Disclaimer I don't own anything except my OCs, and most of them are heavily inspired by mythology.

"I have an idea that the phrase "weaker sex" was coined by some woman to disarm some man she was preparing to overwhelm."

Ogden Nash

Since coming back from Dallas (since last seeing Godric) Eric has been functioning at half capacity, drifting in and out of his normal routine and desperately trying to refocus. His maker's letter of farewell had made it clear that he wished to keep up the pretence of being truly dead in order to avoid being sought out, and the various condolences stung the part of him that screamed of what-could-have-been. Only three people on Earth know the truth: Eric, Pam (because it is nigh impossible to keep secrets from her) and Victoria Storm.

The mage is a burning presence at the edge of Eric's mind, sometimes happy and often amused but always consistently sad – the melancholia had taken a while for the Viking to pinpoint, but once he'd recognised it Eric had been surprised. Victoria has never struck him as someone who was grieving, but the last line of Godric's letter rings around his head: She is more than you know.

Now, as he walks into Fangtasia and is greeted with the unexpected sight of the woman in question sitting with a shape-shifter and two human children, the thrum of nostalgic pain trills through the bond as she leans close to whisper something to the red-headed girl, and Eric's eyes narrow. Something to think on later, he decides, and approaches the odd group.

'Merlotte,' he greets coolly, dropping into the chair across from him, 'I'm afraid two of your companions are very much underage to be here.'

'Er – yeah, sorry.' The shifter shifts uncomfortably at the Viking's unexpected appearance, shooting Victoria a look. 'Your waitress let us in. We need help.'

'Oh?' It seems Victoria will soon be in his debt once again – the idea perks the devious side of the Sheriff, but as though hearing the thought she leans forward to speak.

'There is a maenad in Bon Temps,' she tells them without aplomb, face blank and emotions raging through the bond.

'A maenad?' Pam asks, intrigued. With a sigh, Victoria reaches behind her to pull an old, leather-bound book from the waistband of her jeans and flicks through the pages idly.

'In Greek mythology,' she reads aloud, 'maenads were the female followers of Dionysus, the most significant members of the Thiasus, the god's retinue. Maenads travel alone usually through locations, seeking tribute to her god, Dionysus. If tribute is not given, she will leave the location in utter chaos by leaving all inhabitants under their influence which consists of uncontrolled sexual behaviour, loss of senses and complete intoxication. They own a set of talons when they are in their "frenzy" state where the talons possess a special poison which kills anything if clawed. Their name literally translates as "raving ones". In this state, they would have complete control over the human species where they would make them lose all self-control, begin shouting excitedly, engage in uncontrolled sexual behaviour and ritualistically hunt down and tear supernatural creatures to pieces, devouring the raw flesh or heart. During these rites, the maenads would weave ivy-wreaths around their heads or wear a bull helmet in honour of their god. (1)'

Eric's interest is peaked, but the shifter gives the woman a wide-eyed look. 'Where did you get an encyclopaedia of supes?'

'It's not an encyclopaedia,' the mage huffs, snapping the book shut and waving it expressively, 'it's a book on Greek mythology. And it says nothing about how one would go about killing a maenad.' Emerald eyes pin Eric in place as they land on him. 'Which is why we're here.'

The Viking quirks a brow at the demanding tone. 'Why should I help you?'

'I'm fairly certain it wouldn't look good if your entire Area was overrun with chaos, Sheriff.' Victoria makes a good point, but her attitude leaves much to be desired and he almost says so before Sam cuts in.

'We need help.' He gives the mage a quelling look. 'And hopefully someday I might be able to give you somethin' you need.'

'Oh?' Eric shoots Victoria a devious smirk. 'And will you give me something I want?'

Rather than fire back a scathing retort with a smirk, the woman glowers at him. It's a rather drastic change from the almost-camaraderie they'd shared in Dallas, and the anger flowing through their connection is more focused on him than it ever has been before. 'That depends on what you want.' She grits out, but the shifter puts a protective hand on her shoulder.

