Chapter 19:
Offer and Order
x
Portland, 1974
Sookie discovered what summer looked like in Portland. It came late, kicking off closer to the end of July than the end of May like in most places. The skies were a clear, uninterrupted blue. It wasn't too hot, but it wasn't too cold either. It hovered somewhere in the low 80s, just warm enough to bask in the sun without getting sweaty or burning bare feet on pavement. It was in these secret months, July and August and September, that the humans of Portland thrived. Everyone lived outside, from garage sales to growing gardens to bikinis on the waterfront.
It was a shame Eric could not enjoy the afternoon with her. It was a thought Sookie used to have often, now not often enough. The way the warmth kissed her bare skin, the rocks of the pebbly beach jangling against each other beneath her towel. The way the river smelled, the lap of its gentle current running along the dark sand. The barking dogs, splashing ecstatically into the water, chasing after sticks, sniffing and gnawing. She took a photograph with her eyes, promising to describe it to him word for word, moment for moment, the second he awoke.
She lay alone, the sun beating down, delighting in the feeling. She lingered until just before sunset, the melodic tune of an ice cream truck carrying toward her on the gentle breeze. She gathered her things, pulling on her bell-bottom jeans but leaving her shirt in her bag. The temperature was still too warm, the air a caress. She couldn't bring herself to add even a single additional layer. On impulse, she stopped by the ice cream truck, rooting around for some spare change for a popsicle. She remembered when the treats first came to market, back at the beginning of the century. The advent of readily-available and easily-maintained cooling equipment changed everything, and she marveled at the ingenuity that grew from it. Freezing sweet liquid to a stick! A little miracle.
Barefoot, she walked the streets of Portland back to the apartment she shared with Eric. The night began to awaken around her, the neon signs flickering on, cabs whizzing past, transporting people from restaurant to bar to club. She considered stopping by Ravenscroft but decided against it. She had an immediate, untenable urge to see Eric. It struck her like lightning: the want, so potent, so tangible. She could taste it, could lick it like the popsicle in her hand. She doubled her pace, climbing the hilly streets, weaving around the broken glass and other city refuse on the sidewalks. Her feet were already calloused from years of barefoot summers but that didn't mean stepping on an errant pointy object wouldn't cut through the skin. The only puncture wound she wanted that evening came from two sharp fangs.
Eric was already awake when she opened the door, wearing nothing but short shorts and tube socks, his hair pressed in the back from sleep. The apartment was warm and welcoming. He was seated in front of the window in an armchair, a book dwarfed within his large palm, the spine curved back in his hand. He looked at her when she arrived and smiled slightly, then went back to his book, flipping the page to the next, the rasp of the paper loud in the quiet apartment. She dropped her bag on the floor, the popsicle still dripping in her other hand. He looked so sexy, awash in the light of the lamp, bare chest and long fingers, the tendons in his arm pulled tight, his muscles flexing in a round. Her heart sped up as she took him in, crossing the room and standing before him.
He glanced up from his book again, first at her chest, bare but for the bikini top, focusing in on the rapid beat of her heart, then to her face, his eyebrow quirked in question. She reached out and put her hand on the top of his book, pushing it down until he let go, grabbing the text and dropping it to the floor between them.
"Sookie?" he began. She shushed him, climbing atop his lap in the chair, straddling his legs between her own. The popsicle continued to melt, bright blue liquid dripping down her forearm like a vibrant tear, trickling to the crease of her elbow, pooling there. The popsicle met the same fate as the book, landing on the floor in a splat, forgotten to melt and coalesce. She placed her hands on either side of his neck, one warm from the sun and the other cool from the frozen treat. He exhaled, a suggestion of his own response, his palms wrapping around her thighs, holding her to him and down.
She kissed him, grabbing his chin, pulling his face up to meet hers, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, teasing and testing. He let out a small noise, his brow creased, fingers digging tighter into the fabric of her jeans, his torso stretching upwards to her own. She released his lips, gazing at his open face, his hooded eyes, watching her, waiting for the next move. She dipped beneath his chin, lips trailing along his jawline, down his neck then up the other side, sucking the sensitive spot behind his ear, taking the lobe into her mouth and biting. There was a click: his fangs dropping down, the feel of her teeth coaxing his own into being. But still he waited, gripping her, watching as she moved above him, around him, through him.
