Chapter 20: Bruise Violet

After losing the long tail of paparazzi that was now following them, Eric dropped off Chow and Pam then headed to his (fingers crossed) last stop: Olivia's place. Maybe it was the wild rush of adrenaline, or maybe there was just something about her leather skirt hugging her hips that was extremely enticing. But as usual, she was pissed off at him. Olivia was going on and on about his TV speech as if it was a society-threatening manifesto, calling it "utterly reckless" and how the "spotlight was dangerous to put all of us in jeopardy", and blah, blah, blah.

"Oh calm down, you are blowing this out of proportion-"

"I don't think you understand the power that you have!" She nagged. "They were eating you up, Eric! This is going to last way longer than one news cycle, and you know it."

He knew exactly how much power he had, but he liked that she acknowledged the impact of it. Eric liked a lot of things about her tonight. "You seem to forget that I am immortal, Olivia. Whatever fallout comes my way from this, to me it'll be just a little bump on the road. No news cycle lasts forever. Plus, who cares what some small-town journalists have to say about someone setting a garbage fire on a bar?"

"Uhm, perhaps Steve Newlin? Who you basically called the puppet master behind an attack he had nothing to do with! What's going to happen when the police go to the Lakemount basement?"

He just couldn't contain himself. "They are going to find a hell of a lot of vampire hunting gear. Plus, you caught Steve Newlin admitting on tape that Lakemount was affiliated with the Fellowship, remember? It was basically your idea, I'm just running with it."

She was just aghast with the insinuation. Eric knew she was about the last person on earth who would get on a podium and start a fight on TV with a cult leader - Olivia was just way too discreet and too risk-averse for a stunt like that. Not because she was a coward, far from it. Being inconspicuous was more of her style, and he understood why. But there was some truth behind it. Blaming someone else was a clever page he borrowed from The Carson Book.

The accountant just folded her arms across her chest and didn't speak another word for the rest of the ride home. He could feel her anger and fear radiating from her little body; their blood bond was faint now but he could feel the disturbance in it. He knew her well enough to know her brain was running every worse scenario that his PR stunt could lead. But honestly, Eric knew damn well humans held no love for vampires, nor they ever would. Whatever pity his speech could provoke would be as significant as lint in a pocket. If they didn't give a fuck about the KKK burning crosses against their own back then, they sure as shit wouldn't care about something as minuscule as this now. Which meant she was either naive and this was her humanity manifesting, or she actually cared what happened to him. An unsettling thought.

"I need to ask you something and I want the truth. No bullshit." Olivia broke the silence. "Why did you really want me there? I served no purpose at the press conference. You didn't need a token human on stage to do what you did."

And suddenly he had to ask himself the same question. While she was getting ready for the press conference with Pamela, Eric had gotten the call that Duprez had been executed for treason and Queen Sophie-Anne sent spies to keep an eye on Peter Threadgill, King of Arkansas. But he still chose to make Olivia come along and stand alongside him, Pam and Chow for the cameras. Eric knew full well she didn't need to be up there in a room full of the local press.

"My world knows I'm devoted to protecting you," he couldn't believe he was actually telling her this. Eric pulled in front of her gate and the car came to a rolling stop. "So I wanted yours to know you are devoted to me."

The two sat quietly in the car for maybe 3 seconds staring at each other in the dark, but it certainly felt much longer. Eric shouldn't care about Olivia's attachment to this job. To her, he was just that: a means to an end, an assignment or project to be completed. But Eric caught himself feeling pleased with what he had done. He was happy when he heard she bought a house here, the same one they were now parked in front of. He was content whenever all the other vamps in Fangtasia were jealous of him whenever he was with her. Having Olivia stand behind him on TV and tell all of Shreveport that she was with him gave him a high he discovered he really liked. He wanted her to have some skin in the game because he was all in and he wanted Olivia to be too.

In one graceful movement, Olivia grabbed her purse and the door handle.

"That's a very dangerous thing you are doing," her big brown eyes were piercing right through him, and not in a way that felt pleasant. "To think that I could care about you."

And she left the car and headed inside her house alone, hurting a lot more than just his pride.

