I had baited the lion but he just laughed, rather than eating me alive. (Damn.) He tugged me down into the curve of his arm again. "Oh, we'll see about that, lover. Now sleep. Dream of me." Just in case I thought he was invoking some kind of Disney dream for me, he lowered his tone. "And however many times I give you an orgasm then, I'll double it in our next time."

For a woman who had been shot at and flirted with within an inch of her life the night before, I slept fairly soundly--I only woke up once, discovering Eric's face between my breasts, as he'd apparently decided my chest was much better than his pillow. After shoving him back to his side (and getting dragged into his grasp again), I fell back asleep, my eyes only opening when sunshine was flooding the room.

That meant Eric was gone, of course. There was almost no sign of him in the room, although he'd left the Victoria's Secret catalogue--opened to that silly Santa suit, of course--opened pointedly on his pillow. I rolled my eyes and tossed it stashed it under the pillow, just in case Jason popped by.

It was a work day, so I had to hustle and get myself ready to be on my feet at Merlotte's. I was in a damned good mood, too--probably the good night's sleep, I told myself.

"Morning, Sam!" I threw myself brightly behind the bar, pulling ketchup bottles for the lunch rush.

His face twisted, before he sighed and reluctantly returned the smile. "Mornin', Sook." He glanced not-too-obviously at my bare neck. "You have a good day yesterday?"

Oh, I did errands, went to Walmart, almost got killed, I wanted to say. Instead, because it was Sam, I just got to the point. He probably knew all about it by now, anyway. Supes gossip more than the celebrity tabloids, I've found. "Oh, had a bit of a run-in with my friend from before." It took him a second to follow my meaning, then his eyebrows drew together thunderously. Before he could drag me off to the backroom, I gave a tiny shake to my head. No clue who was watching, after all. "Nothing new just yet. I'll keep you updated."

"You do that," he said gravely, as I ran off to get the salt-shakers out. People do like their salt on things.

We were pretty crowded for lunch, since the big diner around the corner was undergoing renovations (a fancy way of saying pest control, Sam told me) and their traffic had come our way. I was hustling like there was no tomorrow; I even commandeered Terry from the back to help serve a few of the tables as the food came out. The only shame was that it was lunch, and the tips wouldn't be as good as night, when the beer's flowing--but then again, a tip's a tip, I told myself. Even when it's old Mrs. Laudner, who just leaves you a bag of old Halloween candy and a few coupons in lieu of a cash tip.

I was moving so quickly I didn't have to worry much about blocking thoughts--they were flying at me from all sides, and if I'd let myself listen a second, I'd be bombarded. So I came up to a table of newcomers, pen in hand, and found myself briefly flabbergasted.

One of them was the guy who had set Pam's fire! It was him, I was as sure of it as day follows night. I scratched desperately at my notepad in an effort to redirect my eyes from his face--no need to set him off with suspicion. Finally, I caved. "Well, now, boys, seems my pen isn't working so well. Just give me a moment, won't you?" I wanted to walk backwards to the bar, or scream, but who knew what was going on with this guy? So I kept my walk deliberately nonchalant as I went to the bar, the phone, and Sam.

He could tell from my face that was something was wrong, bless his heart. He came to the bar's swinging door, to meet me, and immediately leaned down so that I could whisper to him. "I think I need the po--shit!" My eyes froze on table three, now empty. I glanced around quickly--of course, not in the bar. Well, that left one option--"Cover for me!" I hissed to Sam, darting through the bar to the front door.

Merlotte's parking lot was pretty much full, thanks to the rush. I craned my neck around for signs of movement, a car sliding out--and I was rewarded with the hum of an engine ahead. I dashed forward, just in time to see a blue Toyota sliding out of the entry, into the main road.

I slunk back in dejectedly, meeting Sam at the door. "Sorry, I don't chase cars," he told me, after I gave him a dour look.

"Very funny."

