A/N As usual, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fragments of speech percolated through the clouds obscuring Carly from consciousness. "Call a quarantine," "concern for my human," "inventory," "audit," "calling in the troops," "isolate unknown virus," all competed for cognitive space with the constant throbbing of the name, "Carly, Carly, Carly..."
As Carly's eyes finally opened, Eric raised her to a close embrace that almost stifled her slow and struggling breath. "I thought I'd lost you."
"What?" Carly raised her hand to touch his face, which seemed far more distant away than the few inches that lay between them. "What happened?"
"You collapsed after the queen and Andre fell apart." Eric looked toward the Magister and spoke slightly more loudly, "I feared they'd given you whatever it was that killed them."
Carly struggled to remember what happened earlier in the evening. She remembered Edgar being staked; she recalled that Christophe begged for death but was stuffed into a bag. She remembered offering herself up to the Magister, the queen, and Andre. As she recollected the pain of the last two bites, she began vomiting.
Eric held her tightly and whispered in her ear as she retched, "What's going on, Carly? I gave you blood. Do you need more?"
As she finally got her breath, she began sobbing and heaving, "Never make me feed anyone else, Eric, please. I'm only yours. Just yours. Please." Although Carly knew that she and Eric expected something horrible to happen to the queen and Andre after they fed from her, she hated the feeling of guilt she bore. She knew that she was responsible for their deaths—at least as the immediate catalyst for them.
"Never, my darling, never."
Carly finally gathered herself up at looked at the Magister, who was barking orders into a telephone and also at guards who were trying to cordon off the remains of the queen and her second to prevent "transmission" of the "unknown pathogen." The small bureaucrat raised his finger to Carly and Eric to suggest that he would be with them "in a minute."
"Eric," Carly asked, "how long was I out?"
"A little over an hour, but you didn't seem to be in any distress after you fed from me—almost immediately after you collapsed."
"Did I faint?" Carly still couldn't bear to think of herself as a "fainter." She'd always thought of herself as a "tough farm-girl," who could cope with large animals, or a field archaeologist who could deal with infernal temperatures and bushels of dust. Her new life, as a "vampire paramour" and a fainter, seemed slightly too Edwardian for her own comfort. She knew she had to discuss this with Eric. She couldn't bear to be perceived as fragile.
"I don't think that describes it."
Carly finally realized that he looked frightened, that his face bore the same expression that she'd seen in her dreams as he looked on in horror at his family as they were torn apart by werewolves.
The Magister approached them, his arms extended toward Carly, although he still had his cellphone in his hand. "My dear friend, I feared we would lose you too."
"Really?" Carly didn't know how much he knew about her plan with Eric.
"Yes." The Magister placed his right hand over his heart. "At first, genuinely, I thought you'd managed to poison the two of them. But then I looked at them more closely and now I see that's truly impossible."
Eric squeezed her hand after she looked to him for confirmation. Still, she asked, "You're sure that they didn't react to my blood?"
"I don't see how." The Magister shook his head. "Truly, I can't see how you could have done anything to them, especially since you allowed me to feed from you first."
After squeezing her hand again, Eric spoke up. "So I presume that Carly will not be harassed by members of the Authority?"
"No. I discussed the issue with our most scientifically minded Chancellor directly, and she is certain that this must be some unknown pathogen, not something from Ms. Michael's blood." The Magister moved slightly so that he could direct Carly's attention to the remains of the queen. "If she'd died the true death as vampires typically do, her remains wouldn't look...well...there's no other word for it. They wouldn't look human."
"Can I see?" Carly's interests as an anthropologist were suddenly awakened.
"Carly, you're still weak," Eric objected.
"No." Carly stood up to demonstrate her strength. "I think I feel fine. I want to take a look at them both."
"I'm not leaving your side."
The Magister expressed concern immediately. "Eric, I'm concerned about your nearing the remains. Honestly, I don't want any vampires nearing them. In fact, if I could burn this whole place to the ground right this second, I would, but the Authority doesn't want me to, because they want to transfer their operations to New Orleans."
"What?" The sudden intrusion of politics refocused Eric's attention.
"Yes. You have no idea, Eric, what a mess Sophie-Ann has caused. Although Nan rubs a few people the wrong way, the general plan is to move her to New Orleans along with other public relations arms of the Authority, and perhaps even the Authority complex itself, although there are slightly more complex issues there."
