Chapter 2:
War and Peace

x

New York City, 1945

She waited for the bite.

Her inhale held tight in her chest, lips pursed, arms locked to her sides. The smell of spilt whiskey. The rush of blood. She could feel the cold breath of the vampire as it ghosted across her neck, savoring the moment before breaking open flesh. His arms pushed her up against the wall, her shoulder digging into the gilded frame of an ancient portrait. Normally she would fight back, especially with a vampire as young as the one currently threatening her. It would be easy, in fact.

But this was a vampire bar. And she was surrounded.

She knew she was walking into relative danger when she'd stepped inside the old Irish pub with the tar-based, light-proof paint covering the windows and the unmarked, almost impossible to see signage. It was in a back alley, too, in the heart of the Lower East Side, not an area known for its most hospitable creatures, human or otherwise.

It was the night after V-E day and all of New York was coming down from a veritable high. The streets were strewn with the refuse of the spontaneous parties, dirtied streamers clogging the gutters, shattered bottles of champagne in pools of bubbling liquid, mini American flags forgotten by drunken comrades. The war was finally over, thank the heavens.

During war, there were no rules, and not just for humans. From the 18th century onward, the growing number of vampires that inhabited the earth learned to take full advantage of the lack of structure, the unhinged chaos. They slipped in and out of the battles unseen, raiding corpses and feasting on the newly dead. It was the gruesome, wretched business of opportunity. Vampires often fought on both sides, crossing party lines mid-battle. After all, most weren't known for their loyalty, during war or during peace.

When Sookie first arrived at the bar she had been under the protection of a vampire she'd befriended back in France a few centuries earlier. Her name was Madeline, and she had had the audacity to dress as a British nurse during the war, stitching up broken soldiers at night, stealing tastes here and there, draining the ones with nothing left to give. Surrounded by blood at every moment. Gluttonous.

"The incredible thing was," Madeline chatted, carefree, as her and Sookie walked arm and arm through the streets, "The other nurses and surgeons knew. They knew exactly who I was, exactly what I was doing. But they didn't bother to question it. Didn't even think twice. Bigger fish to fry, I suppose. At times I even missed the danger of the witch trials, if you can believe it! Made for a bit of excitement then, the risk and all that. Never knew who was going to get caught and chained up in the daylight."

"So they never asked why all of the dying soldiers you cared for didn't seem to contain a single drop of blood afterwards?" Sookie asked, amazed. "Or that you were only available to tend to them after the sunset?"

"Not once," she said. "I was in uniform. No questions asked. The British do know a thing or two about uniforms, don't they? You have to respect their penchant for fashion even in the face of tremendous adversity."

"Ah yes," Sookie agreed sarcastically. "Priorities."

They walked in silence for a few moments. Though it was closing in on midnight the streets were still boisterous with human life. They poured out of doors, hung off fire escapes, shouted exultations into the skies and the crowds below. It began to rain, only lightly, tiny splashes on the cobblestones, little puddles growing in their gaps. Madeline and Sookie clutched tightly to each other, their long overcoats and fashionable up-dos speckled with rain.

"I thought you said Eric would be here waiting," Madeline complained, watching the dark sky as more clouds rolled in. Her eyes flashed in anticipation. Madeline had a soft spot for Eric, as most women did. Women with eyes. It was hard not to given his beauty, his height, his age, his power. He had a reputation and, depending on who was asked, it was either very good or very bad. Madeline scanned the streets as the crowds dispersed on account of the rain, searching for the Viking with her enhanced senses. While she may be looking forward to meeting up with the often elusive Eric, she knew better than to make any advance in Sookie's presence. Eric had made a promise to her that if she tried, it would be a death wish.

Eric didn't make promises he couldn't keep.

"I thought so too but I don't feel him near. Let's just get out of the rain, perhaps he's on his way."

Sookie approached the unmarked door with the painted-over windows, hearing through the moist brick walls the faint tremors of music.

"This is a vampire bar," Madeline warned, smelling the traces of open wounds, the metal of blood in the air.

"You'll protect me, right?" Sookie smiled playfully, winking as she pushed open the heavy wooden door.

"Fine," Madeline allowed begrudgingly, following her in. The place was packed. Apparently, it wasn't just the humans that were celebrating the end of the war, though it did mean a gradual end to the lawless feeding the vampires had surely grown used to. A few eyes glanced up at their arrival, most landing on Madeline. She was beautiful, her beauty only enhanced by her vampirism.

