Hi all. Thanks for the reviews, especially Jackie69, Sandy/Citygirl and all the guests. I appreciate them all.

Well, here we go.


Free Fall


Pride goes before a fall.

That never made sense to me. It was ass-backwards. Pride goes after you're on the floor, bloody and broken, thirsting for blood to heal.

Some of us couldn't let go of it even then.

Not even after plummeting to the ground and smacking into the unyielding truth.

Neither Russell nor Rita had stumbled over anything like our friend the pastor.

Russell appreciated the warning, promising to let me know if any corpses turned up looking like chew-toys. Rita was lukewarm. She had taken Stan's offer of independence seriously and hadn't thrown her lot in with us. Three of her five neighbours – Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi – co-operating so closely was probably intimidating. We were letting her come to us, rather than back her into a corner.

Personally, I wasn't convinced she fitted in any better than Joseph would have.

After speaking to Rita, I was due to feed. It had bothered me that I wasn't fucking any of my meals. I didn't hunger for their bodies any more than I did for their blood, even the females. It had been months since I'd been with anyone.

Variety wasn't the problem. I was careful not to use the same donor twice: kings – or the boss, as the donors thought of me – shouldn't play favourites. Ultimately, I decided I was a victim of my own protocols. There were cameras in the feeding rooms and the rules kept everything safe, tame. The encounters lacked thrill.

Nonetheless, I forced myself back into the saddle a week earlier. If I was more comfortable with the males, so be it. What did it matter which gender was on their knees sucking my cock. It was quick, efficient, and tonight's experience was as unremarkable as the previous occasion.

Until Ms Lindenberg arrived for an unscheduled spot-check just as I was emerging from the room, in time to overhear the donor complimenting the flavour of my… deposit.

She asked – or rather demanded in a voice strident with barely restrained excitement – to speak to him alone. She took him back into the feeding room, as if I wouldn't hear her cajoling him to admit he'd been coerced through the door. I almost interrupted when she began threatening him, but the string of curses she got in reply stayed my hand. He wasn't caving.

She strode out of the room, mouth set in a grim line. I opened my mouth to speak but she waltzed straight past me, towards Dolores' office. I resisted the urge to put a hole in the wall. Dolores, already standing in her doorway, waited for my nod before she stepped aside and let Ms Lindenberg enter.

The donor shook his head beside me and called Ms Lindenberg some choice names under his breath.

Dolores' office was soundproofed to human ears, but not mine. I could hear Lindenberg accusing Dolores of allowing her charges to be abused. She threatened a full-scale investigation and jail time for Dolores unless she admitted everything. Dolores kept her voice controlled as she replied, "Be my guest, Ms Lindenberg. We have nothing to hide."

Goro arrived during the altercation. He asked quietly in German if I wanted him to glamour the problem away. I shook my head.

That was out of the question. America was finally waking up to that handy ability of ours. Too many vampires were as sloppy as Longshadow had been with Ginger. Inevitably, our legendary ability to 'mesmerise' had become a widely known secret.

There were rumours, credible rumours, that the FBI had developed a way to counter glamour, and worse, to detect when it had been used. So far the government appeared to be relying on education and the rule of law to protect the majority of their agents. Statutes had been hurriedly amended, creating harsh penalties for interfering with state and federal officials in pursuit of their duties. A vampire in Rhode Island of all places was currently awaiting trial for obstructing police. The cretin had glamoured a traffic cop to get out of a ticket without realising the patrol car had a camera recording the whole thing.

Naturally, interfering with BSA agents carried the stiffest penalty, and they were more likely to realise their mind had been altered than a traffic cop. Glamouring one was imprudent in the extreme – nothing would create a bigger media disaster. Fortunately I had another way to deal with Lindenberg, who was still arguing with Dolores. I spoke to the donor briefly, confirming his co-operation, and strode into the office with him in tow.

"Mr Northman you can't be in here," Lindenberg said loudly. "You're interfering in my investigation,"

I commandeered the laptop on Dolores desk without a word, ignoring the urge to snap Ms Lindenberg's neck.

"Bitch gonna get hers," the donor muttered.

"Watch your language Larry," Dolores said sharply.

He said defiantly, "Screw being polite to her. I don't know or care whether she hates gays, or fangs, or good-looking half-Asian guys like me; she's a bigoted bitch."

"I demand that you leave at once," insisted the bitch in question, a touch of hysteria entering her tone.

Ignoring her protest I turned to the donor, pleased that Dolores had reminded me of his name. "Larry, you waive your right to privacy?"

