Before we go any further, Eric wanted a word.

Yes, Sookie is stubborn, proud and infuriatingly short-sighted at times, but so is he. She's also hard-working, creative and loyal. Sometimes to the wrong people, but, hell, he was loyal to Ocella. Sookie is making her life her own, as she should. She doesn't owe him anything. Not even if he still loves her. That doesn't entitle him to anything in return.

Demanding affection was Ocella's way, not his.

And don't pity him – he hates that. He's big enough to handle himself. *smirk*

A/N: Some housekeeping:

1. I'll aim for once a week over the holidays, but bear with me.

2. For those missing Eric: pov switches back & forth for a few chapters, then there's a long section of Eric. Yay!

3. Hi guest: I'm puzzled, how would that work? The bombing was daytime. Felipe couldn't know Andre was vulnerable or contact Quinn. If Quinn was already working for Felipe, why kidnap his family? Interesting idea though. I was always leery of Quinn acting as Sophie-Ann's errand boy myself.

Okay, here we go. Buckle up and keep your hands inside the ride at all times.

This may rate a box of tissues, or a punching bag. Or tomatoes to throw at me.

Remember. DON'T PANIC. Big friendly pink letters.


No Sanctuary


Quinn rang the doorbell at nine on the dot. A gleaming black Lexus waited curbside behind him. The events business was sure doing great. While Amelia locked up, Quinn looked me up and down, and practically purred his appreciation. Giving him a warm smile, I complimented him right back. The man scrubbed up well; he looked gorgeous in his grey suit.

My dress was midnight blue and off the shoulder, with an embroidered bodice and a flaring skirt. I had new shoes to match and my hair was up in a simple twist. I'd borrowed a gold purse and necklace from Ames, but Quinn's reaction was the finishing touch my outfit needed. If I looked half as confident and assured as he made me feel, I would fit right in at Sanctum. Amelia said it was very upmarket.

Amelia's cream dress had a blue and brown geometric print that set off her colouring perfectly. Quinn complimented her too, holding the passenger door open with a glance at me. The man got points for politeness, but I opted for the back, getting in before anyone could protest. This wasn't some sort of date whatever Ames might imagine.

It was a short drive to the warehouse district. Amelia pointed out Sanctum, an unmarked three-story building painted in sage green with sash windows picked out in cream. As we drove past, I noticed the first floor windows were blocked up. Quinn turned into the narrow one-way side-street next to it.

A wall, topped with spikes, extended from the club to the next building, which looked to be a parking garage. A limo pulled away in front of us and Quinn pulled up opposite a plain white door in the wall. An elegantly dressed couple were disappearing through it, ignoring the two bulky men in suits and wearing earpieces – werewolves, when I checked –standing guard on either side.

A skinny guy in a valet uniform hotfooted it over to us. Taking Quinn's keys, he told us to keep our invitations in our hands as we went in. Ames and Quinn didn't bat an eyelid, so I fetch the thick embossed card out of my purse.

No oppressive urge to leave overwhelmed me on the sidewalk, but the card felt heavier as we passed through the door and I shivered. Amelia clutched her invitation, whispering, "That's one hell of a ward."

Classier than Club Dead so far, depending on what happened if you didn't have an invitation. Maybe you got bounced butt-first onto the sidewalk? I wasn't eager to find out.

Inside the wall was a paved courtyard, with a fountain that glistened in the soft lamplight. Past the fountain, another hulking pair of twoeys in suits waited next to a burning brazier, an odd sight given the warm night. One of them held a clipboard.

The breeze picked up and Quinn stiffened. He locked onto the larger twoey, keeping his eyes fixed on him as we walked over. The guy had a neat goatee and was as black as the night.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman. Your invitations, please." He spoke with a deep crisp English accent, his teeth flashing white.

Quinn stepped forward protectively and said with a hint of challenge, "Leopard."

"Tiger," he answered laconically, his mouth lifting at one corner.

Were-leopard. I hadn't met one of those.

"You're new in town," Quinn said rudely. His shoulders were tense. "Who are you?"

"Levi Jameson." He bared all his teeth, flashing a quick, wide smile. "And you are?"

"John Quinn."

"Ah, the infamous pit fighter." He glanced at clipboard guy, who nodded and crossed off what I guessed was Quinn's name. Levi the leopard held out his large hand for Quinn's invitation, took it and tossed it into the brazier. The card flared blue, burning unnaturally fast with a smell of cloves.

Levi said firmly, "There is no fighting here, tiger."

Quinn stared him down, and then broke eye contact. "I didn't come to fight."

"Good. No shifting. The rules are enforced ruthlessly." Then he added with no trace of welcome in his voice, "Welcome to Sanctum."

He held out his hand again, towards Amelia.

"Amelia Broadway, witch." Ames said politely, handing over her square of card.

Clipboard guy nodded and crossed her off his list. Her invitation met its fiery end. Levi gave Amelia a toothy smile. "No spells, Ms Broadway. Welcome to Sanctum."

He turned to me and I held out my invitation.

"Sookie Stackhouse, telepath." Not ashamed to say it, either.

