A/N: This story hasn't been abandoned. I've been practicing with another to get my writing up to par after a two year break. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, the latest review prompted me to pick this up again, and I can't express how grateful I am. Thank you for being so patient with me, and please enjoy. :)
Just a stripper. She was just a stripper, and when the ripple of her death struck Eric, he had been in his office. Pam hadn't followed him. Instead, she climbed back into her coffin with no strength to stave off the drowsiness of the daylight hours. In all honesty, Eric didn't have it in him to stick it out either, but an unnatural shot of adrenaline and panic has taken his veins. All the while, the time rendered him powerless to do a thing about it. He was reduced to gaping at the wood grain of his desk, his forehead cupped in his palm. Droplets collected on the surface below him, seeping from his nose, ears, and eyes.
He had no concept of how long he had been awake now. Hours? Exhaustion swept through him, and the bleeding grew in severity. But he was stuck to his chair in deep contemplation. Chevelle had died, after an extended bought of terror and distress. He didn't have a heart beat, and no blood flowed in his body, but he had definitely been taken by some form of physical reaction. A thumping, or a drum. He knew it was a drum, but from where and how? He had been hallucinating. Battle cries of startling familiarity and a cacophony of rhythm that pulsed in his gut. His stomach was churning, and the man thought by some impossible chance that he had mysteriously fallen ill. Why?
Never before had he experienced such a startling discordant collage.
Calling Sookie was out of the question. For starters, how would he spontaneously have knowledge of her friend's well-being (or lack thereof)? He couldn't explain what he had done to her to the fairy girl. Might as well fall to his knees and beg her to nag him until he withered away into nothingness. Silver chains and a Prince Albert piercing sounded more appealing. There was Ginger, but she was incompetent. Dismayed as he was, Eric Northman was incapable of altering the situation in any way; especially if the jolt and sudden silence of the connection rang true. If she was already dead, it would do no good.
More importantly, she took the knowledge of setting up a legal blood bar and flavoring the girl with her. Pam was going to have a field day with this. That said, he still had one narrow choice. Now, all that remained was the pre-made injections that Ginger had informed him about. They were in a drawer in the office of Temptations, and the Human owner was not above falling victim to vampiric manipulation.
With a low sigh, the Viking pushed himself up and eased his way from the office. He would sleep. Somehow. Even without a true bond, the link of his blood influenced impractical emotions and gave him the illusion of actually being deprived of something he hadn't had to begin with. When the moon rose, he would go to that club and look around. Find the vials Ginger told him about. Send a portion of them to be analyzed. The man sank into his coffin and fixed the top on as though he hadn't accidentally shattered the hinges. Bill would suspect him. The moment people realized that the woman was gone, he would be their first guess. Sookie wouldn't be far behind the raven-haired vamp in her suspicion.
Anybody with a brain would suspect him.
When sleep finally came to him, he dreamed of his home. Of being human, and wasting his time away with errant flights of fancy and nothing more. Chevelle had been wrong about him, last they spoke. He wasn't like her. He'd never concerned himself with morality. Even as a human, it wasn't until reality slapped him in the face and set him on the road reserved for ruined men and adulterous succubi waiting to bleed anything with a pulse dry. It wasn't in him to consult morality anymore. It never had been. Between that woman and her morals, she'd done something to get herself slaughtered, and Eric took comfort in the fact that he could never fall victim to such a trap. He was older and wiser. Humans were child's play.
True to her word, Pam left for Georgia. Seeing that she would get no answers about his earlier surge of consternation, she hung up her prying and set off in her usual sweep of impeccable fashion sense and deadpan snarking. Bit back her thinly concealed concern. Once alone, Eric could focus on his next step. He left Fangtasia to Tara. Peeved as she was to man an empty club alone, only a low mutter opposed him, and he ignored it without so much as a single glance.
A line of people were shuffling into Temptations, and from over a mile away, he could detect a well-known aroma that triggered his fangs. It was in no way faint. When he found the source of the scent, the building beside the club with the prominent "No Fangs" sign, others had caught on as well. Eric was not the only one drawn to the massive dark stain that embraced the wall and gravel alike. No fewer than five others were there; sniffing the splotch. Watching, or displaying their lack of pride by outright licking the wall; newborns. They wouldn't be able to track that prey. Her body was gone, but that was undoubtedly Chevelle. Somebody had moved her, in broad daylight at that. It wasn't a vampire; of that, Eric was sure. And the photogenic woman could not have moved herself.
After staring for another moment, the Viking immersed himself in the crowd that streamed into Temptations. His first observation arched his brow. Not a single woman was at the blood bar. On the front of the register, a sheet of paper with the word "closed" scribbled in bold letters had been taped. Interesting.
At the first familiar face, a petite red headed woman that he distinctly recalled smoking at the bar before, he inquired about the lack of food.
"Chevy took off before we set up, so none of the girls are flavored."
