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Previously:

It only took me a minute to relay the rest of what I'd seen in brief detail, but with every passing moment, Eric grew more and more furious—cold, calm fury.

"Did you get anything else aside from the crowd drinking blood? A clear face, a name, anything?"

I thought for a moment, before nodding. "They were chanting a name, over and over. I think it was…Russell?"

The name had barely left my mouth before Eric was whirling around, clamping his hand around Crystal's throat, effectively stopping the snarls still emanating from her. She choked, still struggling against her bonds, hatred burning in her eyes. Eric's face was absolutely murderous; of all the scary moments I'd had with him, I hadn't seen that frightening expression on his face before. My instincts told me that I was missing something, a big piece of the puzzle, because this was no ordinary reaction. It had 'This Is Personal' written all over it.

I stepped back, wringing my hands, unsure of what to do next, until Eric spoke up.

"Miss Stackhouse," His voice was a deadly whisper, barely audible over the strangled sounds in Crystal's throat. "Put your hand back on her." I swallowed.

"I…I would really rather not." Delving into her mind had been taxing, to say the least; it was harder to dig through a Were brain than to keep human thoughts out, I had surmised after that little interlude. Besides, I wasn't too keen to be near the Sheriff when he looked the way he did. It was the first time he actually looked like he was something completely other than human. I knew I was seeing what it really meant to be Vampire.

"DO IT NOW!" He yelled at me, fangs glinting, his glacial blue eyes never wavering from Crystal's twisted features. I did as he said, albeit hesitantly and standing as far from him as I physically could. "Crystal, are you taking blood from Russell Edgington?"

She couldn't answer, but she could still think; a simple 'yes' floated to her brain, although I could tell she was trying desperately not to think about this man, Russell, feeding his blood to the Weres. I relayed that information to Eric, and he pressed on.

"Why? What is his purpose?"

Her answer this time wasn't so forthcoming; hazy, red-tinged images floated past. It wasn't cohesive, and I did my best to piece the information together.

"It 's hard to tell. I think…it looks like there's a bunch of Weres, getting amped up after drinking y'all's blood. Something like…a super army. It's like they're all soldiers under his control, but they're crazy strong." My eyebrows drew towards each other as I tried to dive deeper into her memories, searching for some explanation. I didn't know why a Vamp would want super-strong Weres, particularly since Eric had told me that the two species hated each other. Aside from that, and more importantly, I was curious why it enraged Eric so much; what had happened to make this a personal vendetta?

"I can't get anymore," I told him, sweat starting to prick at my hairline. My head was starting to hurt.

"Fine," He snarled, although to his credit, I wasn't so sure he was snarling at me, per se; just in my direction. "Pam, take her upstairs. I'll spend some time alone with Miss Norris." He hissed her name out menacingly, and dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I didn't think their 'alone time' would be enjoyable for the both of them.

I let Pam guide me upstairs and back to Eric's office. I sat heavily in the chair in front of it, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. I let my shields fall completely, and latched onto the void of Pam's brain. I noticed immediately a difference in…texture, almost, between her and Eric's brain. It wasn't a bad different, just weird. When my mind was simply open, there wasn't a difference, but when I actively sunk into their blankness, the feel was much different. Pam's felt almost like water—if water could be thick and dark. It made me feel buoyant, while at the same time still feeling dangerous; Eric's was like metal that had been sitting in the sun. It was smooth, strong, and warm. Interesting. I'd have to double check when I met another vampire and wasn't so mentally exhausted, but I assumed all Vamp brains would feel different to me.

It would be nice to meet another telepath, then we could compare notes. I smirked a little, amused by myself. I was content to sit in silence until Eric had concluded his business, but Pam had other ideas.

"So," She drawled, and I cracked an eye to peek at her, "You haven't asked any questions that we usually get asked by the few who know we exist. You're not curious about anything?" Her eyebrow lifted; Pam and Eric may not have been blood-related, but she certainly could have inherited the eyebrow-raising shit from him.

"Do you really care if I'm curious or not?" I shot back.