"What will happen to the sheriffs?"
"It depends if the monarch is replaced or whether Louisiana is partitioned among the other bordering kingdoms. Some people are talking about making New Orleans the District of Columbia of vampires."
"What will you recommend, Magister?"
"Well, Eric, I've already told you what I would prefer, but you've refused a number of kingships, although I don't know why."
Eric looked at the floor. "I have certain unmet obligations that I must discharge before I become the king of any territory or any group."
Revenge...
Carly didn't know if the thought rebounded through Eric's mind and into hers, or whether she simply recalled the vow as it climbed on steam toward the heavens.
"Magister," Carly revisited her earlier question, "May I examine the remains?"
"Carly," he responded, "if you can support yourself, if you won't collapse again, you can take a look."
Without hesitation, Carly began walking toward the queen's remains. After crossing the tape that separated that region of the foyer from the rest of the room, Carly raised the plastic sheeting that concealed them from view. "Fascinating," she said under her breath.
"What?" Eric heard her and pressed her for information immediately. "What do you see?"
"If I hadn't watched her fall apart, I would say that these remains were about seven hundred to eight hundred years old." Carly had worn her hair up, so she removed a pin from her hair to use as a probe while she examined the bones. "These remains look as if they'd been stored in a catacomb or other aerobic environment."
She stood and walked back into the library. Andre's bones were still articulated, and large sections of skin remained on them, and his hair remained positioned on his scalp. She spoke loudly so that her voice carried back into the foyer, "Andre's remains look better, closer to two hundred and fifty or three hundred years, but still in that same aerobic environment."
These two bodies looked as if they'd died human deaths, not the "True Death" of vampires. "Magister, how old were they? How long had they been vampires?"
"If they'd died natural deaths during their own lifetimes, that would be how old their bodies would look now."
"And vampires just disintegrate, right?" Carly tried to get a sense of what happened to vampires.
"Most people describe it as bloody goo," Eric offered the description.
The Magister chimed in and suggested, "I prefer 'liquification.'"
"If something had been wrong with me," Carly gestured to the two men, "you would both have 'liquified,' right?"
"Yes." The Magister looked over his shoulder and around the room at the assembled vampire and human guards and hangers-on. "On rare occasions when vampires have consumed contaminated blood, they've liquified in the same way that they would have from staking or beheading."
"But the queen and Andre died and decayed as humans, not vampires." Carly looked again at the two men. "Have you ever heard of anything that could do this?"
"Only in legend." The Magister admitted grudgingly and seemed very uncomfortable talking.
Eric followed up and asked, "What was the legend?"
"I heard it in the 1800s in Ireland, before the famine." The Magister summoned them to follow him and went into the now darkened solarium. He looked for a chair and sat down, holding his chin, and fought some apparent internal struggle. "You cannot, under any circumstances, allow anyone to know I told you this story."
"Of course, Magister." Eric nodded ceremoniously, sat, and Carly sank to the floor in front of him.
When the Magister smiled slightly and shook his head in appreciation of her apparent "training," Carly bridled and wished she felt strong enough to sit apart from Eric. Instead, she tolerated his interpretation of her submissiveness.
"A nest of vampires had behaved inappropriately, and I'd been called to discipline them," the Magister began. "While I was there, a local patriarch sickened, and a newly made vampire went to the family home. He heard a woman singing from a nearby hill and attacked her. He died almost exactly as the queen and Andre had. Since he was such a young vampire, he was nearly an intact corpse, and his own human family recognized him. They circulated the story that he'd been taken by the fairies and his corpse had been returned to the community so that he could be buried."
"The woman who was singing," Carly began and then drifted off.
The Magister finished her sentence, "was a Banshee."
"Well, then, we know that Carly has nothing to do with their deaths." Eric smiled and stroked Carly's hair. "She's a human from New York. And I don't believe your family is Irish, is it?"
"No, Dutch."
"Of course." The Magister agreed. "This is the problem. We don't even know if Banshees are real—apart from this story, we have no other information. The same is true for fairies. We have legends, but few verifiable accounts. And the stories about fairies are even more dangerous to us."
"What do the legends say about fairies?" Carly asked, hoping that she could gain more information about Sookie, who must be one of these troublesome light beings called fairies.
"The legends say that a vampire who feeds from a fairy can day-walk." The Magister glowered and shook his head again, although more violently. "You can see, obviously, how that story has killed many vampires."