Sam shrugged and studied the parking lot thoughtfully. "What do you think this means?"

"Well…No clue."

Sam shook his head. "You're giving up too easily, Sook. There's got to be something in this."

"Well, the person who attacked Pam has connections to Bon Temps."

Sam nodded.

"He isn't following me, or he'd know I worked here, and he wouldn't be coming to lunch."

"Sounds right."

"His buddies left, too…There might be more of them?"

"Maybe. Could you explain to your friends that you just had to run without lunch, and get them to run off with you, in that short of time?"

I could see where he was going. "Well, hell. Now I've got a whole group of arsonists after me, is that what you're saying?"

Sam shrugged. "Or he's got buddies. What do you think?"

I groaned. "I'd better call Fangtasia."

I waited until it was decently after dusk before I called Eric; I always thought of the vampires' first minutes awake as much as the same as when people first woke up, drowsy, hungry, needing the bathroom and a good splash of water on the face. In Eric's case, he probably flexed his muscles in the mirror a few times before doing any of the other activities, but still, it meant he needed a few minutes before it would be polite to call.

I grudgingly punched in the numbers. This time, I chose not to call Fangtasia--I didn't want anybody snooping on this call.

"Why, is it Santa's little helper?" I heard his merry voice in my ear.

"You wouldn't get the call if it were. You're on the Naughty list," I snapped.

"Definitely." He sounded proud. Sounded? He was, of course. "Do you want to hear what I want in my stocking?"

"I can imagine, thanks. Look, I've got something of importance for you." He protested a bit at how I blew him off, but the line grew ominously silent as I filled him in on what I'd seen at Merlotte's.

"Very interesting indeed, Sookie," he said finally. "I have another opportunity to identify this…creature."

"Oh?"

"I have before me information on the next event hosted by the E(E)E. It's at the Bastet, Friday night." This was the top-security vampire hotel in Shreveport, where the king stayed when in town. "It's an annual event by the community." Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about the geographic area, but the fanged community. In case I felt excluded, I guess, he added, just a tad too brightly, "For charity. The proceeds go to a local bloodbank."

I tried not to imagine this too much. "Um, that's nice, I guess."

"Then we will attend and we will see if Pam's visitor is there."

"We?" I made a face at the phone.

"Yes, we. You're the only one who can identify this man, and your gift may come in handy. And I go every year, of course."

"Because you're so charitable," I muttered rebelliously. "What am I supposed to wear, anyway? What's the dress code like?" Vampire events tend to be dressy affairs, not quite my usual wardrobe. They also tended to be one-time-wear events, as well; what formal dresses I had, or had borrowed, had ended up ruined in conjunction with vampires. And not in the way Eric would have liked them ruined, either; I remembered how the spray from the false Vlad the Impaler ruined my pink dress that I wore to Eric's Dracula Night party.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," he interjected. "I will get your dress. It is the least I can do, for your assistance."

He sounded far, far too innocent for my ease. "You put Pam on the line."

She wasn't far off--I heard her laugh when he summoned her over. "Yes, he's been looking at dresses, and yes, you'd hate all of them," she said in lieu of greeting. "He apparently has no idea that you'd want a dress with some kind of bra." I heard Eric's great ringing laugh in the background.

After a few questions tossed to Pam--I just knew Eric wasn't going to be any help in this department--I got an idea of what to wear. I also argued against the idea of Eric buying my dress for me. It just felt too…intimate, even though I was hardly going to say that to Pam. We set up a compromise: I'd get to find my dress, and Fangtasia would reimburse me for my costs. (Including, Pam made sure to tell me, probably for the benefit of Eric's imagination, any lingerie necessary.)

We got off the line and I couldn't say I wasn't a little excited. I guess that's the truth of my life with the Supes: I nearly get killed next to them on a regular basis, but damn if they're not exciting to hang out with.