'We're not here to give you tribute, Eric.' The Viking quells the urge to snarl at the casual touch. Victoria is his – and he is possessive if nothing else.

'No, you're here to request my help based on a hypothetical future in which you return the favour. But you come here with your hands all over my human...' Merlotte edges immediately away from the mage '...and expect help from me even though we both know you despise vampires. Why should I do anything for you?'

'I-I didn't know...' He reaches for words to placate the Viking, but it's Victoria that sets her jaw in stubborn defence and replies for her friend.

'You claim I am yours,' her words are edged with displeasure at the very idea, but there is a hint of slyness in her eyes, 'and that means protection – it's an implicit promise. The maenad has killed two women already, both because she suspected they were supernatural. What do you think she'll do when she discovers me? Somehow, I doubt she'll ask me to come to tea.'

The air rings with the unnerving truth in her words, and Eric has to admit (if only to himself) that he hasn't considered the possibility that the raving one will attack Victoria. That, on top of the fact that the telepath under his control may come to harm, firms his decision, and the Viking settles back into his seat.

'I have no knowledge of this maenad creature, although I suspect it's the bull-headed beast that passed through recently. Right?'

Victoria and Merlotte nod in confirmation, and at his shoulder his progeny scoffs. 'That thing owes me a pair of shoes.'

'So can you help us or not?' The shifter asks. Eric considers him, considers his own options. Only an old and well-informed vampire will know anything of maenads, and though the Viking is loathe to visit the Queen, it seems the best option.

'I do know someone who might be able to offer something useful.' He admits slowly. 'Might… be able to.'

'Can we see your fangs?' The human boy cuts in fearlessly, and Eric lets the razor sharp teeth drop obligingly, almost chuckling at the way the child's sister flinches.

'Don't you like vampires, little girl?' He teases, as gently as he ever teases anyone, ignoring the bristling shifter and fully focused on the red-head who meets his gaze so brazenly.

'Our almost step-daddy hated vampires,' Eric raises a brow, 'but we don't.'

The boy nods. 'He went on a vacation with Jesus.'

'You make me so happy I never had any of you.' Pam announces dryly, and the words make Victoria's lips twitch into a minute smile.

'Oh, come on, Pam. They're funny.' Eric cajoles playfully. 'They're like humans, but miniature. Teacup humans.'

'I hate them.' She replies, slipping into Swedish. 'They're so stupid.'

'But delicious.' The Viking adds, and almost jolts at the sudden sharp sting that pinches at his abdomen that he only knows to be magic because of the scene with Nan. He looks at Victoria, only to find her studying her nails in an illusion of disinterest that doesn't fool him. So, she understood at least some of that – interesting.

'So can you call this other person who might be able to…' Merlotte's implied question brings him out of his thoughts.

'Yes. I will contact you as soon as I know more.' The shifter nods and stands, knowing he's being dismissed.

'Right. Thanks.' He turns to the children. 'We should get back to Bon Temps, kids.'

Victoria stands in apparent agreement, moving to leave as well. 'Yep. Bye, Eric. Pam, I'll call you.'

Momentarily baffled, Eric freezes. His progeny and his mage, friends? That's an unholy alliance if he's ever heard of one, but he regains his wits fast enough to speed to her side and leer down at her menacingly. 'You're staying here.'

'Why?' Sam demands – the mage merely stares up at him, eyes dancing with green fire.

'Victoria was correct in saying that my claim on her implies protection; I cannot allow her to go back into a town where she will be at risk.' And Eric has to smirk at the tidal wave of annoyance that surges from her, pleased when after a long moment it ebbs into resignation.

'It's fine, Sam,' she waves her boss off gently, 'I need to speak with Eric anyway.'

There is something ominous in those words – it doesn't help at all that he sees Pam smirk from the corner of his eye. Merlotte frowns, though. 'You sure?'

