Summary: In a world where Uncle Bartlett went too far, Sookie Stackhouse decides to embrace herself rather than bend to the townfolk's perception of normal. Years later, she saves a dense vampire from two drainers. Slowburn Sookie/Eric.
After Eric left, Sookie changed into her own clothes. She didn't wear jeans very often, not in the Southern heat, but sometimes an extra layer was needed. She could still feel Eric's hands all over her skin, the rough rasp of his callus' on the inside of her thigh, rubbing into her panties. Her blood broiled in her veins at the memory, and her stomach clenched, arousal simmering. Her heart stuttered out of time, forgetting the proper pace.
Pushing the memory away, Sookie wiggled into her favourite pair of jeans and then tugged on a dark tank top with a sweetheart bust. The jeans fit her snugly, clinging lightly to her curves, and the purple bra she wore under her top shaped her breasts wonderfully. She sprayed on her lily-scent perfume and rolled on deodorant. Then she pulled her hair up into a pony tail. After being covered in blood, Sookie needed to feel sexy and different from how she had in that moment.
Besides if she showed up in comfort clothes, Lafayette might just pass out and hit his head from shock, and how could she knowingly rid the world of his presence?
She was a smart enough to realise that staying in the place where a killer had broke in twice? Bad idea. She should have relocated after Gran, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to leave so many memories in the dust. It was dumb and sentimental, and far too late to change anything. Time travel wasn't in her gift bag of tricks.
It wouldn't take long for somebody to realise who she would run to. Tara lived with her mama, Sam was chilling with the Sandman, Jason was too obvious, but Lafayette would be able to keep it under wraps, and she needed his brand of flippancy right now.
Who else would chill out with her about the shit submerging the fan right now?
Dawson would be the smartest choice. He was a werewolf. Considering Eric's reaction, most humans (or near enough) couldn't come up against a werewolf and walk away in one piece. There were only three people who even knew Dawson's name - JB, Lafayette, and Tara. But he was in Monroe, and she needed to keep the bar running for Sam when he woke up.
At this point, Lala was already expecting her 'tanned ass'.
Sookie dug up an old sports bag of hers from when she used to play softball and packed several things briskly, including her Merlotte's uniform. As she was zipping up the bag, her telepathy twinged, and she paused.
And smiled at what she found. "Well, hello there."
Two werewolves and a blank void were approaching the house. She knew those angry tangles of fuckery from Dawson's - well, Anna's pack. Layla Seers, who threw an epic hissy fit the first time they met about a teenaged girl knowing about werewolves, and Andrew Marks, who liked her sarcasm as much as her cleavage.
As most people tended to be, they were older than Sookie, and terrified of Eric the Northman.
The vampire left one hell of an impression. She couldn't hear much information but she could feel their emotions, and a few snatches of images. Eric was snarling at them, his face like a volcano - hard as stone with lava boiling under the surface, ready to boil over and burn the werewolves to ashes.
There was something about Eric's anger that snagged her attention. She was hesitant to think about why he was so angry, and why it felt like more than rage at a failure. She had terrible instincts when it came to men, but she knew he liked her. However, she wasn't willing to bet on how much.
She would leave that guessing game to the moon-eyed teenagers.
Nothing could come of their little thing anyway. For her, there had only really been JB, but she was the greedy type. Not willing to share with every beautiful thing that catches his eyes. And she couldn't give him what he wanted from her.
A few moments later, her bedroom door opened to admit Andrew and Layla. Eric entered behind them, cool blue eyes observing the two werewolves disdainfully. Sookie was sitting at the end of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, elbows on her knees. She smiled with sarcastic mirth at them. "Howdy."
"Stackhouse," Layla said tersely. The woman was in her mid forties, brown hair greying in places, a scar running from jaw to cheekbone. It was such a little nick compared to decades of fighting. Some of those years had been spent in the Las Vegas pits.
Eric had chosen an excellent guard in her, so what had gone wrong?
Andrew, as different from Layla in personality as looks, smiled at her. There was an odd edge to the gesture, a guilt. "Hey Sookie."