I didn't hear from the vamps (including a certain Viking) until the day of the party itself. Firmly telling myself I was going to investigate, I gave myself one last look-over in the mirror before heading out to meet Sam, who was going to carpool with me to Shreveport. Sam and some of the shifters were "special guests" of Area 5 tonight--meaning, Sam told me, they'd been alerted that someone was out to kill Supes, there was a possibility something might happen tonight, and it'd be in their best interest to keep an eye on things. I wiggled a bit in my dress, keeping an eye on my things. I knew from experience these kinds of events got rowdy (that is, pretty darned violent) fast, and I really didn't want to end another Supe party with my boobs hanging out.

Just to be sure that didn't happen, I checked my top for the umpteenth time. I'd gone to the clearance rack at Dillard's--always the best place to pick up fancy dresses, I had heard. Sure enough, I scored the prettiest ice-blue dress there for $18.99; it was a little number with a halter top and a snug fit around the hips. I jumped around experimentally in it--nope, no flying cleavage, thank goodness. I twisted around to give myself a thorough once-over. The shoes were Payless and silver, my skin was freshly tanned thanks to a run to the salon behind the video place, and my hair was pinned up elaborately, from Arlene's skill. (She was mad as a wet hen when she found out the party I was attending was for vampires, but she wasn't going to muck up what she'd done to my hair in revenge--it would "ruin her art," she told me.) I grabbed the little purse I'd picked up at Claire's and was on my way.

Sam was in far less of a party mood than I was. He gave me some nice compliments as we got into his car, but he was painfully quiet most of the way. Finally, I caved:

"If you didn't want to come, Sam Merlotte, you didn't have to!"

He fixed his "you are crazy, Sookie" look on me. It was very similar to his expression when he found out I'd been dating Bill. "I don't object at all to coming. We're all in this together and if those creeps have been in my bar already, I don't want them coming back to do anything." He paused. "It's just a bit depressing, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" My smile was fake and absurd. I grant you, I was pretty nervous. I'd managed to evade "the chat" with Sam for eons now, and I really didn't want him to launch into me with talk of "feelings" while I was in a closed cab with him.

Sam shook his head and his thick hair settled down in soft fluffs around his face. "It's depressing that whatever we do--or don't do--this kind of hate keeps coming back at us. And who knows what will happen?" He glanced over at me. "What would have happened if those guys at lunch had tried something, Sook? We would never have seen it coming."

"We wouldn't have seen it if a car hit us right now, either," I objected. "What's the difference?"

"I guess there is none." Now I saw Sam's white smile gleam at me. "I guess the lesson is seize the day."

"Or don't get killed by it," I retorted.

"I'll drink to that," Sam said, and I fell back against the headrest, waiting for Shreveport to pull into view.

It came sooner than I expected--or maybe I just fell asleep while listening to Sam's unending Elvis CD. I wish I could've introduced him to Bubba, but that was a whole 'nother can of worms. At the moment, I had to find an arsonist.

We pulled up in front of the Bastet, making a few security stops before we were allowed to the entrance. All guests had to surrender their cars to the valet, so Sam's old truck had to go, too, even though Sam scowled at the nervous man taking the keys. (I couldn't blame the man, John; he was transmitting loudly and I learned he'd signed up for the job because the pay was excellent, but it suddenly didn't seem as good a deal when you had to deal with a couple of hundred Supes in one night.)

I wanted to reassure John somehow, but Sam herded me into the entrance and another round of security checks. All-in-all, though, it was better than the airport; at least nobody had to pat me down. (I saw several Supe guards giving each other looks when my name came up, so I thought I apparently had been given special clearance. Or, more likely, human women weren't very likely at a big party dedicated to the consumption of human blood, I realized.)

