Thanks for the reviews, and a special thank you to Sephora and other guest reviewers as I can't reply to them. Here's this weeks much awaited chapter. Enjoy!
6: Blue.
I swung the Corvette around a sharp bend, grinning as her tires squealed. I missed this, the thrill of speeding through the night alone. The Corvette was too distinctive, too well-known. I'd left it behind, knowing I would be back in Shreveport, however briefly, to touch base with Pam.
Last night Pam mentioned a nightclub in Bossier City that she wanted to check out, but she was bogged down with sheriff duties. I offered to scope the place. A new club was hardly a threat to Fangtasia, successfully relaunched in Pam's capable hands, but it gave me a pretext to get out of her hair. I didn't want to be that maker, the one that watched over his child like a hawk.
Not that Pam would hesitate to tell me if I was cramping her style.
Tonight was a rare opportunity to indulge myself. Snatching a spare hour, I was driving my favourite route: out by the Red River, on backwoods roads that twisted and turned. As the trees flickered past in the headlights, I mulled over the last six months, and my new allies.
Integration was key to our survival. Bartlett Crowe had impressed me with his insight into human politics and his willingness to consider any strategy, no matter how bold, to further that goal. I hadn't been exposed to him much before. I liked what I saw so far.
Stan Davis had similar goals, but proposed more cautious means. Whereas Bartlett was dispassionate about the predictable backlash against us since the Revelation, Stan was less objective and often resentful. Understandably so, after the attack on his nest in Dallas and others in his state since. Stan disliked 'pandering to the cattle' as he put it when he was in a foul mood, but the ongoing Fellowship problems in Texas forced him to face the necessity of doing exactly that.
Bartlett argued for deep, substantial changes, not just in the way we interacted with humans, but ultimately in the way we dealt with our own, even hinting at reforms of the hierarchy. Stan, although younger, was more old-school. He favoured cosmetic changes to appease the humans, leaving vampire matters mostly untouched and out of the spotlight.
If Stan and Bartlett were political dynamos, beneath his flamboyant exterior Russell was a shrewd tactician in his own right, as he'd proved at Nadia's trial. His opinion varied with the issue. He favoured curbing violence to meet human laws, but a laissez faire approach to our more pleasurable interactions with humans. Isabel was still finding her feet in Oklahoma and favoured Stan's slower, moderate changes.
There were tensions in the group, disagreements, but remarkably little posturing or petty feuding.
It made politicking almost pleasant.
There was something though, something about Bartlett that had gnawed at me. Spending more time with him had crystallised it into a hunch, one I confirmed with Rory's assistance a month ago.
...
Bartlett invited me to his Eagle Creek residence, in Indianapolis. Located in a secure gated community, the large house was surrounded by thick woods. It was one of Bartlett and Russell's favourite retreats, secluded and private. Isabel couldn't make it, but Stan and Russell were there to hash out some long term strategies.
The local sheriff had been injured, giving Rory a convenient excuse to come along. Not so convenient for the sheriff – Rory commanded a fat fee. Bartlett offered Rory the use of one of his biotech facilities for the healing, as long as he and Russell could observe. They were curious about Rory's ability.
In return, I asked if Rory could accompany me to Bartlett's afterwards, Rory joking apprehensively about nests of vipers.
Naturally, Bartlett was wary of her loose in his home and I vouched for her.
Naturally, he agreed to show he trusted me.
Rory brought a chair for the healing, a heavy contraption with padded silver manacles and chains, very Inquisitorial. The young sheriff hesitated when she saw it, but allowed Rory to strap her into it. Her injured hand was left free, and submerged in a bowl of blood on the table next to her. A feeding tube ran from a canister of blood to her mouth.
The sheriff yelled when Rory started. Russell turned to me in question.
I shrugged. "It is painful."
He glanced back at the sheriff. "With your injuries, how did you …?"
"Ah. A somewhat larger receptacle." I didn't add that Rory had used fae blood. She wanted that kept quiet. Re-growing half a hand required less oomph, and Rory estimated werewolf blood would be adequate for the task.
Safer for Rory too.
The sheriff was pleased with the result. Rory played up her weakness, slumped in a chair. She agreed to the deception readily, not minding if vampires overestimated how drained healing left her. We relocated to Bartlett's house and I carried Rory to her room. It connected to mine, and in the bathroom, amongst her toiletries, she had a vial of her tonic. She took it into the shower and I left her to 'recuperate'.
Downstairs the kings were discussing donors, a less sensitive topic while Rory was around.
Public interest in the way vampires treated those willing, and unwilling, to feed us had reached fever pitch. The BSA were breathing down our necks. Pressure to regulate was mounting, and it was vital we influenced any laws.
That had been the beauty of Fangtasia. Willing humans came to us and, provided vampires exercised common sense and restraint, accidents were few. Vampires were fed, humans had their walk on the wild side and we got richer.
That model had run its course. With Bartlett's encouragement, I was trialling a system of vetted donors and tighter controls. Russell hated the idea. Bartlett was reserving judgement until I'd worked out the kinks. He asked me to report.
I tested my hunch a few hours later, while we were relaxing by the outdoor pool.