Her lips continued their path, moving from his neck to his chest, tongue swirling around his nipples, dropping further to the lines of his abdominals, blowing on the cool skin until the muscles came to life in an instinctive flex. He moved his hands from her thighs and wove them into her long hair, knotted and windswept from the day at the waterfront. She felt the tingling sting of a tug on her scalp as he coaxed her upwards, making eye contact with him once more, their faces parallel and level. He rubbed himself against her, a question, seeking the friction and the heat, asking if she would provide. She smiled, biting first her lower lip then leaning in and taking his own, digging her tongue into his mouth, feeling his cool breath wash over her, the tips of his fangs plucking her skin like the pick on the strings of a guitar.
"Mmm," he moaned. She felt the rumble against her own lips, the tightening of his skin as he smiled, his nose pressed into her cheek, his fingers now coaxing their way beneath the straps of her bikini.
"Not yet," she whispered, pushing his hands down. "Stay."
Eric quivered, a full body shudder.
He did not take orders except from her.
Did not submit except for her.
Did not succumb except to her.
She was the exception.
Sookie knelt before him, starting at his feet, unrolling his socks down slowly, first one and then the other. He grinned, gazing down at her. She knew they were ticklish and she teased him with them, brushing lightly with her fingertips until he pulled away, jutting his chin out to beckon her upwards. She trailed her lips up his legs, through the fine hair there, his ankle, the back of his knee, his long thigh, the muscle jolting beneath the skin. She dipped in and out beneath his shorts, his arousal present and visible through them, pushing eagerly against the fabric, begging for release. She pressed her palm to him through the material, feeling how ready he was, watching as his head dropped to the back of the chair, his jaw flexing, nose wrinkled, fangs over his bottom lip. She peeled his shorts off slowly, unwrapping him like a gift, unneeded breath causing his chest to rise and fall, the anticipation building to a head, ready to explode.
Her own handiwork was admirable. Eric, sitting before her, barely holding on, completely nude, his hands gripping the sides of the chair so tightly that soon they would crumble, he would warp the structure and they would need to buy yet another.
"You want more?" she asked, twirling her finger through her own bikini strap, testing him, teasing him once more. He nodded, a low growl in his chest. "Then come and get it."
She turned on her heel and ran, sprinting from the main room to the bedroom, seeing how far she could get. It wasn't far. He caught her from behind in a second, his cool arms wrapped around her chest. She felt herself flip, twist, and tumble onto the bed. The sheets flew up around her, her hair a cascade over the pillows, arms and legs splayed. She laughed, sucking the air into her lungs after the shock of landing on her back, only Eric in her field of vision. He framed her, his hands on either side of her face, twirling into her hair, knees propped up around her hips, his back curved. He leaned into her and she stopped him again, a hand on his cheek.
"Wait, I want to tell you something," she whispered. She felt deliriously happy, holding the knowledge to herself for the final moments, thrilled for what she was about to unleash. Her cheeks nearly split in their grin, a flush coloring them a deep pink.
"What?" he breathed, his impatience leaking into his question. She had tempted him long enough, he needed her now, he could no longer wait.
"I'm going to ask to stay in the human realm permanently," she confessed. His face froze. She could see the calculations taking place, could feel the emotion flowing through their bond, untempered from him to her. Confusion, disbelief. Joy. Hesitation. Unbearable happiness.
"No more waiting?" he asked quietly.
"No more waiting," she answered.
"And I am awake?"
She laughed, reaching down, gripping him firmly. He moaned, bucking toward her.
"You feel pretty awake to me," she replied. She gripped his neck, trying to pull her down to him, trying to kiss him once more, wanting to share their love as she shared her confession, wanted their joy to intermingle, the brilliant purity of the knowledge that she would no longer hurt him, that she would make it better, that they would be together for all eternity, unbroken. But he did not move. He was still, staring at her, lips parted and fangs out. She pulled harder, but still there was no response.