'Yeah, don't worry, I'll catch up soon.' Victoria tells the shifter, completely ignoring the implication that hangs in the air that Eric will not be letting her go promptly. 'Look out for Coby and Lisa, okay?'

The shape shifter glances hesitantly between Victoria and Eric, but eventually nods, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 'Yeah. You be careful too, cher.'

'Goodbye Ms Victoria!' The little boy calls back.

'Thank you for the flowers!'

Eric only notices because he's watching her intently, but the smile on Victoria's face is considerably fonder as she waves goodbye to the children. But it's gone the moment the door closes behind them, and when the mage spins to face him her jaw is clenched.

'I have a bone to pick with you.' She announces staunchly, and marches off in the direction of his office. The Viking looks to Pam in question, but his progeny only chuckles vindictively – hardly a reassuring sign. Nonplussed, Eric follows his mage (and not-so-subtly admires the way her backside looks encased in tight denim).

xXx

Stood in the centre of Eric's office, Loki looks about her suspiciously. Something feels... out of place; when the Viking enters the room behind her, she raises a hand in a clear gesture for silence and fills the room with her power. When it hits a small metal intrusion under the desk, the Æsir mage moves on soundless feet to reach under it, and pulls out a tiny listening device. She tosses it to Eric, mind racing, and it's only when the vampire crushes the bug to dust that she speaks.

'Seems it's not as safe here with you as you thought.' Loki quips, and the Viking shoots her an unimpressed look as he strides around her to sit in the leather spinning chair. She perches on the corner of the desk, enjoying being able to look down at him for once. 'And we both know I'm "yours" in name only, so you might as well just let me leave.'

'"Name only"?' He enquires, feigning disinterest.

'We don't fuck, Eric.'

'That is easily remedied – is that why you wanted to talk?' A dangerous smirk hitches the corner of his mouth as the vampire trails a seductive hand up her thigh. 'Do you want me, Victoria?'

'No.' Eric chuckles.

'Liar.'

'No, I mean: "No, that's not why I wanted to talk",' she corrects, rolling her eyes and prying the wandering hand off her leg, 'we both know I'm attracted to you.' There's really no point in denying it when he can feel her emotions clear as day, but there is a tinge of triumph in Eric's eyes when he replies.

'Oh, you certainly are.' He chuckles, but he settles after a moment. 'What do you wish to speak of?'

'Why is Lafayette selling V on your orders?'

Eric stiffens immediately. 'How do you know that?'

'I was with him when someone came round to buy some – Bill was there, too.' The Viking curses violently in Swedish.

'And what did Mr Compton do?' Is the dangerous whisper of a question, and Loki shrugs as though she hasn't realised his deadly mood-swing.

'Scared the buyer off, tried to intimidate Lafayette – but he's gone to see the Queen to ask about the maenad.' The Viking's jaw clenches, and he glances briefly at the broken remains of the listening device – suddenly, everything clicks into place in the Æsir mage's head, and she narrows her eyes. 'Holy crap.'

'What?'

'Your office is being bugged by the Queen of Louisiana – so she can keep an eye on you, so you don't go about telling anyone her secrets.' She leans closer, lowering her voice. 'Secrets like the fact you're selling V on her orders...'

A hand snaps out lightning quick to clap firmly over her mouth. 'It would be ill-advised to ever repeat those accusations, Victoria.' He tells her stonily. 'This is vampire business.'

The words light a fire inside of her, and Loki rips away from the gag with a growl. 'But it became my business when you involved my best friend in it, Eric.' She tells him. 'Why are you selling V? The Magister...'

'The depth of your knowledge of vampire politics is unsettling.' The Viking informs her, and, almost involuntarily, her anger cools at the stiffness of his shoulders. Eric knows exactly how risky selling vampire blood is – and is wary.

'If the Magister catches you, he would do a lot worse than make you turn a teenage girl.'