I'd discarded several scenarios that might provoke Bartlett into revealing himself. Reciprocating Russell's outrageous flirting was out. If Bartlett had a jealous streak, I had no desire to witness it directed at me. Nothing that would make him doubt my loyalty, either. I picked something safe, something subtle, personal. A simple ruse.
Rory was sitting poolside with Russell, discussing southern France. Stan, Bartlett and I were in the pool some way away, idly discussing investments.
Rory was flawless, pulling off a fang-enticing combination of skittishness and bravado. Not so much of an act perhaps. She was socialising with four powerful vampires, three of whom believed she was fae, able to suppress her scent but still a tasty snack.
Luckily, her abilities made her blood more useful inside her body than out.
Russell's voice floated over: "... smell of lavender and the sea."
"Oh yes," Rory replied. "Provence is such a delight, so sensual."
"Quite. A feast for the senses, n'est-ce pas?" Russell leaned in, winking at Rory.
Bartlett was surreptitiously watching them. I smoothed my hair back a certain way, giving Rory her cue. She played with her pendant, signalling she was ready.
I turned to Stan, asking about his oil refineries, but glancing Rory's way a few times, beginning my delicate misdirect for Bartlett. I had plenty of practice in such deceits with Ocella.
Russell delivered the punch line of a very risqué French joke. Rory laughed, delighted, and put her hand on his arm. I gave Bartlett his prompt.
As expected, he showed no outward reaction.
A few seconds later, Rory scratched her ear. Another prearranged signal. Mission accomplished. We behaved perfectly normally from then on and she left an hour later.
Once I got back on home turf, we met up. She assured me that all three kings seemed to trust me – something I hadn't asked her to find out – and that yes, she definitely felt a reaction from Bartlett.
"He was surprised. Very. But it was brief. In fact, his emotions were quite hard to read. Whether that's the way he is, or he has some idea of who I am and what I can do and was deliberately muting them, I don't know."
Oh, with what she'd just confirmed for me, he absolutely might have anticipated her ability. I smiled. "Well done."
"And?" she asked.
I shrugged.
She glared, incredulous. "You're not going to tell me?"
"No." Good. As I'd hoped, she'd been too focused on Bartlett to notice what I'd done to surprise him. If she'd picked up on it, she'd know exactly what I did about him.
"It's not something dangerous, something I should know?"
"No, not at all. It will give me an edge."
Her eyes narrowed. "Over Bartlett. Do you need one? He likes you."
"I may at some point. Liking someone means little to vampires. If he is aware of your empathy, he could have faked that."
She wrinkled her nose. "You vampires are as deceitful as the fae."
"Ouch." I pretended to wince.
She folded her arms. "Next time I won't help unless you play nice and share."
I grinned. Payback was delicious. "Whose curiosity is eating them alive now?"
She snorted. "Yours obviously ate out your heart centuries ago, dead man."
I laughed at her frustration, but I didn't tell her what I'd found out. I kept that to myself, planning to use it to my advantage when I dealt with Bartlett. My time with Ocella would be useful for that, too.
…
I drove into Bossier City, snorting when I saw the club.
Blue.
The neon sign. The paint covering the building.
A tacky gimmick, but one that pulled in trade judging by the parking lot, moderately busy for its size. The vehicles indicated youthful customers, a mix of college students and locals. Shouldn't pose a problem for Pam. The new Fangtasia was aimed at professional thirty-somethings with money to burn.
Inside, the place throbbed with music and shouted conversations. Amongst the usual human odours, I detected the scents of two weres and a vampire I didn't recognise. Probably here for fresh blood.
The bar was a decent length, but packed nonetheless. I made my way over, noting the dark corridor to the restrooms – a flashpoint for trouble and potential drug use – and the predominance of cocktails and hard liquor. The place catered to serious partying, hence the crowded bar.
The drinks would be strong and pricey, or cheap and watered down. Profitable either way, if the customers drank enough and the owners were prepared to clean up the inevitable vomit and fights.
That explained the bouncers' electric blue suits. Easy to spot.
I slipped into an opening at the bar. The female bartender looked me over, taking in my smart shirt and trousers, and decided to serve me next. Smirking, I asked for their trademark blue cocktail and left a twenty on the bar, not waiting for change.
Picking a quiet corner, I sniffed the foul-looking concoction cautiously. Not watered down. They were perhaps building a client base before they started that trick. Blue drinks were risky, though. Fangtasia never carried them because some of this century's Mickey Finns were dyed blue to make spiked drinks obvious.
There would be recreational drug users in this hedonistic crowd.
Unimpressed by Pam's competition, I stepped out of the corner, intending to rid myself of the cocktail before I left. That was when I smelt her.
Sookie.
I froze briefly, and continued forwards to deposit the drink on a vacant table.
I knew she was back in Louisiana. Pam had mentioned it. I had restricted myself to asking, once, if Pam had her security in hand. We had not spoken of her further.
I wanted minimal involvement and had told Pam as much.
Six months ago, when Sookie left, I decided it was past time for me to move on. I'd broken the habit of thinking about her every dawn, a task made easier by the move, my new surroundings. When she did spring unbidden into my thoughts, I'd squashed them brutally, telling myself that even if she survived breaking the join, even if she returned, our paths had no reason to cross.
Reason and logic dictated that I should leave. At once.
