A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone, I've been having some pretty bad internet issues at my house. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.
Thank you for all your lovely reviews, and for waiting patiently for this chapter. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 4: Growing Pains
Olive learns more about the changes to her abilities, and comes to a couple of important realizations.
Practice makes perfect, but not where prying eyes can see. Collectors run rampant in the New World.
This was the message the Ancient Pythoness-the goddamned Oracle of Delphi-had sent Olive through Eric's phone. She stared at the words. "What is this, a fortune cookie?" Olive asked blankly.
"What's a fortune cookie?" Eric questioned in turn, brow wrinkling.
Olive blinked, broken out of her daze. "I-seriously?" she blurted, surprise overtaking the confusion and the beginnings of crushing disappointment that had started to overtake her at the Oracle's less than helpful message.
"I haven't eaten food in a thousand years," her Maker pointed out dryly.
That was fair enough, Olive supposed. At least he'd been able to figure out that she was talking about food in the first place. Olive would love to be able to figure out what the Ancient Pythoness had meant just via context clues, but. . . prying eyes? Collectors?
The phone buzzed again with an incoming text from the same number. Olive perked up hopefully, only to deflate upon reading the sparse missive. "'Expect growing pains,'" she recited aloud for Eric's benefit, frustration building in her chest. "Great, that clears things up."
A wave of calm reassurance swept over their bond, along with reluctant amusement. "I'm afraid the Ancient Pythoness has been like this for as long as I've known her," Eric admitted. "Never quite left the habit of speaking in prophecies behind, I think." He reached out to tug lightly on a strand of Olive's dirty hair, and to her surprise, she felt not even the slightest urge to shy away. Huh. Eric's calm and collected reaction to her gifts had meant more to Olive than she'd initially realized. It felt like they'd crossed an important milestone. If she could trust him with a truth she'd guarded closely all her life, why shouldn't she trust him with other things as well? "A lot of psychics are like that, actually," Eric teased gently, interrupting Olive's musings.
She grimaced, chasing away the mental image of herself in a dimly lit room clouded with incense, staring into a crystal ball and spewing vague nonsense to an adoring audience. "Jesus Christ," Olive said, snorting and shuddering in equal measure at the thought. "If I ever start in with cryptic bullshit like this," she lifted Eric's cell phone demonstratively, "do me a favor and just take me out back and shoot me. Put me out of my misery."
Eric barked out a laugh, and warmth flooded Olive at the sound. She glanced away from him with a small smile, only for her eyes to land on the BlackBerry cradled in her palms. The mystifying text messages stared up at her accusingly, and Olive's grin faded as she remembered the low-level panic that had plagued her ever since she had realized that her instincts had changed as much as Olive herself when she Turned. She swallowed. "Seriously, though," Olive muttered, voice small. "What does this mean?" She looked to Eric somewhat helplessly, and realized with a start that she was already unconsciously relying on him to step in and fix things, to guide her through this.
Was that what a father was supposed to do? A brother?
Eric plucked the cell phone from her palms and replaced it with his own hand. He squeezed her fingers tightly for a moment, then released them in favor turning on his bar stool so that his back rested against the edge of the counter, long legs crossed in the open air as he thumbed through the texts casually. Olive felt bizarrely reassured. "Well, 'practice makes perfect' is easy enough to understand," Eric pointed out. "We were wondering if you were going to be able to get your abilities back under control. Seemingly, you will be."
Olive took a fortifying breath, again taken aback by the feeling of the air rattling around uselessly inside her chest. She was no biology buff, but Olive guessed that since her body was no longer technically functioning (or at least, not functioning the way it used to), the little air sacs in her lungs weren't actually absorbing any oxygen anymore. All that the air was good for now was giving Olive the breath to speak. She put it to use. "And believe me, that's a relief," she said. It really was. Olive had relied upon her instincts for so long, she legitimately didn't know what she'd do without them. As it was, the idea that she'd have to relearn how they worked was daunting enough. To never have been able to use them again? Unacceptable. "But 'prying eyes' and 'collectors running rampant' doesn't exactly sound like good news to me." Olive shook her head. "And 'growing pains?' Is my. . . psychicness gonna get worse? Er, more powerful, I mean?" She didn't relish the thought.