There was no obvious sign of interest from Eric but Sookie could feel his attention, and it was plastered firmly on the small interaction. He must be curious about her ties to the werewolves. He knew about Dawson, but the werewolves were infamously close-lipped about personal matters, and Eric was hardly going to lower himself by actually asking something of a were.
The Nordic vampire made a noise in the back of his throat as he moved around the two werewolves. His air of a displeasure made Andrew stiffen but Layla made no sign of discomfort or further anger. She was a demon at poker.
"I expected you to have more competent friends," Eric remarked disdainfully, coming to stand beside her.
Thinking of Lafayette and Tara, Sookie laughed. "I coulda cured you of that misconception a while ago if only you'd asked after more than my cup size."
Eric looked faintly amused. It was an entirely arrogant (controlled) expression, exactly like the one he had given her in Fangtasia when they had first met. This was the sheriff of Area Five. There was a very, very subtle difference, one that even he may not have realised quite yet.
What? Andrew thought, astonished. She wouldn't . . . not with a fanger . . . bet she's a C, maybe a D . . . shit, Sookie?
Knew we shouldn't have let Dawson bring her before the pack, Layla thought in a more netural and coherent manner.
She spared a sarcastic smile for Andrew - of course, Eric would hire werewolf guards for the girl he was having sex with since he was such a nice guy - but gave Layla no indication of hearing her thoughts. Layla was smart enough to put the pieces together. She was working for Eric, a vampire, and she had never expected the werewolves to throw a party about it. They had the whole natural enemy thing going on, after all.
If shit came down on Dawson, she would have to deal with Anna for his sake.
Which would be fun, a tempermental werewolf in a fanatical hissy fit about vampires and a perpetually sarcastic telepath. A sitcom could only dream of that drama. She felt certain Eric would be amused by the idea. Maybe she could convince him to come with her, if only so he (they) could watch the werewolves get worked up.
Before she could ponder that further, Eric's voice - tense with barely stiffled anger - cut through the air.
"Earlier tonight, Miss Stackhouse was attacked by a vampire for the second time since you were hired to protect her, and yet you both claim to have no memory of this incident."
The second time? Sookie figured he meant Malcolm and his squicky sex slaves, but she certainly would have noticed Layla and Andrew without the cover of trees. No matter what experience they had, she hated the thought of them slipping past her notice. She had gone to great pains to be capable of defending herself, and the implications of missing two minds were chilling.
Andrew seemed to think somewhat similar because he swallowed nervously, guilt/fear/anger in his head. Layla was cool as ever, watching Eric with the eyes of a predator outmatched. It wasn't an undeserved expression. There was a stillness in Eric's posture, like an animal ready to pounce - and then he delivered a shock to the two werewolves.
"I assume you are both aware of Sookie's talent," he finished, contempt in his voice.
Andrew jolted, and Layla coiled up with tension, eyes darting to Sookie warily. She lifted a hand and waved, making the gesture perky.
"You're not serious," Andrew said, startled.
Eric's stony expression burned up, turning to a seething fury. His fangs snapped down with a sound like breaking bone, and he bared them threateningly. Andrew and Layla stiffened, just shy of flinching. "Because of your overwhelming idiocy, one of my most valuable assets was endangered. Before you are both dismissed from your duties, I am giving you one last order. Others who fail me are far less fortunate. Unless you would like to share their fate, it would be wise to obey."
A silence fell. Andrew's expression was tight, like he was struggling to hold something back, and Layla was unreadable. Unoffended by being referred to as an asset, Sookie flashed them a bright grin, and offered them her hands.
"Come on, guys. All you've gotta do is hold a pretty girl's hand, and think about your day," she said, drawling the words out with charm. Her accent thickened. "It won't hurt none. Worse case, you get a reason for all your paranoia." Sensing their continued hesitation, she tossed out another jab, "You ain't afraid of little Red Riding Hood, are you?"
Andrew shot her an irate look, but Layla was more focused on other things. "Both of us?"