"Yes sir. Play the damn video." He winked at Dolores.

I turned the laptop round. Ms Lindenberg's eyes widened as proof that Larry had been entirely willing to get up close and personal with me played out before her eyes. When the footage ran on to her conversation with him, she blanched and her heart began to race. We got to the juicy part and her voice echoed through the speakers, tinny but clear.

"I can make things difficult for you, boy. With your professors. Your parents. Traditional, are they? You got great grades in school. I bet they're really pushy. I bet they expect you to marry a nice little Asian chick. They'll be devastated to find out what you do with guys." The camera had captured her sneer perfectly. "What you like to do with your mouth."

I stopped the recording.

"Ms Lindenberg," I said. "One of us did threaten this man tonight, but it wasn't me."

"Hell no," Larry agreed. "You picked on the wrong guy. Know my professors, my skinny yellow ass. I'm pre-law and we got the makings of a discrimination case right there. You want me to testify against her, y'all let me know where and when."

Ms Lindenberg went red, and spluttered indignantly. "Mr Northman, are these young men and women aware that you're recording them?"

"Oh yes," I said with satisfaction.

"The waivers are right here," Dolores said, pulling open a drawer in her filing cabinet. "Filed alphabetically."

Larry interjected, "Yeah, that recording is one hundred percent admissible. These guys weren't turned yesterday."

I suppressed a smile. "Larry, thank you for your help."

"Any time, Mr Northman." Smart boy took the hint, nodded politely to me and Dolores, pointedly snubbing the BSA rep as he left.

"Ms Lindenberg." I stepped closer, allowing my fangs to make an appearance and letting a hint of my fury to colour my voice. "Sally. First names seem appropriate now you have seen... more of me, don't you think?"

She swallowed, but held her ground.

"I will let this go, just this once, but you will not harass my staff again," I said firmly. "If you do, I will file a complaint." I gestured at the laptop. "With evidence. You should be less quick to jump to conclusions."

Her lip curled. "That's blackmail!"

"No. It is a second chance. Assuming this was not malicious, that you merely erred in your zeal to do your duty. I am fair. I can forgive one such mistake. You can be fairtoo, Sally. That is all I expect."

And if she accused me of blackmail, this room had a camera, too.

Besides, the lady protests too much. She was ambitious. This would not be the first time she bent the rules to get ahead. Threatening Larry stank of desperation: she was hunting for violations to crawl up her boss's ass, chasing that promotion.

Worrying, but she would have to toe the line now. My line.

"So Sally," I lingered on her name. "Shall we put this behind us? If you cannot, I am sure there are others–"

She snapped, "Yes. I'll let this go. But I won't turn a blind eye."

"You won't need to," Dolores said tartly. "Everything is above board."

Ms Lindenberg looked like she wanted to disagree, but she held her tongue, turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat.

Dolores muttered after her, "And take that stick up your ass with you."

Gesturing at the laptop I said, "Get me a copy of that. And give that boy a bonus."

"Wilco." She shook her head. "Better you than one of the younger ones. One of them might have snapped her scrawny neck. Lord knows, I was tempted to punch her in the mouth."

"This way is better."

It gave me something over our lovely BSA rep.

Even if it was won at the expense of exercising considerable restraint, and an invasion of my privacy that left me seething. I stalked out of the house. Goro read my mood and followed me wordlessly out to the dojo.

...

My black mood finally lifted a week later, as Baton Rouge dwindled in the rear view mirror.

Goro was driving the Brick, as I affectionately called the Chrysler limo I'd chosen for its extended wheel base and extra legroom. The back seat was currently papered with printouts detailing revenue streams from Area 4 over the last decade. Rasul was handling the small vampire population competently, but I anticipated he would get bored eventually, out in the sticks. It would be easy to find a replacement when he did, but so far he seemed content to run his area in peace.

I respected that.

We met in his office, situated in a small strip mall above two vampire-owned businesses, a 24-hour dry cleaner's and a locksmith's. Rasul hesitated when we came through the door, as if he expected more arrivals. When no-one else appeared, he bowed gracefully.

"Your Majesty. Takahashi."

"Sheriff," I nodded.

Goro nodded and silently took up a position by the door. Rasul and I got straight down to business. A couple of hours later, I packed away my laptop as Rasul watched pensively.

"Think it over," I said. I had offered to put some capital into a wholesale business he wanted to start up. "I won't be offended if you find another backer. Let me know by next week."

"I will. Thank you, Eric." His voice hardened. "You'll being seeing Francine once I have proof she has been withholding tithes."