It was simple enough to be stupid. Nobody else could do it? Even the owner, Angus, was baffled by Eric's sudden appearance. When the Viking glamoured the man, he found the same lack of information. Didn't know what happened. There weren't any flavors, because Chevelle hadn't brought them, and he didn't know how to legally set up a blood bar. Fantastic. So the sarcastic bitch was dead and she took her ungodly knowledge of blood manipulation with her. Just fucking perfect. Eric could not have asked for a better night.
Unspeakably vexed, he left the club, unsure of where to go from there. If the competition didn't have the bar, it was likely that his own business would come back in a matter of days. That was all they had over his fine establishment. Fresh air greeted the man, and a sigh that allowed relief and disappointment to merge into a single, indistinct mull of nothingness left him. Telling Pam would be a hell of a feat. She'd probably play it off. Act as if she didn't care anymore, since the problem had remedied itself. Just as Eric reached the sidewalk, eyes seemed to bore into him. He could feel himself under the scrutinizing gaze of at least one person, and the scent told him that he knew exactly who it was.
Standing in front of the "No Fangs" side, silhouetted by the bright yellow bulbs, two figures were exactly as he predicted. A certain blonde and her raven haired fool. As if he needed more to deal with.
"Eric," Bill started, but he cut into the speech before it came. Didn't have the time or the mind to entertain the bullshit that was flying at his head with startling speed.
"I know."
Sookie stepped forward, her hands cupping her mouth and nose. Glistened eyes and pinched brows that compelled him to sweep her off her feet and indulge himself in her blood. Not in front of Bill. Not while she could blast his face with scalding hot light. Maybe they didn't suspect him. They were mourning on their own.
"She didn't answer her phone all day." The drawl in Sookie's voice was deeper than usual. Strained as she forced it out and peered up at him.
That was right. They didn't know what had happened. He had felt it, but it wasn't natural knowledge to anybody else. Eric had forced a bond, and as a result, knew exactly what had happened. Only he was aware that Chevelle had been snuffed out in broad day light. But Bill was watching him through carefully calculated narrowed eyes. Would he go so far as to hire a human to off the woman? So Sookie stopped hanging out at the club, as he so detested? So Eric wouldn't catch onto him? Then again, he couldn't know that Eric knew. He had been nowhere near them as he'd forced his fangs into the woman's supple flesh and allowed himself the pleasure of taking in her shape in spite of her mild protests.
She hadn't wanted him at all. Not in the slightest, and even as she grasped his coat she pushed him away. It had been arousing, and all too enticing to deny. Especially when she had stopped herself from moaning into his ear. So close, yet deliberately cut off.
"Eric, what did you do?"
There it was. The push of accusation, when he was just as innocent as them. He contemplated telling them that it had happened in the middle of the day, but to do so would to reveal that he had taken the woman's blood against her will. Forced his on her. Then again... The dead couldn't speak. Whatever he said was truth.
"I'm just as perplexed as you, Compton." Holding Bill's eyes with how own, Eric assumed full confidence. Antagonism rung in Bill's stance, and Eric eyed him. His lips twisted into a smirk, then down in the mock display of a grudge that he couldn't control. He'd intended to grin. "She died today, while the sun was up." He emphasized the words as his eyes flicked to Sookie. Hoped that she understood he was innocent. "I thought that you did it; seeing as to how you don't want Miss Stackhouse here all night. That'd be convenient to you, wouldn't it, Bill?"
A deep seated scowl took the younger Vampire's features, and as Sookie breathed her question up to him, Eric captured his eyes with startling force.
"I do hope you didn't kill my Human. That would be unfortunate for you."
"Your Human?" Bill's rigid stance grew in force as he squared his shoulders with Eric. As if he had the right to size him up. Completely still, Eric peered at the man through perfectly innocent, icy eyes. Looked for some sort of conformation that Bill was behind the death of the woman he had waged war upon. But that was when he felt it.
She had died. She was dead. He was sure of it. Nothing pointed otherwise, and Chevelle had even been gone for the better portion of the day. His head turned to the direction of the gravitational pull, and he froze. Tried to feel the source out.
"You hurt her? You did this? Bill was with me all day, what did you do to her, you bastard?!" Sookie was ignored. She prattled on, but the Viking couldn't decipher her words. Fists pounded into his chest,demanding answers and attention, but he was immovable to Sookie's assault. What the fuck was happening? He felt her. He felt Chevelle, and she was terrified. He had to go.
"This is not a joke, Eric!" Bill's voice droned into the back of his mind, but Eric couldn't pay attention to it. Sookie was pulled away. Likely by Bill. Eric didn't know. Something amazing was happening, and they weren't even aware. Chevelle.
Wide eyed and without a second's notice, Eric disappeared on a pulse of air. Left both of the emotional idiots to confront a wall of nothingness as he set off into the woods.