Somehow, however, that didn't seem quite right. And unthinkingly, almost unknowingly, built on years of habit and conditioning, Olive did what she always had when something didn't feel right, when she wanted to better understand a person's motives or their words.
She reached out to consult her instincts.
And immediately, she regretted it.
Olive held perfectly still, listening from behind the "Employees Only" door of Fangtasia as Eric and the queen argued. The sounds of a physical confrontation nearly had her bursting through the door to help her Maker. Only the knowledge that Eric had over 500 years on Sophie-Ann and was in no real danger from her staved off Olive's instinct to rush to his defense.
What was going on? Why. . . where was she? Christ, her head. . .
Olive! Olive, can you hear me?
"Move. The. Blood." Sophie-Ann snarled, and Olive bit her lip. It was as she'd thought. Good thing she and Eric had planned for this. . . "By the way," the queen perked up suddenly, tone shifting into something childlike. Olive's blood ran cold. "A little birdie told me some very interesting things about your newest progeny, Mr. Northman."
Olive could feel the sudden trepidation and fierce possessiveness that erupted in Eric's chest, though she was sure it didn't show on his face. "She's a very interesting girl," he said neutrally.
"And talented, I hear," Sophie-Ann added leadingly. "I'd certainly love to meet her. . . ask her a few questions. I understand she's quite. . . knowledgeable. Gives excellent advice."
"Yes. I'm very proud of her," Eric responded, voice tight. "I'm honored you've expressed such interest in my progeny."
Olive! Snap out of it! I think you're having a vision!
God, her head was pounding. Could vampires get migraines? And her face was wet . . . under her eyes. Was she crying? But there was wetness beneath her nostrils as well. . .
"Ah, but I'm not the only one, am I?" the queen pointed out, and Olive could practically hear the smirk on her smug little face. "You know, I have a bit more pull with the Authority than you do, Sheriff. I'm sure that if Olive and I become good friends-and I would so like us to be friends-I can speak to the Council on her behalf."
Olive swallowed. "I'll take it under consideration, Your Majesty," Eric said, tone making it clear to Olive that he would not, in fact, be taking it under consideration.
Stop looking, Olive! Look at me instead!
Looking. . . looking at what? How. . . how was she supposed to. . .?
A sensation similar to the sound of a record scratching, and the world around Olive skipped a track.
"Indulge my boy Talbot, will you?" the King of Mississippi said. His deep, false southern drawl made Olive's skin itch. Subtly, Eric placed a grounding hand on the small of her back. "Let him give you the full tour. Makes him positively blithe." Russell Edgington turned to Olive and grasped her hand, lifting it and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were dry as paper. "As for you my dear. . . I do hope we can find time to learn more about one another once I return. I am ever so intrigued by what I know already."
Ow! Fuck! God, her-her skull was. . . her head was splitting open wasn't it? That was the only. . . why was this. . . it hurt. It hurt! Make it stop, make it stop! Eric!
Olive! You have to stop looking!
"Oh, you should see what we have in storage. Russell's a greedy little boy," Talbot said carelessly as he led them through the king's vast mansion. Olive tried not to let her distaste at the opulence show. "He wants what he wants and he takes it. He's the same way about people." The king's consort sneered down at Olive. It felt more like a child's pout than anything else. "Watch out, darling, or he might add you to his collection. He's been thinking about you for a while now. I'm almost jealous."
Olive! Stop looking and wake up. Now!
How?! She couldn't!
As your Maker, I Command you!
Olive gasped awake to some of the greatest pain she had ever felt in her life. Her head was pounding sharply, as if someone were stabbing an awl into her brain. Repeatedly. Her skin felt hot and tight, like it was suddenly too small to contain her. She pressed her eyes shut briefly, groaning, and found that her eyelashes felt heavy and. . . tacky somehow. Sticky. They peeled apart slowly when she forced her eyes open once more. Arms shaking with effort, Olive reached up to probe at her face. Her fingers came away red with blood, which seemed to have poured out of her eyes and nose.