I smirked. Going through those figures had been worth it. "Good. Let me know if there's any problems."

Outside, I sent Goro home with the car. He was disgruntled, but he didn't argue. He had accepted he couldn't stop me travelling without an escort. Once the Brick had disappeared into the night I took to the air, enjoying the solitude and the prospect of time to myself.

Dawn was three hours away. Alexandria had one vampire friendly hotel, open twenty-four hours. Vampire friendly as in it was clean, the bathrooms had no windows, and the desk staff didn't ask questions. Cheap too. Not the sort of place anyone would expect to find a king. I checked in under an assumed name and paid cash. The room was adequate. I took a shower, the hot spray relaxing me. There was a knock on the door just as I came out of the bathroom.

The agency girl, right on time.

I used the same false name with them. If the donor was surprised that the 'Jacob Goldberg' who opened the door was tall, Nordic and blonde she hid it well. I ordered 'exotic' and was pleased by the dark-haired girl before me. Slender, delicate features, dark almond-shaped eyes turned demurely towards the floor. Vietnamese ancestry perhaps. The modesty and obedience were an act to please customers, but one I was happy to play along with. No reminders.

Her blood was warm. Her hands and mouth proved sufficiently skilled.

She asked, still on her knees and breathless, if I wanted more. I told myself as I tipped her generously that I turned her down only because it was too risky to rest in the hotel. Not because I lacked any real desire for her.

I flew back to Baton Rouge. A mix of irritation and frustration filled me when I landed on the roof. I didn't recognise the knot of dread that accompanied it until six nights later.

I was at my desk, back from spending the day at Oskar's after a long night settling disputes from all over the state. I held court once a month in New Orleans where we had bigger holding facilities.

The cases were routine, but I had to stake an out of control newborn who'd left three humans in critical condition. A waste, but I didn't have the leeway to give newborns time to gain control these days. Not if they had no family to miss them, or, as in this case, the family was dirt poor and could be bought off.

Our current situation favoured the rich and influential who rose spoilt and entitled, like Milena's charge. Pondering bleakly what that meant for the future of my kind, I toyed with the heavy gold seal of office. A fleck of blood marred its face. Frowning, I scraped it off with my thumbnail and made a mental note to have it cleaned before my accession ceremony. The Amun council had been confident I would see out my dangerous first year, suggesting it could wait until the summit. Pam was already planning my outfit around blue and white, the state colours.

Receiving the seal back in March had been an anti-climax. I had almost barked out a laugh at Pam's outraged expression when she saw what I was lifting out of the shredded paper.

"Felipe sent the state seal by snail mail?" she fumed, glaring at the box I had just torn open.

I shrugged. "I had to sign for it. If it had gotten lost in transit, it would have cost him. What does it matter?"

She stared at me in unblinking horror for a long moment, before biting out, "It's an insult, Eric."

"And petty insults are all de Castro has left," I pointed out with barely disguised glee.

It had taken a week for the seal to arrive after Felipe conceded. I couldn't care less. For me the real prize was Felipe's expression when he saw me in Teresa's office, splattered in the blood of his crumbling empire. That was worth more than a hundred gold seals.

The phone rang, interrupting my trip down memory lane. Isabel, from the caller ID.

"Eric."

"Isabel, this is unexpected."

"But welcome, I hope."

"That depends on why you called."

"Oh, you will be pleased I think. I've sent you a gift. Call it an early Halloween present."

"What sort of gift?"

"Jean-Luc is in your lobby with it. It's yours to do with what you will. You may thank me the next time we speak."

The phone went dead just as the intercom buzzed.

Jean-Luc was indeed in the lobby, chatting to Goro. "Ah, your majesty," he said giving me a graceful bow. "We were just debating the merits of savate versus jujitsu. Care for a wager?"

Goro snorted. "This gaijin is too cowardly to engage in a sword fight with me."

I raised an eyebrow at the French vampire. "You know my second?"

Jean-Luc grinned. "Isabel knew Raisa, rather well."

Goro said calmly, "I will not go easy on you because my maker and yours were lovers."

"Don't end him, Goro," I said seriously. "Isabel is fond of her court jester."

Jean-Luc mock-gasped and clutched his chest. "Eric, your lack of faith wounds me."

"Be sure to clean up the mess if it goes pear-shaped," I said to my second, grinning. I'd seen them both fight. Goro was going to kick his ass. "Jean-Luc, I hear you have a gift for me."

