Warnings: Angst, slash, bloodplay, violence, torture, sex. If you're mature enough to watch True Blood, I think you'll be fine reading this.
Disclaimer: True Blood belongs to Alan Ball and the SVM books belong to Charlaine Harris. Only the original characters are mine.
Thank you for all the kind comments and for all the fave stories, author and story alerts. They're much appreciated and make me smile every time.
A pair of black jeans smacked Eric in the face and he woke with a start.
"Put these on," Pam ordered briskly. He glanced down. He'd fallen asleep in blood spattered clothes. She tossed him a black shirt.
He obediently put the clothes on, and the shoes that followed, putting a pair of gloves to protect his hands from silver in his back pocket. Properly dressed, he saw that she was wearing a similar black outfit, though he noted hers all had designer labels, while his still had Wal-Mart price tags attached. Typical.
"We'll drive," Pam said briskly as he pulled his shoes on. "Get close to the house and walk through the woods at the back. You know the layout of the place. I'll distract the wolves and you'll get Godric out."
"We can't just fly there?"
"Too much to carry." She scowled, disgusted. "I don't want any of those filthy animals back in the club. We're killing them all." Pam dropped a heavy duffel bag on the desktop. She smiled, so pleased with herself that her fangs were out.
"Pick your favourite."
Eric looked in the bag and then raised an eyebrow. It was full of guns. Rifles, shotguns, handguns, and plenty of ammunition.
"Pam, how very American of you."
"I don't want to ruin my clothes." She smirked, but quickly became serious. "I haven't been able to find out much else," she admitted. "We already knew that Russell's court scattered when he went nuts. I don't think we need to worry about them."
"So it's just the wolves then?"
"Yes." Pam picked out a couple of handguns, testing their weight. She put one back and picked out a rifle, frowned thoughtfully, but then selected a pair of Glocks.
Eric didn't care for using guns – I guess Godric's one-on-one style rubbed off on me - but he selected a semi-automatic Smith & Wesson. They can come in handy, he reflected, securing it to his belt.
Much to Eric's annoyance, they took Pam's car. Even if it was more practical than his Corvette, he hated being in her car because he wasn't allowed to pick the music. He was forced to listen to Michael Bublé the whole way. At least she's not singing, he thought, grateful for small mercies as he glared at the radio.
The slave quarters were close to the main house, he knew that. I'll be able to get there by flying. He didn't foresee any major problems. Thanks to the gun, he could take out any werewolves at a distance, and if needed, use his own strength to take out any vampires. Hell, if Sookie can break Bill out of there, it should be pretty easy.
In Mississippi, Pam headed for the woods behind Russell's mansion. Downwind from the mansion, standing among the trees, they could smell the wolves. A howl rang out, maybe a mile or so away. The pack was still on the property.
The breeze sprang up, bringing a variety of new scents. Eric focused, trying to identify each one.
"At least thirty different wolves," he said grimly. He'd been hoping there'd be less. There might have been a faint trace of Godric's scent in the breeze, but Eric wasn't sure if it was real or imagined.
Pam's fangs ran out, her eyes bright with excitement. "Shouldn't be too hard then."
"Try not to die, Pam."
Pam flashed him a brilliant smile. "Good luck."
Then there was a faint whoosh as Pam took off, moving swiftly through the woods, expertly carrying her guns. Eric stayed put, listening attentively. He didn't have to wait long.
He heard two gunshots and the thumps of the two dead wolves falling to the ground. When the first howls started, he launched himself into the air, going as fast as he could. Beneath him, he saw the wolves, some running towards the gunshots, others turning in nervous circles, tails between their legs, and a couple were so out of it that they weren't even paying attention, just wrestling with each other playfully.
He dropped to the ground in front of the stone hut that Russell had used as a prison for Bill. No wolves stationed at the entrance and there were no vampires around. As quietly as he could, Eric pushed open the door.
"Godric?"