'I know.' He agrees, uncharacteristically solemn. After a moment of studying him, Loki sighs and lets it go.

'Just... be careful. And don't implicate Lafayette if you get caught.' The fire that had been building since she'd discovered what was going on at Lafayette's house is doused so quickly the black-haired woman suspects their blood bond has something to do with the easy forgiveness. But the voice of reason in her head reminds her that even before the bond she had been fond of the Viking, and urges her not to write off emotions because she's had his blood – Loki pushes the thought away, and gets back to business. 'So... the maenad.'

'I will call Sophie-Anne.' Eric declares stiffly, 'but I cannot let you leave to seek her.'

'Eric,' Loki smiles a little, 'it's been a long time since I asked permission for anything, and I don't plan to start with you.'

The Viking flashes to his feet, frowning down at her and coming to stand between her legs. Loki is acutely aware of her pulse speeding at the proximity. 'You said it yourself, Victoria – a mage would likely be a prize for a maenad.'

'Maryann is fixated on Sam – I doubt I'd even catch her notice.' Her eyebrows furrow at the intent look on his face. 'Why are you trying so hard to protect me when we both know I can take care of myself?'

'You are mine.' He insists, and the tense line of his shoulders tells her that's not the whole truth but Loki pretends not to notice.

'We both know that the whole "claiming" bullshit doesn't really include supes anyway (2),' she argues, 'any obligation you feel towards me is unnecessary.'

'You will stay here until the maenad is dealt with.' He insists, voice heated.

'You can't make me do anything.'

'I can!' Frustrated and stubborn and desperate to get back to Bon Temps, Loki slams their lips together. Eric responds immediately, coaxing her mouth open and twining their tongues together in a sensual dance that he has spent 1000 years perfecting. But the Æsir mage hasn't spent her four-millennia as a nun, so she brings her hands up to play with the short hairs at the back of his neck and barely reacts when his fangs drop, almost skewering her lower lip. Careful not to cut the soft muscle, she runs the tip of her tongue down the sensitive nerves on the back of one fang, and is immensely gratified when he gives a full-body shudder. The kiss is as much of a fight at their argument was, both parties struggling for dominance yet neither giving an inch, and the result is messy and unselfconscious and unbelievably hot, Loki thinks as an arm around her back pulls her impossibly closer to the vampire.

Eric's hands slide down, obviously planning to pick her up, but the black-haired bucks and sends them both stumbling into the Viking's office chair. Immediately taking advantage of her position straddling the vampire, Loki pulls back from his mouth, holding his shoulders against the back of the chair with her hands and a little magic.

'Let me leave, Eric.'

'Why would I do that when I could keep you here and fuck you until you scream?' He questions, voice embarrassingly composed in contrast to her near breathless words. The words send a bolt of arousal through her, and she pretends not to notice his triumphant hum.

'I'll go with or without your permission.' The Æsir mage threatens seriously, but he just chuckles.

'Then I will follow you.' Despite herself, Loki is a little amused at his unyielding will, but honestly could do without a Viking bodyguard. So, she huffs minutely.

'I'd rather you didn't.' She hops off of his lap, maintaining the magic holding him down and considers him seriously before leaning forward to press a brief yet firm kiss to his lips. 'For luck.' She informs him with a wink, and her magic whips her away from the office, from Fangtasia completely. Loki tumbles into the abyss willingly, mouth tasting faintly of blood and chuckling soundlessly at the thought that she just used seduction to out-manoeuvre Eric Northman.

She will have to tell Pam – the vampire will never let her maker live it down.

xXx

Stuck to in the desk chair by invisible bonds, Eric watches Victoria disappear from the room in a whirl of power that leaves him with his nerves on edge. When she is gone completely and the spell dissipates, he runs a hand through slightly tousled blonde hair. For the first time, he contemplates just how powerful the mage is, just how much she could accomplish with a mere wave of the hand: and he wants her so ardently for it that he very nearly grits his teeth.

