Hi all. Well, as you can see from the title... This is it, rock bottom for Eric. Only one way to go from here.


Crash


I came back to myself on my knees, naked, in the wreckage of my resting place. My fists, clenched at my sides, were swollen and throbbing. The air smelt of blood. My blood.

The bedroom was a mess. The bed was flipped, its iron frame warped and twisted, the mattress torn. A closet door hung off its hinges, lopsided.

Could be worse.

As I shifted to get to my feet, pain seared my thigh. Something had skewered the muscle, blood oozing thickly around it. Hissing I tugged it free, staunching the wound automatically as I looked at the twisted piece of metal in confusion for a moment. It was part of the table from the other room. I dropped it and staggered to my feet, a splinter of something else stabbing into my right heel. Cursing, I limped across the room and stepped over the broken door.

The sitting room was worse.

I blinked at the destruction. A blizzard of stuffing floated in the air. The couch, the coffee table, the desk… All kindling. Blood, mine, splattered the walls, the ceiling. Fist-sized dents in the drywall trickled dust.

Berserkr.

Fuck. This went beyond bloodlust. I had lost it completely. Blacked out.

Not since I was newborn had that happened spontaneously. I always retained a memory, however hazy, of what I did in the grip of hunger or battle. At my age, only a significant dose of fae blood should–

Blood. I needed blood.

I hobbled back into the bedroom and righted the mini-fridge in the corner. The motor whined and I smelt coolant. Unplugging it, I eyed the deep dent where it had hit the wall, wondering fleetingly if the soundproofing wards had muffled the impact.

Then I saw the blood dripping out around the now ill-fitting door.

Cursing again, I tipped the fridge on its back and yanked it open. One of the bags of blood inside had burst. I drained the two intact bags cold, leaning against the wall while I healed. Fetching a wet towel from the bathroom, the only room that was mercifully untouched, I mopped the carpet and then dropped the sodden towel in the fridge and slammed it shut.

How much time had passed?

My clothes, phone and laptop were upstairs. I dug a spare phone out of the pile of broken wood that used to be my nightstand and powered it up.

Only half an hour.

I relaxed. Then I remembered Becker and Salome were due to arrive shortly.

Shit. That gossipy pair were the last vampires I wanted to see. I could barely stand Becker's attitude normally, and the way tonight was going…

Resigning myself to more unpleasantness, I showered rapidly, dressed in a suit, and left the mess to deal with later. Up in my office my cell was winking on the chair where I'd dropped it. Two messages from Pam.

9:03pm: WTF?

9:26pm: I take it heads have rolled.

Shit. She felt my… outburst. From Shreveport. I texted back a terse all clear.

Just get through the night, I told myself.

The lingering scent of the blonde's perfume needled me. Throwing my jeans and shirt from earlier into the closet, I used the cologne I kept in there to mask the unwelcome smell. Then I put my desk to rights and tidied the room.

Only I had access to the cameras in my office, thank fuck. I pulled up the feed and my finger hovered over the delete button. No, I didn't need a copy as insurance: the cameras outside would show her leaving intact if there were allegations of foul play. l deleted the whole ill-advised encounter, grateful the sound was muted. The video was enough to make me want to put my fist through the screen.

Satisfied all traces of the blonde were gone, I unlocked the door and buzzed Geraldine to bring the files I needed. She bustled in and handed me a folder.

"It's all in there. The independent report, photos of the property. Everything you asked for."

I flipped it open and began speed reading. Becker was disputing the value of some property he'd bought in Baton Rouge, from a vampire who'd worked at Seven Veils before leaving the state. Salome was representing her former employee. Goro usually dealt with routine Area 2 matters, but Becker had insisted on my involvement and on meeting tonight.

Because he was a self-important asshole. One who would argue until hell froze over if he thought he might get one more red cent out of it.

Geraldine cleared her throat and I glanced up.

"Mr Northman. About earlier." She took a deep breath. "I'm just going to be blunt. I need to–"

"Mrs Hamilton," I interrupted. Wonderful. She was quitting. "We agreed a month's notice, if I recall."