We entered the ballroom and it was packed. Literally, since the shifters were present--I giggled to myself, making Sam give me one of his patented frowns. A vampire band was playing and vamps were dancing, chatting, and generally behaving themselves. (I ignored the blood fountain, which was at least legal--that counted as "behaving themselves.") Quinn was present, walking around the perimeter of the ballroom and talking to somebody on a headset. I saw some of the vamps I knew or had met--Evie, in a black leather gown that showed off her boobs, was talking to some male vamps who were ogling her chest, not her goblet of blood.

"Wow, she looks like--" Sam began.

"Trash," I muttered. I might be a good Christian woman many days of the year, but that woman did not bring it out in me. Never you mind that I knew nothing more of her than her face and (considerable) body.

Sam gave me a surprised look, but said nothing else as I scanned the room. There was Pam; she was wearing a pretty gold dress that made her look softer than usual.

"Your friend--she might be smiling," Sam whispered to me, almost in awe.

I gripped his arm. "That's generally not a good sign. Don't get any ideas."

"That would be wise," a new voice spoke by us. It was Eric, of course; he'd materialized right next to us, and as he spoke, he took my hand off Sam's arm and wound it over his own. "Shifter," he nodded to Sam, who nodded back. He looked at me, and now his eyes smiled down. They were the same color of my dress, I realized with a throb. "Sookie. My, don't you look delicious."

"I was going for anemic," I spoke back, but I was half in a daze. Eric's handsomeness came as a shock on normal occasions; now, when he was cleaned up, in an elegantly fitted tuxedo that no doubt had made his tailor weep with pride. I swallowed with great difficulty, and forced myself not to peek to see how the trousers fit his behind.

He laughed and spun me like a jewelry-box ballerina beneath his fingers. "I like it. Very, very nice. It suits you." He pulled me in abruptly, as if to kiss my cheek. His lips lingered by my ear instead. "Anything of note yet?"

"Nothing, no," I stammered. It's hard enough to keep my senses when Eric's around--a tuxedo, Eric, and some sinful cologne was enough to set me drooling. I kept my mouth clamped tightly shut. My own drool ending up in my cleavage was not classy, I reminded myself.

"Let's have a look, then," he said, taking my elbow and steering me around the room. I tried to pretend this was natural and we didn't look a bit ridiculous here--Eric trying to walk at a slower pace for me, and yours truly trying to keep pace in heels. It was a hard job--Eric had to talk up all of his fanged friends, and I had to make polite small-talk while alternately scouting the room and trying not to get annoyed with Eric. (I'd feel a cold finger trace down my back when I was distracted, which just distracted me further. I retaliated by slipping a hand under jacket and giving his bottom a good pinch, but it didn't have the same effect, I'm afraid. He just looked down at me with unabashed delight and said, "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?")

I was convinced the night was going to be a bust and I allowed myself eventually to enjoy the party for what it was. A few champagnes later and I was out on the dance floor, working my thing. No matter what else people can say about me, they have to admit, I can dance! I even dragged Sam out to the floor for a couple of numbers, although Sam was reluctant to take any of the sexier songs. ("I know you say nothing's going on between you guys, Sook, but I have a feeling Northman's not wanting to share tonight.") He was right; the first time another vamp approached me, working up to ask me to dance, Eric was suddenly there, a too-bright smile on his face, and the nice vamp slid away with an awkward goodbye.

I wanted to yell at him, but he gave me that awful smirk that Did Things to my insides. "How is it I haven't had you yet--in a dance?"

"Maybe I've been lucky so far." I stuck out my tongue. Childish, I know, but he brings it out in me.

He grinned further. "Maybe I will be. Come, Sookie, dance with me."

"Fine, but you better keep up!"

He just laughed and pulled me out to the floor. He had no reason to fear, I knew perfectly well. I'd always thought of big men as ungraceful, until I met Eric, who must've studied at a Fred Astaire studio at some point in his one thousand years. He could dance very well for his size, and when it came to the steamier songs, he had no reluctance in letting it be known he shared the sentiments of the lyrics.