Victoria Storm, he contemplates, may actually come to be considered his equal. It is a shocking thought. But not as shocking as that kiss he reminds himself – one moment they had been at each other's throats and the next ready to rip clothes off. Vampire emotions are pretty changeable, but it has been a long time since he's gone from so pissed off to so aroused so quickly. And then, for her to leave, completely disregarding his orders?

He should be aggravated, but the Viking in him revels in the challenge in her actions.

The vibrating of his cell phone in his pocket pulls him from his thoughts, and he whips it out. 'Northman.'

'Why the fuck,' Sophie-Anne fairly snarls on the other end of the line, 'was Bill Compton in my palace telling me of my Sheriff selling V?!'

Eric rolls his eyes at her dramatics. 'Your majesty...'

'I told you to keep it under the radar, didn't I? I should have you staked for treason.'

'I am sorry, my Queen.' The words taste terrible on his tongue. 'The discovery was an oversight, but I will take care of Compton.'

'See that you do.' She snaps. 'And move the blood.'

'Yes, your majesty.'

'And what's this I hear about a maenad?'

'It will be taken care of, I'm sure.'

'Good. And the mage?'

Eric almost snaps the phone in his hand in agitation – trust Bill to sell out. 'I have claimed her – she is under control.'

'Keep it that way. The last thing we need is a rogue magic-user on our hands. But tell me,' The Queen's ire halts enough for her to purr, 'does her blood taste as exquisite as I have heard?'

'It is delicious.' He lies without hesitation – admitting to not of having tasted Victoria would be as good as calling her unclaimed. Eric knows of Sophie-Anne's fascination with collecting rare creatures, and he wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

'Lucky boy. Maybe you could be persuaded to share.' His growl at the thought is not as quiet as he means it to be, and the Queen's answering laugh is a little mocking. 'Or maybe not. I'd forgotten how little you like to share with your toys, Viking.'

'...Apologies.'

'No need. Maybe when you're tired of her.' Her tone grows serious. 'Move the blood. Get rid of Compton. And have a nice night.'

'I will do as you ask, my Queen.'

'Oh, and, next time you find my bugs in your office? Leave them.' The click that signals she has hung up sounds through the office, and Eric resists the urge to launch the phone against the nearest wall is strong.

Suddenly, the maenad in Bon Temps is the last thing on his mind.

xXx

Loki materializes in Bon Temps Cemetery amid a stream of curses. Her return to the relative safety in Lafayette's home had been thwarted when she found Lettie-Mae alone and crying on the porch. The woman had stuttered out the story of letting Tara go and Lafayette and Sookie chasing after her, and it had taken everything in her to hold onto her temper. A quick jump to an empty and dark Merlotte's confirmed that her boss wasn't there either, so she had followed the trail and is exasperated to discover it lead straight to Sookie's home – Maryann's lair. Standing amidst aged tombstones in the warm Louisiana night, Loki considers the fact that she was absent for maybe three hours and all the people she cares about in the town have managed to get captured and/or hypnotised by a 10,000 year old Greek relic.

She isn't sure if she should lock them up for their own safety or smack them for their stupidity. But the Æsir mage walks slowly towards the Stackhouse home even though she is uncertain, filled with determination to deal with Maryann and get her friends back. She ignores the waves of dark power that breeze across her skin, the tempting scent of pure chaos that tries to suck her in and twist her into something darker. A maenad's thrall is about freedom – loosening inhibitions and indulging in the darker pleasures of lust and violence and debauchery. 900 years ago, Loki would have revelled in the wild, untameable destruction it wrought, but one thing she is certain of now is that freedom bought at the cost of your free will is no freedom at all, so she ignores the seductive whispers that curl around her like smoke and strides onward, ready to take action if need be.