"No." She answered immediately in her usual bored tone. "But he could be down there a while, and I don't want to stand here twiddling my thumbs while I keep you guarded." I 'hmm'ed in response, thinking.

"Are there any parameters of things you won't answer?"

Pam cocked her head at me. "Anything personal to Eric. Other than that, have at it, princess."

I thought for a few moments. I figured 'Why is this so personal for Eric?' definitely fit into that category; I was sure I'd find out at some point. I decided on other questions.

"How old is Eric?"

"He isn't completely sure. He and Godric put him at around one thousand years old; he was a Viking when he was human."

Jesus Christ. One thousand years old. A millennium. He must have seen some really terrific stuff. Gran would just love to pick his brain, I bet. It boggled my mind, thinking he'd been around that long; then I realized, he hadn't just been around; he'd survived that long. If the past few days were an indicator of how his entire life had been, that was certainly a huge feat. Jesus.

I felt stupid, suddenly, for underestimating him as often as I had. He was clearly very clever, with more than a little instinct for self-preservation. I would really have to be on my game if I wanted to outwit him.

"So, he was a real Viking? Like, raping and pillaging and longboats with dragons on the prow?"

Pam's face went cold instantly. "Several things, Miss Stackhouse. First, Eric has never taken a woman against her will, and I doubt he'd ever need to anyway. Vikings were honorable people, and Eric was especially committed to that particular virtue. I would suggest not saying that in his presence, ever, unless you wanted a world of hurt brought down on you.

"Second, Viking was more of a verb than anything. His people went Viking, that wasn't their proper name. He's very touchy about that." I nodded, properly chastised. I thought for another few minutes, before deciding on another question.

"Who's Godric?"

Pam didn't even bother to open her mouth, she just looked past me as I heard Eric's voice reply. "Godric is my maker." I turned to look at him and was slightly horrified to see blood splattered on him. My stomach clenched at the implications, and my horror must have shown on my face, because he lifted one brow—like father, like daughter, I thought absently. "Don't worry, sweetheart, dear Crystal is doing just fine. She's just a little roughed up.

"Pam, Miss Norris will be guarded by our Weres during the day. I spoke with the Packmaster, and he assured me they had no knowledge of what Edgington is doing. She will be safe for the day. I will contact Godric tonight; we need a plan.

"For now, I'll be escorting Miss Stackhouse here back to her new home," I scowled at him, "The rest of the night is yours. Miss Stackhouse, follow me."

I huffed, but rose from my chair anyway, waving briefly at Pam, which she ignored except for a one-sided smirk, and followed him back into his car. He was revving the engine and out of the parking lot in mere moments.

I had thought the ride would be quiet, but a few minutes of tense silence in, Eric surprised me. "When I gave you my blood," He began, "And left you to your human moment, you felt many things. At the forefront was repulsion. Why?"

I stiffened. This was not something I wanted to talk about with him at all. Not now, not ever. I hedged around the question. "Well, drinking blood is gross."

He growled. "You're not telling me the truth—at least not the whole truth."

"Why do you even want to know?" I was genuinely curious why he was curious. What, did he want to know my entire life story? Instead of answering right away, he pulled into a dimly lit parking lot. He shut the car off and turned to face me; I mirrored him.

"Miss Stackhouse," He said, caressing my name like a lover. I shivered; no one had ever spoken my name that way. I hadn't thought anyone ever would, to be honest. It was a little thrilling, but I reminded myself quickly where I was and who I was with. "I am riding the aftereffects of severe bloodlust. I had enough blood stocked at the warehouse to keep me from ravaging you the moment I saw you, but," He stroked my hair back from my face, cupping my jaw, "You smell…so fucking sweet. I need to calm down before I fuck you right out of those clothes you're wearing, so I suggest you answer me."

Okay then. I wish I could say I was offended by him saying those things; after all, a proper lady didn't entertain those notions, certainly not with their kidnapper. But, I reasoned, Pam had gotten pretty offended when I unintentionally accused the Sheriff of being a rapist, so I doubted he'd do anything I didn't want him to.

