Sorry for the long wait, everyone! I had all these ideas in my head and they just didn't want to go down on paper! They have been punished.

Very slowly, Eric walks over to his progeny, his eyes studying her form for any sign of injuries besides the rivers of blood that streak her pale cheeks. He finds none, and his brow raises in confusion as he wipes the crimson blood with his own fingers, speaking in a low tone.

"Did someone harm you?"

She shakes her head defiantly once from side to side.

"Did you harm someone?"

Again, she shakes her head, a few of her carefully pinned curls coming loose in the process. His blue eyes follow the path of her golden locks before they dart to the empty doorway; Thomas having taken his opportunity to sneak out.

"Did you choose the fabrics for your new dresses…?"

At the innocent word of "dresses," Pamela's shoulders slump, and Eric is suddenly hard pressed to hold her gaze for more than a second. He feels the embarrassment flow through her, along with anger and hunger. Gently, he tips her chin up with a single finger, forcing her to look at him. His voice is deadly as he asks,

"What happened?"

Fresh tears spring to her eyes, and she tries her best to wrench her chin away from his grasp. But his strength is not to be questioned.

"I will not ask you again, Pamela."

She defies him for only a moment longer, and then the words fall from her lip while fresh blood streams down her face. Eric merely waits until she reaches the end of her tale, explaining exactly why the dressmaker refused to serve her. He's unsure what exactly has her so upset, though. The dressmaker had merely stated that he could not be sure a transaction could be completed without the authority of Mr. Northman himself. Even Eric could understand this issue, and he mentally berated himself for not providing her with more money, instead of relying on his own name for the bill.

"I didn't realize you had such an emotional connection with fabrics," he says as he arches a brow, pleased when a ghost of a smile crosses her lips.

"That wasn't the reason, Eric…." She looks down, only to meet his eyes on her own in the next instant. "He said…he said his shop was a reputable establishment, and he didn't deem it appropriate to…to provide services…to your whores."

Eric stays incredibly still for a moment, although the rage brewing inside him causes Pamela to take a step back. Not out of fear, but to get out of his way. Slowly, as if testing his own control, he turns to look at her.

"He called you my whore."

She nods quickly, wiping away the drying tears.

"He said I had no right to affiliate myself with you…no right to draw on your name…"

Her words are cut off by his iron grip on her arm, and she finds herself being pushed back into the carriage, with Eric taking on the reins himself. Scrambling closer to him in the rambling carriage, she clutches as his arm, though he seems to ignore it as he implores the horse to go faster with an expert crack of his whip.

She doesn't quite manage to keep the note of excitement out of her voice as she speaks over the whistling wind.

"What are you going to do to him?"

His silence is much more ominous than any threat could ever be. It lasts the entire way down to quiet village, the horse's hooves preceding him like as if he was the apocalypse. He parks the carriage, not bothering to tie the horse to the post before he offers Pamela his hand. She takes it, not daring to take her eyes of off her maker, his anger still rolling through him in waves. He opens the door to the clearly closed shop, allowing her to enter before him.

Even before her feet cross the threshold, Pamela can hear the shopkeeper's heartbeat pick up. She raises her eyes to his, and in their reflection, she can see exactly when Eric enters the shop behind her. The man's eyes dilate, and his beating heart seems to be trying to escape his chest. Eric merely stays in the doorway, hands folded in front of him, staring down the old man with a look of pure boredom. There's not only fear in the shopkeeper's eyes, but a dark respect.

"Mr. Northman…I…welcome…how can I help you?"

The man's stammering speech pales in comparison to Eric's smooth words.

"I believe there was an issue earlier this evening. I have come to rectify it."

The shopkeeper's wide eyes finally focus on the blonde woman, who has been silent since she set foot in the shop. Pamela could mark the exact moment he realized he had made a grace mistake.

"I…I didn't know she was…I don't know who she is…please…"

Eric's fangs click into place as he strides forward, the small man cowering before him. But Eric holds his gaze, and his words drip like honey.

"She is my wife. And as such, you will treat her with the same respect you would extend to me. The quicker this shit stain of a town learns that, the better. Are we understood?"

When the man nods, Eric's gaze slides behind him to Pamela's, arching a brow at her shocked expression. He motions her forward with a crook of his finger, grinning as she snaps her mouth shut and steps forward. He places her in front of him, standing directly behind her, his hands encircling her waist. The human blinks at her, waiting almost expectantly.

"Tell him who you are."

Pamela glances over her shoulder, but her chin is held roughly in place by one of his broad hands, forcing her to look into the man's eyes.

"Tell him who you are."

"I'm…Pam."

Eric doesn't question the shortening of her own name, merely nodding as he urges her to continue.

"And why should he listen to you?"

"Because I'm…yours."

Eric chuckles, his blunt teeth nipping her earlobe.

"No…Why should he listen to you."

"I don't know!" Eric took a step back as she actually stomped her foot, looking every inch the insolent child. He shrugged, taking another step away to regard her with cool eyes.

"Then you don't deserve to be listened to."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he saw the intensity in her eyes that first drew him to her. She spun on her heel, snatching the small man by his collar.

"You'll catch more flies with honey, than you will with vinegar, my Pamela."

She rolled her eyes, but she obeyed, her voice coming out sickly sweet.

"You will listen to me. You will respect me. Because I am above you. I am more than you. I could hold your life in my hands and drop it to the dirt if I got bored." She hitches a blonde brow. "Understood?"

Despite the fact that two vampires are staring him down in his own shop, the man nods quite calmly. Eric grins, impressed at the attitude of his darling child. But it seems she's not done yet.

"And you will give me all the dresses I want, no matter the fabric, at no cost. To pay for your transgressions."

She releases the man, and walks, with her head held high past her maker. Eric arches a brow, wondering if this is the same woman who came to him not an hour ago with tears streaming down her face. She waits expectantly by the carriage, and holds out her hand before he even gets close. As she puts her foot on the step, she pauses, turning her head sharply to him.

"Why did you say I was your wife? You told me I wasn't your wife."

Eric tilts his head to the side, regarding her curiously.

"You are not my wife."

"Then why did you…"

"It's a convenient enough title. Don't you agree?"

She nods her head as he releases her hand. She situates herself on the seat, purposefully ignoring him as he settles back into the driver's seat. He half turns, willing her to look at him.

"Pamela."

She suddenly finds a piece of fluff on her sleeve far more interesting.

"Pam."

Again, she ignores him.

"Whore."

He all but laughs out loud as her eyes blaze in anger. He ruefully shakes his head, a soft smirk forming on his face.

"You are not my wife. Because that word would be an insult to what this is."

He grins as her eyes soften, even as she attempts to hide her own smile as he turns the reins back to their home.