"What? You're firing me?"

"No." I stared at her. "Tonight didn't… offend your sensibilities?"

"My sensibilities?" She frowned. "Oh, you mean the sex."

I nodded.

She snorted. "Mr Northman, I mightn't be as old as you, and I'm sure you've done things that would curl my hair, but I have been around the block more times than I care to remember and I'm no prude. Besides," she added drily, "I've been a PA for a long time. You're not the first boss I've had that liked a little afternoon delight in his office."

I raised an eyebrow. "This was more of a… midnight snack."

"Right." Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "With the reputation y'all have, I'm just surprised it hasn't happened before. Now, what you get up to behind closed doors is your business, long as everyone's willing. And the girl offered… But I'm getting side-tracked. May I sit?"

"Go ahead."

She tugged the visitor chair closer and sat, resting her clasped hands on the edge of my desk. "When you threw her out. That was bloodlust, right?"

Ah. I had asked Dolores to make sure she understood what we were, what we were capable of. "Close enough."

"You sure were pissed," she said, half to herself, nodding. "What did the girl do?"

I stiffened.

"I'm not prying," she said quickly, raising her hands. "Dolores will want to know, to decide whether to fire her. Is it – this sounds so ludicrous – was it her hair?"

"Her hair?"

She looked apologetic. "The colour."

"Why does that matter?" I said curtly. Fucking gossip. I hated living in a nest, on fucking display.

She cleared her throat. "Because she was a brunette when Dolores interviewed her last week."

I sat up. "She was?"

"Uh-huh. Dolores was real shocked to see a blonde when I took the girl downstairs. She snuck past her, apparently. Darn it. With all the fuss, I forgot to ask – it was okay for her to be up here, wasn't it? She said she was bringing candy round to everybody."

No, it wasn't. I smelt a spy. I hissed softly and reached for the phone.

Geraldine groaned. "Jiminy Cricket. I knew I should have checked. She left already. She was making a scene and Dolores sent her home."

Fuck me. The girl would be long gone.

And fuck me twice. She had been glamoured specifically to target me. 'Tiger' was a common enough endearment to slip by me earlier, but with her looks, that fake accent, and the damn pet name as well…

Too many coincidences.

That got me up and pacing angrily behind my desk. Someone had programmed her to rub my nose in it. What a charming Halloween gift. Who the fuck sent her? De Castro? Tennessee? I would fucking... Shit. If they knew how I'd reacted… I grabbed my phone.

"Goro. Did anyone report anything odd, anyone where they shouldn't be? Anything out of place downstairs? Any noise? In the last hour or so."

"No, Dono. No-one has reported anything. But the party is loud. Is there a problem?"

Thank fuck. The wards held. "A donor," I told him. "Wandering off reservation. Second floor."

He hissed. "When? Who let her up there?"

"The dayguards, right before shift change." Fucking useless wolves. "Check the cameras, see where she went. Make sure everyone remains alert." I hung up, and sat down heavily.

I was lucky. No-one had heard my fit of temper, and by chance I had covered up perfectly with the girl. I was certain my glamour had taken: I had taken her memory of my reaction and she believed a phone call interrupted us. Whoever had sent her would think their trap had failed to spring, missed its mark.

Geraldine grimaced. "I'm sorry."

I waved her quiet. "Not your fault."

"I should have stopped her leaving, at least. I was too busy–" She cut herself off, looking sheepish.

"Go on," I gritted out.

"Back in March, when we were setting up the house…" She glanced at my hair. "Ms Ravenscroft told Dolores you weren't partial to blondes. I'm guessing that wasn't exactly true."

Shit. None of the donors here were blonde. I hadn't noticed, feeding as infrequently as I had been. I shifted uneasily. Everyone else would have. The dearth of fair hair might lead to conclusions I didn't want made, however true it was that I'd been avoiding those damn reminders.

I needed to speak to Dolores about taking my child's advice without running it by me. And do some damage control, starting now.

"A joke at my expense," I said as lightly as I could. "Pam likes to think she's funny."

"Kids, eh?" Geraldine narrowed her eyes. "Strange. Ms Ravenscroft didn't seem like the jealous type."