"I guess they think they've found a fairy and then meet the sun unprepared," Eric suggested.
The Magister gestured "of course," and added, "Vampires have also killed one another struggling to seize a supposed fairy or half-fairy from another vampire." The Magister tapped his cane on the floor, "Almost all effects from these supposed fairies can be attributed to suggestion." Coming in closer to Carly and Eric, the Magister whispered, I would guess that the queen thought she'd caught hold of a fairy in her little Hadley.
"Why do you say that?" Eric wanted to have some sense of how the Magister addressed these legends, partially, Carly supposed, so that he could protect her more fully.
"First, did you notice how bright the lights were in her solarium? I think she believed she'd gained some tolerance to light, although not sunlight." He touched his nose, "The girl is sweet, but no fairy. Sophie-Ann, I fear, was delusional, perhaps because of whatever illness she shared with Andre."
"Perhaps," Eric concurred.
The Magister popped out of his chair, and then asked, "Carly, could you provide me with the contact information for this art dealer you know?"
"Of course, right away. What is your plan?"
The Magister said, "I'm hopeful that there is someway I can seem to punish Christophe cruelly, but actually allow us to celebrate his talents after his death. As I recall, they are substantial."
"I'm sure Abdullah will be able to help in whatever way." Carly paused and added, "If you're going to call him now, could I make the contact so that you don't startle him? I can at least fill him in on what's happened."
The Magister gestured again to suggest, "as you will." Carly dialed her home number from the queen's solarium phone, anticipating that her mother or Abdullah would be more likely to answer a call from her cellphone rather than one from a strange phone number. She just hoped that they weren't cavorting with Jean-Jacques.
"Yes, what, who is calling at this infernal hour," Abdullah stuttered as he answered the phone.
"Abdullah, it's Carly."
"My lord, my friend, are you all right, why are you calling right now?"
"Well," Carly tried to find an entry point other than, I've just killed two really bad vampires with the power of my valkyrie—or banshee—or whatever the hell blood and I need your assistance convincing a very disturbed vampire artist that we're destroying his artistic legacy so that he doesn't seem to be getting off easy. "Um, well, you know the paintings that Edgar Martin sent to you?"
"Yes, the pictures I sent."
"He didn't paint them. Another vampire, who has been an accomplice to murder here in Louisiana—sort of with Edgar's prompting—painted them."
"That monster! How could Edgar steal another artists' work!"
Carly loved art dealers. It didn't matter of an artist murdered a million schoolchildren and their puppies. But plagiarism! Sacre bleu!
"Well, also, he's dead."
"He deserves it. Good riddance."
"I'm glad you think so, Abdullah."
"To steal a man's art!" Abdullah seemed to be preoccupied with this one point. "How can I credit the real artist?"
"Here's the thing, Abdullah, I'd like you to talk to a man called 'The Magister,' who is, well..." Carly tried to find an appropriate term to describe him and settled upon "... the supreme court of the vampires."
"Happily. Is he with you?"
Carly handed the phone to the Magister and said, "Abdullah is happy to talk with you."
Her introduction complete, Carly retreated to Eric's embrace and tried to hide from the world. He whispered to her, "We have to get you home."
"I don't know if I can sleep." She looked at him and realized that she was terrified of what she'd become. We are life and death...
"I'll be with you. You've done nothing wrong."
"I'm trapped in this world now, aren't I?"
"Only in my world." Eric kissed her. "You're in my world, and I'll keep you safe from everything."
"Can you?" She rubbed her cheek against his and whispered, "Can you protect me from myself?"
"Please let me try, Carly." Eric took her left hand and said, "I just want the chance to try."
"I don't know how much more I'll change."
"We'll work together, Carly." Eric examined her carefully and pressed his forehead to hers, "Everything you are is mine, but everything I am is yours as well."
Carly giggled at the sudden reciprocity that Eric seemed to offer, "Will you be able to say those magic words again when everything is normal?"
He smiled, "I'll even say them now, when the Magister will likely humiliate me for my sentimentality."
"Really? I don't believe you, Eric Northman." Carly felt light-hearted again as she baited him to say "I love you."
"Carly Michael," Eric dropped to one knee, and Carly started to laugh and averted her eyes, "look at me!" Carly complied and met his gaze fully. "I love you, and I will protect you."
"I love you, Eric."