"What's wrong?" she asked, touching the lines in his forehead, feeling his confusion and concern. He blinked, breaking from his trance.
"Don't move," he requested, jumping up from the bed and returning in an instant, standing above her, the polaroid camera in his hands. He pointed it at her and she smiled, feeling his confusion replaced with an unconstrained exuberance, an overwhelming desire. The exact moment he gave in to himself. A flash of light lit the room as he took the photo, a moment frozen in time, the print spitting out the other end, its blank face a mystery soon to develop. He threw both the camera and the photo to the floor, collapsing on top of her, his face inches from her own.
"Min kärlek," he exhaled, pressing his lips to hers.
"Are you happy?" she asked.
"Can you feel it?" he opened their bond further, the emotion nearly overwhelming her. It was beyond just happiness. It was more.
"Yes," she pressed her hand to his dead heart, imagining the thunderous beat. "I feel it."
Despite his impatience, he moved slowly, with an intense, tender care. There was a need shared between them to make the moment last, the urgency gone and replaced by something deeper, something written in permanent ink. He untied her bikini, worshipping her breasts with his lips and tongue, languid, rolling strokes, tasting the warmth of her skin, the fine grains of sand that lingered, the flush of blood as it grew across her chest. She gripped him tightly everywhere, her hands finding purchase wherever she could. The love poured between them in an unstoppable flow, a river succumbing to the current, a moon-caught tide. She felt everything, each nerve alight as he unzipped her pants, pulled them down her legs, leaving her bare before him, together their most primal selves.
He sunk into her slowly, with reserve, her eyes rolling up, feeling him fill her so fully was a sensation that never got old, never grew tiresome. He wrapped himself around her, legs and arms tangling together, his lips at her neck, his fangs brushing the sensitive skin there. Though his skin was cold, Sookie felt hot, sweat growing at her temples, sticking to her long hair. She slid beneath him, their friction building with each thrust, first deliberate then quicker, their need no longer ignored. She cried out against him, her fingers in his hair, feeling his fangs sink into her neck at the crux of her orgasm, his movement stilling as he pulled mouthfuls of blood, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
He growled, ripping his fangs out and thrusting once more, a crunch as he gripped the bed frame and broke it clean through, the rip of his other hand tearing through their sheets. His mouth opened in a silent cry and he collapsed atop her, a mixture of blood and sweat and warm and cold and soft and steel. He pressed his nose to the side of her face, lapping up the excess blood, closing the wound. Then he tended to her, gathering her up, kneading tight muscles, licking her sweat, untangling her hair with his fingers. She relaxed into his chest, curled up, spent. She didn't remember the rest of the evening, the narrative a slippery slope into dream. The last thing she felt was the vibrations in his chest as he whispered ancient loving words, softly and slowly, in her ear.
x
Eric left her in Stockholm. It was the closest she had allowed him to be to the portal since before The Decimation. It was cocky, really. Unwise and perilous. But they did it anyway, traveling together on red eye flights, stopping first for a few nights in New York, in London. Something transformational was happening in the larger cities. A growing awareness of the supernatural. Themed bars and restaurants were opening, no longer hidden from the public eye. Half real half fantasy, they played into the human suspicions and the supernatural proclivities at the same time. In London, a bar sold only bagged blood in any type requested in fancy wine glasses, the more expensive the rarer. Eric, they found out, hated AB negative.
The changing world seduced them both, lulled them into a false sense of security, an attitude that all were accepted, that Sookie would meet no resistance with her request to stay in the human realm permanently. After all, people were more open now. Alternative lives were accepted. Species war was a thing of the past. There were even governmental structures in place to uphold the laws, to make sure everyone was relatively safe. It was with that level of confidence that she walked through the portal, seeing her friends and family waiting on the other side.
Faerie was as stagnant as ever. The golden hue, the hazy reality, the rosewater streams. Her bedroom with its canopy bed, the sheer, flowing curtains. A vase of flowers waiting on her dresser, a light so bright it blinded. She washed up slowly, brushing her fingers over the last place Eric's lips had touched, the hollow of her collarbone, his nose pressed to the side of her neck.