But … I hadn't spotted that vampire.
Who might be a threat to her.
Or a guard, more logically.
I should stay long enough to be sure.
Moving to lean against a narrow pillar, I scanned the dance floor, searching for one of my kind in the crush. Instead, the crowd heaved and roiled and there she was, dancing with abandon in a pale blue dress.
An image of Rhodes flashed before me. I stopped myself taking a step towards her.
Desire trumped reason. Scanning half-heartedly, I kept looking back at her, distracted. She was a vision. The way she moved, sensuous, seductive, confident …
Ah.
She was putting on a show for two men at the edge of the dance floor. Older than the mostly college-age crowd, they were watching her intently, exchanging the occasional glance.
The taller one moved to join her and I looked away, searching for the other vampire in vain. No luck. It was too busy. I couldn't see anyone I recognised either. No-one in the crowd seemed to be with her. She had to be here with someone.
The song changed and my gaze was drawn inexorably back to her.
They were dancing very … close.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to watch. Witnessing this could be the final nail. Every bump, every grind, every glance burnt into me, telling me she wasn't mine, would never be mine again.
Finished. Over. Done.
He pulled her to him.
She struggled.
I was moving before I could think, slipping nimbly between the dancers to halt a step behind her, my fangs out menacingly.
He paled, his eyes widening in shock as he let her go. I caught her by the hips as she stumbled into me, retracting my fangs as the human backed into the crowd.
The vampire had given himself away too, darting rapidly through the throng towards her, a fraction after I had, behaving like the guard he obviously was. Our eyes met over her head and he nodded slightly, backing off respectfully. Short, dark hair, dark eyes, swarthy. I didn't know him, but he knew me.
Sookie was staring after her disappearing dance partner. I gave in to an impulse and bent down, my mouth by her ear. "Good evening, Sookie."
She squealed my name and whirled around.
I blinked. She was pleased to see me. Deliriously so. Hugging me, she asked what I was doing and I couldn't hide a wry smile as I answered I was checking out the competition.
For both Pam and myself apparently, but I kept that irony to myself.
Then she licked her lips suggestively and said…
What?
I held myself completely still as she swayed, her arms still around my waist. Shit. I could smell her. Her hair. Her. That damn dress: the same colour she wore at Rhodes, the neckline hinting at the delicious bounty below, the skirt swirling around her tanned legs.
She shimmied against me, grinning. "C'mon Eric. Dance with me."
I gave in. Slipping my arms around her, I began to move. Just a dance. One dance. She hummed and leaned into me, breathing deeply against my chest.
"You smell good," she murmured.
"So do you." It was out before I could stop myself. Fuck. I picked a safer subject as I steered us towards the edge of the floor. "Who are you here with? Tara?"
"No, no. Girls from work. They left. 'Cept Jody, but she's a bitch. Not a twoey, a regular bitch."
"Ah." I tried to put some space between us, but she moved closer. Impossibly close, wrapping her arms around my neck, rubbing against me in all the right places.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, mesmerising me as she stretched upwards. I lowered my face towards hers.
Just one taste. Her lips, her mouth…
No. Bad idea.
I pulled back, resisting when she tried to pull me down.
She got a devilish look in her eyes then. Her fingers began to wind into my hair and she pressed herself against me. She said in a singsong teasing voice: "Eric's feeling shy."
Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me and bounced up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips quick and hard against mine. Her warm breath fanned over me as she bounced back down, giggling.
I smelt alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
"Eric, baby," she purred. "Let's get out of here."
She was drunk. Very drunk.
Of course she was. Sookie never behaved like this. I'd let myself get wrapped up in her and missed it. I needed to get her out of the club. Humouring her, I smiled and bent to whisper in her ear. "Very well. Let's go."
She giggled and slid her hands down my chest, around my waist, giving my ass a squeeze before she let go. Definitely drunk. I slung my arm around her shoulders and began propelling her towards the entrance, flashing a look at the other vampire to indicate he should follow.
One of the bouncers stopped us at the door. "Miss, you know this guy?"
"Sure do," she chirped, patting my chest. "Know him real well if you get my drift. Hey, why's your friend over there got no neck? Was he in some freak accident?"
"Sookie," I chided and rolled my eyes at the guy. "She's had a few too many."
"Yeah. I can tell."
He frowned, looking between us. I lost patience, about to catch his eyes, but then he shrugged and stepped aside. He obviously couldn't tell what I was or he would have been more suspicious. The way she was pressing herself against me probably convinced him I wasn't abducting her against her will.
Thankfully the parking lot was empty. She began to sway halfway across it. In the quiet I noticed her heartbeat was slowed too.
Ah.
I propped her carefully against the Corvette while I unlocked it, then swept her up and put her on the passenger seat. I leaned over her to slip the key into the ignition and had to catch the hand she ran up the inside of my thigh. "Patience, Sookie. Find us some music for the drive."
Pouting, she started fiddling with the radio. I shut the door gently and the vampire morphed out of the shadows as I turned around.
"Gerard LeFèvre, at your service." He bowed and I nodded, recalling Pam had mentioned a French vampire who could pass as a local Cajun. He certainly looked the part, dressed in denim and flannel.
"You are her guard tonight?"