Jean-Luc side-stepped and flourished an arm towards a figure sitting on a couch set out of the way, to the side of the staircase, in a dark alcove.

The couch and the two identical ones sitting in pride of place opposite the reception desk were a gift from Pam – Queen Ann style antiques that she'd had re-upholstered in blue and white, and embroidered in gold with the state emblem. When I pointed out the lobby would be the first place bathed in blood if we were attacked, she waved away my concerns, saying it was also where first impressions were made and it needed to look regal.

I let her have that one.

Tonight it was the hooded figure in silver shackles and an orange jumpsuit that had my attention, not Pam's choice in décor. I inhaled discreetly. A wave of memories, none of them good, came with the scent, stirring up echoes of irritation, frustration and that same dread I'd felt returning to my residence.

Oklahoma. It felt like Oklahoma. My residence conjured up an identical knot in the pit of my belly. Pushing that unwelcome discovery aside I said grimly, "Bring her."

Geraldine gasped quietly when the hooded figure shuffled into view. I stopped at her desk and waved Jean-Luc into my office with his prisoner.

"Geraldine, no interruptions for the next hour."

She stared after Jean-Luc, then shook herself. "Yes, Mr Northman. Do you need anything else?"

"No. You may leave now if you wish."

She straightened and looked me in the eye. "Mr Northman, I married a Navy Seal. I know when not to ask questions."

"You may witness things you do not want to remember." It was what I'd told her when I interviewed her.

"No glamour," she warned, repeating her reply at the time, a condition to which I'd agreed. No-one wanted a PA with holes in her brain. "I'm a big girl. I know things are rarely as black and white as they seem."

"I may kill her." That was as black and white as it came.

Her eyes narrowed. "May. You're withholding judgement. What happens depends on her, then?"

"Yes."

Astonishingly, she smiled a little. "Well then, we both have work to do."

I watched for a moment longer as she busied herself with her in-tray. She said she was curious about vampires when we met, but I was sure she would balk at the darker side of our world.

I may have been wrong.

Never underestimate a woman's will, my father used to say. My human father. Something I had reason to recall many times in recent years, because of another stubborn woman. I buried that thought and went to unwrap my gift.

Jean-Luc had already removed the hood and cuffs. I shot him a querying look.

"These were just a precaution. Isabel was willing to accept her fealty, but she asked to be brought to you once she was healed."

That was... odd.

He added blithely, "Nobody knows she's here."

No comeback if I ended her. I dismissed him and sat behind my desk to examine my 'gift '. She didn't flinch under my stare.

Isabel had sentenced her to a year's imprisonment for her part in Nadia's plot, commuted to nine months for injuries received in the battle for Oklahoma, I assumed. Underneath her death-paled olive skin, her face was flushed with recent feeding. Her black hair was glossy, all signs of starvation smoothed away. But the skin of her left hand was pink, the fingertips still missing. Recently regrown.

Isabel was old-school and hadn't let her heal until the sentence was complete. The sentence had been merciful, though, because of her youth. A painful slap on the wrist rather than final death for Nadia's little spy, the dusky Iranian who spoke many languages. Possibly the last remnant of Nadia's bloodline.

"Yasmin."

Immediately, she bowed in her chair. "Your majesty."

I didn't know much about the vampire before me. What little time I'd spent around her in Oklahoma she had been playing a part. Why had she come to me? Vengeance was the obvious explanation, but it didn't make sense.

"Why not swear fealty to Isabel? She is a fair queen."

"I didn't want to stay in Oklahoma." A cloud passed behind her eyes. "You of all vampires will understand that."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. Nine months without a hand didn't warrant a comparison to my experience in Oklahoma. I wasn't impressed by that or what it said about her fortitude.

"Why come here?" I asked harshly.

She blinked. Uncertainly she said, "Because you and I both... I hoped for mercy." Her eyes round and wide, she appealed softly, "I have nowhere else to go."

I opened a drawer, took out a stake and laid it on the desk in front of me.

"You came to die."

"No!" Her fangs snapped down in fear, but she didn't move. After a second of struggle, she retracted them and lifted her chin. "I came to serve you."

Determination was more promising than her earlier display of meekness. Meek vampires were little use to anyone.

"Why?"

She paused, then spoke rapidly, from the heart I judged. "To make amends for what Nadia commanded me to do. Good deeds to cleanse the bad, hold back the chaos. It is what I believe."

"You are vampire," I pointed out. "Not a saint."

Her mouth twisted. She admitted bitterly, "And to spite Nadia. I admit that." A more believable motive, if she truly hated her maker. She added, "That she-devil prevented me reuniting with my fravashi."