His smile broadened and once I got the approving nod he tossed the card casually into the fire. "Hmm. We don't have rules for rare creatures like you. Don't ruffle any feathers with your gift. Weapons must be left at the coat check."

"Should I hand in my nail-file?" I said flatly, offended that he assumed the weak little human might be armed.

He threw his head back and laughed, throaty and rumbling. His amber eyes twinkling, he said warmly, "I think we can trust you with that. Welcome to Sanctum, Ms Stackhouse."

I smiled back. "Thank you, Mr Jameson."

The door slid open behind him and he waved us into the brightly lit lobby. Definitely classier than Josephine's. The floor was marble, or some similarly expensive stone, and two beautiful girls manned the coat check counter.

One smiled as we passed, revealing sharp teeth.

Elf.

I suddenly felt very human. Classier didn't mean safer.

I wasn't going to ruffle any feathers, no sirree. I wouldn't be able to read most of the clientèle clearly anyway, only the witches. Powerful witches could sense the mental intrusion and didn't react well. I might drop my shields once or twice to get a general impression of mood, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

We entered the main room and a pale man with dark hair and an expensive suit bounded over, all elbows and knees and enthusiasm. Smiling broadly and speaking with a soft Scottish burr he said, "Welcome to Sanctum. I'm your host, Malcolm Craw."

Amelia stepped forward eagerly, shaking his hand. "Pleased to meet you. Amelia Broadway, of the Dumaine Street coven."

Malcolm tilted his head curiously. "Broadway … Ah! Anything to do with the store?"

Amelia beamed. "Yes. I'm the owner." Then her eyes widened. "Craw? Are you a descendent of … well, um ...?"

"William Craw of Bo'ness, burnt at the stake? Very distantly, yes."

Malcolm was the witch owner then. I trailed after them, exchanging an amused look with Quinn as Amelia did her best to ingratiate herself with our host. Malcolm was equally effusive, giving us – well, Amelia really – a quick tour, obviously very proud of his club.

The place was lovely: soft lighting, fresh blues and greens, pale wood. Modern, uncluttered and calming, not clinical. There was an informal seating area dotted with potted plants, reminiscent of Pam's new-look Fangtasia, and an open area by the bar, where people were mingling to 'blether' as Malcolm put it. A dozen assorted supes stood chatting quietly as muted jazz floated over from the club proper.

A glass wall, waist-high and painted with a stunning mural of exotic flowers and butterflies, separated the two areas. Standing by it, we could see the whole place. Steps at either end of the wall led down to a wooden dance floor surrounded by semi-circular booths with generously stuff green leather benches. There was a band in the far corner providing the jazz.

The lighting was dimmer than the bar, but my human eyes still saw the whole thing just fine. There were no dark corners no nooks and crannies, nowhere to hide. I guess they'd designed it that way. Everybody could see everybody.

Malcolm explained to Amelia that the booths were warded for privacy so business could be conducted in the open. If the participants were wary of each other, I assumed. Another owner, a part-demon called Ariadne Jones, provided legal services, and rooms upstairs could be hired for delicate negotiations. I sensed Quinn's irritation when Malcolm revealed Levi was the twoey owner. Something told me Quinn and the leopard weren't going to be best buddies.

The Scottish witch blethered – I liked the term, it suited him – about their ethos of bringing different supes together and fostering harmony until another party arrived and he excused himself to greet them.

They obviously took that ethos seriously: the band was a mix of vampires and twoeys.

Amelia wanted a good vantage point, so we sat at the end of the bar, soaking up the ambience. I asked for orange juice, wanting my wits about me. The pretty blonde bartender, another twoey, batted her eyes shamelessly at Quinn as she served our drinks. Amelia took off to talk to someone she recognised, leaving behind an awkward silence.

I broke it, asking Quinn how his job was going. He mentioned the places he'd visited in the last few months, not giving much away about his clients, which was fine with me. So was the warmth of his smile and the heat of his arm brushing against mine.

I was a single woman. No harm in appreciating the company of a handsome man.

Amelia came back beaming. She flitted off repeatedly during the next hour. I got the distinct impression inviting Quinn was her idea of throwing me a bone so she could abandon me guilt-free to network. So much for the heartbreak going on in her personal life. She definitely had her father's ambition and drive.

Eventually I spotted someone I knew: Genevieve Thrash and her husband David, the former Lieutenant Governor. I'd last seen the older couple at Sophie Ann's abbey, at a memorable party that ended in a gruesome bloodbath. The intervening five years had treated the Trashes well; they glowed with health. I excused myself to say hi, leaving Amelia to a taste of her own medicine.

Genevieve took a moment to recognise me, but a glance at Quinn did the trick. Ever the politician's wife, she recovered gracefully. "Oh, yes. I remember. Sookie. A barmaid, wasn't it? How are you finding business these days?" If she thought I was a fish out of water in the high-class joint, she was too polite to say.

"Oh... It's been better," I fudged, not wanting to admit I was currently out of work.

"Still with...?"

"Quinn? Oh, no ma'am. Just a coincidence we're here together."