Eric didn't see him at first as the hut was divided into two rooms. It might have housed people once, now it was just storage. Dust covered statues, cushions, tables, and paintings filled the first room. Rows of torture devices made of silver hung artfully on the walls. He moved through the archway to the next room. There were the splattered remains of a vampire on the floor. For a second he thought he was too late and then remembered Lorena.
Eric looked up and froze, rooted to the spot in sheer horror.
Thick silver cuffs around his throat and wrist held an unconscious Godric tight against the wall. Silver stakes had been pressed into his feet, pinning him in a stiff sitting position to the floor. His left shoulder had been dislocated and his arm twisted up unnaturally, a silver stake in the palm of his left hand. Another silver stake had been driven through his right shoulder, piercing his collar tattoo.
His chest had been ripped open and a silver chain was wrapped around several protruding ribs. Someone had broken his leg, the bone visible, and there were chunks of missing flesh all over his body.
As he listened to the silver continuingly hiss against Godric's skin, Eric realised there was no blood in the room. The wolves hadn't wasted a drop.
"I'll get you out of here," Eric whispered, trying to decide how he would free Godric by causing him as little pain as possible.
Pull the stakes out, starting with the feet, he decided, pulling the gloves on. The cuffs would keep him upright at least. He gripped the one on the left and jerked hard. It came out easily, and he looked up at Godric's face, wondering if he might open his eyes. When he didn't, Eric hurriedly stood up to take the next one out.
He yanked, but this stake wouldn't yield so easily. Someone had pushed it in extremely deep. Godric's skin hissed again and Eric wanted to scream in frustration.
"I am going to kill them for this," Eric muttered.
Within a few minutes, he'd removed all the stakes. He automatically went to remove a stake from Godric's right hand, but there was no need. Godric wasn't just missing his hand. His arm had been torn off at the elbow. It looked like it had been gnawed on.
Eric carefully began to unwind the silver chain from the bones, concentrating on the motion of the chain to avoid noticing the hiss of burning flesh as it brushed against Godric's insides. Someone had pushed it deep into his chest cavity. The flesh still burned and the chain came away with lung tissue.
All through this, Godric hadn't woken up, and Eric was glad for that. If Godric was unconscious, then he wouldn't be able to feel anything.
He heard Pam scream suddenly and his head snapped up. He could hear her outside, maybe thirty yards away. She was swearing and he could hear wolves surrounding her. She screamed again and this time it cut off abruptly.
"Pam?" he yelled.
No response. Just snarling wolves.
"Go help her."
Eric swung around and saw Godric gazing steadily up at him. Someone had bitten off his right eyebrow and the white bone of his skull was visible.
"Pam can handle herself," Eric began, but Godric cut him off.
"Help her," he whispered, his voice faint and hoarse, but stern. When Eric went to protest again, he added, "As your Maker, I command you to help her, my Child."
Eric glared at him, but had no choice. He ran outside and looked around. Pam had fallen between the driveway and the hut. Fives wolves darted forward, trying to get her blood. She kicked one away, but another grabbed her arm, shaking its head as it tried to pull her limb off.
"Get off her," Eric snarled. The gun earned its keep and all five wolves were dead seconds later. He bent down beside her.
"Fucking silver bullets," she rasped, writhing in pain. She had one in her leg, her abdomen and chest.
The bullets would come out, but it would be agonisingly slow, and until they were out, she wouldn't be able to move. No time, he decided. The gloves had to come off, they were too bulky to allow him to grip the bullets easily, and he stuck his fingers in her leg.
He grunted as he pulled the silver bullet out. Pam shrieked.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Be quiet," he hissed, dropping the bullet and flexing his hand, waiting for the skin to heal. He wasn't sure where the one in her belly was. "Pam, where?"
She was still young enough that going through the motions of breathing helped ease her pain. As he waited for her to answer, he looked around anxiously for this mysterious shooter.