Sandy brown hair she pinned up off her face, milky eyes innocent as a young doe and fringed with heavy mascara, a heart-shaped face. When she was still human, Madeline was promised to a feudal lord twice her weight and triple her age. He was balding, old enough to be her father, married prior and he had a penchant for using his riding crop for things other than sport. But he was a landowner in the south of France. And he wanted Madeline. They did marry, though the marriage was short. She took her revenge on him after she became a vampire. That, too, didn't take much time. Only a few minutes, if Sookie recalled correctly.

Madeline played it up for her captive audience, dropping her fangs and pulling a tube of bright red lipstick out of her purse. Sookie watched in amusement as she applied it seductively, throwing a wink in the mirror to a man behind her. The bar was pretty evenly split, half vampire and half human. One of said humans attempted to try his hand with Madeline, approaching with his head bowed. Sookie noticed he wore a naval uniform, though it was torn a bit at the neck where a zealous vampire had gotten a bit too greedy.

"Not now, honey," Madeline spoke gently. "Can't you see I'm here to have a girl's night?" She gestured toward Sookie.

Sookie grinned as the man looked at her in appraisal, noticing her existence for the first time. She gave a little wave as they passed around him, walking together toward the bar. To Sookie's surprise the bartender was human, an older gentleman with a strong beard but a weak hairline. He glanced up when they arrived, waving a dishtowel to indicate he'd be over shortly. He, too, approached with a deferential air, and Sookie could see that beneath the beard his neck was littered with vampire bites. Apparently the bartender was also on the menu.

"Ladies," he said with a strong Irish accent, "what can I get for ya?"

"Sookie?" Madeline inclined her head.

"Something strong," Sookie grinned, a bud of anticipation growing in her stomach. She felt Eric's presence. He was nearby.

"On the house tonight," the bartender said, "On account of we're the victors."

"Right you are," Madeline said, her eyes catching on a woman in a back booth. She had long, tumbling red hair, freckled skin, delicate features. She looked fresh from Ireland herself and, from experience, Sookie knew she was exactly Madeline's type.

"Oh, go on," Sookie said, gesturing toward the woman. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Madeline asked. The amount of patrons at the bar had grown, most of them vampire.

"Eric's nearby. I can feel it. Enjoy, it's the end of the war after all."

"Don't remind me," Madeline sighed wistfully, jumping off the bar stool and honing in on her unsuspecting prey. The bartender delivered Sookie two fingers of whiskey with a single ice cube, resting his forearms on the bar, leaning over for a chat. Sookie sipped her whiskey politely, pushing on his mind. It was filled with lust. Not for her, but for vampire blood. The Lower East Side was notorious for its drug scene and vampire blood was no exception.

"You're awful brave hanging out here alone as a human, Sweetheart," the bartender said.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," she said, leaning closer to the bartender with a playful, conspiratorial expression. "I'm not human." Then she grinned, allowing the bartender to think it a joke. He let out a hearty laugh, patting her hand warmly.

"Of course you're not, of course you're not."

Sookie let her gaze wander the bar. The energy was palpable. It made her feel soft, welcome, at peace. It also made her feel a part of something, like the victory was hers, too, though she was gone for nearly the entirety of the war. Eric had made her promise to stay away and so she did. Sookie, too, didn't make promises she couldn't keep. It was something they had in common.

But now, she felt as though she'd missed something monumental. Something tragically human, and at such an enormous scale. She'd witnessed, and partaken in, countless wars. But she could see, in retrospect, that this one was different. The thoughts of the humans that night were truly extraordinary. The things they'd seen, the events they'd experienced. The unabated fear, the exhaustion, the relief of the announcement. The yearning to return to a life of peace, a life of normalcy, a life of love. She could relate.

She was broken from her reverie by the approach of a vampire. She could tell he was young by his mannerisms. The constant flick of his eyes to her neck, locked to the pulsing artery. His jilted movements, unsure yet how to control his speed. His control as thin as tissue paper, his actions driven by desire. Sookie was used to this reaction from the young ones, especially given the potency of her scent. They were hardly able to control themselves around regular humans, nonetheless fairies.

These days, most didn't know why she was different from other humans. The myths had fallen away with time. They just knew they wanted. And they wanted badly.

"Hello," Sookie said disinterestedly.

"Can I get you a drink?" the vampire asked, his short brown hair cropped tightly to his forehead, the standard army cut. He was either blending into the decade or he was very, very new. Sookie had a hunch it was the latter.

"Polite of you. I've got one already."

"Could you give me a drink?" he tried instead, eyes on her neck.

"Cheeky. But no."