"Fravashi?" I didn't know the word.

"A guardian spirit that meets the soul four days after death."

"You were not Muslim, like Nadia?"

"I follow Zoroaster. An older faith," she said with noticeable pride. "There are not many of us left."

"I do not know it." Tariq, her grand-sire, would have. He was a knowledgeable man. The thought that she was also the last of his blood tipped me towards leniency, but I still picked up the stake. "You do not seek death, then, to be reunited with this guardian?"

"No. I am not ready to die."

She was firm on that, at least. "How do you propose to serve me?"

She dropped her eyes from mine. "I will do anything you require."

Back to meek. I snorted. "A lie. Try again."

"I... could warm your bed."

"I doubt that. Your blood is cold." The flicker of fear in her eyes was hardly enticing, either. I toyed with the stake. "What else?"

"I was a translator in life." She squared her shoulders. "I could be your ears."

Finally she was thinking like a vampire, but spies were ten a penny and her loyalty was already suspect… However, there was something only she could offer. If I could trust her.

I strode round the desk, stake loose in my hand. She tensed, but held still as I stopped beside her, even when my fangs clicked down. Encouraging. She would need steady nerves for what I had in mind. I pressed my finger against a fang and held it out. A swelling drop of dark blood glistened on the tip.

"Drink," I commanded.

She leant forward slowly, extending her tongue to lick up the droplet. She shivered as she swallowed. I moved back to lean against the desk, facing her with my arms folded as my blood took affect. She was swirl of fear and anxiety.

"Tell me what you knew of your maker's plans."

A burst of dread, hatred, and then determination.

"Not a lot. In Oklahoma I was to watch and listen, report everything I saw, especially how Freyda was behaving. I was to stay away from you – Nadia said you were dangerous. I knew she had plans for Freyda but they only became clear to me after I had overheard enough of their conversations to piece it together." She met my eyes. "Nadia commanded me never to reveal any of it."

"Naturally," I said drily.

"Someone found out, though." She felt uncertain. "Did I give something away?"

"No." Only through the bug I'd planted.

"I didn't think so." She felt relief – did that indicate loyalty to her maker? – but that was quickly overtaken by a surge of terror.

Did she think she had given herself away? Was this an elaborate ploy to win my favour, take revenge somehow? I stared intensely at her.

Her terror dulled, and she rubbed her wrist absently, speaking in a monotone. "Nadia was certain I had betrayed her. After Freyda put you in chains, Nadia spent three nights… testing my loyalty. She suspected I had broken her command somehow, warned you."

Ah. We had both suffered Nadia's sadistic attentions. That shed some light on her earlier comment about Oklahoma, making it less offensive. I said evenly, "I did not know. It is hard to torture a child."

She felt a muddle of black hate, helplessness and despair. "Not if the maker enjoys feeling your pain."

I understood that well enough. And now, I recognised her emotions from my experiences with Ocella. Her reactions weren't contradictory. They were genuine, true. Before I could say anything else, she raised her chin and her feelings fell away abruptly, evaporating like mist before the sun. I almost dropped the stake in shock.

"Stop that," I said harshly, lunging forward, my face inches away from hers, fangs down and stake at the ready.

She blinked. "What? Stop what?"

I felt her shock faintly. Very faintly. The connection between us was muted, frozen.

My mind leapt quickly, landing sure-footed on the answer: she had hidden her feelings from my blood, hidden them as I'd learnt to hide mine from Ocella.

As Pam and Karin had never had to do from me. I had never felt it as a maker, from the other side.

I demanded, "Let me in. Let me feel you."

Her eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed. The connection thawed rapidly, filling with her awe, astonishment and a hint of pride. "I apologise," she said softly. "I didn't realise it would–"

"Work on me as it worked on Nadia?" I finished, stepping back.

She grimaced. "It didn't. Not quite. That was what made her suspect me."

"You did it too quickly. It must be subtle to fool a maker." As soon as the words were out, I cursed myself for saying too much.

She gasped, reminding me she was fifty years undead. "How do you know that? Did Nadia feed you her blood when she–"

I growled, cutting her off. I was not about to discuss where I learnt that. It certainly wasn't during Nadia's torture. Yasmin bowed her head submissively.

"Tell me of your turning," I demanded sternly.

"Nadia stole me from my family, my husband and my child."

Her eyes stormy, she related her violent death, her rising and subsequent rape and abuse at Nadia's hands. I monitored her emotions throughout. Grief, disgust, horror – all blood-curdling reminders of my own turning. There was no question in my mind: she hated Nadia with a passion.