He nodded and handed me a small purse. "Hers," he said, indicating the blonde struggling to remove her heels in the cramped front seat. "She left it on a table. I kept it safe."
"How many drinks has she had?"
"Eight since I took over at nine-thirty."
It was just shy of one o'clock. I'd never seen her have more than two or three in an evening. "Were the drinks out of your sight at any point?"
He froze. Good, he understood. "Merde! Yes. She came outside, to see one of the other women to her car. I came out too, naturellement." He gestured at the lot, indicating the risks it posed. "When she returned, the brunette had drinks waiting."
"Jody," I guessed.
"Oui."
"Is she still here?"
He gave a Gallic shrug.
"Are you alone tonight?"
"Oui."
Fine. Pam could deal with the bitch who was just a regular bitch. "I'll take care of this. Return to Bon Temps. She will be back there before dawn." He bowed. "Wait. Is her car here?"
"Oui."
"Drive it to Fangtasia first. Leave the keys with Pam." I fished them out of her purse for him. I got into the Corvette, wincing at Sookie's off-key singing. I handed her the purse and she stopped to root in it. A minute later we were on the road and I was on the phone.
"Pam. I'll be there in fifteen. I need your office and privacy. Clear the back entrance. Oh, and water. A large jug of iced water."
…
I willed the lights to change, removing Sookie's hand from my thigh for the fourth time. Thank fuck Fangtasia was only another five minutes away. It had been a long ten minutes in the car with her so far. Her behaviour amused me at first, but it had made me increasingly … tense.
"Why don't I help you with that," she purred reaching for my belt.
I caught her hand again. "Let's save the main course for somewhere … more comfortable."
She pouted. "It's a good job I know you're worth the wait, buster."
A second later she leant in and nuzzled my shoulder, running her hand across my chest, playing with the buttons on my shirt. I gritted my teeth, eyes on the lights. She got my shirt open enough to slip her hand inside, warm against my skin. The lights changed and I gunned the car forward, stifling a groan.
She was killing me.
I took the next right and she kissed up my neck, making me shudder. She sucked wetly on my ear and I felt it down to my toes. "Sookie," I growled.
She let go with a pop. "A girl could start thinking you're not interested."
"Driving," I said shortly.
"Don't care. Pull over." She nuzzled my neck again, raking her nails over my chest.
"A bed would be better," I said raggedly. It wasn't put on. Killing me.
"I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex."
She bit my neck lightly and my hands tightened on the steering wheel. Fuck. "Sookie…" I breathed. I tried again, louder. "Sookie. You don't want this."
She pulled back, scowling. "Yes, I do. I decided to pick someone. To scratch that itch. " She gestured wildly. "Y'know. Ships in the night, no regrets."
"You will regret this."
Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, folding her arms over her chest. "Not up for the job Northman?" Her eyes trailed down my torso. She shrugged. "Pity. Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea."
She turned to the door, reaching for the handle.
Shit. We were doing forty. I flipped the master switch and the locks snapped shut. My lips twitched in spite of myself. Whatever she'd drunk, it certainly hadn't quenched her fire.
She turned back to me, grinning. "Guess you just swallowed the bait, hook and all."
She slid back over, hands reaching for me. I resigned myself to more torture. Sweet, sweet torture.
…
I pulled up behind Fangtasia, tires screeching. Pam was waiting by the door.
I disentangled myself from Sookie and blurred around to her side of the Corvette, catching her as she stumbled out, barefoot. I steadied her while she leant back into the car to grab her heels and purse, feeling Pam's stare on my back.
Swinging Sookie up into my arms to spare her feet, I strode towards the door. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck, whispering in my ear.
Pam's eyebrows shot up when she caught what Sookie was murmuring.
Ignoring her, I swept inside. The waiting room was empty. Pam had done as I asked without needless questions, as usual. I went straight into her office, kicking the door closed before my extremely curious child could follow.
I sat Sookie on the couch and she patted the seat next to her. I poured a large glass of water from the jug on the table, handing it to her as I sat down.
"Drink this before we …" I couldn't bring myself to add something suggestive knowing it wasn't going to happen.
"Start sweatin'?" she offered, smirking. "Good plan."
She gulped the whole glass down, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand afterwards. I took the glass and leaned forward to refill it. My shirt gaped open, completely undone from the car ride. Sookie hummed appreciatively and ran a hand inside it, caressing my chest. My eyes fluttered closed when her nails grazed my nipple. Concentrating on willing my fangs to stay put, I almost crushed the glass.
"You're thirsty. Have another," I said hoarsely, thrusting it at her.
"Mmm. Sure am," she said, her eyes flicking down to my lap, her eyelids drooping. She licked her lips and I stifled another groan.
She drank the second glass more slowly. My fangs throbbed as I watched the movement of her throat. Once she finished, I pushed her gently down onto her back and pressed a kiss into her forehead. "I'll be right back."
"Hurry," she moaned, shifting under me.
Pam was waiting outside, face blank. I closed the door quietly behind me.
"I found her at Blue. Drunk. And drugged."
Her eyes widen. "Fuck. Should I call Ludwig?"
I shook my head. "It looks like a low dose of liquid E. The water will flush it out."