"And you have already protected me, Carly." They kissed, and heard the Magister whistling.
"I can't believe that Eric Northman has become such a pussy!" The Magister called out derisively after finishing his conversation with Abdullah.
"Magister, such language!" Eric smiled.
"I can say it in Latin too- Cunnus es! Did Carly understand it? It just doesn't have quite the same effect any more."
Carly was exhausted, frightened, and getting pissy, especially since she now understood that "Magister" was probably quite a literal title, and one that this man had worn for hundreds of years. "Yes, I get it."
"Marvelous! I recommend Catullus for a full inventory of horrible things one can say in Latin."
"I don't want to brush up, sir," Carly spoke stridently. "Did Abdullah help you?"
"Yes. And he woke your mother-in-law to be, Eric."
"Lovely." Eric kissed Carly's hand.
"And?"
The Magister dropped his condescension toward the two of them and returned to a more serious tone. "Your friend has been photographing all the art work and says that he can have the photographs printed onto canvas. Your mother volunteered some property she has—a farm in New Jersey—and we'll burn the copies in front of Christophe, so that he can be properly punished, and then we'll kill him and set the poor creature free."
"What happens then?"
"I'm sure the price of Christophe's paintings rise to the sky."
"Where will the money go?" Carly wasn't going to let this issue disappear easily.
"I presumed it would go to Abdullah for his trouble." The Magister seemed stupefied by the question.
Carly tried to enlighten him. "Abdullah will get a good commission, but the fees should go to the artist." She looked at both the Magister and Eric. "Do vampires make wills?"
"If they have progeny?" Eric chimed in right away.
"And if they don't?"
The Magister added quickly, "Their monarchs take the money."
"Christophe has neither." Carly looked at the two of them again. "May I make a suggestion?"
"Certainly," the Magister replied.
"The money should go into a fund for his victims and for Edgar's lost progeny so that they can be resettled and that surrogate makers can get a stipend to counteract the damage Edgar did."
"Excellent idea." The Magister tapped his cane and said, "I'll call Cataliades immediately and have him do it." Looking to Eric, the Magister said, "She is a valuable asset, Eric. And she will make an even more valuable vampire some day. You've chosen her well."
"I hesitate to say that, Magister." Eric kissed the top of Carly's head. "I don't want to think that I've chosen her for slaughter...that would be too, I don't know, Norse." He looked at Carly and then at the Magister and said, "I prefer to think that I've chosen her for life."
"Semantics of the basest kind and the basest sentimentality, Northman. Really, I'm appalled."
"Too bad, sir."
"In any case, we will rendezvous at this farm tomorrow night at 10 pm. We will likely need to fly during the day to make it there. According to Edna, charming woman, by the way, I look forward to meeting her, we will have to fly into Trenton and then drive another forty-five minutes to this farm. I will transport Christophe."
"Until tomorrow, then, Magister."
"For you. I still have to help clean up this mess. I won't press you into service, Northman. Attend to this woman of yours."
As they were leaving the building, Carly spotted Hadley, who was sitting forlorn against the wall. Carly didn't dare to peer into her mind, but approached her nonetheless. Hadley didn't welcome her gesture.
"What do you want, bitch?"
"Nothing, Hadley, except to let you know that your family misses you. You should contact them. They won't judge you."
"How the fuck do you know what Gran and that little freak will do?"
"All they want is to love you. Go to Sunday dinner. Promise me, Hadley." Carly felt a tide rise within her and she realized that she was exacting compliance from the addict who had abandoned her family and her child. "Promise me that you will go to dinner on Sunday. They expect you."
"Okay. I'll go." Hadley was quiet.
"Good. All they want is family."
"Okay. Bye."
"Bye, Hadley." As Carly turned away, she was about to let go of the control she had over Hadley's mind, but decided to seize the opportunity. "I'm not a bitch, Hadley. Do something with yourself. Go to school, better yourself. You're not stupid trash. You're worth more than your blood."
Mesmerized, but still sincere, Hadley said, "Thanks. Carly."
Carly let go of the tide and allowed Hadley control over her own mind again, "And say hi to Sookie for me. Apologize that I'm not able to make it—tell them that you're going in my place."
"I will."
As Eric led Carly out to the circular driveway in front of the queen's residence, Alan and Esther fell in behind them. The four climbed into the van that Eric chartered for the evening and drove back to the airport in silence.