"She's not."

It was a clumsy attempt to keep me focused during those first crucial months on the throne. Why Pam thought her interference was needed was another matter. Apparently I needed to remind her who was the maker in our relationship. That conversation would be as pleasant as having a fang pulled. Things had been strained enough between us.

Geraldine stood up, apparently satisfied for now. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

"Wait." Tonight was the first time she had seen me for what I was. Dangerous. Lethal. A predator. If that had rattled her, it was best to know now. "Earlier… Did I scare you?"

"I won't lie. You did." She shrugged. "Jim scared me once or twice, but I stuck by him."

I raised an eyebrow, and gestured between us. "This is hardly a marriage."

"No. But I've always said no wife knows a man as well as his PA." She added sternly, "I'm not a quitter, Mr Northman. In marriage or employment."

I regarded her steadily for a moment. "You may call me Eric."

"Thank you. But you'll be Mr Northman in front of everyone else." She smiled faintly, "Even if I have seen a whole lot more of you."

She got to the door by the time I realised what she meant: I was naked when I threw the blonde out. She looked back at me, grinning cheekily. "Those calendars don't do you justice. You made an old gal very happy."

She winked and disappeared, leaving me shaking my head, faintly amused.

I had picked Geraldine based on her impressive résumé, despite her very human background and lack of experience with vampires, which she'd been very honest about at interview. I had liked her at once. She certainly had moxie, and a sense of humour. She reminded me of...

I groaned.

Et tu, Geraldine? How did a grey-haired widow, how did even she bring to mind a completely different woman? She was nothing like her.

Fucking reminders. I still couldn't avoid them and attempting to fuck them out of my system had been a complete disaster.

I righted the chair Becker had just vacated as Salome watched me steadily.

"I don't object to your ruling, but some might say the delivery was unwise." She smiled cruelly. "Others might say Becker had it coming."

I shrugged, straightening my cuffs.

Telling Becker I'd had enough of his whining was one thing; grabbing him by his throat and pointing out I was the fucking king and he'd better get the fuck out of my sight before I really did stake him... That was definitely unwise. The old dear was six hundred and if the rumours of his wealth weren't exaggerated, he could afford a very good assassin.

Salome stepped in front of me and I hissed softly in warning. She froze. When I didn't move to stop her, she stepped closer, keeping her eyes down and her posture submissive.

"You're rumpled," she said, reaching out carefully. She smoothed the breast of my jacket and straightened my tie before she looked up. Grey eyes held mine. She said softly, "Bad luck for Becker that he caught you in a testy mood. I'll smooth things over with the miser." She ran her hands lingeringly down my chest. "If you need to work off some tension..."

I covered her hands with mine, halting them. "Sucking up to me now I'm king?"

She smiled, dazzlingly. "Power is a notorious aphrodisiac."

"And you always excelled at sucking."

She threw her head back and laughed. I watched her cleavage dance with clinical detachment. When she stopped, she patted my chest and stepped back. "You have a lot on your mind."

I did, but I wasn't going to admit it, much less discuss it with her. "Goodnight, Salome."

"Goodnight, my liege." She bowed theatrically, eyes still amused.

Five minutes later Goro and Dolores arrived. Goro had gone to the blonde's address only to find another girl, a brunette, answering to her name. The blonde had stolen her identity. We had no idea who she really was, and she'd disappeared like smoke.

Luckily she hadn't been anywhere else in the house. Dolores was profoundly apologetic, and furious that the girl had got past her checks. I didn't blame her: the forgeries were professional. Someone paid top dollar for their Halloween trick.

We were interrupted, mid-discussion. An emergency, a human almost drained at a house in an upmarket suburb.

A nice quiet suburb, the kind that provided the bedrock of the mayor's support. And the girl was young, barely eighteen. The last thing I needed was a scandal amongst the chattering classes of Baton Rouge. Or in this case, the class that took off for a long weekend and left their teenagers behind to throw a wild party.

The potential political fallout with the locals kept me from washing my hands of the fool and turning him over to human law enforcement. They would be the kinder option. By dawn he was awaiting my displeasure in the warehouse I used for those who incurred it.