We had teething problems with that particular drug in the early days of Fangtasia, college kids taking it to make themselves more daring. Sookie was coherent and only slightly unbalanced, so she hadn't taken much. It usually wore off in a few hours. If it didn't, I'd have to find someone to watch her after dawn.
"That explains her ... friendliness," Pam commented.
"Yes." Her friendly hands. And mouth. And tongue. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The sting thinned the haze of desire.
"Did she take it willingly?"
"I think not. Perhaps a co-worker, Jody. It could have been anyone." The dance partner if he'd had a chance. He was quick to flee and it would have certainly made her more … compliant. That thought chilled my blood.
"Fuck a zombie. Gerard. He's new, doesn't know her well. He might not have picked up on it."
"He lost sight of her drinks when she went out to the parking lot."
"Bloody hell," Pam growled. "Thalia was meant to be with him, but I called her here."
"Problems?"
"Dealt with," she said, flicking her hand dismissively.
"I'll sit with her until it's out of her system."
She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be out front."
She walked quickly towards the bar. I leaned against the door for a minute before I went back inside.
Sookie was asleep.
I was relieved and disappointed. It was always contradictions with her.
I fetched a pillow and blanket from Pam's boudoir and made her comfortable, monitoring her breathing. It, like her heartbeat, was only slightly slowed. The drug would be out of her system sooner rather than later. Reaching over, I carefully swept a curl of hair out of her eyes. She muttered and tugged the blanket around her shoulders. The movement drew my attention to her hand.
No rings.
And she was in Bossier City, looking for some ... action.
She'd certainly made quick work of ridding herself of Merlotte.
The thought didn't give me much comfort. Partly because the shifter and I were now members of a very exclusive club of ex-husbands, equally reluctant members I imagined, and partly because it wasn't in my nature to kick a whipped dog.
Sam Merlotte had certainly looked whipped when I saw him back in March.
…
Something had changed about Merlotte's. Not the sudden hush when I walked in, that was the same. I glanced around. Eight people. Pathetic. Monday was a quiet night, but not this quiet, not for the only bar in town. The hatch to the kitchen was shut. Now I was paying attention, the smell of food was old and fading.
Cataliades was right; the bar was dying on its feet. The lawyer had asked me to intercede to protect his client's investment. Sookie's investment. I assumed Niall had asked him to keep an eye on her affairs while she was gone.
I stopped in front of the bar. "Is Merlotte here?"
The woman – ah yes, Kennedy, handy with a shotgun – nodded. "I'll fetch him."
She didn't direct me to his office. When Merlotte appeared I understood why.
He was tense, his jaw tight and his eyes wary. Our interactions before Sookie left had been distinctly acrimonious, so that was no surprise.
The rest of his appearance was.
He was thinner, greyer, with an unhealthy sallow tint to his skin. A sour undertone of sickness lingered in his scent. The bartender didn't want me alone with him; he wasn't capable of defending himself.
From what Cataliades told me he'd been ill for some time. I deduced that was to do with the insidious fae magic between him and Sookie, but I wasn't privy to the details. Rory mentioned that Ludwig had discharged him three weeks ago. I expected to find him recovered. It must have been worse than I thought.
"Merlotte."
"Northman," he answered.
"I have business with you. Private business."
He hesitated and then gestured for me to lead the way. In his office, I took the lone guest seat, ignoring the two desk chairs. And the potted plant, the curtains, the cheerful paint. I knew whose touches those were. She'd made an impression on the room.
He had that much.
Merlotte took the seat behind his desk – the one without a plant, strewn with ledgers and papers.
"What do you want Eric?" he said belligerently. Nodding at the mess he added, "I'm busy."
"That is what I came for." He stiffened and I raised a hand to forestall his protests. "Cataliades asked me to intercede. Your mother was hostile when he offered his help."
He grimaced. "She's had a rough few months."
"Biting the hand helping you off the floor is foolish. Cataliades managed to look through some of that," I gestured at his desk, "before she threw him out."
He set his jaw. "I don't need any help. Things will be back on track soon."
"Really." I leant back and began inspecting my fingernails. "How soon?"
"None of your damn business."
I looked at him sharply. "I am making it my business. If you go under, people will suffer. Tenants out on the street, employees out of work, the community losing this place. They will blame you." And Sookie.
He scowled. "I don't need your help."
"This is not about you or your pride. You revealed yourself. You represent the two-natured to these people. Every negative event associated with one of you sticks in their minds, colours how they view your kind, makes them more likely to listen to the Fellowship's drivel. That makes it my business."
He glared at me for a long minute, and then deflated, his indignation fading. He muttered sullenly, "Fine."
"Good. Cataliades suggested I look at the books for the duplexes as he already examined the ones for the bar."
He stiffened.
"Either show me the books or explain the problem. Do not waste my time."
He got up, muttering under his breath, and unlocked an old filing cabinet in the corner. He dumped four ledgers on the desk in front of me. I flicked through them quickly. Rents were low, but typical for a rural area, the maintenance bills weren't extravagant … Hmm.
"Do you own these units outright?"
He shook his head and wearily got up again. He opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet and pulled out some paperwork.
I looked over it and saw exactly what was sucking the life blood out of his businesses.
"This original loan," I tapped the page, "you were happy with the terms?"