As they drove into the airport, Eric asked, "Alan, we need help at the bar I'm opening. Do you want a job?"
"I guess so." Alan smiled. "I guess I need one. And a place to live."
Esther touched his arm gently and said, "You can stay with me, Alan. Don't worry." She turned her attention to Eric and said, "I'll make sure he's ready to be around people."
"Thank you, Esther." Eric's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've forgotten. Remind me how you're supporting yourself."
Her pride apparent, Esther explained her work: "I do freelance document and web design. Do you have a website for Fangtasia?"
"No, not yet, actually. We weren't going to worry about that until we got closer to our opening date."
"I'll do one for you. No charge." Esther smiled broadly. "You'll be the best on the web."
"Great."
For the rest of the trip, the four were quiet. The three vampires seemed pleased with their new freedom from domination and from the worry about blood-dealing vampires. Carly, on the other hand, was quiet only in her demeanor. Within her mind, she was on fire with questions and worries.
What the hell is happening to me? I don't know what's real and what's a dream. What the hell am I? What happens if vampires figure out what I am? If vampires figure out that I'm poisonous to the wrong ones, they'll turn me into a fucking weapon. They'll keep me in a cage. But Eric will keep me safe. What happens if Eric and I fight—if he gets angry with me—could he die if he drank from me?
"Carly," Eric touched her hand, and she pulled away from him. "What's wrong?"
She looked at him but stayed silent.
"Please, Carly."
"I don't want to hurt you, Eric." Tears crept down Carly's face. "It would kill me..."
"Never. Never." Eric embraced her tightly and continued whispering. "Never. You'll never hurt me, because there's nothing I want more than for you to be mine and alive."
"What will other vampires want from me?"
"I don't care, Carly." His voice was like steel, unmodulated, rigid in its commitment to her, but as frightening as steel. "You are mine. No one else will ever," he raised her chin so that he gazed into her eyes, "ever touch you or drink from you again. I will never allow it."
Carly collapsed into him and tried to shed the tension of her concern, but it still lingered, and Eric still sensed it.
"If I could make you forget all of this, I would." Eric stroked her hair slowly and deliberately. "I will protect you."
"From myself?"
"No, Carly. I can't protect you from yourself, because you still need to learn what you can do."
Learn what I can do...control people, see into other dimensions and talk to nameless scary creatures who have windows into the universe, see the past from an objective perspective...how can I live like this? How can Eric protect me from that? What happens when it's daytime? What happens when I work—will I be able to work?
They arrived at the airport and bundled themselves into the plane. Eric insured that Carly was comfortable in her seat—even got her a glass of water—before he went to the cock-pit to talk with the pilot, who made a number of calls. Cellphone to his ear, Eric paced back and forth, even descending the aircraft stairs and walking around outside. After about ten minutes, he returned and settled into his seat.
"We're going straight to New York."
"What?"
"Carly, it's easiest if we do things this way, because we can be at Jean-Jacques before sunrise. Then we can drive down tomorrow evening to your mother's farm. Jean-Jacques is sending a team to her farm to prepare space for the Magister and me." Eric turned to Alan and Esther, "Do you want to be there when Christophe meets the true death?"
"No," Alan whispered.
"I'll be there for him," Esther said.
"You might have to sleep on the floor, Esther, but I appreciate your loyalty. Alan, you'll stay with the king's servants."
Eric snapped his fingers, and the pilot and one attendant closed the door. They began moving toward the runway. Knitting his fingers into hers, Eric raised them to his lips and kissed each lightly. "It will be good for you to see your mother, my sweet child."
"Thank you." Carly genuinely appreciated the few hours she would be able to spend with her mother, although she had no idea whether she'd be able to express the depth of her personal confusion, or explain with any clarity what her father's legacy had become. Perhaps she'd also have a little time to talk to Arianna—or perhaps she could convince her to accompany them to the farm. While Carly didn't know if that was really the best thing—to invite a full-blooded whatever-the-hell they were into a group of vampires—she desperately wanted the chance to spend time with this woman who might be able to explain her visions.
"Why don't you try to sleep? You should rest."
"Is there anything to eat?"
Eric jumped up, "I forgot, yes," and pulled four covered plates out of a small refrigerator. He juggled them back to the seats. "I asked them to get a variety of things for you to eat, although I don't know what you'd like to eat-hot or cold."
