Disclaimer: The characters found herein are the property of Charlaine Harris, and I make no claim toward them.
Chapter 11
There was no sound as his bare feet touched down with feline grace in the darkness behind Bill, his fangs ripping into the marble white, corded column of his neck, baring his thick jugular vein before slashing through it, spilling dark blood into the night. His nostrils flared, as violence raged in him, and his arms, like thick silver bands, circled and immobilized the smaller man, surprising him, crushing him. With a thrill, colder than the growing night, he listened as the arms he held, cracked like dry twigs beneath the tremendous pressure he exerted… the ribs, snapped, stabbing breathless lungs. He heard the gurgling, crippled cry that died on paling lips, and felt Bill's distress, as he struggled vainly against his death grip, his feet kicking, treading air, his torso twisting as he fought to extricate himself. The coppery, sweet scent of blood blanketed the rising breeze, and the beast in him rejoiced, as it tasted power, and clamored for final death. He snarled, his lips curling back over fully extended fangs, the desire to kill burning through him, thrilling him, nearly consuming him. He fought to rein himself in, even as he exercised his need to extinguish the ill-conceived insubordination.
He really wanted to kill Bill…
Instead, with another growl that careened off the trees, he took flight, easily hoisting his struggling burden, and drinking deeply from the gaping wound he'd made. Frigid February air rushed past them as they merged with the mounting darkness. Impatiently, the beast within slaked its thirst, forever marking its prey as his. He was resolute in the knowledge that there could be no challenges to his authority from his people, in the coming days, weeks, even if he must do this to safeguard against betrayal. Although Bill was a valuable earner, and warrior, when not trying to insinuate himself into Sookie's life and bed, he could cost him and his bonded their lives, and he would risk much, but not that, not now… He needed to indelibly reinforce the order of things for Bill and quell his outdated sense of antebellum chivalry, which could be their undoing.
And he still wanted to kill Bill.
Each cell was still on fire with the need to destroy, but he centered himself, as he'd done so many times in his existence, and focused on the big picture. Although he didn't need to breathe, he took a deep breath of sharp, cold air, and let it knife through his system, and as quickly as the killing rage had flowed into him, he let it edge its way out. He would not kill this night…he would not. With a thought, a mere shifting of will, he settled them down, effortlessly, in the cemetery, well beyond Sookie's property, amongst the shadows and the stones of the truly dead. He released Bill, who slipped to his knees in the damp grass, his arms dangling unnaturally at his side. He waited, almost dispassionately, watching the other man attempt to gather himself, make an effort to speak.
Bill's voice, when he found it, was a mangled croak, "You… don't love her, Eric. You tricked her… from… the beginning."
He shook his head in disbelief, and fought the urge to lash out again, and snap his neck, end this nonsense. A broken neck would heal, he reasoned, before squatting low in front of him, balancing easily on the balls of his bare white feet, his fingertips touching the cold earth below him. He lifted guileless jewel-blue-black eyes to Bill's pain-stricken, muddy brown ones.
"I am not accountable to you for my actions, Bill. I am your Sheriff. So, I tricked her in the beginning… with the bullet-sucking?" He shrugged negligently. "No one paid me for my pleasure, and pleasure, it was. Let's just say, I was…curious, and I wanted to know her. No matter…it is done. Understand, now, that she is lost to you, whether or not you believe that I love her-it is of no consequence to you."
Bill managed a snort, of what passed for derision. Is he asking for his final death? Testing my restraint?
"You will go home, Bill. And you will heal. This time. I make you no future promises, other than this one: I freely relinquish nothing that belongs to me …Sookie is mine." With understated irritation, he rose to his considerable height.
"She belongs to no one."
He laughed without humor, Bill's words again darkening his still dangerous mood. The beast demanded that he end it all, here and now. It was so tempting, and too easy. He glanced pointedly from Bill's face to his already mending throat. "Still fighting? We all belong to someone, and if you don't know that, you are a truly foolish man. You have much to learn, Bill Compton. She is mine, and will always be mine. We are bound closer than you can comprehend. Will you continue to pursue her? Will this be the cause of your final death?"
"I would gladly die for her." And so you shall…in time.
"And I will live for her. Who will be happiest? I know that you would die for Sookie, but for your sake, don't let it come to that. Hear me well, Bill, as there will be no second chances. At this moment, you serve my purposes by living, and serve you will. You will obey me, and respect the privacy of Sookie's home. When I am with her, there, in future, as I will be, I will not see or scent you near. And if you should hear her scream, during such visits…" he paused, a cold smile playing across his lips, "…your help, will definitely, not be required. Now, my patience has worn thin, and you have wasted enough of my time. Leave me." His dismissal was final, as was his tone, and the discussion, as it were, was over.
Bill eyed him, darkly, for a long moment and he watched the waning of the spark of battle in his subordinate's eyes, the withering of that suicidal light, before he lowered his head. He hoped that he recognized, finally, how close he was to the end of his existence, how tenuous was his position. He watched as he came drunkenly to his feet, and nearly stumbled against a grey marble headstone. His white face was lined with pain, and he grimaced when his hand tried to grip the slick marble. Defeat clear in every line of his body, Bill braved his icy stare, once more, and he knew what it cost him to say, "I will obey." He refused to be moved. His acknowledgement was an imperceptible nod.