We chatted about sightseeing in New Orleans until I mentioned I'd been disappointed Mr Thrash hadn't been on the ticket last election. He was deep in discussion with Malcolm Craw and a short, overweight man in a brown suit.

"Not as disappointed as David was," she said, sighing. "I should join him. Thank you for warning us all those years ago." She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm. He tried so hard to convince the party voters could see past the wolf.

Oh. That explained why he hadn't run. I sighed too. Twoeys had a way to go until their nature became irrelevant in public life. Amelia had disappeared again and when I got back Malcolm pulled Quinn away to speak to someone. I sat alone at the bar, enjoying the peace.

"Wotcha," said a voice right behind me. I almost fell off my stool in shock.

"Don't do that," I gasped, turning round with my hand on my chest, feeling a buzzing mind behind me. "Diantha?"

The elegant lady in front of me didn't look like Diantha. Her hair was dyed indigo, but it coordinated nicely with her purple kimono-style dress. The sturdy boots peeking out beneath it were a glimpse of the real Diantha, though.

She grinned widely, flashing her sharp teeth. "Whatcha think? I'm incognito."

"Oh. What for?"

She rolled her eyes. "Guarding you. Must be working, 'cos I've been sitting right there and you didn't notice me. Didn't come over until you were alone, case yer friends didn't know."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting you."

She shrugged. "I blend in better than Thalia."

I grinned. "Yeah. Can't see her liking the whole peace and love vibe."

Diantha snorted in a very unladylike way, somewhat ruining her 'disguise'. "Me neither. Tiger-boy is coming back so I'll be off. See ya."

I indulged in a little more casual flirting to boost my ego, and then excused myself to powder my nose.

The bathrooms had an excess of marble and a female sink attendant, of some unknown species that tended to muscle. She politely but silently handed me a towel to dry my hands on. I figured she was stationed there for security, not to wait on customers. Pretending not to find her presence off-putting, I spent a minute fixing my hair. Coming out, I found the pretty bartender was flirting with Quinn in my absence.

He was enjoying her attentions. Maybe his ego was too big for one woman to stroke I thought sourly, stuffing my brush back into Amelia's tiny purse.

Damn. It wouldn't close.

Moving away from the bathroom entrance, I paused by the steps that led down to the dance floor, shuffling the contents of the overfull purse, a procedure not helped by my irritation with Quinn. A door opened below me and I vaguely registered a void and a buzzing demon mind as I struggled with the clasp.

"… is ready, your majesty."

"Good. Thank you, Ariadne."

That voice. Simultaneously the purse snapped shut and my head snapped up.

A tall, long-limbed, generously padded woman stood near the bottom of the steps. Ariadne.

With Eric.

Eric, his back to me, in a black tux, hair loose and glowing like pale spun gold, body as beautiful as Michelangelo's David. A throb of lust engulfed me, increasing my irritation tenfold. Our last meeting flooded back – at least, the fragments of it that my mind held onto flooded back – and that fanned my irritation into a fury that flared bright and hot as Eric took a step towards the dance floor.

"Eric," I called sharply.

He glanced around and blinked.

I stepped forward, hands on hips. "I want a word with you, buster."

Ariadne inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. In the calm that comes with absolute rage, I noticed her irises were a few shades lighter than the deep violet of her pant suit. Her eyes, almond-shaped and framed by thick dark lashes, were lovely against her caramel skin and jet black hair.

His face blank, Eric came slowly back towards me. I was entirely too pleased to find the steps put me above him, and I glared ferociously down at him as he said smoothly, "Sookie. Are you well?"

Ariadne stepped back deferentially and in a flash her earlier words clicked into place.

"You're a king?" I blurted out.

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "You are surprised."

"Hell, yes." I didn't say: I thought you weren't interested in a throne. Freyda said you liked being a big fish in a little pond.

"You've been back a month. Pam didn't mention it?" His eyes flicked towards the door he'd come through. "That's not like her. She likes to crow it from the rooftops." His lips curled with the ghost of a smirk that I wanted to slap off his arrogant face.

"It must have slipped her mind, your majesty." I couldn't fit an ounce more sarcasm into his title. I tried.

Indiana.

He'd taken Indiana. I knew what that meant. I'd seen takeovers; they never ended well for the royal being dethroned. Or more likely, decapitated. Vampire or not, Bartlett and his husband had loved each other.

I asked coldly, "All bloodshed and mayhem, was it? Russell must be devastated."

That crease between Eric's eyebrows deepened, but before I had a chance to throw out another barb the door opened. Pam appeared, her eyebrows lifting when she saw me. She smoothed her expression fast and scanned the club. Something behind Eric, across the dance floor, caught her attention. Curious, I craned to look over the royal pain-in-my-ass.

Just great.

Rory Kingfisher, wearing a deep green dress fit for a fairy queen, was sliding out of a booth. She said something to the folks she was leaving and started towards Eric eagerly, beaming a warm smile. Then she saw me, half-hidden behind him, and her smile wavered.

Pam drawled, "The annoying Miss Kingfisher is here."

Eric turned. I couldn't see the look he gave Rory, but her expression lit up with pleasure then fluttered through puzzled to settle on uneasy. She stopped a few feet away.