He'd brought her fruit, roast pork and potatoes, a sandwich, cookies, and yogurt.
"I think I can make do with this." She laughed and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for thinking of this."
"I told you I'd take care of you." Eric smiled.
"No, you said you'd protect me."
"It's all the same."
"No, no it's not."
"Perhaps we're encountering a moment of cultural difference." Eric closed his eyes as the plane took off—but managed to reach out so quickly to keep Carly's food in place that she didn't see his hand move.
In silence, hearing only the whine of the jet engine, Carly ate almost all the food before her. An hour later, Carly pushed away the potatoes uneaten, and burped.
Eric, who'd seemed asleep, laughed heartily at her. "That's a sound worthy of a viking's woman!"
"I'm sorry. "
He pulled her head toward him and said, "Don't apologize. I want you to be healthy."
"And do I keep working?" Carly was still goingthrough the questions that plagued her as she left the late queen's residence.
"If you want to." Eric snapped his fingers to summon the attendant, who was waiting for instructions. She cleared the plastic containers that Carly emptied and asked if she could give anyone anything.
Alan asked for a Tru Blood—his third of the night.
"I want to work—I don't want to be kept."
"You do important work, Carly. Justice is important, no matter who it's for."
She smiled at Eric and cuddled up to him. "You're being awfully kind for a fierce thousand year old viking."
"I'm full of surprises."
"Or a product of pure fantasy."
He laughed. "Perhaps." After kissing her head, "You should sleep, now that you're belly's full."
"I will," she looked up at him. "I just have one question."
"I'll answer if I can." He nodded toward Alan and Esther's seats.
"Why don't you want to be king?"
"I have a promise that I need to keep before I can ever think of being king—truly being king."
"To your father?"
"Yes, Carly, you're too smart for your own good, I think." Although the statement seemed somewhat ominous, his smile reflected his appreciation of Carly's intelligence.
"I wish I could help you."
"The wolves had a master—I doubt my parents even knew he was there." Eric gently removed her and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I don't know how you could get a picture of him." Eric cricked his neck to look at her. "He's one of us—a vampire. But I don't know his name or even know if he still exists."
"It might be possible for me to..." Carly suddenly remembered that there was no reason why she couldn't have direct access to this werewolf pack-master.
"Carly?"
"Where are the wolves' bones?"
"In Sweden. Why?"
Carly was quiet for a few moments, because she didn't know if she really wanted to suggest this course of action. "I could hold them...and try to get inside them."
"No." Eric scowled and shook his head violently. "No. I couldn't ask that of you. It would be too much."
"Why?"
"They're animals, Carly. I don't know what it would do to you."
"Eric..." Carly never really talked about the experiences she'd had in her dreams, and Eric had only seen the immediate results that only began happening when she met him. "You don't know what I've seen."
"But to be inside them..."
"I've been inside worse—suffered worse." Carly drew her feet up under her and slid away from Eric. "I think it would have to be easier to die because someone took a sword or an ax to me..."
"I'm not worried about that, Carly. It's their transformation."
"Maybe." Carly sat and considered her recent dream journeys, into Anna, and Greta, and Brian, and Samantha—into Eric's and Pam's pasts and decided that few things could be worse than what she'd experienced in the last week. "Could you get the bones here?"
"Andersson might be able to arrange a courier." Eric seemed recalcitrant and uncooperative. "I would prefer you try other means first."
"Like what?" Carly leaned her head back and closed her eyes in frustration. "I can't just go back in time."
A small smile crossed Eric's lips. "Really? How did you hear me? Were you in my mind?"
"About revenge?"
He nodded.
How did I hear him? I hovered above him, and then I traveled through the fire and the smoke, and went to Friagabi's cave...
"Maybe. But it wasn't clear—I wasn't present in the same way—it wasn't immediate."
Eric pried her hand out from where she'd wedged it beneath her knee and kissed it. "Do what you can, but don't hurt yourself, Carly."
"Okay."
"Now, I'm the boss...go to sleep."
He's really gonna get it now...
"Really, you're the boss?" She felt suddenly playful, and Eric responded to her in kind.
"How could I not be the boss?"
"We'll see." Carly leaned against him, closed her eyes, and relaxed into the vibrations of the plane, lulled to sleep by the whine of the engine.
Capture
Ok, done!
PrivateGroup
SaveCancel
+Share to a new group
+Share to a new group
PostCancel
PostCancel