"You know, I don't think our guy is here," I half-yelled to him, over the thumping music.

He bent me backwards and nipped playfully at my throat. "Pity."

I rolled my eyes at him but ruffled his hair with my hand anyway. "Look, I'm going to stop in the ladies' and then get a drink."

"Very well." He spun me to the edge of the floor, allowing me a direct path to the restrooms.

I'd headed off just to get my breath and get my head clear, I admit. It was far too easy just to dance out there and remember why I was there--that somebody out there had tried to kill at least one of my friends, and clearly wanted to hurt all of the Fangtasia lot somehow. I had to stay focused. Hot blond Vikings were not helping me stay focused.

I swung my gaze slowly across the walls as I walked to the ladies--and then froze. Right there, by the door to the courtyard. A familiar form. I didn't have time to signal to anybody--I just hustled as I fast as I could out that door, and then kicked off my shoes ($9.99, anyway) and broke into a run across the courtyard, in pursuit of a shape.

He was walking fast but he didn't know I was running behind him. The party's noise helped cloak the sound of my dash after him, across the yard, and into the adjoining servants' drive. I didn't know what I'd say if I saw him--maybe ask if he'd seen my shoes!--but I wasn't going to let this go.

He was climbing into a truck--a big Chevy, newer model. I ran forward and squinted desperately as the Chevy's rear lights came on, trying to lock my eyes on the license plate. H8L796-or was that an 8? Was that L an I? Oh, hell, why didn't I get that eye doctor's appointment last year, like Jason said I should?

"MOVE!" I heard a great roar all around me and suddenly I was being moved sideways, just as the truck was bearing backwards down upon me. The truck's engine faded from my ears as I heard my gasping breaths and above them, a certain voice. "I can't let you go an inch from me, can I?"

"Eric," I clutched his lapels, and from the encouraging squeeze I got in return, I realized he was not opposed to a little display of faintness. Just so long, I reminded myself dully, as it didn't involve a teary breakdown. Well, I didn't feel like crying just now--I felt fit to spit nails.

"That bastard tried to kill me!"

"Just got that, did you?" Eric's voice was amused but grim. "And here Pam wanted first shot at him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to fight her for those rights."

"You called my name, master?" We both glanced back to see Pam there, in her gown, and Sam hot on her heels. Pam, I noticed, had my shoes dangling from her finger-tips. "I noticed Cinderella here had lost her shoes." She shot me a look. "I thought she'd need them and you wouldn't mind if I returned them." She looked back at Sam. "You don't want to know what I feared was happening." Sam had the class to look embarrassed on my account. Eric of course looked nonchalant. "Here, Eric, put these on her. She can't bend over in that dress, much as you'd like her to."

Eric frowned and looked at the ground doubtfully, as if to protest--vamps, as a rule, do not kneel. But Sam made a motion as if he weren't too high to help a lady with her shoes, and suddenly I had a blond Prince Bloodsucking at my feet, fitting my shoes on my feet cautiously. Despite his dismay at being put in a servile position, he adapted just fine; he gave me a smoldering look, wetting his lips, and channeled his usual unflappable Eric self enough to run his hand up my calf in a highly unnecessary manner when he put the final shoe on.

I pulled away from his loose grip, shivering from something other than the cool night air. "Well, I guess we'd better be getting inside." I wasn't moving, though. I was having a hard time looking away from those eyes.

"We'd better." Pam was looking back and forth between Eric and I with undisguised amusement. "Lest someone try to attack you again, Sookie. We don't know what other part of your clothing you might lose."

That caused Sam to huff impatiently. "Are we done here?"

Sam's irritation broke the spell I was under--I pulled away, allowing myself to follow Pam and Eric back into the ballroom. Sam gave me a speculative glance but I opted not to fill him in on all the details just yet. Did we really know anything we didn't before? And you never knew who--or what--was listening. I knew he could figure out something had happened, and when I looked pointedly at the outside, he knew the suspect was gone, too. That was all he needed for the moment.