"Didn't have much choice. Round here bank managers like to know your family six generations back, and if they don't …" He shrugged. "Some of us don't have centuries to steal a fortune."
I ignored the dig, pulling out another sheet. "You refinanced with the same bank?" He'd had someone separate the two businesses too.
"Yeah."
"You had been here some time by then, established yourself in the community." I raised an eyebrow. "Why are the terms worse?"
"It was after the Reveal."
"Because you're a shifter." Of course. Vampires had faced similar difficulties when we came out of the coffin.
He snorted. "They fed me some bullshit about bigger risks because the profits dipped when we had the protesters camped out front, but yeah. That."
"There was no other option? A shifter credit union perhaps?"
"You know we don't go in for organisation." He frowned. "Do vamps have a credit union?"
"There are some … mutual arrangements for loans, yes. With better terms than this." I tapped the papers again.
"So," he said reluctantly, "what can I do?"
His back must be hard against the wall to give in so quickly. But then, he had always been amenable to reason before the fairy magic messed with him.
I answered him bluntly. "You have several options. Sell the duplexes, but the market isn't particularly favourable and you need to cover the outstanding loan. Have a proxy buy them, pay off the loan, then refinance somewhere else at a better rate and buy them back. That will be tricky. The IRS or the Bureau might investigate – switching owners back and forth arouses suspicion. The simplest solution is to take on a partner, a cash investor, and refinance that way."
"I don't want your money."
"I didn't offer it," I said drily. "I could use my contacts to find an investor."
"I won't take vampire money."
"So I heard," I said, giving him a cold stare. Idiot. Picky beggars starved to death. Cataliades told me what his mother said about Sookie's blood money.
Merlotte managed to look embarrassed.
I sneered, "Does it have to be true shifter money to get your approval, or are other weres good enough for you?"
"Shifter would be best, but a lone wolf would do." He scowled. "Pack if you have no choice."
I nodded. "Very well. I'll be in touch."
Russell had a contact who was interested. Edward Burrows came into a sizeable inheritance from his in-laws twenty years ago, and had made good investing it in small businesses in Jackson. His family were shifters. Cataliades introduced him to Merlotte, reporting that the meeting went well.
I stopped by the following week. The bar was still dead. It was two nights after the full moon and when I walked in Merlotte was haggard, leaning heavily on the counter. He took me into his office. A nervous waitress came in, handed me a warm bottle of blood and left without a word. Merlotte poured himself some bourbon, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. Were we celebrating?
"Burrows was satisfactory?"
"Yep." He gulped down a slug of his drink.
"Good." I raised my bottle and took a mouthful, watching him. He was agitated.
"Look … I'm only saying this once." He forced the words out. "Thank you."
I shrugged. "You can owe me."
He snorted. "Oh, I know that. But … I was in a jam … and after the way I behaved …"
"Cataliades came to me. Bankrupt shifters are bad publicity for all of us."
He cocked his head. "You didn't do this for him. Or the publicity." The flash of amusement in his eyes faded quickly, replaced by weary defeat. I took another swig of blood while he worked himself up to asking: "Have you heard from Niall?"
Ah. "Not recently." His shoulders slumped. "Ludwig hasn't heard from him?"
He grimaced. "My mom … He came to the clinic once and she … Well, she's not real fond of fairies. He didn't come back."
I smirked. "I would have paid to see that."
"Yeah, it was something, apparently." He ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "You haven't heard anything?"
I shook my head.
Looking down into his empty glass, he spoke softly. "She did it. It's gone."
I held back a thousand questions and let out one word. "When?"
"February." He swallowed. "Bout six weeks ago."
I drained the bottle and set it down. A lot had happened in the last six weeks.
He looked up again. "She said she was coming back."
"Niall thought she would."
"He wouldn't…?"
"No, he wouldn't stop her. If that was what she wanted."
His face showed the same doubts that I had about that. An unaccustomed feeling – was that sympathy? – tempted me to point out that she was likely still recovering, as he clearly was. Squashing that impulse I said bluntly, "You look like shit. Is Ludwig still treating you?"
He flinched and said bitterly, "No. It's just a matter of time. Waiting it out."
"I could ask Miss Kingfisher –"
"She can't help. Not with this." Slumping even further down into his chair, he whispered, "I can't shift."
He looked appalled as soon as the words were out. Sharing his pain went against the primal instinct of all severely injured creatures, driven to slink away into a dark safe place and lick their wounds. Alone. Privately.
I felt exactly the same after Nadia had … Fuck. That was definitely sympathy.
"Will it pass?" I asked grimly, as uncomfortable as he was with this conversation.
"Don't know."
"Ah."
That was a death sentence for his kind. Shapeshifters who couldn't shift walked into traffic. He hadn't given in yet, which showed tenacity. We looked at each other for a moment, an unexpected and grudging respect passing between us.
I stood. "Contact Pam if you need to reach me."
He nodded, reaching for the bourbon.
…
Sookie began to stir after an hour.
I was sitting on the coffee table next to her, deep in thought and shirt fully buttoned. She stretched and sat up, delightfully rumpled. She appeared calm. I waited for some sign the drug was gone.
"Hey. Sorry to crash on you." She smiled warmly, leaning over to kiss me.