Thankfully, the girl would recover. And the cretin at least had the wits to feed out of sight, so we had been able to pretend she had passed out to get her out of the house. It still took glamouring half a dozen drunken youths out of the rowdy hundreds that were there, and all before the police arrived to break up the gathering. Alcohol gave us a cover story for the girl's hospital stay too.

Fixing the mess and covering it up took most of the night. I went straight to my quarters when we got back. Kicking a piece of couch out of my path, I looked around. No time to clear up. I grabbed a set of sheets and made myself a makeshift bed on the floor by the closet, a balled up sweater serving as a pillow.

I had rested in worse places.

….

Halloween itself began bloodily.

I was in the perfect mood to make an example of the idiot who had decided to break my rules on my doorstep. If I broke a few more bones than strictly necessary during our 'chat', no-one batted an eyelid. Even him.

It was only his youth that saved him from the stake, and he knew it. I sentenced him according to the rules I'd put in place for vampires under a century – six months in silver, three for the damage to the girl and three for the risk of exposure, and money to cover her hospital bills plus a hefty fine for the drama.

A lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

Consequently, I was late to Sanctum and in no mood to be on display. But the chore came with the position, and it had to be done. I locked down my emotions before I entered, projecting an air of calm boredom to match my detached expression. Oskar was waiting in a booth across the floor when I came in with Goro.

And Rory was just leaving.

"Your majesty," she greeted with an edge to her tone. Still pissed, then.

"Miss Kingfisher. Leaving so soon? I hoped for another dance."

"I have a patient," she said curtly. "You would no more interfere with my duties than I would the running of your kingdom."

Subtext: or my choice of lawyer. Touché. Definitely still pissed with me.

"Of course," I said coolly, stepping aside and dipping my head as she swept past.

Oskar's company was a poor substitute. We talked politics, while Goro and Levi talked security. Goro was impressed with the club. The were-leopard too, judging by the amount of fang he was discreetly displaying. Levi didn't seem disconcerted, laughing warmly several times as they flirted.

Ariadne and Malcolm both stopped by. Malcolm enthused over how well the night was going and delivered a sample of our newest blood cocktail, the Bloody Duchess. With essence of a real Duchess, one of Levi's old Oxford contacts apparently. Oskar enjoyed it, but it did nothing for me. Ariadne, practical as ever, brought news of the night's impressive take but even that didn't lighten my mood.

Oskar was his usual dour self so I noticed it when he smirked. Following his gaze across the room to Rory's usual table, I saw Elva and Bran, with a fae woman I didn't recognise.

Oskar leant over. "That's not your spawn in the blonde's belly, but she's definitely eye-fucking you."

"And in front of her husband, too."

"You know them?"

"We've met. Briefly." I waited until Elva looked over again and raised my glass to her. She blushed furiously and Bran noticed immediately. He said something to her, laughing, then rolled his eyes at me.

Oskar stared for a moment. "The husband's not very possessive, is he?"

I raised an eyebrow. "She's hardly going to do more than look. She's young, not suicidal."

"Pity," Oskar said, his eyes lingering on her. He did like a blonde.

We lapsed into silence, and I began to count the minutes until I could leave. There were too many. I was still in the booth when Amelia Broadway danced, or rather waddled, across the floor in the arms of a dark-haired skinny man. Her husband, the one who'd been a cat. Rob?

Her voice drifted over. "...I'm so pleased, Bob."

Ah, that was his name. The witch looked ready to pop, and pregnancy hadn't made her voice any quieter. Idly, I listened in.

"She's really happy. Far be it from me to blow my own trumpet," – I held back a snort – "but I knew the move would be good for her. Getting her and Quinn together was a great idea."

A flash of rage flared through me, so strong I almost crushed the glass in my hand. I willed myself to keep still.

Bob said something, sharp and low. Startled, Amelia looked round. I heard her curse distinctly, before she finally got a clue and lowered her voice.