I was damned if I was calling her your highness. No matter how many million dollars she looked in that dress.

A faint pulse of concern, muted by my shields, distracted me. Directed at me specifically, with a whisper of my name, it came from the bar. Quinn had finally torn himself away from the blonde and noticed I was missing. He was one worried kitty, padding across the room looking for me. Just purr-fect.

I caught his eye and shook my head, hoping he'd take the hint. He stopped, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric shift forward to see who I was signalling. Quinn tensed immediately and stalked forward again, glowering.

Eric, expression indifferent, shoved his hands in his pockets.

I groaned. Wonderful. An inane tiger-vamp territorial dispute was about to erupt, fuelled by unadulterated testosterone. It would do nothing but infuriate me, the territory in question. Before that calamity befell us all, Diantha appeared next to Eric and a silent shadow materialised besides me, startling me.

Levi Jameson put his hand gently on my elbow and said amiably, "Ms Stackhouse, I told you not to ruffle any feathers." Then he nodded respectfully to Eric. "Louisiana."

What the hell?

I scrambled to make sense of that greeting while Levi quietly asked Eric if there was a problem. Diantha eyed Eric warily, inching herself between him and me. Eric said something reassuring and Levi cautiously let go of my arm. I was dimly aware of Malcolm Craw intercepting Quinn in the background.

"Whoa there," I said, raising a hand and treating Pam to her very own glare. I hated being kept in the dark more than anything. "Louisiana, not Indiana?"

Eric nodded curtly.

"You killed de Castro? That snake is finally dead?"

"No. Nevada survives." Eric was plum regretful about that.

"So, how did you … What, you had a secret army stashed somewhere and kicked his sorry butt all the way back to Las Vegas?"

His mouth twitched. "Something like that, but here is not the–"

"You know what?" I said, proud I wasn't yelling. "I don't need to know. That's not important. I want an explanation for the other night, for that interrogation you gave me."

Before Eric could answer, Levi coughed politely. All heads swivelled to him, but he was cooler than an English butler. "Perhaps this would be better discussed in private."

Eric considered that, and nodded. He turned to the demon woman. "Ariadne, perhaps your office?"

"Of course, your majesty. Come this way, Ms Stackhouse." She gestured at the door they had come through.

I came down the steps, sorry that there were so few and my heels weren't suited to stomping. Maybe this wasn't the place for childish fits of pique, and maybe I should be glad my dignity was still intact, but it sure would've taken the edge off. Levi hovering behind me like I might explode any second wasn't helping my frayed temper none, either.

Diantha stepped forward and asked quietly, "Want me to come with?"

I shook my head. "I don't think his majesty will appreciate an audience while I nail his butt to the wall."

Diantha snickered, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Pam turning away to hide her smile. Eric stiffened ahead of me. Good. My remark hit home.

He disappeared through the door Ariadne was holding open. As I passed her I got a whiff of her perfume, or maybe her natural scent: all smoke and warm spices, distinctive but not unpleasant. Ariadne closed the door, shutting out the noise from the club. Eric was already striding down a corridor to the left. He stopped opposite the last door but one – the last, at the end of the corridor, was labelled 'Backstage' – and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. We traipsed after him.

Ariadne assessed me with a glance before asking him, "Want an adjudicator, Eric? Or a witness?"

Eric shook his head, rude as ever.

I pulled out my manners and dusted them off. "No thank you, Ms Jones. We'll manage just fine. We'll be out of your hair before you know it. This won't take long to straighten out."

She said drily, "I do hope so, Ms Stackhouse."

She typed something into a keypad and pressed her hand against the door, muttering something under her breath. The lock clicked, and she cracked the door before stepping back, motioning Eric forward. He pushed himself off the wall and went in.

Ariadne touched my arm as I started after him. "You know Eric well?"

"Yep."

"So you know how he is."

"Yep." She was warning me not to trifle with his maj-ass-ty.

"He is fair, though. Present your complaint logically, and he will listen."

"Uh-huh." It was a shame that when Eric and I were concerned, logic was first to dive head-first out the window and splatter its brains out on the sidewalk.

"And if you could leave my office as you find it, I would appreciate it."

"Of course." Shouldn't she be asking the vampire king who could do a lot more damage to her room? Then I twigged: she was delaying me, hoping I'd calm down some before I faced his high-and-mightiness.

Who I found leaning back against her desk on his outstretched arms, his legs crossed at the ankles.

He inhaled pointedly as I shut the door behind me. "Are you … with the tiger?"

"No," I snapped. "And that's none of your damn business."

He nodded and gestured at the couch. "Sit. I have a feeling this will take a while."

"No thanks. I'll stand." I crossed my arms and jutted my chin defiantly. "What you did think you were doing, interrogating me while I was drugged? That was lower than a snake's belly, even for you."

He shrugged and said blandly, "I am an opportunist. You know this about me."

I snorted. "Really? So you couldn't pass up the chance to stick your big beak into my business and humiliate me."

He contemplated that, and then answered quietly, "Humiliating you was not my intention. I … wanted answers."

"And you didn't care if you violated my privacy to get them. Because you know damn well I would've told you to go straight to hell if my mind was clear."