I stood up. Not all gone. Or there was enough alcohol left in her to loosen her up, as they say.
She looked confused and then hurt. "What…?"
I put the desk between us and sat in Pam's chair, steepling my hands in front of me. "How do you feel, Sookie?"
"I …I feel fine." She frowned and hesitantly stood up. I watched closely as she walked over to the chair in front of the desk. Her balance was improved. She sat down, looked around and wrinkled her nose. "This … isn't quite what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Oh…" She smiled faintly. "Silk sheets and a lot fewer clothes."
Still uninhibited, freer than usual. Less aggressive, though. It was definitely wearing off.
She looked at me hopefully. "So…do you want to...?"
I had to ask. "What exactly are you offering?"
She hesitated. "A night, I guess. One time offer. No strings."
My eyes lingered on her dress for a moment. "I'm afraid I have to decline."
"Oh. I … That's a shame." she whispered, looking away.
This was a rare opportunity to get some honest answers out of Sookie, one I probably wouldn't get again. It meant taking advantage of her state, but I itched to make sense of things. Get what they called closure these days. Pam's platinum pen was on the desk, the one I'd bought for her and had engraved with 'Sheriff'. I toyed with it while I came to a decision.
"Will you answer two questions?" I asked quietly.
She bit her lip. "I guess."
I turned the pen over in my hands. "You went to a wedding in Texas. While we were together."
"Yeah. That was a disaster. Poor Deidra, all those dumb protesters."
"Yes. That wedding. What happened between you and the shifter that weekend?" Something had changed between them during that trip. I needed to know what, however painful.
"Oh." She was flustered, looking anywhere but me. "Oh. Well, we went to the wedding together. Obviously. And ran around dealing with the usual supe crap. I told you about that, right?"
My eyes never left her face. "Sookie. What happened between you and Sam?"
A slow blush spread across her cheeks and she twisted her hands in her lap. She looked … guilty. I loosened my grip on the pen, mindful of the urge to clench my fists.
"Nothing," she said sullenly. "Nothing happened."
"Sookie," I warned.
"Alright already! It was just a damn kiss! Barely more than a peck on the lips." She raised her chin, defiant. "It's not like you didn't kiss me plenty worse when I was with other guys. And I only did it because Bernie was watching and Sam had given them all the impression I was his girlfriend."
What? I snapped upright, dropping the pen, a slow churning beginning in my gut. Keeping my voice flat I said, "He told his family you were together."
"Um. Yeah." She fidgeted.
"And you went along with it. While we were pledged." I could hardly believe she let other supes believe she was Merlotte's. Disregarding the insult to me, she must have realised de Castro would pounce on anything he could exploit to challenge the pledge.
"Yeah, but that didn't count. It wasn't real."
She said it so casually. I actually bit my tongue to stop myself interrupting with an angry retort.
"We were all the way over in Wright anyway. It was only Sam's family. Nobody there knew who I was." She smiled to herself. "The kids called me Aunt Sookie. That was kinda sweet."
Meeting his family. That was what had warmed her to Merlotte. Shit. That stung worse than what I'd begun to suspect, which in all fairness didn't fit the Sookie I knew. This did. A family, children, everything I couldn't … I closed my eyes for a second, the blood in my mouth tasting bitter as I swallowed the truth.
"Well, it was just family to start with," she added thoughtfully, "until all the twoeys turned up to help. That was real nice of them. Even Quinn and Jannalynn. Good Lord, that was mortifying. Sam's actual girlfriend turning up like that."
I suddenly knew exactly why Jannalynn had chosen to target me with the fairy-laced Rowe: to humiliate Sookie the way Merlotte had humiliated her. She was a vindictive bitch, that one. Merlotte's disloyalty would have enraged her.
Wasn't that poetic. Jannalynn's idea of vengeance ultimately led to her own death, Sam getting his ass saved by the woman he'd chosen over her, and the wish that saved him binding them together.
Fucking poetic. If I still believed in Norns I'd bet there was one cackling herself to death over the threads she'd tangled into that lovely knot.
Sookie's eyes pleaded with me. "That's all water under the bridge, Eric. Sam and me are done. I didn't love him. Not really. Not that way. So we could…" She stopped, blushed and looked down. She whispered, "You had another question?"
I picked up the pen again, turning it as I searched for the right words. This one … I wasn't sure she'd answer, even like this. She'd be offended by it once she was sober, but she was going to be angry anyway. Hung for a sheep or a lamb, it made no difference.
"You were married for three years. Did you ever turn your husband away?"
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Deny him the comfort of your bed." As you did to me so often, I added silently.
"Of course not. He was my husband. Well, unless you mean, y'know, when I was indisposed, or …" she trailed off, censoring whatever was on the tip of her tongue.
She was regaining control of herself. Time to move this along. I had ample confirmation that our pledging, our relationship rated far less importance in her eyes than her marriage to Merlotte. The shifter she didn't love.
I stood. "I should take you home."
"Oh, right." She stood too, flustered by the abrupt subject change. She squinted at the clock behind me. "Shoot, it's almost three. Thank goodness I don't have to work tomorrow."
"Quite." I gestured to the couch and waited while she fixed her shoes and grabbed her purse.