When Olivia woke up the next day she stared at her ceiling for a very long time. She laid there gathering the courage to reach for her phone, fearing the devastation Eric Northman had caused. Maybe he was right - maybe humans didn't really care about vampires all that much. Maybe the media just loved watching the circus burn. They were driven by views, money, perhaps narcissism, and felt completely indifferent about the circus animals. Still, her gut told her otherwise. Eric didn't witness what she witnessed. He commanded the whole room. No mind in that press conference paid attention to anything or anyone other than his every word, it was like a trance. No one, not even her could look away.

Olivia finally looked at her phone, opened the news app, and instantly felt a hot flash run through her body. The story had exploded. It made far beyond being their little local news - Eric Northman's beautiful face and unfiltered charm were stamped on the front page of the LA Times, New York Post and even freaking USA Today. Columns discussed the Vampire Rights Amendment, the unfair treatment of "model citizen vampires" and the tyranny of hatred in the name of religion, ignorance and misinformation. Other outlets told the story the other way around: a vampire strip club was just adding sin and corruption to the world, vampires should be controlled and watched, not protected or pitied.

Eric Northman created what America loves the most: controversy. And people were eating it up.

"Sometimes I fucking hate being right," she sighed as she rushed to the living room to turn on the TV.

She flipped every channel and there he was - everywhere. Off her dreams and now onto live television. Olivia obsessively watched and read every news she could find with Eric's name or face on it, searching the background of every image footage for herself. The images were cropped enough or at an angle that didn't show her fully standing at the edge of the stage. They focused on Eric and in some instances, you could see Pam's gleeful face. Olivia's name was also not mentioned anywhere. She was safe from the public eye - for now.

Just to make sure, Liv tip-toed to the front of her living room and carefully peeked through the curtains. There were no news vans out front, just Bobby Burnham sitting in his Camry across the street reading the newspaper. Whew. Eric had made good on his promise that her identity would not have been compromised. Bobby noticed her watching him, and he nodded to her doorstep.

Liv slowly opened her front door and encountered something unexpected waiting for her front step: three large brown moving boxes, unlabeled. She leaned over and quickly opened the first one.

"Shut the fuck up!" She gasped pulling out her favourite rose gold sequin wrap dress out of the box.

Inside the boxes were her clothes! All of them! Her shoes, and jackets, and all her pants! She was so happy she could cry with excitement. Olivia dragged all the boxes inside and found a small note taped to the side of one of them. In a very old-fashioned cursive writing on Fangtasia stationary it read:

I won't be caught dead being saved by someone wearing Old Navy ever again -P

Ah, that Pamela. What a bitch.

As she unpacked and put her clothes away the previous night replayed in her head. It's like Eric was stuck in her mind. Memories of him quietly watching her work at the diner; how he shielded her from the news people leaving the police headquarters; their conversation in the car the night prior (and how ruthlessly she had ended it). Eric trusted her - a lot. But he was also getting a bit too comfortable around her. Eric Northman's trust was a two-edged sword - and neither end felt quite painful which was the scariest part.

So Olivia decided to do what she did best at times like this: she threw herself into work.

Luckily, her schedule today was packed with meetings: insurance adjusters first; contractors to rebuild what was burned down second, and finally, a meeting with a realtor to find a temporary practice space for all the Fangtasia's dancers. At least the opening delay would give them more time to actually become strippers.

And to top it off, she had to find the leak in this boat in which the DEA was seeping through. She thought about going back to the Bonds office and getting the list of people arrested for vamp blood infractions and going from there. The guy seemed knowledgeable and bribeable. Someone somewhere had to be snitching and she was determined to find who. Rule number 6: you don't lose. When you work the system if you lose you die.

She ate breakfast, quickly got changed and before she knew it she was out the door, headed to Bobby's car. Now dressed in her own clothes, Olivia felt she could easily take on the world again. The meetings went better and faster than expected. It was just past noon when Olivia finished her meetings at Fangtasia. She had to lock up before she left, but the deadbolt on the back door of Fangtasia was jamming into the frame. The old metal door had expanded with the summer heat as it wasn't used to being propped open during daylight. So she had to awkwardly wrestle with the damn thing, trying to shut it. The front door had a newer lock, but it had been axed down by the firefighters and was now boarded up.