She twisted, touching a spot close to her kidneys. "Here. Close to the skin."
He nodded, steeled himself, and pushed his fingers in through the clean side. He gave her his wrist to dampen her screams. Pam bit down hard, gazing up at him eyes full of pain.
He could actually see the bullet in her chest; it had gotten stuck in a rib bone. At least I'm able to take that out easily. A few seconds later, she let go of his wrist, his blood trickling down her chin.
"What did I tell you about dying?" he scolded affectionately, holding her carefully as she healed. Finally, Pam was able to sit up on her own.
"I don't know what you were so worried about," she said and despite his concern, he gave her a withering look. "Did you find Godric?"
"Yes." He helped her to her feet. "Who shot you?"
"I don't know. Let's just get the hell out of here."
Eric could almost always tell when Pam was lying to him and she was lying now. He looked around for the shooter again, but couldn't see anyone. Just dead werewolves. It'll have to wait.
"I'll go get Godric. You get the car."
"What, he can't fly?"
Grim, Eric shook his head. "I'm not even sure if he'll heal."
Pam looked momentarily thrown. Eric knew that while she didn't particularly like Godric, she'd always respected his strength. She'd never seen him, never even considered him, to be anything but strong. Her surprise quickly gave way to her desire to escape and she was gone. He estimated it would take her maybe seven or eight minutes to return with the car.
Eric went back inside. Godric's eyes were still open, staring blankly forward. He didn't even seem to have noticed that Eric was back.
"I'll get you out of here," Eric said again, but Godric didn't respond.
Only the cuffs were left. He looked around for keys and saw a set on an elegantly crafted side table. He flipped through them quickly, trying each key in one of the arm cuff locks. Unfortunately, he'd left the gloves outside, and his bare skin kept knocking the silver cuff. The third time, he dropped the keys.
"Fuck," he growled, snatching them up again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Godric watching him coolly.
"Patience," Godric reminded him, his voice still faint. Eric slowed a little, found the right key and the cuff clicked open. There was no arm cuff on the right, which was good because Eric had trouble looking at Godric's ripped off arm.
"Hold still," he said, going through the keys for the right one to open the throat cuff. When the cuff released, Godric slumped forward and Eric caught him. Kissing the top of Godric's head, Eric blinked back tears of relief. He wanted to hold Godric tight, but didn't dare for fear of hurting him further. He settled for letting Godric rest against him. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of Godric's skin against his.
Godric's alive and soon he'll be safe.
When he opened his eyes though, he discovered there was raw flesh where the tattoo ought to be. Nothing was healing. He didn't put it past these animals to have pressed bits of silver into his wounds, but as far as he could see, there wasn't any more silver touching Godric. It meant that Godric was simply too weak to heal.
Eric listened, but didn't hear the car.
"Godric," he said, bringing Godric's face up to look in his eyes. "I'm going to give you my blood. You have to drink."
Godric pulled way, shaking his head. "No."
Eric brought his wrist to his mouth. "No choice, Godric."
"No."
"Godric, please." Begging seldom worked with Godric, but he tried anyway. "You have to."
Godric's grey eyes blazed with anger. "I said no."
Exasperated, Eric changed tactics, pointing at the door behind them. "If you drink, you'll be able to walk out of here. If you don't, I'll have to carry you."
His Maker stared at him stonily, unmoved. Eric glared back at him.
Why won't he drink?
"For fuck's sake," Eric muttered, standing up. "Get up then. I want to get out of here."
Using his good leg, Godric slowly began to push himself upright. He was too old for his body to act like Pam's. If Godric felt pain, there was only pain and nothing could change that. To Eric's utter astonishment, he managed to stand up straight.
Shoulders shaking with effort, Godric looked around. "Where are we?"
"In Russell Edgington's house, surrounded by werewolves and some other fuckers with guns," Pam snapped from the doorway. She looked Godric up and down. "You look like shit, Godric."