Of course, that didn't make her loyal to me. Thoughtful, I tapped the stake against my thigh and asked, "Any blood siblings?"

"The last was too weak to survive, Nadia said."

"Too weak to survive Nadia."

Yasmin nodded absently, not reacting to my dark tone. "Another was ended two centuries ago in Spain. By the Napoleon's men, I think. I don't know of any others."

I sensed no deceit. "What do you know of Tennessee?"

The change of subject didn't throw her. "Not much. He came to the lake house a few times, about ten years ago. But Nadia dismissed me so I don't know everything they discussed."

"Were they close?"

Her lip curled. "They shared a taste for other's pain."

No surprise there. "I meant politically."

She thought about it. "Perhaps. Nadia didn't trust him. She bugged his room, sent a spy to Nashville. They ignored each other in public. That puzzled me. I remember… She was tense at Rhodes. I thought it was the trial, but–"

"Sophie-Ann's trial?"

"Yes. Nadia was angry about the verdict, definitely, but there was something else. She didn't relax until the ball, when a look passed between her and Tennessee. I don't know what it signified."

It seemed Bartlett's information was, as usual, correct. Tennessee had been running errands for Nadia, tattling Ocella's whereabouts to Freyda.

I had Yasmin relate all of Nadia's meetings with Tennessee, in detail. She held nothing back, her honesty cementing my plans for her.

It appeared that at best Tennessee and Nadia were exchanging favours, at worst he was privy to her whole plot. I suspected the truth was somewhere in between, and that Nadia had promised to reward him for his part. Something he missed out on when she was defeated, which explained his eagerness to rub my face in the dirt over Sookie. From hints Russell had let slip, Hugh was a very sore loser.

Once I was sure I knew everything, I had one last question for Yasmin. "Was Tennessee aware that you loathed your maker?"

"No. No-one was. Nadia never tolerated a whisper of disrespect in front of others."

"Good. Then perhaps there is a way you can serve me."

When I came back from discreetly settling Yasmin in to one of the rooms on the third floor, Geraldine was putting on her coat.

"She made the right choices, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Sensible."

Before she could say more, Goro and Jean-Luc arrived. Jean-Luc's pants were torn and his shirt was bloody. Goro's suit had seen better nights.

"Merde, you are insufferable!"

"Gaijin, concede. Savate is inferior."

Jean-Luc launched into a long reply in French, gesturing dramatically.

Geraldine, eyes wide, asked me, "How old are these two?"

"Over four hundred, if you can believe that," I replied.

She chuckled. "They sound like brothers."

The two idiots looked equally outraged at that. Sanjay, who'd been working silently at his desk, smothered a laugh.

Geraldine winked at me. "Night, Mr Northman. Good luck with the kids."

"Goodnight, Ms Hamilton." I winked back and said sternly, "Goro, the dojo better be spotless."

"Of course, Dono," he said, bowing. Jean-Luc pulled a face at him behind his back.

"A night cap, gentlemen?" I offered and they followed me into my office.

Sipping his blood, Jean-Luc looked around and commented, "No stains. Isabel said you would find a use for her."

"For who? You came all this way to trounce my second, and failed miserably."

"I did? Ah. I see. Yes, I came all this way for the pleasure of losing. Again." He pulled a sad face. "Such a pity there are no worthy opponents in Oklahoma. And the girl?"

"You let her go last night. She fled Oklahoma City and dropped off the radar."

"Mais oui, that's exactly what happened." He drained his glass. "Thanks for the hospitality Eric, but I should be going."

"Thank Isabel for me."

"I will." He grinned at my second. "It was close tonight. Next time I'll beat you, Goro."

Goro gave him some explicit, vulgar instructions in Japanese and they left me alone, sipping my blood and plotting.

Solidified my plans, I decided Yasmin would beg Tennessee for mercy, spew hatred against me for killing her beloved maker and ingratiate herself with Hugh. If she failed and he killed her, I lost nothing. If her nerve held and she succeeded, I gained eyes and ears in Tennessee. Some warning if Hugh acted against me or mine.

Warning that might protect Sookie, but I ignored that.

The only snag I could see was Hugh might give Yasmin blood, as I had. She had to be able to fool him. But with my blood in her now, I could coach her until her reactions passed muster.

Finally my centuries under Ocella's thumb had some use, I thought morosely, swirling the blood round my glass slowly. Yasmin, Nadia, and long bleak nights with my maker darkened my thoughts until it was time to retire.

