, to her maker, who would protect her from de Castro.
I expected she would. She owed Felipe fealty, but she wouldn't fight to the death for him. She wasn't the type. She was an officious bean-counter like Sandy Seacrest before her.
The takeover had gone smoothly. Simultaneous attacks in Baton Rouge, Lake Charles and Alexandria secured Areas 2, 3 and 4 without a hitch thanks to our excellent intelligence gathering.
That was Salome's doing. She and the Seven Veils cartel had grown tired of Nevada's rule after an attempt to muscle in on their profits. Madden had wisely left them alone during his regency, but while Felipe was recovering from his injuries someone in Vegas had gotten nervous and greedy.
A fatal combination.
Salome was very eager to get rid of the threat to her income. She whispered discontent in certain ears, noted reactions. She told me which rats would jump ship, which needed cornering and staking.
Of course, Area 5 was different.
Pam was away at the sheriff conference. She bitched non-stop about missing the fight, but it meant dear Felipe couldn't cry treason. Even better, Pam's reluctance to attend convinced Teresa I was still injured and in no state to defend myself, let alone stage a coup. In a deliciously ironic twist, Teresa ordered Thalia to accompany Pam, thinking that left me open to attack. In reality, it gave Pam a ferocious guard at the most critical, dangerous time.
My old retinue gleefully switched sides, joining with Rasul and his small force to hunt down the assassins Felipe sent to dispatch me. Once the state was secure, I summoned Pam home. She left the conference in a rush, obviously distraught. Everyone, Felipe's sheriffs included, assumed I'd been ended.
There was nothing Felipe could do about me summoning Pam after the fact. Not when he had so recently and emphatically set a precedent of honouring maker's commands over sheriff's fealty oaths when he released me to Freyda.
Ah, poetic justice.
And he didn't have an arm to wave about it. Literally.
I'd seen that for myself when I video-conferenced him to inform him I'd taken Louisiana. In case no-one had been brave enough to break it to him. Losing an arm made him cranky.
Flamboyant as ever, he was wearing a red silk sling over his stump. Watching him fail to contain his fury as he conceded the state to me – pending a ruling from the Amun council to make it official, of course – was a memory I would treasure for a long, long time.
Weeding out the last of his minions took a few weeks, but it was amazing what a large war chest and a network of allies could accomplish. It was quick and relatively bloodless, exactly what Louisiana needed: she'd suffered enough losses.
Now she needed a period of stability to bring older, more cautious vampires back, along with their money and strength. Good for revenue, good for keeping the jackals from my door.
To that end, I installed older powerful sheriffs: Neb in Lake Charles and Oskar in New Orleans. Rasul was rewarded with Alexandria, sparsely populated and suitable for a younger sheriff. Area 5 was somewhat under-powered, but Pam had Thalia and the rest of my still-loyal retinue and I had allies to either side in Texas and Mississippi, and a buffer to the north. Arkansas had signed a non-aggression treaty with me.
Red Rita. Not Joseph.
I was right to be wary of his relationship with Stan. Joseph had not been satisfied with the offer of Arkansas. Not at all. He had bigger appetites, setting his sights on Texas, planning to betray Stan and end him on the night of the coup.
Russell got wind of it somehow. An ex-lover in Texas or perhaps from Bartlett, who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The details mattered not. Even that major problem had been easily overcome. Stan's simple, elegant solution was to approach Red Rita and offer her Arkansas for herself, free of de Castro. She saw the advantages and agreed.
The way Stan told it, Joseph was still gaping in surprise when he severed his treacherous neck.
Amun had given me and Rita their official approval a few weeks after the takeover, taking a dim view of Felipe's protests and dismissing his petition for compensation. No-one liked having a clan outsider in charge of New Orleans, and my choice of Oskar for sheriff convinced them I was the right monarch to restore the jewel in Amun's crown.
Bluntly put, they missed the handsome tithes it had generated for them in the past.
Approaching Oskar had been one of my earliest moves. I sprung the offer on him in New York, in the ruins of his office, back in December. Right after he tried to end me, the latest in a long line of attempts that littered our turbulent history. From both sides.
We had just broken apart. I was crouched warily by the door. He was leaning on a dented filing cabinet, nursing a broken wrist.
With gritted teeth and a sickening crunch, he reset it. A second later I did the same for my dislocated shoulder. He pulled a silver dagger out of the ruins of the chair I'd been sitting just moments before. Wiping my blood off it onto his jeans, he glared at the slash it had put in my arm, already half healed.
We were still evenly matched. I had more reach and strength; he was slightly faster as he had fifty years on me. Not enough when I knew an attack was coming.
I broke the silence by offering him New Orleans. It took him by surprise. After a second, he barked out a bitter laugh.
"Is that meant to console me?"
"No."
He spat blood and wiped his mouth on his ruined sleeve. I pulled the chunk of shattered desk he'd tried to stake me with out of my side with a grunt, pressing down on the well of blood as the wound closed.
"Come back tomorrow," he growled.
I limped out without another word.
Our next meeting had been distinctly frosty, but a week later he accepted, agreeing to take Area 1 and Louisiana's upcoming seat on the Amun council. It gave him a reason to get out of New York. He'd been settled there for some time and I suspected he needed a change.
Too many memories.
Oskar's voice pulled me out of mine and back to the present.
"How did it go with the packs tonight?" he asked, standing in the doorway to his office. "Did Neb get what he wanted?"
"Yes," I said, standing.
Pam and I followed him inside to discuss the salient points. As always when the three of us met, Karin's absence loomed large, but none of us spoke of it.
...
Footnotes:
1. Salome is based on the vague description in the books, plus my imaginings. Not the TB version.
2. BSA: the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.
3. The tango was inspired by the film Take the Lead. I tried to do it justice.
If you didn't read Trust, you might be surprised that Rory and Eric seem so close here. Suffice it to say that their friendship deepened considerably during the six months Sookie was away.