She was quiet while I adjusted the seat of her car to fit me, quieter still as I drove out of Shreveport. Ten minutes along the I20 her breathing evened out and I relaxed. She was asleep.
I pulled up in front of her house and watched her for a few minutes, wondering if I'd ever come back here. I didn't want to go inside. This wasn't the house of my lost memories or of my lover. That place was gone. This was Sookie Merlotte's house.
I woke her gently, stroking the hair off her face. "Sookie. You're home."
She yawned and rubbed her face. "Oh, sorry." She fumbled with the door. I blurred around the car to help her out. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.
She got to the front door before she realised I'd stopped outside the ward, at the bottom of the porch steps. She turned back and gave me an uncertain smile.
"I'll wait until you're inside. Check your phone tomorrow when you wake up."
"Sure. I'll do that. Thanks for seeing me home safe, Eric. And, um, thanks for… everything else. Everything. I mean it." She held my eyes for a long beat, hers glistening with emotion. Then she slipped inside, shutting the door gently.
I waited a few minutes, listening to the sounds of her moving further into the house. A tap running. Good, she would need more water.
I looked over towards the cemetery and Bill's house. Did staying near her all this time make him the stronger man, or just a masochist? I didn't know, but I knew I couldn't stay.
I launched myself into the sky, needing the flight to clear my head.
…
Pam was already home when I arrived, half an hour before dawn. She looked up from a magazine when I walked into her kitchen.
"Did you speak to Gerard?" I asked.
"Yes. We'll keep an eye on the woman, this Jody. He mentioned a male."
I nodded, tamping down a ridiculous spike of jealousy.
Her mouth tightened but she carried on briskly. "I won't take any overt action until I've spoken to Sookie. She wants minimal interference with those around her."
"I'll leave that to you. I'm going to rest."
Ten minutes before dawn I was freshly showered and sprawled out on the bed in the room Pam kept for me, pondering the slings and arrows of the night.
I was bruised.
Sookie's words taunted me: 'I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex.'
I said something very similar to her in Jackson and meant it completely. I hadn't cared what made her yield to me, not then, only that she did. Tonight, I wouldn't have taken advantage of her, drugged as she was.
Even if she was sober, I would have refused her.
I did care, very much, why she had sex with me now. I couldn't casually fuck someone that I lo–
That didn't make sense. I'd never had any qualms about taking what was freely offered, whatever my history with the woman.
It occurred to me that I'd only fancied myself in love before. I'd had infatuations, all quickly fading. Obsessions that burnt themselves out eventually. Easy friendships with a physical side that lasted longer. I'd even been content with undemanding women for a decade or so on occasion.
But nothing like this. This lingering … passion. Raw need. I remembered her hands on me and shivered.
Sookie was different.
Well, it was different for me. Her, not so much. Apparently, I was just another ship in the night. One she enjoyed immensely, but didn't want to keep around.
I'd felt her warm affection for me while we were bonded and interpreted it as love. I'd forgotten love came in shades. Perhaps hers had been rooted in the physical, given the way she behaved tonight. After all, it was notoriously easy for humans to become enamoured with vampires for that reason. Hadn't I told her she was spoilt for human men? She had said she loved me, but she was young, inexperienced enough to confuse physical infatuation for deeper emotion.
Was it just lust that drew her to me?
I turned over and buried my face in the pillow, letting out a muffled groan of frustration. What the fuck was I thinking? Now I was regretting being good at something I enjoyed immensely.
My sigh was muffled too. I couldn't regret loving her, however painfully it ended and frankly how close to insanity it had been at times.
I missed it.
I didn't need it. I'd spent centuries without it. I'd been content and I would be again. I would carry on as before. At least I would recognise the hazard if I came across again it. Forewarned, I could avoid it.
I frowned against the pillow. If the bolt struck again, would I honestly dodge it? I wasn't so sure, not now I'd tasted it. That was a strange thought, meeting someone else who invoked the same passion.
No. Never.
I sat up, shocked by the fierce denial that shot through me.
What? Why wouldn't I? I'd always ridiculed that one special person for everyone drivel. There were too many people in the world for that to be true. My denial, my fucking feelings didn't make sense. It was perfectly possible for it to happen again, with someone else.
Even though the thought made my skin crawl.
No, it wasn't that it couldn't happen. Not exactly. I might meet someone else, but I couldn't … not while I still …
Ah.
I chewed that over.
It rang true.
Rory, just that one time, no repeats. Not that it would have been more than – what was it Pam called it? – friends with boning rights, the complete package – but I hadn't pursued it.
Shit. I couldn't even indulge in a casual flirtation. I flopped back onto the bed, stunned. When it came to matters of the heart, if not fucking, I was a one-woman man.
Did that make any difference?
No. I needed to stay the fuck away from Sookie even more urgently. Far, far away. Let it fade, let it wither.
Even with the painful answers I got tonight, one chance meeting was enough to have me preoccupied with her again. I couldn't afford that. Not now.
I needed to be free of my irrational feelings for a woman who would never return them.
...
Grammar glitches corrected thanks to the eagle-eyed ws caer. And Idylvice (nice name btw). Did not know that phrase had different connotations for Americans!
Anyone spots any more, let me know. Note to self: don't proof read when you're tired!