He lingered briefly, watching him stagger towards his home, through the maze of gravemarkers. There was no need to tarry, because he knew that he would obey; he was compelled to do so, the blood had sealed it. Yet, he remained, his mind churning away, again studying the angles, looking at every possibility that would govern Bill's actions. He wasn't convinced that love was the sole motivating factor, this night. Nothing could be overlooked, and he would come back to this, but later, when his emotions were less affected. With that thought, he allowed the power of the bond between himself and Sookie to fill him, the sound and feel of her heartbeat to sharpen and throb, a live thing within him, her feelings to rush over him, rich and tangled with anxiety. Anxiety for whom? He frowned as he took to the sky for the brief flight to his beloved.
II.
I closed the door quickly behind me, even as I felt anger rise up in Eric like molten lava. I didn't want to think about how mad he was, but I couldn't help it. His feelings beat through the bond with a wild, intensifying rhythm. I couldn't separate his feelings from mine- I got angry, too. How dared Bill be so disrespectful! I slammed my fist against the back of the sofa, and as I did so, I could feel a swing in my emotions and somehow I knew that Eric was doing that thing he did to the bond that was like a damper; he was effectively shutting me out! My anger dulled and his feelings came to me in a muted form from that moment on, and I knew his anger was really worse than I'd imagined. Eric was over the top in most things, and this was no different. I was scared for Bill, but I forced myself to stay inside. I trusted Eric. I loved Eric.
I walked unsteadily to the kitchen, and took a TrueBlood out of the fridge and set it in the microwave for Eric. I made myself a cup of tea, hoping that the normalcy of the act would calm me, and take my mind off the confrontation between two angry male vamps on my lawn. The bell went off on the oven, and I jumped, my hand flying to my throat. I hated the weakness that I felt in that moment. With a little more vehemence than I wished, I placed the bottle on the table for Eric. Lifting my teacup, I began to pace, as the tea cooled, untouched in my hands. Eric would punish Bill, I knew. It was their way; he was Vampire and I wasn't entirely naïve. Not anymore. How he'd punish him, I didn't know; there was the rub. I just wanted it to be over, and so I waited, pacing near the sink, while the minutes passed slowly, or so it seemed to me.
I knew when Eric's anger receded, because the bond between us quickened with warm emotion again, and I sat down at the table, my legs momentarily weakened. A few minutes later, I heard him enter the front door, and drop what I believed to be the luggage, in the other room. I imagined his quick glance around for me. In the next instant, he filled the doorway of the kitchen, our eyes meeting across the well-lit room, mine discerning the dark remnants of anger in his, and… nothing else.
"Eric?" I felt awkward, unsure.
He paused in the doorway, his face implacable, his hair wind-tossed, beautiful and wild, his shoulders stiff, tense.
"Yes, my lover." His voice was cool.
"Has Bill left?"
"Yes." Cold. Colder than before.
"Thank you, Eric." I tried to pour my sincere feeling of thanks into the words, even as Eric seemed to lose patience with it all, his face becoming even more rigid.
"He lives, Sookie. Somehow, he is not as grateful of this fact as you are." I was alert to the censure in his tone. I tried not to bristle. He walked over to the table, picked up the bottle of TrueBlood, glanced at the label, and took a long drink, his eyes holding mine.
"Oh," and that word held a wealth of meaning, as it hung there between us. "It's just going to take him some time to get used to us." Who was she kidding? Bill would never accept Eric as her lover, and bonded. The chagrined expression in Eric's eyes mirrored her thoughts, as he lowered the bottle.
"Lurking amongst the shadows will not help him in this, and I assured him that this was unwelcome… and unwise. He knows that I will not tolerate further opposition to my authority."
I took a deep breath, and looked into my forgotten teacup, as I listened to the Sheriff of Area 5. His voice was like the business end of a sharp knife, all cold and dangerous. Anxious to have my Eric back, I faced him boldly, and said as earnestly as I could, "He'll just have to get on with his life, Eric. I don't want to be the cause of any more problems between you…"
"Sookie," he shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, "do not worry about Bill. I am his Sheriff and he will obey me. There is no other choice. You, on the other hand, have a choice, bond or no bond. You may trust me, or not." He was matter-of-fact, but I heard the fine edge in his voice. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before fixing me with a measuring stare. "What do you want, Sookie?" he persisted, his voice quiet, disturbingly so.
I took the opportunity to navigate away from the volatile subject of my ex, as I clutched the edge of the table with my hands. "Well, I don't want you organizing my life for me, Eric. You have to talk to me, and not just make decisions for me, o.k.?"
"That is what you do not want-I will make an effort to not organize your life, my lover," he assured me. My eyes narrowed slightly. Eric was forever a politician; he hadn't really agreed at all. Effort, my ass!