"Yes. Ordinarily, you are not so … forthcoming."

"That's rich after that hogwash you fed me after the divorce. Don't think I don't know that was a pack of lies."

"I told you all the truth I could that night."

I scoffed. "You flat out lied that night."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Did I?"

I didn't see the humour. I spat out: "You're a manipulative jerk!"

His face went neutral again. "Yes. You know that about me too."

This was getting me nowhere. I aimed my next thrust at a softer target. "What the hell was all that about Deidra's wedding? You lost the right to complain about me kissing anybody after what you did with that Rowe bitch, buddy."

He looked down at his shoes, jaw clenching. Score one for me.

When he looked up, I had to lock my legs so I didn't step back. He was extremely pissed. He said very quietly, "Perhaps not the kiss, but I have every right to be offended by your little charade."

"What?"

His eyes flashed and his accent thickened. "It was extremely reckless to go along with the pretence you were Merlotte's. De Castro was looking for a way to bypass the pledge. If he had got wind of it, it would have put me in a difficult position and you in danger."

Oh. That.

Maybe he had a point there. That hadn't been my smartest move. Eric one, Sookie nil.

Hell-bent on coming out ahead for once, I switched tracks and hit out with the thing that ticked me off the most. "You had absolutely no business asking about things between me and Sam, private things. Vamps might not have any boundaries or sense of decency but I expected better of you. That was a huge violation, Eric."

He shrugged.

I saw red. Pointing my finger, I stepped into his space and punctuated my tirade with jabs to his chest. "And don't think I don't know why you asked that. You're still mad that I didn't want to drop everything and get naked every time you came over. Because I was supposed to be available whenever you wanted. Because I was yours. Shepherd of Judea Eric! That attitude went out centuries ago."

His eyes flashed again and he drawled, "Really? And yet you confessed that you never denied the shifter because he was your husband."

I did?

Those damn holes in my memory. Not willing to give an inch, I hit back at once. "I can't be held accountable for whatever the hell nonsense I said while I was higher than a kite."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were particularly lucid, believe me."

Shit. I didn't want to know what else I'd let slip. I snapped, "Oh yeah? You heard what you wanted to hear, buddy. I can't believe you're still hung up on that. But then, you flat out asked for sex often enough. Hell that was all you came over for, all you ever wanted from me."

"No. That is–" He cut off, dragging his hand through his hair.

Good. I went in for the kill, poking his chest again. "That was all it boiled down to, wasn't it? All there was between us. Just sex."

Something shifted and his lip curled. Grabbing my accusatory finger and moving it to the side, he leaned forward into my space, his eyes blazing in their blue depths. I swallowed as his proximity became overwhelming.

He breathed, "Oh, Sookie. With us it was never just sex."

He held that position for a second, our lips almost touching and his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say more. Then he dropped my hand like a hot coal and leaned back.

Flustered, I stepped back smartly, my chest heaving far too noisily. Looking down, I smoothed my dress and gathered some dignity, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Appalled at how easily he'd gotten to me, I muttered sullenly, "I don't get why you even care."

It wasn't like he'd been brooding over me for years; I had no illusions there. Rory was out in the club, and a line was probably forming behind her. It made no sense that with me at his mercy, tongue loosened by alcohol and Lord only knows what, he was overcome with a burning desire to ask a boatload of questions about me and Sam.

When I dared to look up, he was stone-faced again. I frowned. It didn't make sense. "Why do you still care?"

There was a pause long enough that I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I am a proud man," he admitted quietly.

"You can't be mad that I married Sam. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To make you feel less guilty. And anyway," I waved my empty ring-finger at him and tried to hide the bitterness that rose up, "it's not like that ended well."

He stared at my hand, pensive. "You said you never loved him. When you were drugged."

If Eric just needed an explanation to get over his wounded pride, I could give him that much. "No. I didn't love him. Not like that. Only as friend."

Picking his words, he said carefully, "Yet you turned to him."

My hackles started to rise. I said warningly, "After you left."

He gave me a level look. "Not so long after."

Now I was positively bristling. "Did you hit your head and forget what happened? I was free to do as I damn well pleased. You divorced me for another woman!"

"Not by choice," he said forcefully. "You never understood that."

"What does that matter? If it hadn't been Freyda, it would have been someone else. I would never have been enough for you, Eric." Because I didn't come with a throne, I added snidely in my head.

He snorted. "No, it doesn't matter. Your marriage to Merlotte meant more to you than ours ever did."

"Maybe that's because he didn't trick me into it," I retorted.

"Should I have let de Castro take you then?" he asked hotly.

"Guess you don't have to worry about some higher-up stealing your toys again. Not now you're the head honcho, the big kahuna, the king." No wonder he turned me down when I threw myself at him. He was vampire royalty, in charge of a whole damn state of fangers. I was just an office girl. Not even that thanks to that bitch Jody. I chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh boy, I certainly can't compete with that power rush. Freyda thought she could, but even Consort was never going to be enough for you."

He hissed.

That only made me madder. "I'm impressed. You've certainly made quick work climbing that ladder. How does it feel Eric? Everybody bowing and scraping, all that power to do what you want."