"Don't move," Eric snapped, and she stilled automatically, hands dropping to her sides. Her gaze sought out his face, and found it curled protectively over her along with the rest of his body-save for one arm, which Olive noticed was groping on the counter above for his unfinished bag of blood. Only then did she realize that she must have collapsed, because she was lying prone on the tile floor of the kitchen, her head and upper body cradled in Eric's lap. He pressed the blood against her lips insistently. "Drink," he ordered, voice tight with anger born from fear. Olive could feel his protective fury, and she did not feel afraid. Her fangs dropped, and she drank.
The blood helped immensely, and the pain faded quickly to a dull ache. Olive felt some strength returned to her limbs, but dared not move, sensing that Eric would not appreciate it. "What the hell just happened?" she asked, and her voice was rough. Olive wondered if she'd screamed.
"You tell me," Eric countered coolly, even as he tenderly helped her sit up. His arms remained wrapped around Olive's waist like steel bars, keeping her both upright and firmly pressed against his chest. If she'd wanted to put any space between them, it would have been impossible. "Clearly you tapped into the higher level aspect of your abilities that we were worried about and had a vision of some sort. But beyond that, you'd know better than I would." His tone was still gruff and quietly dangerous, but seeing Olive sitting up and talking seemed to have taken the edge off slightly. She could sense him calming, bit by bit, though his concern was still prominent in their bond. It made Olive feel warm. Safe.
Something occurred to her. "Wait. How could you tell I was having a vision?" Had she been talking, or something? Olive's mother had done that sometimes, when she was in the throes of an episode, and the thought of voices that weren't her own rippling out of her mouth as they had her mother's made Olive cringe. She frowned harshly, brow furrowed, and noticed that the skin around her eyes still felt especially tight. A lot of the pain from her headache had been focused there as well.
Eric smoothed a hand over her hair, pulling it back from her face, then settled his palm on her forehead, massaging gently. She moaned in pleasure, worries forgotten, and felt the last of Eric's frightened anger flood away to be replaced by humor and a smidge of lust-tempered still by a healthy amount of concern. "It's the bond," he explained patiently. "I won't pretend that I completely understand what's happening here, but when you collapsed I could feel both your immediate emotions-confusion, pain, fear-and also a sort of. . . echo of emotion. Coming and going almost too faintly for me to notice. Worry. Disgust. Anger. I felt the same echo earlier when you had one of your. . . 'mini-visions,' but on a lesser scale." His eyes darkened slightly with irritation. "What I definitely don't understand is why you would do something so reckless as to use an unknown aspect of your abilities without so much as consulting me."
Huh. Was this also something fathers did? Try to make their children squirm? Well, it was safe to say Olive didn't appreciate it, particularly when she hadn't actually done the thing he was accusing her of. She narrowed her eyes, but tried to remind herself of what it must have looked like from Eric's perspective. Olive collapsing to the ground, unresponsive, bleeding from the eyes and nose. . . "Funnily enough, I didn't do it on purpose," Olive snarked, still a bit upset at the accusation. Eric raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and it was kind of incredible how quickly it took the wind from her sails. Olive sighed. "Look, reaching for my instincts when I'm looking for answers is second nature. It's gonna take more than a couple of hours to break the habit. I didn't even think! I just-I wanted to understand what those texts meant so I tried to look and. . . well, I got an eyeful, that's for sure." She paused, considering her. . . visions. Eugh. Prying eyes and collectors, that's what Olive had been wondering about, so that's what the visions would have been trying to tell her about. . . Hmm. The conversations she'd seen. . . Olive's eyes widened. "And for what it's worth," she said slowly, glancing up at her Maker, "I think I do understand."