"I will miss you," he'd confessed, something he'd never said, not in a thousand years of departures. Perhaps it was because he believed it to be the very last time. She, too, had lingered, giving more than she usually gave, saying goodbye for what she also thought to be the final time. It was a bittersweet moment, sadness trumped by happiness, by hope. His cold hands moved her thick parka aside and he'd leaned over, lips on her collarbone. And with that, she walked out into the snow.
Her winter gear, mandatory in Sweden, was of no use in Faerie. No sooner had she removed her heavy outerwear and had there come a knock on her bedroom door. Quiet, yet impossible to miss. She bounded over to the heavy wood, opening it to reveal her grandfather. She threw her arms around him, enveloped by his warmth and his singular smell: herbal, like cloves, mixed with the potent smoke of incense and sandalwood. He patted her back lightly, his body stiff. He never was one for outward affection, though his thoughts betrayed him slightly. Sookie heard the love within him, the gratitude and thankfulness. Niall, her one grandfather, her family. His wall may be up, but she could still tell he missed her so.
"Come, sit," she said, ushering him inside. A prepared tea set waited on her dresser and she offered him a cup, steeping the bag in silence.
"Where have you been this time?" Niall asked, taking the tea she offered in his wrinkled hands, sipping tentatively. "And do all pants now have these wide bottoms?"
She laughed, looking down at her bell-bottom jeans.
"It's the style now," Sookie explained, "Lots of dark, earthy colors, too. Oranges, browns, reds. People are very environmentally-minded, it's quite nice. Lots of movements, lots of actions."
"And you take part?" he asked.
"Me? No. But I watch sometimes. Peaceful protests are so remarkable. The humans stand for what they believe in even if the cause is futile, even if they have no power to change what they dislike."
"Admirable, if not fruitless," Niall allowed, settling himself in.
"Exactly," Sookie agreed, her eyes flashing with excitement. "I'm in America, too. The New World. People are very 'free' there, or so they think. Very open. It's a sexual revolution, really."
Niall tensed up at her words, uncomfortable about speaking such things with his granddaughter. He waved her on, pursuing another topic.
"And you are here quite soon after your last visit? Is there a particular reason? You are usually not so keen to visit," Niall said, working hard to keep the bitterness and hurt from his voice.
"It's not that, Grandfather," she said, clutching his hand. "It's just that… well… I've met someone."
"Met someone," he repeated.
"Yes, like, someone," Sookie reiterated, placing more emphasis on the word. She could see Niall try to deduce her meaning. How dense he could sometimes be when it came to interpersonal relationships, when speaking of matters of the heart. "A man. I met a man."
"Oh," he blinked. "I see. You haven't spoken of any connection in a very long while. I seem to remember a Viking that you bonded with but that was quite some time ago, even by our standards. You must be very picky."
Sookie smiled to hide her grimace. Niall had no idea he spoke of the same person, only hundreds of years later.
"I suppose I am picky, yes."
"And this man, he has a name?"
"Yes, it's Eric," she exhaled, a relief to say it aloud, to finally reveal this huge part of her life with her family, as censored as it may be.
"A Viking name! I believe Hadley would say you have a type," Niall smiled, nudging her with his shoulder.
"Grandfather! Don't be cheeky."
Niall laughed then, a rarity even to Sookie. His spirits were high and Sookie felt closer to him than ever. Now was the moment to make her request, when it felt most likely she would succeed.
"I wanted to ask you, actually," she began, swallowing nervously, "About staying in the human realm with him. Permanently."
"You mean until his death. I cannot see a problem in this, though you must return when your bond is broken. I would hate to see you go through that alone, it is very painful as you know." Niall spoke logically, mapping out the sequence of events in his mind. He stroked his beard, thoughtful. Sookie could see that he was pleased to give her this allowance, even though he didn't yet know what she was asking.
"Grandfather?" She captured his full attention, a hand on his forearm. Niall looked at her suspiciously, his tea rattling in his hands, trembling as they were with age. "I'm not asking to stay until his death."
"I don't understand. You wish to come sooner?"
"No, Grandfather. The thing is, he's already dead. Eric is immortal, like us. He's a vampire."