"You do not understand."

I sneered and laid into him with a perverse glee. "What? Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown? Give me a break, Eric. I know you. You're a born leader. I bet you love every minute. Ocella had you pegged exactly right. Why wouldn't he? He made you."

His fists clenched. "Ocella had no care for what I wanted."

I kept pushing, wild with rage that had been bottled up too long. "Really? Wasn't power exactly what you wanted? Because I seem to remember you caving in to your lovely maker's plans pretty damn fast in the end."

His whole body tensed and he answered through gritted teeth. "It was inevitable. There was no point fighting it any longer."

I tasted salt water. My throat was drowning with it, but my voice came out strong and bitter. "You mean you gave up. You didn't have a reason to fight, I wasn't enough reason, and you gave up."

He shook his head like a wounded animal trying to dislodge an arrow: "I had no choice!"

Furious with that tired excuse, I yelled, "You said she wouldn't win!"

He flinched.

I barely knew what I was shouting, blinded by rage and tears, nails digging into my palms. "You said she wouldn't win, you promised me and you left!"

With a strangled bellow, he blurred past me. The door handle groaned in his grip and he stopped, his back to me. As if the words were being ripped from his throat, he said hoarsely, "My feelings were never the ones in doubt, Sookie Stackhouse."

Throwing the door open he was gone, leaving a gust of air carrying a lingering echo of his raw voice.

My breathing rasped harshly in the still room.

I struggled not to sob, gulping air and blinking rapidly. The desk in front of me went from wavering to sharp-edged as my eyes cleared. My breathing slowly quietened. My anger blown out, I stumbled over to the couch and eased myself down, exhausted and trembling.

That was intense.

So much for giving Eric a clean slate.

I hadn't counted on how furious I still was about that whole mess: angry with Freyda, Ocella and Eric. A tsunami of rage had surged out of me, tearing open scars, washing me clean.

It felt … freeing, cathartic.

I wondered if it had been like that for Eric. He had been very controlled, very Eric at first, but that cold demeanour faltered and his final outburst sounded so…

I sat forward, massaging my temples to ease a tension that threatened to become the mother of all headaches. I tried to think rationally.

Eric had been manipulative and opportunistic. By his own admission. He was completely unrepentant.

Like Niall when I'd challenged him about Sam. Supes did not bend to human notions of fair play and morality. It seemed I needed to relearn that the hard way.

They weren't human. I should keep that front and centre, not get sucked into treating Eric like an ordinary man. He was vampire, first and foremost. Always.

What did I know about vampires? They were notoriously possessive.

Marrying Sam – Lord, I'd even had the temerity to choose a lowly shifter – had seemingly put a sizeable dent in Eric's ego. He really couldn't understand it. Which was ironic, given he'd leapt to the erroneous conclusion that I loved Sam so quickly.

That parting accusation...

Vampires cared for few people in this world, and, as I'd feared at the time, Eric couldn't fathom why I would save Sam's life unless I loved him. Consequently Eric had doubted my feelings for him.

That showed the huge gulf between us. I was human. There were many people I cared about enough to save.

And it showed that Eric didn't trust me.

A relationship needed trust. We'd lost ours along the way, if we'd ever really had it. We were too different to ever understand each other. Neither of us could be what the other needed or wanted. We never had much of a chance.

Clearly we needed this fight – knock-down, bare-knuckle and dirty, painful and raw as it was – to put the past to bed. No, not to bed, that was the wrong phrase. It didn't fit the tightening in my chest or my cold sense of finality.

In the grave.

Yep. That fit.

I should have a headstone carved. Sookie and Eric: finally dead and buried.

My half-hearted joke fell flat. I'd never felt less like laughing. I leant into my hands heavily, allowing myself to regret and to mourn.

Thankfully there was a sink with a mirror in Ariadne's office.

I had just finished repairing my face when Pam walked in. Smiling weakly I sat down on the couch, assuming she wanted to talk, and took a moment to appreciate her elegant cocktail dress, matching shoes and lipstick. All that scarlet contrasted dramatically with her pale hair and icy white skin.

Rory appeared in the doorway. Great. I sat up straighter as she glanced around the room.

"O," she said, frowning slightly. She turned to go.

"Wait," Pam ordered, disappearing inside herself briefly. "He's in no mood for company."

Rory grimaced and asked me, "You fought?"

"Not physically. I'm in one piece," I deadpanned. "But yes, words were exchanged."

She was unhappy about that, giving me a cool stare. I stared right back.

Close up her dress was even more stunning, with lacy long sleeves and a plunging neckline. The motif, delicately embroidered flowers that glittered with tiny gemstones as she moved, repeated over the body and down the skirt, which hugged her hips like a second skin before cascading to the floor. Thick red hair tumbled down her back in sensuous curls, pinned up at the sides to reveal what I reckoned were real emerald earrings. Her necklace dripped with matching stones.

Fairy or not, she had that je-ne-sais-quoi, that undefinable allure of a truly beautiful woman who knows it, but carries it with poise and grace. No wonder Eric wasn't interested in my drunken ass. Rory looked fit for a king.