"I want you to replay what you can remember from tonight - " As soon as the words left her mouth, their memories kicked in. She put her hands to her curving hips. "Wait, wait. Reel it back. Take my hand, and then start."
Sookie could feel Eric's gaze on her, drilling forcefully under her skin and into her nerves, tweaking her subtly into spilling everything he wanted from her. Not about to admit a lacking of knowledge in front of the werewolves. She wasn't sure if that was brains or balls talking.
"If I run through them at the same time, I should be able to pick up on any inconsistencies," Sookie explained in a bored tone, directing it to the werewolves but doing it for Eric. "Since vampires can't glamour two people at the same time, there should be some in any fake memory."
Memory was a tricky thing. Though she hadn't met a vampire since Bill, Sookie knew quite a bit about the effect of outside sources on the human memory. For starters, being glamoured had been one of her biggest fears when it came to vampires, so she'd bugged Dawson to tell her everything. Secondly, Tara's mom and her own mother were prime examples of how alcohol and drugs messed with memory.
"Our memory ain't been messed around with," Layla said sharply. "It's just gone."
"And how, exactly, would you know that your memory hasn't been tampered with?" Sookie said archly. Layla clenched her jaw, thinking fucking Stackhouse. "For all you know about today, I spent it sunbathing naked in my backyard, and smoking a bong."
Amusement broke through Andrew's fear, and he smiled at her, almost lewdly. "Did you?"
Sookie smiled back at him, sultry and sarcastic, but Eric's impatient voice snapped, "Enough."
Her dark eyes flitted to his briefly, and found a coldly impatient expression directed at the werewolves. She didn't buy it. The threat was real, but the reason wasn't. Between his interactions with her and basic common sense, she knew he had patience to outwait a damn komodo dragon for the kill. However, she didn't, so she let the train of thought drop for now.
Sookie turned her eyes back to the werewolves, offering them her hands, and shooting them a playfully challenging look under her hair. Andrew glanced at Eric and then swallowed before gingerly taking her hand. His skin was rough and dry, and his thoughts flooded through her mind. Like most people did when they learned about her telepathy, Andrew was thinking of what he didn't want to know, frantically trying to shove his secret to the back of his head.
He could smell another man all over his wife but he was afraid to confront her and risk losing his infant daughter in the messy divorce. So he got back at her by sleeping with her sister, who he had been with before meeting his wife. He was terrified of Eric killing him, of the things she knew now - and he had once looked at her when she was a teenager, all long blonde hair and curves and sassy charm - but he would never - if the damn fanger knew -
And then Andrew shoved an image at her, trying desperately to keep his thoughts from those secrets. She and Eric were in her bedroom. Her mirror image was smilling all the way up at him, dark eyes warmed, (his scent all over her skin, what the fuck?) and Eric was looking at her, like there was something - something relevant in her.
Oh, Sookie thought, feeling something small and warm moving under the protective curve of her ribcage. It wasn't love or anything ridiculous like that, but it fit their relationship perfectly. Value and respect and possessiveness and something not unlike friendship, not unlike trust.
And then she subdued Andrew's memories, dipping into Layla's head.
Layla's mind wasn't a nice place. If it was made of actual material, it would've been harsh steel and bloodstained concrete. She used horrific memories of that fighting ring like barbed wire whenever the older woman came into contact with Sookie. Today, Layla smashed an old memory into her head like a spear to the eye -
It was an office. A dark-haired man - vampire - was sitting behind a desk. Layla was standing behind him, a single evening of respite before she was forced back into the fighting pits, and set against a were-tiger, Quinn. On the other side of the desk, Eric was smiling, charming and very, very handsome in a white suit - and then - werewolves were bursting in - animalistic roars of fury, sharp white fangs, and blood - so much blood - werewolves losing control of their forms, sliding back into humans to die - and in the middle of the disjointed images was Eric, suit stained red, mouth hopelessly bloody -
Do you see? Layla thought fiercely at her. She hadn't been much older than Sookie at the time; an awful thing to witness for one so young. All dead but me - when you were no more than an infant -
"Nothing to see here," Sookie remarked aloud, trying to ignore the sickening swirl of her stomach - compassion. "How many of those werewolves were there willingly? For fun? All except for you and the others from what I've heard." From the corner of her eye, Eric shifted, the weight of his stare clinging to her persistantly.