The vampire moved his gaze to her face. Clearly, he hadn't been denied yet. She could feel the other vampires in the bar tuning into their conversation, seeing what would happen next. A vampire rejected by a human, in vampire domain. If he did not pursue her, he would look weak. He sensed it too, his back straightening, preparing to prove himself in front of the other patrons. Sookie's eyes flashed to the door. What was taking Eric so long? She'd have to put up a real fight in this bar, and even then there were no guarantees. Plus, she really didn't want to make a scene. Not on a night of celebration, of camaraderie, of togetherness.

From the corner of her eye she watched the bartender take three slow, careful steps away.

In a flash, the vampire made up his mind, darting with her to the back wall and pressing her up against it, two inches off the ground. Sookie dropped her whiskey and the glass broke on the floor in a snowflake of shards. All eyes were now on them. Fangs were dropping. They waited. She tensed, his breath on her neck.

She waited for the bite, but it didn't come.

Eric ripped the boy off her by the back of his neck, her feet dropping to the floor in release as he hurled the young vampire's body into the air. The vampire landed on a barstool, the wood crumpling beneath him. Everyone froze, staring at Eric. Half recognition, half awe. At that moment, the bar was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Eric glanced at Sookie then quickly away, his nostrils flaring in anger. His golden hair was short, also in the army style. He must've been fighting, too, and she found herself wondering on which side. He wore a suit jacket and slacks, leather shoes quiet on the wooden floor as he approached the young vampire.

"Explain yourself," he ordered in his deadliest voice, the low monotone of which he was famous. His accent was thicker than she remembered, the old Nordic vowels marring his English. He must've been in Europe, then. Perhaps even back home to Sweden. Surrounded by similar tongues.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Northman," the vampire cowered, still prostrate on the floor. "I didn't know."

"Then how should I educate you?" Eric asked, cocking his head to the side, toying with him.

"Eric," Sookie interrupted, exasperated. "He really didn't know."

There were surprised reactions by the other vampires. She wondered then if she'd spoken out of turn by using his first name, by addressing him without respect. Eric didn't respond, didn't even turn toward her. Instead, he lifted his leather shoe, letting it hover over the open palm of the vampire. Sookie could see the telltale glint of a silver-plated sole. Slowly, Eric lowered his shoe until the silver just barely touched the vulnerable skin of the vampire's hand. He cried out, attempting to pull himself away from Eric, but Eric simply pressed harder. Digging in. There was nothing the younger vampire could do; Eric's strength was simply too great.

"What's all this about?" Madeline asked playfully over the screams, coming out from a back room with blood dripping down her chin. "I leave and it's a party, I return and it's a medieval torture room?"

"Madeline." Eric nodded his head toward her without lowering the pressure. The vampire continued to scream in agony.

"Come, let's go. We've caused a scene. Plus, I doubt this is the reunion Sookie was looking forward to," she said, curling an arm around his bicep. Eric shook her off, but her words did seem to snap him out of it. He lifted his foot, releasing the boy to flee from the bar at vampire speed. Sookie felt his presence whip past her and out the door. Eric turned, walking toward Sookie as the onlookers continued to take in the scene, an audience enraptured. His coat flowed behind him like a cape as he crossed the room in three long, powerful strides. He pushed her up against the wall in the same spot she'd just been trapped, but his touch was the opposite. It was gentle and sure.

She gazed up at him, the one thing in this world she'd memorized in all facets, the feeling that was impossible to forget. His large palms cradled her face, threading into her hair and breaking the up-do until the strands fell long over her shoulders. Then he leaned down and kissed her, close-mouthed, forceful, pouring his energy into her waiting cup. It runneth over.

"I missed you," he spoke against her lips. She kissed him again in response, wrapping her arms around his neck, reaching up on the tips of her toes to do it. His hair was so short it tickled. "Do you like the hair?" he asked with a smirk, knowing she preferred it long.

"Absolutely not."

He laughed, letting go of her face and weaving his hand into hers.

"Let's go," he said quietly. "There's someone I want you to meet."

x

They didn't make it to his apartment. As they walked, she tugged. First on his hands, then his arms, his neck. Anything to get him into a secluded corner. Anything to get him to give her what she wanted, what she'd been craving. His touch. He glanced down at her, masking his own need with playfulness, using his superior strength, not giving an inch. She kept trying. She took his hand, pulling it up to her mouth, kissing each fingertip as he watched, then sucking his pointer finger into her mouth slowly, wrapping her tongue around the nail. He swallowed slowly and she knew she had him. They stopped first under an eave, the outcropping shielding them from the rain, now coming down harder and faster. She dug herself under his overcoat, the heavy fabric wrapping her up, trying to unbutton his shirt with cold fingers. It didn't matter that they were outside, in public, on a busy street. It felt better in the moonlight.