After Olive relayed the contents of her visions-everything she had seen, heard, or somehow just known (such as the names of people she'd never met before)-Eric looked troubled. "So the collectors the Ancient Pythoness is warning you of are people who'd like to use your abilities for their own gain, or even simply keep you as some sort of novelty object. And the prying eyes are likely those who would expose you to such parties. . ." he mused quietly. "That makes an unfortunate amount of sense."
"Yeah," Olive muttered, thinking of the people-supernatural and mundane alike-who'd tried to. . . collect her over the years. "It does." Her abilities had been valuable even before they'd been juiced up on vampire steroids. It was one of the reasons she'd always moved around so much. But now. . . She glanced up at Eric, only to find his eyes boring into her already. Examining her.
"You've encountered this problem before," he observed.
Olive nodded, throat slightly tight. "What can I say? I'm a real catch." She tried to smile, but suspected it looked rather pained.
"You are," Eric said plainly, genuinely agreeing with Olive's sarcastic quip. Huh. It'd been a while since Olive received a compliment like that that didn't make her want to claw her skin off. She had a feeling that she'd be blushing, if she still could. She cleared her throat.
"Uh, thanks," Olive croaked. She fidgeted a little, twisting her fingers together. Eric grasped her hands lightly, stilling them. Olive's lips quirked helplessly. "You know, before, whenever someone got a little too interested I'd just. . . leave. Get out of town and never look back." She tilted her head back to look at Eric. He was so tall that the top of her head didn't even brush his chin. "Guess that's not really an option anymore, huh?"
Eric rumbled possessively, tightening his grip on Olive. Good thing she didn't actually need to breathe. "No."
A day ago, that thought would have left Olive feeling restricted and filled with dread. Now, her instincts-vampire and psychic alike-merely purred in happiness. Images flitted briefly (and thankfully, painlessly) across the backs of Olive's eyelids. Eric teaching Olive to hunt, laughing and smiling proudly. A statuesque blonde woman-Pam, her instinct informed, Sister-holding clothes up to Olive's naked body and grinning wickedly. The three of them curled up in Eric's cushy living room as the older two vampires tried to teach Olive some sort of old-sounding Slavic language.
Stay, her instincts whispered. Safe. Family.
Olive still wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she thought she was starting to get the picture. And she liked the way it made her feel.
Eric hummed suddenly, seeming to come to a realization. Olive felt the vibration of his cool chest thrumming against her back. "I suppose we now know what the Ancient Pythoness meant with her final warning, as well," he said. Whatever he meant, he didn't sound particularly pleased about it.
"What do you-" Olive cut herself off abruptly. She remembered the Oracle's warning. She remembered the splitting, paralyzing agony of her headache, her inability to think or control her instincts, her visions, once they had taken hold of her. She remembered the feeling that her skin was too small for her body, her brain too large for her skull. "Growing pains," Olive groaned, thunking her head back against Eric's rock-hard pecs in frustration. "God, how much easier would it have been to just tell me that? To tell me all of that?"
Up on the counter, the phone buzzed. Olive and Eric glanced at each other-expressions mulish and displeased respectively. Eventually, Eric reached up and grabbed the device, displaying the screen so they could read the message simultaneously. Lessons are learned more deeply when experience is your teacher.
"Oh, go fuck yourself," Olive snapped.
"I couldn't agree more," Eric growled. He was angry again, but Olive could tell it wasn't directed at her this time. Evidently the Oracle's purposefully unhelpful interjections-and their negative effects on Olive's health-were starting to piss him off too. "Though, as your Maker, I feel it's my duty to inform you that telling ancient vampires to go fuck themselves is usually a bad idea."
Olive snorted. "Telling anyone to go fuck themselves is a bad idea," she said dryly, smirking. "No matter how good it feels. All it does is invite trouble. But if I worried so much about consequences that I only ever kept my head down and did the best thing for myself-didn't make waves, didn't cause problems-then I'd have no integrity at all," Olive insisted, and for the first time since she woke from her vision, her voice sounded strong-even to her own ears.