It wasn't just her dress that was green.

Whatever Rory saw in me displeased her further. Her mouth pursed, she turned away and walked over to the desk, a tasteful split in her dress revealing a flash of toned thigh.

Pam, who'd watched our interaction intently, followed Rory with narrowed eyes.

Irritation bubbled within me. I had a bone to pick with Pam and, remarkably, the fight with Eric hadn't drained my tank of emotions completely dry. Rory wasn't showing any sign of leaving, but I couldn't wait.

"Pam," I said sharply. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Eric was king?"

She shrugged. "I assumed you knew."

"We spoke the night I got home. You didn't say a damn word. I'd only just got back, how would I know already?"

She flicked her eyes towards Rory, as uncomfortable with our witness as I was, but she answered me. "You were so set against Eric having any involvement with your security that I thought the cat was out of the bag." She hesitated. "I knew Bill had beaten me to you."

Colour me surprised. She was keeping tabs on me. My eyes narrowed. "Thalia tell you that, did she?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. I smelt his scent on your porch. I assumed he rushed over at sunset, eager to spread the good news."

Maybe that had been the idea, before Kennedy arrived. "He was interrupted."

"He came back again the next night, didn't he?"

I bristled. "And as you've been keeping such a close eye on me, you'll know he stayed all of two seconds."

"Bill didn't tell you?"

"No." He had been real eager to take that walk, though. Now I knew why. He knew I had guards; he wanted a private conversation. But Pam, and therefore Eric, knew he'd stopped by. On a hunch I said, "Bill didn't showed up for a while after that. Did Eric order him to stay away?"

Pam smirked. "I deal with Bill. It's better for his health. He travels for his … projects."

"Really," I said drily. I knew how it worked. Eric was his king, Pam was his sheriff. If they said jump, Bill asked how high. "I guess by the time he was allowed back he assumed I knew too."

I hadn't exactly put out the welcome mat and sat around gossiping with him, thinking Bill had another agenda, a personal one that I didn't want to encourage. Well, his king definitely hadn't ordered him to seduce me.

Pam looked pensive. "You must have known, Sookie. I mentioned it at Mark's."

"No. You didn't."

A wrinkle developed on her forehead. "I did. I said I expected Bill's visits, in light of the new situation."

Boy, she'd really been distracted by Mark during that conversation. I said grimly, "Yes, you did. I thought you meant my new situation."

"The divorce."

"Yes, the divorce." I snapped. The divorce I'd rather not mention with Eric's latest squeeze in the room looking fang-droppingly gorgeous.

Pam stiffened. "I should have been clearer."

"Yep. You should have."

Her eyes glittered. Pronouncing every word distinctly she said, "I apologise. I was reluctant to discuss my maker and his ascent to the throne with you. Getting between the two of you is not healthy for our friendship."

That stopped me in my tracks. "Oh." My resentment melted a little. "I guess I get that."

She was still stiff. "No-one else said anything?"

"Nope. Not a thing." I reckoned human, and non-human, nature being what it was everybody had been reluctant to break the news of Eric's 'promotion' to me, only too happy to assume someone else had dished the dirt.

"The shifter? Your brother?"

"No. Sam and I had other things to discuss." Things that led to my newly single status, which I didn't want bring up again. "And Jason's been distracted. Michele just gave birth, and to be honest he's quite tight-lipped about all things supe these days."

"Ah." Pam looked a little sheepish, but I didn't know why. "What about what's-his-name, Bill's dayman? The one married to your friend who's so talented with a shotgun."

I sighed. Vampires and their inability to grasp trivial details like names. "Danny. Nope, didn't say a thing." Or think anything. When he came over to help me with my résumés, he hadn't even thought about Bill. Odd, but I put that aside to think on later.

"Amelia?"

"It didn't come up. We've got better things to talk about than y'all." I had no intention of betraying Amelia's confidence. Pam didn't need to know what was happening with Bob.

Pam mused, "I suppose you don't really move in the right circles to hear vampire gossip. It's hardly something Thalia indulges in."

"No. She sticks to security."

"Yes. She is your guard, not a friend. You know, I didn't realise you frequented nightclubs so often. Blue was unexpected, but here? I'm almost shocked."

I shrugged. "Amelia wanted to come."

No way was Pam as shocked as I was by tonight. Eric had sure sucker-punched me. I hated that, but it seemed no-one had deliberately kept me in the dark. I sighed heavily, and realised I'd better find out how the 'new situation' was going to impact little old me.

"I guess Eric is living down here?"

"Baton Rouge. After Katrina, it seemed sensible."

Good, less chance I'd run into him. "When did this all happen?"

"February, made official in March."

"Okay." The million dollar question. "What does it mean for me?"

"I am in charge of your security. Eric is not directly involved. Nothing changes. Except you are protected in Louisiana for your lifetime, obviously."

"Oh, obviously." I said with an edge. "So that's it? No come running when the king snaps his fingers? No expectation I'm part of his damn retinue?"

"Yes, that is it. Eric has made it clear he has no need of your talents. Any other questions?"

"Nope."