I gave Yasmin a crash course over the next three nights. Thankfully, she was a quick study, soon able to dim her feelings and mask their absence with calm so she felt rational and unemotional, not icily numb which would arouse suspicion. Rory must feel a similar calm from me when I damped my emotions.

Yasmin gave me a few curious looks as I drilled her, but she had the sense not to ask questions. Perhaps she guessed we had more in common than Nadia's whips. She must know Ocella had sold me to Freyda.

I dispatched her with a bundle of cash and instructions to lay low in Arkansas for another week before making her way to Memphis. The drop of blood I'd given her would be gone by then. She was to arrive destitute and grief-stricken, worm her way into Hugh's trust and stay until further notice. I had her memorise an anonymous e-mail address that I would check regularly, and some basic codewords. If she needed to flee, she was to go to Russell. He was nearest.

I had toyed with telling her to go to Thalia, but discarded that idea in case she was compromised and gave away Thalia's presence. Knowing the Greek, she was keeping out of sight. She was adept at that. Thinking of Thalia brought other thoughts too uncomfortable to entertain after the reminders of Ocella and Freyda. I was glad to return to my monotonous routine when Yasmin left.

It was Halloween that Sunday. The night before turned out to be anything but routine.

I rose early, restless, and dressed defiantly in jeans and t-shirt, not caring for Goro's disapproval. I emerged from the well-warded secret door in the back of the walk-in closet behind my desk, and took the less well-hidden passage beside it up to my rooms on the third floor. The more obvious door would draw any unwanted attention and having the two routes close together gave a reason for my scent to be in the closet. Barefoot, I dumped my laundry outside the door of my official quarters and spent half an hour sprawled on the bed checking email, as I did a couple of times a week to ensure the room held my scent.

I varied my route around the house for security reasons. That night, I left by the door and took the stairs down, carrying my laptop. A French vampire, Marie, was just coming on duty. Flushed from a recent feed, she was chatting to one of Yuri's wolves, Greg, on the second floor landing.

"It's wild down there. Dolores was actually smiling."

Greg chuckled and sniffed her gratuitously. "Smells like my kind of party."

"Benjamin certainly hit the spot," she purred toothily. When she saw me, she dropped her leer and bowed hastily. "Your majesty."

I grunted in reply. Having survived more than one Halloween attack – last year's in Oklahoma wasn't the first – I had impressed upon Yuri and Goro it should be business as usual this weekend. The party was for the donors, harmless fun for the dozen working tonight. Gloria's idea, Dolores had said, and I allowed it to keep the donors happy. There were rarely so many here – Goro wanted extra blood available. The guards were allowed to drop in, but only while they were off duty. Dolores knew to keep them to that.

Personally, I wasn't in the mood. I'd have to show my face at Sanctum tomorrow anyway. I headed straight for my office.

The giggling coming from the reception area was unexpected. A woman I'd never seen before was chatting with Geraldine, who had Halloween candy in her hand and a smile on her face.

The stranger turned to face me, holding out the basket on her arm and smiling invitingly. She said in the honeyed drawl of the South, "Trick or treat, your majesty."

The basket held a few bottles of orange-label Trublood – a special Halloween flavour; it still tasted dreadful – and a mound of candy. I barely glanced at the contents, my eyes drawn to the woman. She wore a tight, overfull red corset, a scrap of red fabric masquerading as a skirt, stockings, and red heels. Red horns completed the costume, but it was the body made for sin underneath it that had held my attention.

Curves. Lots of them. Tanned curves. Blue eyes, almost the right shade. Long golden blonde hair scrapped back into a tight bobbing ponytail.

"Take a bottle," she offered. "Unless you're thirsting for something warm..." Her eyes flicked towards my office door, and she drew a nail seductively down her neck.

There was a pause.

Silence on the precipice.

Temptation tugged and I let it pull me over the edge.

"Come," I said curtly.

I strode to my door, unlocked it and waved her inside. Geraldine was astonished. I never invited donors into my office. The closing door blocked out her wide-eyed expression, and I snapped the lock decisively, sealing my fate.

The blonde stood in the middle of the room, looking round. I took the basket from her arm, taking the opportunity to catch her scent: perfume, heavy and sweet but bearable. Wordlessly, I put the basket and my laptop on the coffee table and rotated a finger at her. She turned slowly in front of me.

The back view was just as luscious as the front. A flicker of desire warmed me for the first time in too long, burning away any remaining caution.

Fuck it.