"That changes nothing," Layla said firmly.
Unwilling to respond to that, Sookie simply arched an eyebrow, and said, "Annnd go."
It took a moment for them to realise what she was referring to, and then their minds responded automatically to the question, quick flashes of images reeling from their minds into hers. The two sets of memories matched up, from arriving at Merlotte's to take the night watch over her to following her home. The two had watched her walking up the steps to her house from the woods - Layla had been indifferent, but Andrew had admired faintly, and then there had been a scent.
Old and earthy, power coiling like an electric shock on their tongues. In union, the werewolves had risen, and -
Her telepathy hit something hard, bouncing off into a yawning darkness that yanked her violently down into the black. It forced itself down her throat, pouring down into her, like drowning in ink, only it was as thick, as dark, as motor oil. Thick and greasy and so deep, like falling and drowning and losing her mind all in one breath.
With a startled gasp, Sookie wrenched herself back into her own body with enough force that she stumbled backwards, and into Eric's hand. Her head snapped around, staring up at Eric, dimly aware of the strange slackness in her expression. The touch had startled her faintly, a brief prick of discomfort in the ocean of sharp disbelief and cracklingly cold alarm, verging on horror, that her glimpse had caused.
His strength pressed into the small of her back, steadying her and curling into the back of her shirt in an odd little hold. It felt like a rock, a lifeline, and she resisted the urge to turn into his body. He was close, suggestively so, but there was nothing like that in his serious face.
"What did you see?" Eric asked lowly, his blue eyes drilled into hers, driving the image - the feel - of all that endless darkness away.
"Honesty?" she heard herself reply, awareness returning slowly to her. Her big dark eyes blinked up at him. "I have no fuckin' idea."
A frown touched Eric's handsome face briefly, his grip shifting from the small of her back to her hipbone. He looked sharply aside, at the werewolves, while she dizzily studied his face. Such a hard, angry expression - always, except little flashes of more than amusement and arrogance and anger and lust. Tiny instants where it wasn't so hard to believe he had been human once.
Dimly, Sookie heard Eric's voice snapping at the werewolves like the crack of a whip - something about cleaning up their mess - and then they were alone. Her bedroom door was closed, and Eric was lukewarm against her side, hand forceful on her hip. He looked down at her, mouth parted ever so slightly.
He was such a pale man, golden-haired and blue-eyed and pale-skinned. His eyebrows furrowed faintly as he looked down at her - concern/amusement/ want - and she abruptly realised she had been silently staring at him for a few moments.
"Uh," Sookie blinked herself back, and groaned, detacting from him, rubbing the back of her neck forcefully. "I think I have the telepathic version of whiplash. Is my brain melting out of my ears?"
"No more than usual," Eric stated, and she grinned at him for that little jab. He stepped closer to her, easily breaching the distance she had put between them. He lowered for her, and stared into her eyes intently. Strangely, Sookie thought about the freckles she'd seen when he'd climbed out of her tub, and something warm swelled low in her stomach. "What was it?"
"Not a glamour," Sookie answered certainly. "And that is about all I can tell you. Whatever that was I'm simply delighted to say I've never come across it before." A shiver forced its way up her spine as she recalled the inky black abyss, and she let up the pressure on her neck. "They weren't lying, though. Their memory has been erased."
Eric studied her intently. "I've never heard of another supernatural being capable of altering human perceptions." There was no disbelief in his voice, however. He believed her. Relief weaved through her blood, deep and warming. "The creature, the woman, you mentioned some time ago?"
Confusion touched Sookie's face briefly before her dark eyes widened a fraction in realisation - "Maryann? I haven't seen her around since, and I doubted I made that much of a first impression that she decided to stalk me, then try to whack me."