The problem, I admitted to myself, was that he was insanely good-looking. He was a beautiful man, and he practically oozed sex appeal. The notion that he would 'fuck me right out of those clothes' made my lady bits clench, and to my embarrassment, I could feel myself getting a little wet.

It's not because it's him,I told myself, it's because it's the first time anyone's ever been so up-front about wanting that with me. It's just about feeling desired. You don't get aroused by your abductor, Sookie. Through with my self-chastising, I swallowed, trying to even out my heart. I wondered if he could hear it racing.

His eyes grew darker, his lids lowering slightly as he regarded me.

"Maybe you'd like that." His thumb traced my lower lip, cool to the touch, his other fingers holding me in place, gentle yet firm. I realized belatedly he could feel my response to his dirty talk and flushed. His fangs ran down fully with a small 'click'. "Maybe you want me to fuck you. You'd cum harder for me than you've cum for anyone; you would be begging me to take you, over and over, until the dawn called me away from you. And when I rose the next night, you'd be eager and wet for me. Is that what you want?"

I had been caught in his gaze, embarrassed by his frankness, fighting the heat that reddened my cheeks and the pulsing I could feel between my legs. It was tantalizing, the way he was so honest with what he wanted; and, boy, did he have a way with words. If he wasn't such a murderous jackass, I'd have been ready to hop into bed with him. As it was, however, I was able to bring myself out of my lusty haze; I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Absolutely not. I'm a lady, Mr. Northman, and I expect to be treated as such." I scooched as far away from him as possible, right against the door. He switched gears instantly, throwing his head back and laughing, deep and full. At least my rejection of his advances amused him. He turned the car back on, navigating back to the street.

"Answer the question, then."

I was confused for a moment, until I remembered what he'd asked. Oh, right, the blood and all. I squirmed a little in my seat, debating on if I was willing to go there, when inspiration struck. I had been more than willing to manipulate sympathy out of Alcide; maybe I could get some from the Sheriff. It wouldn't hurt, I decided, to try and finagle some emotional wiggle room; he would be able to sense I was telling the truth, too, which was a bonus. Maybe I should have felt guilty about being willing to use my own psychological wounds for such manipulative purposes, but I was nothing if not stubborn, and I hadn't yet accepted a life of captivity.

I cleared my throat and mentally bolstered myself, ready to launch into the sordid tale. Being willing to share it didn't mean it hurt any less.

It only took a few minutes to describe to him the violation I'd felt as a child when my funny uncle had began molesting me, compounded with being able to hear his disgusting thoughts. I tried to keep myself as separate from it as possible, but I couldn't help the tensing of muscles in my hands and belly as I stared the horrific details. I told him how I'd heard it in his head first, before he came after me the first time; how it had taken me a long time to finally tell Gran, who had run him off, threatening to kill Uncle Bartlett the next time he came 'round us. He listened quietly as I laid it all out, the pain, the guilt, the ensuing anger.

"I know the difference between molestation and slipping me blood; I know it's not the same. But it was still something done to me that I didn't consent to, didn't want. It just…it's a violation of my body." I swallowed the lump in my throat, grateful I at least hadn't cried during my tale. I did feel less burdened; I'd never shared the full tale with anyone, and although my heart felt raw, it felt like a good kind of raw.

We had pulled into the driveway of the safe house at this point, and Eric merely sat, staring out of the windshield, his brow furrowed. I looked down at my lap, my fingers twisting again nervously. I was almost afraid he would tell me I deserved it, or think I was disgusting and ruined, but he didn't. Instead, he started telling me about his family.

His human family.

"I was what today's society would call a Viking, although they misuse the term." I smirked to myself, remembering Pam saying roughly the same thing. "My father was a chieftain, a sort of king; I was his only living son, so I was to inherit the village if I proved worthy. I did have one sibling that hadn't yet succumbed to disease, an infant girl born to my mother.

"My father and I butted heads, as you would say; He wanted me to marry, to settle down and take his place. He was getting on in his years, though by today's standards, he would have been considered middle-aged. I'd put him in his forties, perhaps, at the time of his death. Mother was younger, although even in this century, women are cautioned against having babies that old. Late thirties, I'd say she was."