Luckily she was all alone in the back parking lot so no one saw her looking like an idiot trying to close a simple door. The only witness to the scene was the red Corvette which she still had to figure out what to do with. But that was going to be a later problem, she had enough on her plate as it was.

"Ugh, come on!" She gritted her teeth, kicking the door. She was starting to sweat in the June heat.

She was contemplating giving up and asking Bobby's help. He was at the Denny's across the street, the same place she worked in yesterday. He was waiting there for her while she was in her meetings, they would grab lunch and then he would drive her to a possible practice space for the dancers.

What she was actually really craving was lunch at Merlotte's, but not for the food per se. But she couldn't get laid with Bobby babysitting her. It would be too awkward. Olivia was surely regretting giving her car to Portia Bellefleur right about now.

Having Bobby as a chauffeur/bodyguard was nice and all, especially considering the current circumstances and the fact that taking a taxi everywhere would be costly - but she missed the independence and silence of working alone (and her ability to get laid). Bobby didn't know the extent of Eric's illegal activities (nor would he ever ask) but he wasn't stupid. Not knowing why the feds were on his boss's tail made him become extremely paranoid about every little thing. He feared he was being watched at all times; he made note of every car that followed him for more than two blocks, he thought his phones were tapped and was considering getting new phones for the entire family - or would that be too suspicious? Maybe have a burner phone? What if his wife found out? Marla would think he was cheating on her... His mind kept catastrophizing on endless loops and it was just about the last thing she needed right now.

With a loud clunk, the door's deadbolt moved correctly into the slot, successfully locking it. Relieved, she tossed her keys in her purse and spun on her heels and almost crashed into a tall figure who had materialized out of thin air. She was so focused on the stupid door she didn't notice someone approaching from behind. Both of them almost collided head-on, but he had the quick reflexes not to. She took a good look at who it was. Oh no, let's rectify that - this was the last thing she needed right now.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," said Alcide Herveaux with his charming southern drawl. He wore his usual black slacks and white button-up but no panic-inducing windbreaker this time (it was too humid for it).

Jesus fuck- "You again."

"Well, don't sound too happy to see me, please."

She liked his sarcasm. Goddammit. "My apologies Mister Herveaux," Olivia responded warmly, overcompensating. "But isn't this the third time we meet in less than 24 hours? Some would consider it stalking."

"Ah, we wouldn't want that now, would we?" His face softened. "And just call me Alcide, please. Mister Hervaux is my father. Where's your partner in crime?"

It dawned on her they were very alone in a secluded parking lot. Her Corvette was witnessing a lot today. She assumed he was referring to Bobby, and she noticed Alcide was also Glenn Costa-less.

"Where's yours?"

"I prefer working alone."

That, she could relate to. Olivia looked at all of him again. There was a lot to look at. "What can I help you with, agent?"

"Why don't I buy you coffee and we'll have a friendly chat? There's a Denny's across the street-"

Oh shit, that's where Bobby was. He would have a heart attack right then and there if she walked in the diner with Alcide Herveaux on her heel. She could also not bring Alcide into Fangtasia for at least 34 reasons, but the top 2 would be: he would say no as a werewolf walking into a vampire bar uninvited could be seen as an act of war and Eric would kill him; and if he said yes, Olivia and Alcide's scent would be all over the place, wrong conclusions would be drawn then Eric would kill her; Either way, someone was going to die.

So that left her with only one option:

"Alcide," Olivia smirked and adjusted her hair. "Do I seem like a coffee at Denny's kind of woman to you?"

He shifted his weight on his feet and looked away flustered for a moment before clearing his throat. Despite looking the way he did, he wasn't used to women flirting with him - at least not upfront like this. "Err, no you don't."

"Good. I'll be at Les Deux Poissons tonight at 8, seated at the bar."

When Alcide said nothing at this, she knew she held all the cards. This was better than any orgasm Sam Merlotte could have given her. Barely containing her smile, she started to walk away, heels hitting hard against the lumpy pavement. She could hear him follow her.