She hadn't been that rude, had she? Sookie remembered being distracted while meeting the other woman. If anything, she had been less awful than usual, and well, it had been a while since someone had taken enough offense to her sense of humor to attempt murder.
Eric gazed at her, an odd occurrance in his blue eyes - emotion, something very nearly warm. "I did," he pointed out, an edge of sardonic humor in his voice.
Sookie felt a strange catch in her gut, a hitch of breath and a skip of her heart. "You knew about my telepathy," she said, trying to match his tone and managing it quite well. "Morticia Addams doesn't."
"You were able to sense her supernatural nature, perhaps she became aware of yours," Eric speculated. His eyes hardened, growing serious and forceful, locked unwaveringly on her. "You are no longer safe here, my tiny human. It would be best if you came with me."
There was no way he meant what she thought he meant. No way. "Where?" she asked carefully.
"I have no use for a telepath without a head," Eric said sharply. "The werewolves have proven themselves to be far more incompetent than I expected." There was the roughness of a growl in his voice, but it passed hurriedly, like a guilty secret. "I am offering you my protection."
And your guest room? she wanted to quip, but the words never left her mouth.
The intensity in his eyes was painful to look directly at, burning as bright and hot as the sun, but she couldn't advert her eyes from it. It was fascinating, and she felt echoes of his certainty rippling through her body. She liked Eric, cared about him, and it was a pretty damn sure way to keep her heart beating, which she was also rather fond of. It was such a huge gesture from him.
And Sookie opened her mouth, to say yes, only -
Only Sam. The bar. And Jason was messed up, and Lafayette was already expecting her, and Tara was being dragged down by her mama, and she didn't know Eric very well. The week felt more like a year, but she had never been trusting, so why break the best of her bad habits?
Her mind flashed back to the bathroom scene, the uncontrollable tornado of lust blasting through her, urging her to throw everything away and just let him have her, let herself have him. She had survived her teenage years with her knees mostly closed, but Eric just swept her away.
And that . . .
Good or bad, Sookie wasn't sure yet, but she had to keep an eye on the bar.
"I know I can't stay here. Hell - " she moved her leg back, under the bed, and hooked a strap of her bag around her ankle, drawing it out for him to see. "But I can't leave Bon Temps. Aside from Lafayette, I'm the only one with enough free hands to run the bar."
Eric was very still, stiff posture impossible to read. But Sookie could sense the thick displeasure rolling off his form at her careful refusal, and his eyes, so intense, had turned to stone. Then something dangerous crackled in the air, a stormy cloud that could cast an entire city into a terrified darkness.
"Will you go to the wolf?" The rough-scratch of his voice was dark and stiff, not bothering to hide his taunting distaste. In fact, his voice dripped with it. "I doubt Tray Dawson will prove a superior failsafe to your . . . friends downstairs." His eyebrow arched when Sookie shook her head. "Am I to assume you have a better idea?"
"That depends how you feel about lyin' to yourself," Sookie replied. "But it'll work for now." Eric's look deepened, pressing at her with a simple movement of his eyes, and remarkably, she played along. "I'm skippin' out to Lafayette's."
As she twisted her hips, going to grab her bag, Eric moved his head slightly to the side. "Lafayette Reynolds?"
Sookie's stomach span rapidly towards the ground.
"Jason?" she said, questioning his source of knowledge.
"I have no tolerance for dealers of vampire blood in my area," Eric stated, a hard warning in his voice. "Due to several reports of his non-violent methods of aquiring vampire blood, I am inclined to be merciful. However, it would be best for your friend Lafayette if he went into an early retirement."
The blonde telepath stared up at him, dark eyes wide with shock, and then she blinked, shaking her head faintly in numb surprise.
She knew Lafayette dealt drugs and worked several crappy jobs to keep his mama in a fancy hospital, but - really, vampire blood? It wasn't a million miles from selling human organs on the black market. No matter what, she couldn't help but feel a deep pang of revulsion as her mind flashed back to what the Rattarys had done to Bill, pinned him to the floor with silver and planned to package him up in blood bags.