He gave into her, wrapping his fists in her jacket, pushing it off her shoulders until it dropped into a puddle of fabric beneath her. He reached beneath her thighs, lifting her so she could reach him properly, opening his mouth to her with a gratuitous exhale. She dragged her lips across his, tasting him, salt and earth, a thousand year's history on his skin. She used all of her strength to clutch him closer and he responded in kind, pressing up against her fully, sucking greedily at her neck.

"Can we please keep it moving? It's raining," Madeline whined, huddled under an awning. Eric broke away from Sookie to hiss a warning at Madeline, his fangs out, though he did release his tight grip on Sookie's legs at the same time. Sookie frowned, pouting her lip.

"Soon, little one," he said, smoothing back her damp hair with his palms, reaching around to gather up her jacket and drape it over her shoulders once more.

They stopped a second time in the stairwell up to Eric's apartment. Annoyed and wet, Madeline left them to their own devices, climbing the stairs without a backwards glance, though Sookie could swear she heard displeased grumblings under Madeline's breath. Eric's short hair sparkled with drops of rain. One fell from a strand and began its path down his forehead, his cheek. Sookie jumped up, licking the droplet from his skin. He looked at her with hunger, grasping both her wrists in one of his large hands, holding them above her head, two bodies entwined beneath the flickering electric light of the stairwell.

He used his other hand efficiently, removing her jacket once more to reveal the dress she wore for him. Red, tight, collared. Short, ruffled sleeves with a tie binding her small waist, the tips of the skirt brushing the tops of her knees. He gazed appreciatively for a moment before dragging his hand through the collar, ripping the thin fabric to her waistline.

"Eric, this was one of my favorites," she scolded but he just shrugged, releasing her wrists and dropping to his knees before her, his head ducking under her skirt. She forgot her anger immediately, clutching his shoulders desperately as her bones went weak under the quick movements of his tongue. She felt his palms wrap around her thighs, pulling her closer to him. She cried out when she came, feeling his fangs sink into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, the suckling pressure of two languid pulls. He stood back up slowly, his lips and chin the same color as her dress. He tilted his head left to right, stretching, cracking his neck, smirking down at her.

"Sorry about the dress," he said cockily.

She knew she looked a picture: cheeks flushed, hair wild, dress ripped.

"You're lucky I like you," she said slyly.

"That's true," he agreed, taking off his jacket and giving it to her for modesty. She took it quizzically; he typically didn't care how much of her skin showed at any given time. Still, she wrapped herself in the excess of fabric, nearly drowning in it. He held out his hand to her and she took it, climbing the rest of the stairs slowly, approaching a door only slightly different from its neighbors: it sported several extra locks.

He opened the door to a cozy sitting room complete with a roaring fire. Heavy drapes, lit candles, and a human, neck still dripping blood, lounging in the corner. Sookie settled herself on the couch, looking inquisitively at Eric. He was acting odd, less confident than normal, like he was hiding something. She could feel he was unsure.

"What's going on?" she asked him. Before he could answer, another vampire stepped into the room. She had long, glamorous, dirty-blonde hair. Her skin was so fair it caused her features to pop aggressively. She wore an elegant dress, expensive, and she was impressively manicured. Her fangs were out, but her movements were deliberate, cautious, and clearly deferential to Eric. Her dark eyes were searching Sookie's. She was sizing her up.

"Sookie," Eric said, re-capturing her attention. "I'd like to introduce you to my progeny, Pamela."

Louisiana, 2008

"Out," the vampire ordered calmly from the top of the stairs, eyes still locked on Sookie. The basement was completely silent save for a single drop of water repeatedly splashing somewhere in the distance.

"But, Eric-"

"Sheriff, we didn't intend-"

Both Bill and Pam began to protest at the same time, forgetting their own vendetta against each other, their arms dropping to their sides.

"Did I stutter?" he asked, his voice deadlier in its extreme monotone. She noticed then that he had an accent, something she couldn't place. European, perhaps. Mixed in with the local Southern drawl.

Pam moved first, her eyes apologetic, all of the wind taken from her sails as she approached Eric.

"I was just making sure it was really her, I thought she was under a spell," Pam explained, gesturing toward the open wound on Sookie's neck. She moved up into Eric's presence, attempting to make eye contact, her expression subservient and raw. She clutched his hand in both of hers.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to look at you." Eric ripped his hand away and moved around her, approaching Sookie slowly. She still sat at the bottom of the stairs, knees curled into her chest, drops of blood falling onto her white dress. Bill, too, moved past Sookie, ready to abandon her without a second glance.