Pam and Eric both had more vamp business to deal with, but Sam and I were of a mood to call it a night. Eric had arranged for us to have rooms at the Bastet, along with the vamps--separate, of course, I observed wryly.

I allowed one of the hotel workers to take me up to my room. It was a suite, I found, at the top of the Bastet--I actually asked the bellboy if it was the right room, when he led me into the sitting area by the door. It didn't fit--Eric had booked the Fangtasia staff's rooms (a holiday bonus, I gathered), but I didn't think he was the kind to go this overboard. Plus, even when I went to Rhodes with the Fangtasia staff, my room wasn't half as fancy as this one. I peeked into the bedroom: it was semi-dark. Just a few lamps lit the giant room with the great windows looking across Shreveport's prettier side. I didn't want to ruin the view, so I didn't turn on anymore as I investigated--there was a lush bathroom that looked like something from a celebrity magazine, a second bathroom, and plenty of fancy gadgets, like the pretty flat TVs on the walls. Even the bed was fancy, with controls for heat, mattress pressure, and who-knows-what, I noticed, on each side.

It was a little too techie for me, but I knew at least one guy who would appreciate it. I smiled wryly out at Shreveport's night, wondering if the vamps' bedroom was half as nice as mine. Maybe Eric had upgraded my quarters, knowing I'd be the only one of the Fangtasia people (that is, the living ones) there who could appreciate it?

Eric. I sighed, trying to push the feelings away, and tugged my hair out of the clips holding it up. I'd have a hell of a time trying to make something so elaborate of it ever again: Arlene might hate herself a vamp, but she wasn't going to let my hair go undone for a fancy occasion.

My hair came down across my shoulders like a caress, and there went my brain again. Or my body, I guess I should say. I tried to put my forehead against the cold glass, willing it to calm my raging hormones.

"Damn him!" I grumbled to the glass. It was all his fault, I decided, for looking so ridiculously sexy tonight, and Lord God, the way he'd danced with me…I came out of my mental fog to see I'd made an actual fog on the window with my heaving breaths, and I scowled. Get a grip on yourself, Stackhouse, I ordered myself firmly. I was a strong woman. I was not going to sit around, a horny mess, just because Eric had worked me up and then left me to do his damn vampire stuff--wasn't that always the way?

Well, then. I stared myself down in the glass. I wasn't going to be some pitiable toy for his amusement, or anybody else's. I was going to take care of Sookie Stackhouse's needs. Which meant, I admitted, I was going to have to resort to a cold shower. There was no way in hell I was going to do anything else when Eric could just pop in at any moment. (And for all I knew, pop by just to hear me yell his name. I'd never live that one down.) I rubbed the back of my neck and started to unzip my dress, adjusting my now-aching breasts in the halter as I did so.

Just as I was doing so, I heard a sharp knock on the door. "Room service!"

Confused, I looked over at the door.. I had no fear of being accosted; the security on these levels was too tight for a non-guest to access, and the staff had all been there for years, I was told. I stared as the door being to swing open. "But I didn't order--oh. Oh. Oh."

The topic of my recent speculation was leaning in the doorway, his tuxedo shirt opened at the front and his bowtie undone. I gaped unabashedly at the exposed section of his upper chest, before dragging my gaze up to his half-smile and glowing eyes. "It's room service for me, not for you. Sookie," he said, straightening up, and suddenly his tone was not light at all. "I find I am not pleased when you are away from me."

It felt like there was an invisible hand around my throat; I could do nothing as he stepped in, shutting the door behind him. I heard a click and something clicked in me, too.

His eyes had not left me. I knew what his prey felt like, now, and yet I wasn't terrified. Far from it, from the way my abdominal muscles had begun to shiver. "Sookie," he said in a smoky voice, a kind of purr that came not from his lungs but from somewhere far lower. "I want my woman."