And the smell . . . charred and burning flesh, fizzling like oil in a pan, smoke rising off his skin . . .
Lafayette could never do that, she knew. He was a good person, maybe not overly moral, but neither was she. Still . . . it settled wrongly with her, but she tried to push it aside. If Lafayette wasn't hurting anyone, she had no right to be judgemental along with every other person in Bon Temps.
Even if she thought he was being a goddamn idiot. There was no way selling vampire blood could've ended good for him. And he had sold it to Jason. It had been her dumbass brother's choice - and free will, choice, was a pretty big thing with her - but Lafayette knew better than letting a secret like that out to Jason. It was asking for trouble.
Her shock was numbed by a dizzy relief, one that twisted her stomach until she felt almost sick with it. She couldn't image the world without Lafayette and Jason. So many years of bantering with Lafayette, words bouncing off each other, and telling him things she wouldn't even consider confiding in Tara, and Jason, her big brother, who always had her back before anybody else's when it came down to things.
Those idiots. She should hate Eric for this, for not-quite-threatening two of the people she loved, but Sookie was too realistic to ignore the facts. If it had been any other vampire but Eric . . .
Her heart squeezed violently, terror and relief like a vice.
"I'll talk to him," Sookie promised, reaching up to release her hair from its pony tail. Messy blonde curls tumbled down her neck, stretching down past her shoulders, just brushing the small of her back. Her scalp ached faintly in relief, and she rubbed it anxiously. For the second time this week, she had to talk someone down before Eric had to get involved. "Jesus Christ."
Eric studied her, and then he shifted, hand curling around her elbow, pulling her hand gently from her hair. The contrast and the feel of his skin stole her attention away, locking it firmly on him. His hand tucked several messy, curling strands of golden hair behind her ear. Her skin prickled at is touch, somewhere between wariness and interest. Something tentative froze her to the spot, but she felt ready to recoil at a moment's notice.
There was something in the gesture - not tender, certainly not, but fascinated somehow. His thumb traced down from her ear, stroking the edge of her jaw, then coming down to linger lightly on her pulse. Her heartbeat was fast, like a humming bird, and Eric's eyes were on hers - not her throat, but her eyes.
Sookie thought that maybe he wanted to kiss her again.
Though her skin felt almost painfully sensitive, she didn't step away from his touch.
"Thank you for the flowers," Eric said, smirking humour weaving into his voice, not detracting from his burning eyes.
Sookie's mouth felt dry, but her voice sounded drier still as she quipped back: "Thank you for not killing my brother and my friend."
Instead of breaking the air between them, it deepened and continued to linger. His thumb rubbed a small circle on her pulse, like a promise of some kind, before retreating with reluctance. As Eric's hand returned to his side, Sookie caught it, and he went still. His eyes were powerful things, watching her with crackling intensity.
Sookie went to turn his wrist over, and Eric allowed her to. He was wearing a watch, a beautiful expensive thing. She ducked her head, blonde hair just brushing his arm, and read the time off it. It was only eleven at night, yet she already felt mostly dead with exhaustion.
What a damn day.
Releasing Eric's wrist with a faint squeeze, Sookie lifted her head. "I better hit the road," she said, grabbing her bag from the floor.
"I wouldn't recommend going downstairs," Eric cautioned, moving closer to her with that swaggering stride of his. His eyes flickered briefly to the window. She had opened it while he was collecting the werewolves.
Sookie abruptly remembered how they had gotten into the house. Her eyes widened a fraction. "Or I could do the sane thing and climb down the drain pipe like an incy wincy spider."
"That would be far more dangerous than allowing me to carry you," Eric stated, arching an eyebrow at her sing-song tone.
"I'm not dead yet, now am I?"
"To my growing surprise," Eric stated, continuing to eye her. Sookie laughed sarcastically at him, but when he ducked his head, she wrapped one arm around his neck, and let him lift her up, up, up into his arms.