The rattling teacup dropped to the floor, landing with a splash and a clatter. Niall jumped to his feet as two fairy guards rushed in, hurrying to ensure their leader was unharmed in the commotion. Sookie, too, stood, waving off the guards.
"It's fine, he just dropped his tea. I can clean it."
Niall stood beside her, his face pale as death, the lines around his eyes and mouth etched in fury. It was like steam rose off him. She noted with alarm that his hands began to glow, rage directed not at an enemy but at her, his own granddaughter. Sookie took a step back, holding her own hands up in surrender.
"This cannot be," Niall said, working to control his anger.
"I love him, Grandfather," she replied, trying to speak some sense into him.
"You speak blasphemy," he hissed.
"He is a good person," she implored.
"He is not a person. He is a corpse," Niall replied, his voice rising then dropping instantly to a mutter. "I should've known, after Godric. I saw it then, I see it again now."
"This has nothing to do with Godric," she replied.
"The vampire is using you. He uses you for the daylight, he uses you to see the sun. All vampires do is take. Drain. Kill. They give nothing back."
"He loves me," she said quietly, looking down at her feet, not wanting to see the disappointment, the rage, the fear on her grandfather's face.
"You will not go back there. If you do, I will exile you. You will no longer be a part of this family. You will no longer have access to the portal," he thundered, his judgment raining down from the heavens as if he, himself, were a deity, so all-encompassing was his ruling.
"Niall, please," she protested, using his name, appealing to his humanity first.
"You will not go back there," he reiterated.
"Please don't make me choose, because I will choose him. I will choose him every time," she begged.
"It is not a choice. It is an order."
Sookie smiled sadly. Though it was a goodbye, she was unwilling to say it. She stepped around him, walking slowly, wondering if he would use force to make her stay. He didn't. She sensed his eyes upon her, saw the hazy impression of the back of her head in his mind as he watched her depart, slowly descending the curving staircase that wove down from her bedroom. It was strange; she never considered her final departure from Faerie, so focused was she on staying on Earth, on remaining beside Eric, on saving them from their own countless future goodbyes. And now she was among it, living it, feeling the stones beneath her fingers for the last time, seeing the golden haze around her, her final sunset in this realm. The other fairies wandered around her, unknowing of the drama that just unfolded above them, both peaceful and at peace. For a moment, she envied them. Wished for a different outcome, one in which she got everything she wanted, and her heart wasn't torn in two, one half with her love and the other half with her family.
But there are no perfect endings to any story. That wasn't the way the world worked. It was a fact she knew, that she understood. But it didn't make this particular ending hurt any less. She approached the portal, turning one last time to gaze upon the land she was born and raised. The land she did love, as any and all must love their homeland. An unbreakable bond created at the very start, humming and alive and given as a gift. In the distance, she could just make out Niall's profile in one of the windows above. His outline as he watched her exit. She was too far away to hear his thoughts, but she could imagine them. There were two halves to any goodbye. She had only the strength to shoulder her own portion.
There was a familiar rush of wind as she landed back in Sweden, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She realized, in her haste, that she'd forgotten her parka in Faerie. She turned back toward the portal, sensing its closeness, its invisible presence. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to where she knew the barrier to be. Her palm encountered something solid, locked. An impasse.
Niall had not lied. The portal was closed to her forever.
Scandinavia, 1415
Eric wrenched himself away from Russell. He'd fought his Maker over a fairy, a fairy he'd commanded Eric to kill. It made no sense. There was a splice inside him, a sawed off section of his awareness that he could not access. It hovered somewhere in his consciousness, he could feel it, nearly grab hold of it, but it was elusive. Slippery and without purchase. He saw Russell laugh, his brown hair glinting bright in the moonlight. He clapped Eric on the shoulder, his grip tight as a vice.
"It seems we are outnumbered, my boy," he said.
"Godric," Eric replied.
"There is nothing we can do for him. He chose to defend the enemy and now he will die for it."
"No."