"What do you want?" It really sounded like who do you want…
"I want you to know that I trust you and I want to be with you, and that last night meant everything to me. As much as possible, I want you to talk to me about things that concern me-us, and not hear about them through Bobby. It may be petty of me, but he doesn't like me, and I don't really care for him at all, either. I know you've had a lot of years to get used to doing things your way, but this is just who I am-I can't change that. I won't." I'd gotten it all out, but I think I blew the effect with that crazy smile I do when I'm nervous. I couldn't help it.
Eric sat down in the chair across from me, stretching his long jean-clad legs out before him, and something akin to a sigh escaped him. "We are going to Europe," he whispered, his eyes unreadable, as he placed the bottle on the table before him. "That is," he added, "if you choose to go with me. You may decline, but I hope that you do not." His lips tightened and it was obvious, that this concession was difficult for him. Eric was the ultimate control freak.
"Alright," I told him, relaxing my hands atop the table. I took a breath. "You said earlier, that it would be a short trip. How long is short?"
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and his brows drew together, a sure measure of his growing displeasure. "Short," was all he offered once more.
"Did you get someone to work, in my place, for Sam?" He clenched his jaw. I couldn't keep a rival out of the conversation, I guess.
"Yes. He wishes you to call him before we leave." His appraisal was deceptively nonchalant. He was wired and I didn't need the bond to discern it.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I thought better of it. "I guess you've seen to everything. If you need me, and you think it'll help us, then yes, I'll go with you," I agreed. I wanted to…I had to…
Immediately, I could sense the air of victory in him, and with it came an easing of his tense shoulders, an ebbing of his residual anger. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he said, "Thank you," and I knew he meant it. He reached across the table and took my hand, tugging me to my feet. I rose and rounded the table to him, and he pulled me gently down into his lap, resting his head against my breasts. A little dizzy with the quicksilver quality of his emotions, I ran my fingers through his damp hair, pressing him closer, feeling something shift within him, right itself.
"Eric, is everything o.k.?" That feeling of impending danger and another struggle for survival crept over me.
"It will be," he said, his arm settling across my thighs. He inhaled deeply, as he rubbed his cheek against the softness of my sweater. "We must get ready to leave; the car will be here shortly, but-" He lifted his head, and his eyes met mine, and they were anything but focused on leaving. They were smoldering, hungry, and the blue was dark, depthless…I couldn't keep up with him! He pressed cool lips against the underside of my jaw, heating the blood beneath them, before they swept gently down my exposed throat, softer and gentler than I could ever remember. It was the gentleness that moved me, especially after the anger, the turmoil…This man was a study in contradictions…I made a noise of mixed wonder and pleasure, even as he lifted me, coming to his feet in one swift move.
My back was pressed against the wall in the next second, and his cool mouth was on mine, and every thought I had was wiped away. No glamour was more effective, no spell could be more binding than this impulsive, gifted man. I could feel his urgency, that quick flare of desire that leapt hotly in him and sparked through the bond, yet with unsettling patience, he drew my lower lip between his, his tongue following its contours. I squirmed against him, my hands rushing into his thick hair, pulling him closer, as he deepened the kiss on a mouth-watering groan. His hands skimmed my throat, my shoulders, cupped my breasts, his touch, tender… loving. His long index fingers and thumbs stroked the tips of my breasts, before pinching them gently, plucking them until they ached for more, until I moaned into his mouth, trembled against his tongue.
"I want you…now." His voice shimmered along my spine, its husky tremor, heating my skin, melting my insides, his excitement, a tangible thing, stirring the air, stirring me.
I hadn't realized that I'd closed my eyes, but I opened them, and let the impossible blue of his wash over me, caress me. I was left with no doubt in my mind at that instant that I was his and by some trick of fate, he was mine. It didn't make sense in a normal way, but in my world, where few things were likely to be normal, it was the only thing that did.
My lips found his throat, and I bit gently against its base, felt a deep groan, rumble through him. I did it again, harder, and he whispered my name, his fingers digging into my behind, scraping along the back of my thigh, my leg…I tightened them about him, while he ground his hips forward into mine.
I was already in that place where he took me, where the edges started to blur, and everything got all fuzzy. He was inching my sweater upwards, the deft fingers of both hands stroking my sides, my quivering stomach, while my heart knocked steadily against my ribs, its beat, loud and insistent. Our bond came fully alive and I was trembling, as his hands continued upwards, my breath escaping in little gasps.
His tongue dipped into my ear, his breath curling deliciously against the shell. When he bit down on the lobe, I felt moisture douse my core.
"Eric…Eric…" My heart went crazy again…I pulled him closer. He pulled away, and my eyes flew open.
"Damn!" he muttered, and seeing my bewilderment, he cupped my face, his touch strangely reassuring. "Our driver's here-we must go." So that knocking noise had been the door! I wanted to swear something awful.
"Right now? He can't wait, maybe ten minutes or something?" I didn't care if I was whining, every nerve in my body was keyed to him, and the promise of pleasure his hard body alluded to.
He shook his head, his mouth tight, and I knew he was fighting for control. His half-lidded eyes searched mine, and he whispered, "I'll make it up to you, my lover. But now, we must go."