I was silent, listening to him, absorbing everything. This was the least eloquent he had ever been in front of me; but I could hear the rawness in his voice. A thousand plus years later, and I could tell it still pained him, this dark thing he was sharing with me.

"One night, while I was off doing what my father hated most—fucking the servant girls—my family's longhouse was raided by a pack of wolves. It wasn't until later that I realized what they were, those beasts that tore my family apart: Werewolves. They had massacred my family, leaving the rest of the village untouched. I found them, as my Father lay dying, his crown stolen, my mother and baby sister already cold in pools of their own blood." He was seething at this point, I could tell; his fingers were nearly crushing his steering wheel, his face a tight mask of anger and pain.

"Father told me what he saw; He told me everything. I didn't find out until later, when Godric and I began hunting them down, that the Werewolves had been fed a steady diet of Vampire blood. They are strong on their own, but they turn into crazed beasts once they're addicted." He fell silent for a moment. The space between us was thick with tension.

"Is it likely that this is the same person? Surely more than one Vampire in history has gotten himself a souped-up Werewolf army." I inquired timidly.

He shook his head. "Very doubtful. The blood is sacred; very few of us would share it this way, especially with mange-ridden mutts. Edgington is also well over three thousand years old"—I gaped at him; I could barely imagine Eric's thousand years, much less three times that—"So he would have been alive. I've never met him, otherwise I might have recognized him. Although there is some merit to this being too much of a coincidence."

I kept staring at him, waiting to see what else he would reveal. Disappointingly, he seemed to realize he had spilled his guts to unwilling captive and I could almost see Eric pulling himself back into his usual persona. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit disappointed; it was…nice to see the Vampire Sheriff humanized a little bit.

"Go inside, Miss Stackhouse. We are done for the night." I nodded and exited the car without saying a word.

Later, as I was laying in bed, trying to entice sleep to come to me, I began to detangle all the messy emotions today had stirred inside me.

Sharing with Eric what Uncle Bartlett had done to me, what he had wanted to do to me, had been simultaneously painful and yet freeing. Once the ordeal was over, after Gran had chased him off with her shotgun, we hadn't spoken of it much, and I had done my best to repress the memories. I had intended to make Eric feel more sympathetic towards me, make him malleable; but instead I just felt lighter, and begrudgingly grateful he'd been willing to listen and share my burden.

There was also the matter of him reciprocating. He was obviously more than just a bloodthirsty killer, despite my wanting to believe that's all he was at his core. He still had some humanity in him, under all that bluster, I was sure.

I didn't think he was trying to humanize himself to me, but I decided not to rule that out. I'd learned my lesson in underestimating him. But my gut told me that his confession stemmed from several places, and the biggest one was probably guilt.

Pam had told me he took great offense to being likened to a rapist; I think he felt bad about forcing his blood into me. Maybe not so much that he had to do it, more that it stirred those emotions in me. I think of all the things Eric didn't mind being seen as, a rapist was definitely not in that category.

It probably was also from needing to impress upon me the seriousness of the situation, and why he'd reacted so violently. I shuddered, burrowing further under the blankets, remembering the look on his face as he glared at Crystal. That was terrifying.

All in all, the day had been exhausting, emotionally liberating, and long. In fact, I had barely recapped everything in my head when my eyes snapped back open.

Did Bobby bring my throw blanket?

I hadn't bothered to look for it; in fact, I'd forgotten all about the little errand I'd sent Eric's dayman on. I scrambled out of bed and went in search of it.

I checked the living room first, slightly disappointed to see there was no blanket draped over the back of the couch. I went to inspect the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a bag on the island. I opened it up, and although I disliked Bobby, I had to admit he'd done an amazing job.

I pulled out a luxurious cashmere blanket woven in sapphire and icy blue; it was absolutely gorgeous, soft and vibrant.

When I leave, this is coming with me, I decided. I hugged it to my body as I padded to the living room and arranged it artfully over the back of the couch. Satisfied with my handiwork, feeling less alienated in this strange world I'd been thrust into, I went back to bed and slept.