Four thousand years of leaving humans largely to their own devices and one little town has me all up in arms. Loki has to smile at the thought, but the expression drops when she comes into view of the front lawn of Sookie's home. Most of the town is milling about, all of them black-eyed and more than half of them naked, dancing in circles around a huge straw figure covered in raw meat and smelling worse than a draug (3) in high summer.

But then she spots something that freezes her insides. 'Sam?!' Loki hisses under her breath, watching as the shape shifter gets dragged towards the house by Bill. The Æsir mage is so tense she has to reach out a tendril of power and dip into his head just to see what in Helheim her boss is thinking, and stills at what she finds there.

A plan. Make the maenad believe her god has come, then kill her. Simple, risky, but possibly the best chance they've got. Loki can work with that. A rag-tag group of musicians starts up the wedding march, scratchy and out of tune, and the maenad herself steps out onto the porch after a procession of Loki's friends – all of them possessed save for Sookie, who struggles in the arms of Tara's boyfriend.

The key to disguising oneself as average is the ability to blend in, and Maryann Forrester obviously knows this; she looks like any other woman in her 40's, with long black hair and delicate fine lines around her eyes. It is offset, though, by the long, vintage wedding gown she wears and the wreath of ivy on her head, and the effervescent aura of the ancient that seems to seep from every pore. The maenad is smiling hugely, genuinely pleased as those under her thrall chant for Dionysus – your typical bride on her wedding day.

If, you know, typical weddings included human sacrifice and pagan worship.

'Maenad!' Bill cries, stepping into view and staunchly ignoring Sookie's baffled shouts at the sight of her boss. 'I have your sacrifice.'

Maryann's lip trembles as she beholds the man she's chased since he was a teenager. 'Oh, my sweet vessel.'

'I offer him in exchange for Sookie.'

The telepath gapes in horror at her boyfriend's stoic declaration. 'No, she'll kill him!'

'Take her to the dead man.' The maenad declares with serene wave of the hand. 'She's served her purpose.'

'Bill, you can't let her kill Sam!' Sookie screams, grabbing for her friend even as she's shoved into her lover's arms, and Loki takes advantage of the ruckus to dart into the group of clamouring townspeople, all but unnoticed in the fray. Maryann strokes Sam's face tenderly, smiling as though she doesn't plan on literally ripping out his heart.

'Gentlemen, he's yours.' She instructs, and the watching audience cheer as they drag the shifter to a large wooden stake where they tie his arms above his head and rip open his shirt to bare his chest. The maenad moves to stand before the straw figure, bowing her head in prayer. 'Let us call forth our God.'

Everyone around her drops to their knees, and Loki follows suit reluctantly. Keen green eyes watch as Tara places an wine-coated "sacrificial" egg in the heart of the idol and a black-eyed Lafayette climbs up to position a bull mask at its head, and Loki takes a moment to think on how crude it all is. There had been a time when humans had made similar offerings for her family, but Loki had always abhorred the horrors carried out in her name – if Dionysus is somehow real, what would he think of this?

But now is not the time to ponder theology, and as the hypnotised masses begin to chant the name of Maryann's god, the maenad tells the story of Dionysus and his mother's sacrifice, and the shifter is bought before her.

'Sam!' Sookie cries out at seeing him, and her voice is loud in the face of the rapt silence of the townspeople. But Maryann only has eyes for her "vessel".

'Oh, at last,' she breathes, stepping closer, 'at long, long last: he is yours, my Lord.'

When Eggs steps up clutching a large, shining silver knife, Loki and those around her climb to their feet, and hers is the only face that isn't alight with anticipation – the Æsir mage knows the plan, hopes it'll work... but her gut is raging in protest nonetheless.

'Do it!' Someone cries from the crowd of possessed onlookers, and they are echoed many times over even as the telepath screams out in protest from Bill's arms. Eggs raises the blade over his head with both hands, mouth open in concentration and brings it down hard.

Sookie flinches. The crowd cheers. Bill's fangs drop at the violence in the air.