Olivia knew it was a dangerous move, talking to him at all. But it was the fastest and most efficient way of finding out how much he knew and most importantly: how. Fuck the dingy bonds office. If they were seated at the bar, she could brush her forearm against his, maybe let their legs touch a little and she would get a clearer picture of his clouded werewolf mind. Oh, it would be hard, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

"I don't even know your name," he said, making his presence known to be much closer than she imagined. He was quietly stalking her like a wolf hunting prey. It made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up.

"Yes you do," she said over her shoulder, turning the corner of the building that separated the employee and guest parking lots. She could see his black Dodge Ram parked out front. Alcide managed to run into her three times in 24 hours: Long Shadow's house, the precinct and here. Maybe the first time was a coincidence, and the second one was curiosity. But this one felt intentional. If he was an agent worth his salt he would know damn well who she was, or else this game would be way too easy. Boring even.

The two parted ways in the parking lot, the wolf getting into his truck and Olivia headed across the street.

"I'll see you at 8, Olivia Carson," Alcide called out.

Let the wicked games begin.

Les Deux Poissons was one of the few upscale restaurants in Shreveport. Her favorite was still the Rabbiteye at the Fairview Hotel, but meeting Alcide Herveaux in too close proximity of a hotel bed would be cruelly toying with her vagina's emotions.

It was an upscale place, and she was never so grateful for having her clothes back. She chose her favourite little black dress and strappy heels and a small burgundy clutch. She would be dressed to kill.

After her meeting with the realtor, she spent the afternoon reviewing the lease for the practice space. She was happy that everything was falling into place. As the summer sun was setting she started to get ready for her meeting with the agent (despite it looking and feeling like a date). Before getting in the shower she texted Eric and told him she was taking the night off before he got any ideas of summoning her. He was going to wake up tonight and handle the PR nightmare he created on his fucking own. No Olivia to the rescue this time.

Then, with curlers still in her hair, she googled Alcide Hervaux. It was too dangerous to ask Volac, her Russian hacker, to look into him - the government protects its federal agents, and anyone using backdoors gets put on the NSA list faster than you can blink.

But she didn't have to spend too much time trying to find him on the internet, oh no. Alcide Hervaux was the son of Jackson Herveaux (or Mister Herveaux, as Alcide called him), the surveying giant. Herveaux Inc had offices all throughout the south, and its net worth was in the small millions. She wondered what the hell he was doing being a narc when he was the heir to such a successful business. Olivia sure as hell wouldn't be here if she came from money.

When she arrived at Les Deux Poissons, the place was pretty full for a Wednesday. The dimly-lit, borderline dark restaurant had that 90s french restaurant look, and she was sure the food tasted like it too. She was the only person seated at the bar, and she generously tipped the hostess to keep it that way. Olivia ordered a gin and tonic and grew increasingly nervous as the clock struck closer to eight, so she started scanning brain waves of the bartender. He thought about finally telling his roommate he was to blame for accidentally letting his cat out. It had been 4 nights since the feline had gone missing, and he thought he was dead for sure. There were too many night critters in Northern Louisiana with an appetite for fat indoor cats. His mind was otherwise uninteresting, but there wasn't much else to distract her from the idea of meeting with a goddamn DEA agent.

She was either insane or a total genius. Probably a mix of the two. Olivia was in the middle of questioning her own sanity when Alcide walked through the front door and met her eyes right away. He had the same sexy smouldering look he always did. He was wearing a blue oxford shirt, a brown blazer and dark pants, and he had put some gel through his messy soft hair. He had a cowboy air about him when he wasn't dressed in DEA chic. It suited him well and she was never so thankful for not being in walking distance to a bed.

"This feels a hell lot like a date," he stated in a low voice, then he ordered a beer and sat carefully on the stool beside her, his enormous thigh brushing against hers. She was correct in her theory of getting a clearer picture of his mind by being closer to him. He was unsure if the dainty stool would hold his weight as he slowly sat down.

She rested her elbows on the bar and played with her drink's short little straw. "Don't tell your wife then."

"I don't got a wife," Alcide retorted immediately, clearly flustered. God, she was good at this. His mind got clouded again, but she could tell he was thinking of Debbie Pelt. There was something strong between the two, but it was complicated. Like, he's a DEA agent and she's a vampire blood enthusiast kind of complicated. Debbie would lose her damn mind if she found out he met a lady in one of the fanciest restaurants of Northern Louisiana, one Debbie hinted many times she wanted to go but he never took her.