Eric looked down at her measuringly. Absently, Olive mused that it was remarkable how such striking, pale eyes could manage to look so intimidating and so inviting at the same time. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said eventually, and Olive raised an eyebrow, "but you don't strike me as the particularly selfless type."
"Oh, I'm not," Olive assured, lips quirking self-deprecatingly. "Or at least, I wouldn't describe myself that way. Selflessness is a privilege. And it's. . . been a long time since I've been in a position to be anything but selfish." Memories of the cozy apartment she and her mother had shared above the psychic shop ("Oh sweetheart, please call it a-a boudoir. Or at least a parlor. God only knows the place needs the ambience. . .") floated through Olive's mind.
It had been small, just a bathroom, a bedroom, and a combined kitchen and living area, where Olive's mother had slept. There had always been knick knacks and half-finished knitting projects and polaroids scattered on every surface, giving the whole place a cluttered look. Usually, there'd have been hot water in the old iron kettle at all hours of the day. The windows didn't open reliably, so the place had often been thick with the smell of sweet, floral smoke or perfumed oils. . . That had always bothered Olive back then. But now the smell of lavender, or sage, or pot smoke just made her think of home. And compared to some of the places she'd been forced to stay since she left, that tiny, hazy apartment seemed palatial and clean as a whistle.
Olive cleared her throat, forcibly drawing herself back to the present. She didn't like to think about the past. "Anyway, selfish or otherwise, there are some things I just refuse to abide. I might not have much, but I've got my principles, and I'm not letting go of them." She thought wryly of all the times said principles had gotten her into trouble when she'd followed them instead of her gut feeling. Still, Olive wouldn't change it. "No matter what my instincts try to tell me."
"Yes, speaking of your instincts," Eric said quickly. Olive might've been offended at how eagerly he shifted the topic of conversation away from her personal confession if she couldn't practically feel Eric internalizing every piece of information about herself that she gave him. As it was, he'd clearly been waiting for a moment to broach this particular subject, so she allowed it. "I hope you realize that in light of these. . . growing pains," he bit out lowly, clearly still rattled over the effect Olive's visions had on her, "I can't allow you to use your abilities to this extent again. Not even to practice."
Olive's instincts immediately raised the alarm. Bad, bad idea. Need visions, need to see, they insisted. An image of a pack of snarling werewolves, Olive and Pam trapped in its center. A young-looking vampire bursting into blue and green flames as the sun rose. A silver stake sinking into Eric's gut.
Unacceptable.
Olive twisted her shoulders a little to get a better look at Eric's face, swallowing tightly as she did so. He looked resolute, but so was she. They were about to have their first clash over Olive's obedience, weren't they? Fun. "Eric," Olive said, keeping her voice carefully calm and respectful. "You know that isn't a good idea. My instincts are telling me that isn't a good idea. The Oracle of Delphi told us that I needed to practice, to get this under control."
Eric growled. "And we saw how reliable her brand of warnings are. She might have meant anything!" His lips pulled back in a truly vicious snarl, fangs dropping in anger. Olive could feel his conscious mind falling back somewhat as feral, animal instinct took its place. "You were hurt," he rumbled, nearly subvocal. "You bled because of her!"
"And you took care of me!" Olive assured quickly, squirming around in her Maker's grasp in an attempt to turn around. He growled out a low warning, tightening his grip, and Olive felt the urge-originating from her pesky vampire instincts-to cower and submit. She fought through it. This was important, dammit! "Eric-let me," she grunted, twisting her torso. "For the love of-just let me turn around!" she snapped, and he finally relented with a deep grumble, loosening the vice around her waist slightly. Olive ended up facing Eric with her bum cradled in the "V" of his crossed legs, thighs tossed over his hips and hands pressed down against his shoulders for balance. Eric knotted his arms securely behind her back once she was settled.