Eric moved, darting through the trees in the direction of Godric, feeling their bond weakening like a leaky basin, flowing steadily outward, growing weaker. He sensed fairies near and they fought for his attention, the Maker command slicing through him, one half needing Godric and the other half needing the kill. He was at odds with himself, at war with himself. It would drive him mad. He ran headlong through a tree, the heavy wood breaking around his stone body, branches and leaves flying skyward and falling in a flurry. He could tell he was getting closer to Godric, to the fairy and their army, to what would likely be his own death. Russell was right, they were outnumbered. And, yet, it did not matter.
Just as Eric was about to pass into a clearing, Russell came hurtling at him from the side, slamming him to the ground. Eric thrashed, pushing against Russell, yearning for freedom, needing nothing more than to answer both his calls.
"You will die if you go there. You are too great a weapon to lose, Eric," Russell said, pushing him into the ground. Eric spat leaves and dirt from his mouth, flexing and twisting with all of his effort to extricate himself. But Russell was much older and much stronger, even than Godric. There was little Eric could do. He wheezed with the effort, his fangs snapping at Russell's exposed skin. Russell, on the other hand, hardly put up a fight. He locked Eric down, stilling him without expending any visible strain.
"Godric," Eric ground out, his legs flailing beneath Russell's hold.
"It will be over soon," Russell said, very seriously. "All of it will."
Eric, in his deluded state, could not discern the truth behind his words, what code lay within them. He knew of only two things: his Maker and the fairies. Both beckoned him, unstoppable, a Siren's call. He needed to save, he needed to kill. He needed.
"You fought for me well, Eric. I will not forget that."
Eric growled, pushing once more with all of his strength. He felt Russell's grip slacken slightly, surprised by the give he was allowing. Eric flipped Russell on his back and stood, prepared to fight. But it was of no use. There was a terrible ripping within him, an unbearable pain in his core. A rush of memory unlocked like a broken dam, a flood of knowledge. He looked around himself, confused, lost. How had he gotten to this forest? Where was Sookie? And Godric? He clutched at his chest, suddenly alone, truly fearful for the first time in his immortal life. Then he did what he instinctually had to do: he ran.
x
Sookie knelt beside Godric, holding his hand tightly within her own. He was limp, eyes flickering with slight awareness, the gash in his chest deep and blooming with dark red blood.
"I can heal him," she cried, staring up at Niall, tears in her eyes.
"He is the enemy," Niall replied, his face cold as stone, unfeeling, ready to exact punishment.
"He saved me," she tried, digging her fingernails into her skin, attempting to draw her own blood to the surface.
"Nevertheless," Niall murmured, his hands glowing hot.
"No!" she screamed, throwing herself over Godric, shielding him with her body.
"Sookie, step back," Niall ordered.
"No," she sniffed, burying her face in his neck. "I can heal him."
"Sookie." It was Godric. He spoke softly, hardly a whisper. "I must die now. The command will break. The Northman will be free. The war will end."
"No," Sookie said for the third time, holding his face between her hands. "There has to be another way. You can break the command yourself. We can run."
Godric shook his head slowly.
"I have pursued my vice and I will pay the price. Not you. Not my Son."
"Godric," she whispered, clutching him tighter to her. She tried to reach their bond, that distant connection they held as Eric's Maker. It was faint, like a ghost within her. Already a hazy memory.
The warm arms of a fairy wrenched her back, pulled her away from the dying vampire. She could only watch as Niall approached, his hands glowing white hot, so bright she squinted, like staring directly into the sun on the hottest day of the year. It was the kiss of death, a light so blinding it extinguished. She gasped when her grandfather hit Godric with the killing blow, felt the flame inside her wink out, leaving a gap, a swollen void, an emptiness.
The fairies retreated, leaving her alone in the field, the burnt corpse of Godric still smoking. Distantly, she could sense the sun threaten to rise, the beginning of a new day, the great orb apathetic to the suffering beneath it. She pushed herself to a standing position, drawing a hand down her face in resolution. She would not cry. She would not mourn. Not yet.
First, she had to find Eric.
x
who would've thought it would be the year of our lord 2020 and we'd be quarantined in a pandemic, i'd be writing ACTION of all things, and stephenie meyer would release a new Twilight book. NOT ME, that's who! appreciate your comments. ty for each and every one. stay safe x