"Relax, this is not a date. I don't date."

He shot a skeptical look and jumped straight to business. "Your boss knows you're here?"

"I don't have a boss, I work for myself. But if you mean my client, then yes," she lied. In what world would Eric be even slightly okay with any of this, she couldn't even fathom it.

"So tell me what a woman like you is doing taking clients like Eric Northman."

Olivia decided she was going to play sweet. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "Describe a woman like me."

He took a deep and thoughtful sip of his IPA before answering. "Graduated high school early, Princeton grad on a scholarship, CPA of immaculate record, fast-tracking her way up the corporate ladder in a big New York suddenly washes up here, of all places. Working for a vamp as a financial advisor."

And he said that with great distaste, and not because he was shitty drinking beer.

She was well aware of the parts of her life that were public record. He didn't discover anything she didn't know it wasn't already out there, but he did do his homework before coming here. So now Liv pondered her next play. He seemed sincere in his question, so she boldly told the truth. "Office romance. It didn't work out."

He did a half chuckle, not believing her. "Damn, how bad did you fuck up to burn every bridge in New York? Or unlike popular belief, does Manhattan only have one accounting firm?"

Ouch. This is what she got when she played nice with men. "And you wonder why I don't date," she said behind a fake smile, focusing on her drink for a moment. It was time to lay some cards down. "So, agent, what brings you here: DEA business, or pack business?"

Alcide glanced at the bartender and did a full room scan with his eyes, hoping no one heard her question out loud. "Oh yeah," she added. "I know you're a big fan of the full moon."

He shifted on his chair, trying to put some distance between them, but Olivia leaned closer. Alcide was uneasy with others knowing his true nature, especially while working.

"This got nothing to do with that. I'm not part of the Shreveport pack or any pack for that matter," he said defensively, with darkness behind his eyes she hadn't seen yet. Alcide was a lone wolf. "The DEA is opening a case on Eric Northman."

His mind jumbled a lot of thoughts together. It jumped to Glenn Costa, he was the initial driving force behind the investigation. But for Alcide it was personal - vampire blood had ruined Debbie Pelt's life and he was hell-bent on avenging the life with her he never got the chance to have.

"Based on what?"

"Oh, come on… We both know who Eric Northman is, and what he's capable of," his mind clouded over again, agitated with his feelings against the vampire. Alcide Herveaux loathed Eric Northman. Was this a personal vendetta against Eric, or did he hate or all vampires?

"Good to know the government wastes my tax dollars on what people are capable of."

"Eric Northman may be trending the news right now, but we both know he is no saint," Understatement of the year. "He's been poisoning Shreveport for way too long-"

Did he even hear himself talk? "Poisoning with what? Employment? Infrastructure investment? Hard-earned tax dollars?"

"Oh don't bullshit me," he scoffed rolling his eyes. "We both know he's been allowing vamps to sell their blood and taking a cut of the profits-"

"Do you have any idea what exactly you are accusing my client of? Most vampires may not care for human laws, but they certainly care about breaking vampire laws. Selling their blood is highly illegal-"

"And highly profitable," he interrupted. "10 ml of the stuff sells for over 200 on the streets, making a pint of blood go for almost 10 grand. Money is the only thing guys like Eric care about."

While Alcide did have a point there, it wasn't his choice for side income. This made clear that the Queen was nowhere near his radar which was the best news she'd gotten all week. She could still make all of this go away, especially if Alcide was this attached to the case. People who emotionally attach themselves to work make mistakes under pressure. All she had to do was squeeze.

"Work with me, Olivia." Alcide looked deeply into her eyes. "I can grant you immunity-"

She had to hold back the laughter. "Immunity from what, exactly? None of what you're saying is true, Alcide-"

He leaned closer."Are you being blackmailed? What do they have on you?"

If they were any closer, they would kiss. His body felt warm like being seated near a fireplace. His intentions were genuine too - he wanted her to tell him the truth so he could go arrest Eric this very night. And he was also telling the truth about saving her - he thought Olivia was too young and bright to end up in jail because of Eric Northman.