Olive sighed. She allowed her hands to slide down Eric's shoulders until she was cupping his biceps instead. She gave them a reassuring squeeze (inwardly marveling at their definition) before trying again. "Eric. You're not thinking clearly," she began quietly. "We know from the vision I already had that conflict is probably coming. My instincts are an invaluable strategic advantage, I know you know that." Olive gave her Maker another squeeze, just for emphasis (alright, only mostly for emphasis), and saw a small amount of clarity return to his eyes. "I need to know how to use them properly, especially now that they've changed so much. Not to mention that, like I said, it's just habit to reach for them at this point. Even if I never intentionally used my abilities again, I'm sure that I would by accident. And what if that happened in public? Or without you there to pull me out of it?" Eric snarled at the thought. Olive didn't like it much either, she had to admit. The idea of being trapped in a vision, blinded and paralyzed by pain, unable to escape. . . She firmed herself. "I need to learn how to control this," Olive insisted. "How to use it. Otherwise, what could be an advantage will become a liability."
Eric stared at her for a long moment before closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "I apologize," he said quietly. "You're very young. Quite literally a newborn. I feel. . . unusually protective. My instincts overwhelmed me for a moment."
Olive smiled sincerely, giving him a friendly nudge. She waited until he opened his eyes and looked at her again to say, "I know the feeling."
He allowed a momentary smirk before returning to seriousness. "So how do you intend to practice this ability, Olive?" When all she did was bite her lip and avoid eye contact, Eric frowned. "Don't tell me your plan was just to. . . repeat the process?"
Olive shrugged a little sheepishly. "How else do you practice things?" she questioned glibly, then rushed to correct herself when Eric looked mutinous (and a little murderous). "Maybe it'll get better as I go?" she offered weakly.
"And until then you intend to do what?" Eric probed harshly, scowling. "Suffer?" Olive pursed her lips. "No. I can't allow that."
"Well what would you suggest, then?" Olive asked.
On cue, Eric's phone buzzed yet again with an incoming text message. Olive could feel it vibrating against her back from within one of Eric's fists. She was sort of impressed that he hadn't crushed it already. Glaring, her Maker extracted one of his arms from around Olive's waist to read the text. Apparently, even though he was angry with the Ancient Pythoness, he wasn't willing to ignore her. "Use the cards," Eric recited aloud, brows furrowed. He glanced at Olive. "I don't suppose that means anything to you?"
With a jolt, Olive realized that it did. Frantically, she patted at the dirt-encrusted pockets of her bloodied jean jacket. God, she couldn't believe Eric had let her into his house while she was this filthy. Then again, he'd recently taken a dirt nap himself, and Olive was sure he came home covered in blood on a semi-regular basis. . . Oh! There they were! Triumphantly, Olive dug a hand into one of the inner pockets of her jacket and extracted an old, well-loved deck of Tarot cards. A corner of the cardboard packet was bloody and somewhat torn, and Olive knew that a few of the cards were also speckled and splattered with blood. She'd had them for years. The cards were one of the very few things Olive had taken with her when she left home, and one of the even lesser number of those things that she still possessed to this day.
She held the deck up for Eric to examine. "Behold," Olive said dramatically. "The cards." She shook her head wondrously, chuckling a little. "I really should have known. I've actually used these Tarot cards to help me direct my instincts before, when I was considering a lot of options, or something really general or far in the future." Olive pried the deck open, tapping the cards out into her hands and beginning to shuffle them.
Eric stilled her movements with a single enormous hand, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
Olive stalled. "Um. . . I was going to. . . start practicing?" Somehow, she got the feeling that was the wrong answer.
Eric shook his head, gathering the cards and neatly slotting them back into the box. "I don't think so."
Olive scrabbled uselessly at his much stronger hands and fingers. "Eric! You agreed that I should-"
"I did agree," he cut her off calmly. "And I still do think you should practice, especially now that an alternative method has presented itself. But not right now." Eric reached up with his free hand, grasping Olive's chin firmly between his long fingers. "Don't think that just because you managed to convince me of your argument earlier that I'll compromise on your health now. Or ever. Right now, you need to clean up, and rest. You can practice another time."