"Bill, wait," Sookie cried, clutching at his leg, fearful for what might happen with this strange, powerful vampire in a basement fit for torture. Bill turned back quickly, kneeling before her to speak a quick reassurance. Eric gripped his shoulder first, pulling him away from Sookie with one smooth gesture.

"You don't touch her," he said, deadly soft. He crouched where Bill just was, his face a remarkable contrast. Sookie couldn't help but stare at him, shocked by the way he regarded her, without any pretense, like an old friend or lover. He took her hand gently, removing it from where it clutched the open wound on her neck. She didn't resist, caught in his arctic eyes, finding something there she didn't expect. Something that tickled at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch. She watched as his fangs dropped; slowly, with a perverse sense of control. She assumed, then, that he would bite her, what with the way he was looking at her neck. Instead, he used his fang to prick his own fingertip, a drop of his own blood growing slowly. With his other hand, he clutched the back of her neck, drawing her closer, pressing his fingertip into the bite. She jumped, a warm flush growing on her cheeks as he rubbed circles there, a small tingle as the wound closed up. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in slightly, staring at her lips.

"She is mine," Bill growled in interruption.

The tall, golden-haired vampire's face froze, a wall coming down with incredible speed. And then he laughed. But it wasn't a happy laugh. It was cruel. He didn't even turn to look at Bill.

"Sookie," Eric addressed her. She jolted at her name being used by him; there was no way for him to know it. She'd never seen this vampire before in her life. "Tell him."

Sookie opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out, lips parted and her eyes wide. Eric knelt closer to her, both of his hands gripping her biceps tightly.

"Tell him," he implored, his expression suddenly urgent.

"I… I'm Bill's," Sookie choked out. Eric dropped his hands as if burnt, standing to back up from her like she was the dangerous one. Bill's smile was triumphant. Sookie had never seen a shocked vampire before, especially one shocked into inaction. She scrambled up and around his frozen form, noticing with fear that she only came up to mid-chest at her full height. This vampire could snap her like a twig and she was clearly displeasing him in some deep, impossible way. She wasn't about to stick around and wait for him to take action.

She took advantage of his confusion and raced up the steps, her heart pounding, running blindly toward the thumping music of Fangtasia. Bill caught up and lifted her through the bar, speeding out into the night. He deposited her in the passenger's seat, zipping around, revving the engine and swerving out of the lot.

The last thing she saw from her window was Eric, standing just outside the bar, his face open, looking for all the world like he'd just seen a ghost.

x

Sookie's sleep was restless. She was plagued by dreams that started beautifully but trailed into nightmares. Each time she awoke, she felt as if someone were watching her, cataloguing her, examining her. It was a figure that hovered right at the edge of her peripheral vision, a phantom, a spirit that disappeared the moment she turned her head. She awoke the last time, sweating, in the dead of night, without a single memory of her dream. Her window was slightly parted, letting in a cool breeze. It was funny, she had no recollection of opening it.

She crossed over to the window, the curtains blowing softly around her. Outside, the moon was full, illuminating the yard, casting white light on her grandmother's blooming flower garden. She leaned her head out, cooling off, staring at the graveyard in the distance. Somewhere, just on the other side, Bill waited out the night in the old Compton residence. She thought back wistfully to simpler times. Early summer. Working at the bar with Sam and Arlene. Watching soaps with Gran. Hanging out with Jason while the lightning bugs appeared and disappeared around them.

Now, she had Bill. Her strange and grateful void. But she had the nagging, uncompromising feeling that Bill was just the beginning. He was the door to something more, something previously closed off to her, locked up with the key thrown away. She thought back on the evening at Fangtasia, the events that made no sense independently though, in retrospect, felt pre-determined in some way. Like she was an actress reading a script in which she had no knowledge of the lines.

It was Eric's face that came to her most often, and with cruel and striking clarity. His unguarded expressions of hate, of hope, of heartbreak. She'd seen from vampires that they were adept at covering up their emotions, at hiding their humanity deep down inside. But he had been open with her, like she would expect nothing less from him. She knew in her soul that she was the source of his pain, but she had no idea why. He hadn't retaliated, either. He'd shown no violence toward her at all.

She resolved then to go back to him, to attempt to understand, to let him explain without guarding herself out of fear, out of panic. She decided all of this without the knowledge that he was already on his way to her, seeking her out first.

x

thank you so much for your lovely responses to chapter 1. i'm actually quarantined right now (not sick, knock on wood!) so i have loads of time to write. throwing in some OCs because why not! would love to know your thoughts x