She felt tiny and weightless pulled so closely to his chest, held so effortlessly in his arms, and she wasn't sure how to feel about the sensation. The bag settled in her lap, and his hair was as soft as she remembered against her arm. He The wind whipped briefly at her hair, stinging her skin lightly, and then she felt a jolt going through Eric as his feet hit the floor.
Eric bent his knees a little further, allowing her to recoil from his grip, as she always did, unease bolting instinctively down her spine. Her sneakers welcomed the ground cheerfully, and she shifted away from him. Eric walked her to her car, sitting outside the front.
Eric stood stark against the dark sky, golden-haired and exceptionally tall. The wind rattled through the night, sending her hair aflutter in the breeze. "Bill will be brought to trial tomorrow," he told her.
"And you'll have to go with him?" Sookie finished for him. From Hadley's many arrests, she knew how many people tended to be hauled in as witnesses to petty crimes - let alone murder.
It was likely to be a few days before she saw Eric again. The knowledge settled strangely within her, an oddity under her skin, in her mind.
"Yes," Eric answered simply.
"Will you tell me before you leave?" Sookie wanted to know.
Before she could recoil from what she had just said, there was a shift in Eric's expression. The hard stone of his face flickered. The hard crease between his eyebrows disappeared, his mouth softened slightly, and she knew, instinctively, he wouldn't have loosened around another.
"Yes. I will come to you," said Eric, after a moment. As he gazed down at her, neck bent, there was something troubled forming in his face - a micro expression that Sookie would not have caught without adrenaline in her blood, sharpening her eyes. Eric opened the car door for her and, as Sookie climbed inside, closed it behind her, large hand resting briefly on the door frame. His smile was clouded, finely-sharp and reflexively flirtatious. "Remain safe, Miss Stackhouse, and do try to let your guardians catch up with you."
His eyes, Sookie saw, didn't so much as flit away from her - but Eric's attention lingered with the wolves in the woods, foreboding.
Lafayette opened the door, looking her over with a low whistle. Sookie, ever the show-woman, twirled around, letting him see her fully.
"Damn hookah," he exclaimed, dragging the words out in his supposed astonishment. Her friend was wearing purple silk pants without a shirt. To her amusement, she saw that he was still wearing his make-up and leopard print do-rag. "You look like you oughta been ridden hard and put away wet."
"Funny," Sookie remarked as Lafayete shifted aside, moving into his apartment. "I feel like shit."
"You look like sex," Lala assured. He lowered his head, beautiful brown eyes twinkling. "You been havin' some fun without me, honey child?"
Sookie smirked back, a wicked glint to her dark eyes. "If I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been."
Lafayette laughed, teeth flashing in amusement. "I think that old fucker just turned all the way around in his grave."
"Well, it's better than any country dancing," Sookie said cheerfully.
"True dat," Lafayette agreed. "You wanna throw your shit down, so we can start this par-tay?"
Sookie aimed her bag for the couch, and hit her mark perfectly. As much as she loved Lafayette's flippant nature, she made a mental note to warn him about Eric - only not right now, in the morning. She could tell Lafayette was on the wrong side of five shots, not exactly up for listening to her warnings.
"Mind if I shower first?" Sookie asked, reaching up to grasp the back of her neck and roll her head back slightly. Her muscles were sore.
"Knock yourself out, baby," Lafayette said. "You know where everythin' is."
As teenagers, Sookie and Tara had spent a lot of time in Lafayette's apartment. It was a nice getaway from life. Unlike Gran, who, while willing to try anything once, loved them too much to let them risk damaging themselves, Lafayette didn't mind them drinking. To Sookie's lingering shame, they had helped him decorate the place one summer, and failed to convince him that leopard prints were a violation of nature.
"Thanks," Sookie said, moving towards the shower. Before she reached there, she paused. "By the way, Lala? Nice pants." She nodded down at the purple silk with a grin. "Very pimptastic."
Lafayette wiggled his hips, opening his arms to present himself, and she battered her eyelashes at him attractively before turning on her heel, walking away. Fetching two hooker red towels from the closet, Sookie used one of them to cover the (soundless) web camera hidden in Lafayette's bathroom. Even though she trusted Lafayette not to post the recording, she didn't want to risk the camera being a live feed and end up with her tits broadcast all over his website.