Olive sighed, but nodded. She felt fine, but she could understand Eric's worry, and she certainly wouldn't say no to a nice hot shower. This place probably had great water pressure. And she could admit, inwardly, that Eric's concern warmed her. She allowed him to help her to her feet, tolerating his hovering with what she felt was remarkable aplomb.
"Oh, and another thing," Eric said casually, before harshly gripping Olive's chin once more and forcibly turning her face upwards to meet his hard gaze. "Don't ever disobey me the way you did earlier in public. Not only would that be incredibly dangerous, but it would also be very disrespectful," he said lowly. If Olive's heart were still beating, it would be pounding. "And while I might enjoy your attitude, I don't tolerate disrespect."
Respect was one of those things Olive had always struggled with. She didn't like to show it to people who hadn't earned it, even when she should, and she felt that people who had to demand her respect probably didn't deserve it. Luckily, Eric had already earned her respect, and she could sort of see where he was coming from. He held an important position in vampire society, and his own progeny mouthing off to him in public would set a very bad example. Still. . . Olive reached up to grab Eric's wrist and slowly pull his hand away from her face. He allowed it, and she squeezed his fingers in thanks. "I do respect you," she said plainly. "But I can't promise to always obey you, even in public. Because," Olive continued quickly when she felt Eric's anger building, "of my instincts. I'm not going to pretend I know better than you do, because you're a thousand years older and more experienced than I am. But sometimes I'm just going to have more information than you do," Olive explained as clearly as she could. "And that might mean that I know doing something you told me to would be a really bad idea, or even just that there's a better way to go about accomplishing something, or-or whatever." She bit her lip, looking up at her Maker beseechingly. "So if I don't always follow your instructions to the letter. . . I hope you can understand that." Olive grinned a little. "Maybe we can come up with a code or something?" she suggested.
Eric was quiet for a long, drawn out moment. Olive felt anxiety building in her stomach. She really wanted this to work, but if Eric couldn't understand this most basic tenant of her existence. . . "Swedish," he said eventually, and Olive released a relieved breath. "Pam and I speak it when we don't want people to eavesdrop. Or ancient Norse. We can teach you." Olive smiled widely, and Eric cleared his throat. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," he added quietly. He must have felt her nerves.
"I know," Olive assured him quietly. Her smile broadened into a grin. "Don't worry. Takes a lot more than that to scare me off. Especially once I'm invested." Eric smiled in return, pulling her hand up to his lips and brushing a tender kiss to her palm. Olive shivered in delight. "Well, that wasn't very fatherly of you," she teased lightly, wiggling an eyebrow up and down.
Eric smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting his teasingly on the uppermost curve of her backside. "Well, vampire fathers are different," he said suggestively, giving her ass a single solid pat. Olive snorted ungraciously. "I mean, I don't know what your old Daddy was like-"
Olive stopped dead, blood going cold. Oh my God. "Oh my God," she breathed.
"What?" Eric asked, and Olive could feel his alarm growing as he sensed hers along their bond. "What is it, was that too much? Just say the word-"
"Shit!" Olive exclaimed, cutting him off. "God, what was I thinking, how did I just fucking forget-?" But of course, she knew how she'd forgotten. She tried so very hard not to think about him, after all. Unfortunately, that probably wasn't going to be an option for much longer.
"Olive," Eric said firmly, circling around to her front and cupping her cheeks between his hands. "Tell me what's wrong."
Olive forced herself to meet his eyes. "It's my dad," she admitted, voice tight. "God, Eric, I'm sorry. I swear I completely forgot. But knowing my luck, he's gonna end up turning into some huge problem, even though I haven't seen him for years."
"Hey, hey, relax," her Maker said, projecting calm along their connection. Wow, what a stark contrast to just a few minutes ago, when Olive was half convinced he wanted to punt her across the room. "No human is going to create a problem we can't handle."
Olive shook her head once, harshly, ears ringing slightly. "That's the thing though," she groaned. "My dad isn't human. He's a vampire."
A/N: Plot twist (says the person who wrote the plot twist)!
Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!