His concern was almost touching. Olivia knew the next logical play would play the damsel in distress role. He was almost begging her to, he wanted to save her so badly. Oh, poor, inocent Alcide.

She gave a broken smile and looked away at the bottles sitting high on the bar. Her silence was the answer he wanted. Suddenly her phone lit up and started buzzing. It was almost cinematic timing when her call display visibly read Eric Northman. Both of them read it.

"I can protect you, Olivia," he reassured her, putting his large hand on top of hers.

She felt shivers go up her arm, and sparks on her skin. His touch felt electric, and it took a dramatic few seconds of her phone buzzing on the counter alone before she reached for it. Olivia rejected the call and straightened her back. "I need to know you mean it."

Alcide's mind burst with what she could only describe as a high. There wasn't a clouded thought insight. "All I need you to do is collaborate on his money-laundering scheme,"

It was as if someone took a knife and stabbed her right in the heart. Who said anything about laundering money?! She thought they got a vampire or drainer, or a dealer to confess Eric's shady business, but laundering money was her responsibility.

She barely got the words out, scared of the answer. "Go on."

"We know Eric's recently acquired multiple businesses and buildings all across town, under shell companies. They are all prime for cleaning his dirty drug money-"

"His hypothetical dirty drug money," she reminded him.

"And he rewarded his lawyer with a very real bribe. A brand new BMW."

All air got sucked out of the room. She could feel her blood chill with the realization it was all her fault. He was still holding her hand, the only source of heat in the entire room at that very moment. She could read his thoughts clearly: Portia Bellefleur's car was the first domino to fall in the sequence of events that led her to be seated here. The second was the fact that her fucking fiance was Glenn Costa. The third was that he hated vampires as much as Alcide did. The fourth was the both of them worked at the same DEA office. One night the two grabbed happy hour beers at the Rose Crown, Glenn vented to Alcide he was avoiding going home and confronting Portia about where the car came from and the rest was history.

Olivia had made one small, but colossal mistake. She was so focused on keeping Portia in line, she put the entire operation in jeopardy. All because she wanted to own Eric's stupid house for petty revenge. Warranted revenge, but petty nonetheless. And it came back to bite her in the ass.

But on the other hand… That was all they had. A gifted car from a vampire client bruised Glenn's ego so much, the only way his smooth male brain could process her getting it was if her client was a criminal, and his bride-to-be was being taken advantage of. He surely did not see her squeals of excitement in her office when Olivia had tossed her the keys. Portia had worked for that car. She was as deserving of it as Olivia was.

"Olivia?" Alcide called her back to reality with a little squeeze on her hand, which she instinctively pulled away.

A figure approached them, and she recognized the vampire from the corner of her eye. The hostess was at his heel, alarmed he had approached the guests she had been so well paid to guarantee their privacy.

"For you," Chow handed her his cellphone, glaring at Alcide.

The two men locked eyes in a deadly staring contest. Olivia nodded for the hostess to leave, and then took the slim phone from Chow's cold hand, trying not to tremble.

"I need to see you," Eric's still voice spoke. Was the room spinning?

"No," Olivia said bitterly. Never mind how Chow had found her, or who he found her meeting with. She had requested this night off, and she made it abundantly clear he was to respect her privacy about 12 times already. If she didn't at least have her privacy, then her mistake had been for nothing.

"Come here to my house, right now." He demanded. If he were here right now, he would be pressing his chest against her body, she just knew it.

"No," she repeated, feeling her body heat and heart rate coming back all at once.

"Fine, then I'll come to you. Hope you're not having too much fun on your personal time off."

She knew she had no choice but to obey. Olivia handed the phone back to Chow and stood up, leaving Alcide alone with his beer. She slid a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter to pay for the drinks. Their eyes met one more time, and she played the damsel in distress one last time before leaving with her vampire escort. "Sorry, I can't help you."

She wondered how much of it she was pretending at that moment.

A.N:

Ooohhh shit. Now what?!

Hello, my sweet angels! I don't think I have ever spent so much time writing and re-writing a chapter like this one but I hope it was worth it! Until next time xoxo