Also? It was just ick.
It had been a while since Lala had warned her about the camera, so she could only assume there was only one. Just in case, she stripped down to her bra and panties before climbing behind the shower curtain. Then she slipped out of her other clothes, flinging them out of the shower, and removed her necklace. Finally, she turned on the shower, tilting her head up to the spray. The water was cold at first but it warmed up quickly enough.
Just as it did so, a sudden burst of music from the bathroom floor startled Sookie. It was her cell turned the shower off, squeezing and twisting the excess water from her dripping wet hair. Wet feet padding across the bath, Sookie stuck an arm out of the shower, grabbing the towel off the closed toilet seat.
She wrapped it around her chest, rubbing her hands over her cheeks, slicking her hair back before pulling it over her shoulder, resting on her towel-covered breast. She stepped out of the shower onto the bath mat, wiping her hands and wrists on her hips before ducking down to grab her cell from her jean pocket.
"Speak now or forever hold your peace?"
"Sookie," someone gasped in an accent like her own. It was a woman's voice, high enough to suggest someone under thirty and frantic enough to catch her attention instantly.
"Who is this?" Sookie asked.
"It's - it's me, Hadley."
An explosion went on in the back of Sookie's mind. Her dark eyes went huge, eyebrows shooting up her forehead, mouth parting. "Hadley?"
"I don't have a whole lotta time, so listen good!" her cousin said frantically. "I mean it, Sookie, you gotta listen to me! I messed up, and I'm so sorry, but they're comin' for you."
Her blood turned to ice. "Who?"
"I didn't mean too!" Hadley cried, like she had spat out an accusation. "I was all homesick, and she was interested, so I kept goin' on. I thought maybe I could come see y'all if I pushed enough, so I told her everythin' she asked - every damn thing I knew about all those tricks of yours - your mind-readin' -"
"Hadley - "
"The vampire Queen of Louisiana. She's powerful, Sook." Hadley sounded fragile and close to tears. "Real powerful. She set someone down to Bon Temps for you."
"Bill Compton," Sookie heard herself say, voice flat.
There was the hitch of a sob from the end. "You were always so damn smart, and tougher than an alley cat. But you gotta play along, Sook, 'cause if you don't he'll drag you to New Orlenes, and you won't never see anybody from Bon Temps ever again."
Sookie felt overwhelmed. Her paranoid suspicions about Bill were right, and Hadley - her cousin Hadley, who she spent so much time thinking was maybe dead - was alive. Her stomach, already twisting sickeningly, worsened. But for how long?
"If she finds out you warned me - "
"She loves me!" Hadley cried, a fanatically convinced note to her voice. It was an ugly sound, like the scream of every woman in an afterschool special about abusive relationships.
"Look, Had -"
"She won't ever hurt me, Sook," Hadley said breathlessly. "She loves me."
"If you're so sure, why are you callin' me, Had? Why ain't you askin' her to let this drop?"
"She loves me," Hadley repeated forcefully, like saying that enough times would make it true before her voice went shrill with distress. "I'm so sorry, Sookie. Promise me you'll play along, and you won't tell anybody about this."
Things were happening so fast that Sookie's head span. It was only reflex that fuelled Sookie into asking any questions at all. "Is there anybody else involved in this?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Promise me, Sookie."
"Hadley, please - "
"Promise me," Hadley begged desperately.
For a moment, Sookie was frozen, so many memories darting through her mind. Hadley had always been closer to Jason before things had gone bad, but they'd had their moments, and they were blood, cousins. She loved Hadley. Frankly, the idea of Hadley being close to a vampire Queen was horrifying. But she knew Hadley.
Hadley believed someone loved her. Like Tara, she had chased so desperately after that for so long, and she wouldn't give it up no matter what. They had all grown up too poorly for that.
". . . okay."
"Thank you, Sookie, thank you, Sookie -"
And then the dial tone was in Sookie's ears.