In truth I had plenty: starting with how I'd been so wrong about Eric's ambition to rule, through wondering if he had 'no need' of me because he'd found another telepath, and ending with why the eff Rory was still in the room.

Not that I was going to ask any of those. Not with Rory hanging around like a bad smell.

Not that she did. Smell bad. Even her perfume was lovely – a delicate floral scent. It made me that little bit more irritated with her.

Pam nodded. "Good. I need to –"

She broke off and turned to the open door as Ariadne's large figure filled it. She was light-footed for a big gal; I hadn't heard her coming.

"ETA fifteen minutes," she said abruptly and disappeared.

Turning back to me Pam said briskly, "I have work to do. Diantha is on point tonight. Thalia is somewhere close. Contact them if you need anything."

She left the room, the clack of her heels receding rapidly. I stood and brushed down my dress, preparing mentally for an unpleasant conversation with Quinn. I glanced over at Rory, and wished I hadn't.

She was perched on the corner of the desk, looking at a framed photo. Even the way she sat was elegant. Some supes got all the breaks, what chance did us mere mortal women have? I scowled at her, and she looked up before I could hide my expression.

Shit, busted.

Her green eyes were cool and her smile was a threat. "I was just contemplating the nature of love."

Huh?

My face must have said that loud and clear, because she turned the photo around to show me Ariadne and Malcolm, relaxed and smiling at each other. "They look happy, don't they?"

I shrugged, not liking where this was heading. How rude would it be to start edging towards the door?

She looked down at the photo, touching it lightly with her fingertips. "There is love there. A rare and precious thing." She looked up straight into my eyes. "'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy.' Isn't that what your Bible says?"

Recognising the quote, I gave her a cautious, "Something like that."

The green of her eyes darkened and the challenge in her voice belied her smile. "Jealousy may be a symptom, but by itself it is not love, Sookie Stackhouse. Do not mistake the two."

Uh-huh. I got her message loud and clear. Hell, I'd seen Arlene give the 'back off my man' message to other women in sickly honeyed tones enough times to decode it in my sleep. Don't read anything significant into Eric's jealousy, it said under Rory's fake smile. I reckoned the Eric and Quinn show earlier had her feeling threatened.

I slapped on my own polite smile and replied sweetly, "Bless your heart. Don't you worry none about me. I know how to recognise love just fine."

She tilted her head, those damn earrings catching the light, and said mockingly: "You do? You have been blessed. And so young, too."

"Young?" I asked, wanting to glare, but holding my smile. She didn't look thirty, but certain supes never suffered grey hairs or wrinkles. "You're older than you look then."

She hopped off the desk with a lithe movement. "Yes, I am. Perhaps you can benefit from the wisdom of my centuries. You cannot truly love someone until you accept all that they are."

"Uh-huh." If she could accept Mr High-and-Mighty and the throne that would always be his first priority, good luck to her.

She watched me intently and I let my smile fade to a dead-eyed stare. The tension ratcheted higher, neither of us backing down.

She said softly, "I don't think you know what love is at all, selfish child."

She had some gall. I wasn't naive or a child. I snapped, "Fuck you. You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" she said, stepping closer with feline grace. The air crackled, I smelt ozone and her eyes darkened even further. "What did you ever give up for someone you loved? Not a lot, I think. Eric was forced into a marriage he didn't want, torn away from his place and his family. You did nothing to stop that."

I was amazed she thought I could have done anything. "What the heck was I supposed to do? I couldn't let Sam die. The wish was gone."

"You weren't going to use it on Eric anyway," she said sharply.

"Eric said he'd find a way out of it."

A flicker of a knowing smile played on her lips. "Of course he did. But what did you do to help him?"

Did she think I had a supe army on speed dial? "There was nothing I could do!"

"Did you ask Desmond Cataliades for help? Or Brigant himself? Or any of the vampires who owed you their lives from Rhodes? The packs you have ties to, your witch friend? Did you negotiate with de Castro, offer your gift? No, you didn't. After everything he did for you, you did nothing. You let him go, Sookie Stackhouse."

"I helped get rid of Victor! I saved Eric's ass from a murder charge! I was sick and tired of all that vampire bullshit. It was never going to end. How much of myself was I meant to give up?"

"How much was he?" she hissed. She shook her head. "I'm wasting my breath. You're as stubborn as Fintan ever was." She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, but stopped, turning back.

Face serious and eyes pitying, she said, "Love is measured by what you sacrifice, Sookie Stackhouse, not what you gain. Real love gives you the courage to sacrifice everything. Perhaps, like I did, you will only truly understand that when you become a mother."

I spluttered, too angry to spit out a reply. She was gone long before the cuss words tangled in my throat broke loose. Bitter envy swamped me as I caught up to her last words. On top of everything else, she'd succeeded where I'd failed. She was a mother.

That was it.

Stick a fork in me. I was done.

I slammed the office door closed on the way out and marched up the corridor. Diantha was waiting by the door into the club. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

"Where did that bitch Rory go?" I demanded, barely slowing.

"Outsidethataway," she said in one breath, gesturing past a set of stairs to an external door.

"Good."

I shouldered the door to the club open, breezed through it and headed straight for the bar. I needed a drink.