"Undress."

Her eyes taking me in greedily, she began loosening the laces on the corset. Teasing, licking her lips, swinging her hips – putting on a well-rehearsed show. That was all wrong.

"Just take it off," I ordered tersely, moving behind my desk, pulling off my shirt and tossing it onto my chair. My jeans followed. I didn't want her scent on my clothes.

I watched her shimmy out of the skimpy costume. She dropped it on the desk between us with a coy glance at my rising cock.

She purred, "You want the stockings on, honey?"

I growled, unsettled by the pet name. She didn't flinch. "Off," I snapped.

She took the hint, stepping out of her heels quickly and turning away from me to roll down her stockings. I leaned forward, over the desk, taking in the view as she bent to pull them off.

The body was a better fit than her face. From behind then. Ruthlessly quashing my unease at what I was about to do, I glanced around for a suitable place.

The desk.

I cleared it, shoving papers aside and the chair backwards to make room before gesturing for her to join me. She sidled around the desk and pressed eagerly up against me.

For once I welcomed the warmth and the reminders it brought. I kissed her, close-mouthed and hard, my eyes shutting as I ran my hands all over her and imagined another warm body in her place.

It was working until she opened her mouth. I pulled away. I didn't want to taste her. She didn't taste right. I fought off another swell of doubt. This was probably an incredibly bad idea.

Fuck it. Fuck her.

Or a reasonable likeness.

I turned the blonde around and bent her over the desk. She moaned enthusiastically, spreading her legs and arching her back wantonly. My eyes were fixed on her hair. The colour was a near-perfect match. I searched for a memory that fit. The couch in the farmhouse. Close enough. But her hair had been loose. I reached forward and roughly pulled the woman's hair free, spreading the golden waves out over her shoulders. Better.

The blonde moaned again, but as I pushed inside her I drowned it out with the memory of another voice.

Or tried to.

Her breathy cries intruded. "Oh, yes… Just like that..."

I pulled on her hair to shut her up, concentrating on the feel of it in my fingers, the golden colour, remembering scents of tanning oil and an old house, another woman's moans. I lost myself deep in the fantasy, thrusting hard and fast, rushing towards release as if one pulsing orgasm could eject all the memories haunting me.

The blonde couldn't keep quiet. The wrong blonde. The one in the room, not my head.

"Oh, oh... Yes, right there... Don't stop, tiger... Oh, tiger…"

Quinn.

An image of him with Sookie in his arms ripped through the fragile illusion.

I shot backwards as if my cock had been dipped in silver, my back slamming against the wall. The chair, my jeans slung carelessly over the back, rocked wildly beside me. The donor gasped in shock and peered over her shoulder.

Rage and loss swept over me. My blood boiled. I growled menacingly as my fangs lengthened and I saw her neck, torn and bloody. I tensed to spring.

My cell phone slid slowly out of my jeans and clattered on the floor at my feet, saving her life.

Vibrating with barely contained fury, I stared at it for a microsecond, fighting for control. I wanted, needed the blonde to vanish. Now.

My head snapped up. I drilled my gaze into her wide eyes and caught her mind in a steel grip. Keeping eye contact, I stooped, snatched up the damn cellphone and hit the buttons in a blur as I shoved my hips back against her ass as if I was still hard. I pressed against her and pressed heavily into her mind, whispering harshly, "We are still fucking."

I released her mind and lust washed the vacant glaze from her eyes. The desk phone rang. She shifted under me, whining hoarsely, "Don't answer it."

I leaned forward to pick it up, crushing her mercilessly against the desk. She yelped.

I spat words into the silent handset. "Northman…Yes... On my way."

Deception complete and my control still tenuous, I slammed the receiver down and stepped away from her, tossing my cell onto the chair.

"Leave."

Sprawled on the desk, panting, she asked plaintively, "What? Why?"

Her accent had vanished. I grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. Ignoring her cry and the urge to break her arm, I dragged her round the desk and shoved her clothes at her. She clutched them to her chest, bewildered. I snatched up that fucking basket of candy and thrust that into her arms too.

I barked, "Get out."

When she didn't move, I frog-marched her to the door and shoved her out of it. I picked up the shoe she had dropped and threw it after her. It clattered loudly on the floor and Geraldine gasped, rising from her chair to stare at me. I growled and slammed the door, relocking it.

Dark visions of destruction and death swam before my eyes. Snarling, I turned and sped from the room, shouldering my way into the closet, down the passage, slamming erratically off the walls, holding everything in until I reached a place where I could let go.