But it's Maryann and Loki who see what has happened first. Eggs, glancing confusedly between the clean knife and the unbroken skin of Sam's chest, attempts to stab again only to be met with a flash of blue as a shield of magic prevents the blade from breaking skin. It is familiar, and Loki's wide-eyed gaze snaps to the trivial rope bracelet that hangs from Sam's wrist – the one Loki had gifted to her boss without much thought and had charmed to protect the wearer from only the most fatal injury.

Oh, Odin. That's not good.

The maenad's face drops in confusion then just as quickly contorts in rage. Something akin to panic swell in Loki's chest – she can't remove the charm without direct contact, and it would be suspicious if she did so anyway. Maryann marches forward and snatches the knife from her minion, slamming the sharp end into a baffled Sam's chest, but it is futile. The onlookers begin to murmur in confusion, but they are silenced by Maryann's feral cry of rage.

'Who dares prevent my sacrifice?' She demands, and when no answer is forthcoming her lip curls and she throws out her hands. 'If I cannot have him, I will take them all.' Loki hears nothing, but those around her – everyone under her thrall – clutch their heads as if hearing something so loud that their ear-drums pop. And as the screams grow louder, the Æsir mage pushes through the crowd and comes to a halt before the maenad, mind working furiously on a new plan.

'It was me!' She cries, and ignores Sookie's gasp. Maryann pauses in the torment of the townspeople to tilt her head at the younger-looking woman. 'I protected Sam – it was me.'

'A... mage?' The maenad breathes a little disbelievingly. Loki nods in confirmation of the false assumption, unsure how she would react to her Æsir heritage. 'And a powerful one, too.' She steps closer, and a dangerous expression flickers over her face. 'You would make a worthy sacrifice yourself.'

'Probably.' Loki agrees, gulping at the sheer madness of the eyes she stares into. 'Gods usually appreciate power over poetry.'

Maryann smiles in sick satisfaction. 'Oh? You would take his place?' She gestures to the shifter, who has begun thrashing in his bonds at the notion. 'Do you... love him?'

'No. He's a pretty great boss, though – and a friend.' Loki moves closer to the shifter, leaning forward to peck his cheek in what the onlookers would take for a last farewell. 'Be ready to do your part.' She whispers almost inaudibly in his ear, and the words are enough to still his struggles. With a lingering, meaningful look, Loki turns back to the maenad, who is grinning.

'Oh, this is perfect,' she breathes reverently, twirling gaily on the spot, 'a willing sacrifice for my Lord – the strong and benevolent martyr. A mage would surely make him come!'

'About that...' Loki throws out an arm in the direction of the idol and her magic rips it apart in an explosion of meat and yolk. The crowd screams in shock, and Maryann gapes in mute horror as her precious offering is destroyed before her eyes before spinning to the culprit with murderous eyes. 'You're gonna have to catch me first.'

Loki turns and sprints full-speed down Sookie's gravel drive, dodging the odd hand that grabs at her and hoping against hope that the maenad will take the bait, will refuse to allow the insolence to stand. Her half-formed plan won't work if they stay in the midst of the maenad's minions, and she has to give her a convincing reason to abandon the site of her ritual.

And then Maryann bellows in rage, and Loki's heart trills in triumph even as she picks up her pace.

Gotcha.

(1) This definition was taken from Wikipedia, so I apologise if the information is not accurate according to Greek mythology.

(2) I'm not sure if this is canon, but the show and the books always made it seem like being "claimed" by a vampire was a bond between human and vampire that offers protection in exchange for blood. As most supes can take care of themselves (except Sookie, because that fairy is a serious danger magnet) I figure claiming doesn't really count – as OFC!Loki says.

(3) A draug is an undead creature from Norse Mythology, sometimes mistakenly identified as a ghost. It's essentially an animated corpse – a zombie – and they supposedly possess superhuman strength, can increase their size at will, and carry the unmistakable stench of decay. Hence, "a draug in high summer" as a good description for something that reeks.