Oskar was about to say something, probably disparaging by the look in his eye, but Becker arrived at the table to pay his obsequious respects. He was fooling nobody. As if I didn't know he was itching to stake me as soon as my back was turned. Pompous fool.

I left as soon as I could. Goro drove the limo home. I stretched out on the backseat, slipping into downtime.

Usually downtime consisted of replayed memories, with some limited facility to influence which ones popped up. Like human sleep, it suspended the connection between mind and body, leaving the vampire experiencing it as still as the grave, but, unlike a human sleeper, able to wake to full alertness instantly.

That was not what happened this time. It started innocently enough:

Sanctum, earlier tonight. Amelia and Bob dancing.

The same dance floor, back in the summer. Sookie waltzing in Quinn's arms, smiling up at him. Rory glaring at me from behind them, turning to leave.

Wait. That wasn't–

My office. Pam throwing Sookie's letter on my desk, lunging for my throat, snarling. A fight. Finally throwing her out, and turning to find the blonde from last night, sprawled across my desk, face up, her neck torn open. Blood pooling under her, over the letter Pam had left there.

The blonde's eyes, open and fixed, staring at me. Her face was Sookie's, deathly pale, glassy eyes accusing.

The yell of denial choked in my throat.

A familiar white room. Silver chains, pain. Nadia, face inches from mine, dripping with my blood, turning away to choose a knife. Ocella turning back. Calmly telling me about the contract, as if for the first time, carving into my chest with the knife. Pain searing me inside and out.

This was wrong. It didn't happen that way. I struggled desperately against the silver, but the chains pulled tighter.

Another jarring scene change. The wedding night. Freyda with Nadia, fucking on a bloodstained bed, taunting me, the sting of the whip fresh on my back. A jolt, and it was the tiger and Sookie locked together in an embrace, laughing at me.

Hissing, I scrabbled backwards, away from them, until my back hit the wall–

The back seat of the Brick snapped into focus around me.

I was pressed into the corner, against the door. Shaking my head to clear it, I met Goro's puzzled eyes in the mirror.

"Eric?" he asked cautiously.

"It's nothing," I growled, sitting up fast and shooting him a fierce scowl, daring him to disagree.

"Of course, Dono," he said, respectfully averting his eyes.

Rattled, I stifled the residual swirls of fear and anger – and every other fucking feeling churned up by that… whatever the hell that was – until all my emotions were contained behind a wall of icy calm. That done, I stared out the window, trying to make sense of what I just experienced.

I had obviously reacted to… whatever it was physically, startling Goro.

The unpleasant flashbacks that overtook me after being tortured had likewise overridden the usual downtime paralysis, allowing me to move and speak whilst trapped in a waking hell, stuck reliving the past until reality broke through. Vampires commonly experienced that after sufficiently traumatic events. Or so I'd been told. I hadn't seen it. Sufferers kept to themselves, only slipping into downtime when there were no witnesses.

But the flashbacks were still memories. Things that really happened.

What I'd just seen had a kernel of reality, true, but it had been twisted into darker possibilities, ones that never happened. Fear had been the predominant atmosphere.

A nightmare? Impossible. We didn't sleep. No sleep, no dreams, no nightmares.

Some spell, a curse? No. This came from me, I was sure of it. It was too personal.

Madness? I didn't feel mad, but the insane had no self-awareness. And after my outburst yesterday…

No. No, it was just fucking feelings, perhaps a last psychological kick in the head from the torture. I should lock my emotions down, keep control. Stay rational, focused. Yes, that was the key. Fall back on what I was good at, behaviours that had gotten me through the centuries.

So that's what I did. And because that was easier if I was busy, I made damn sure I kept busy.

…..

That Friday I was scheduled to visit Area 5. I flew to Pam's house, not looking forward to our monthly face-to-face.

We still hadn't cleared the air after our fight. And the night before I'd slipped into downtime in my office and had another twisted vision. Pam had come after me with a stake in this one. It unsettled me deeply, and I shut our connection tightly once I got to Shreveport.

Stan was sitting in the living room. Pam hadn't warned me he was visiting – he had an open invitation to Area 5 with the understanding that he came incognito, alone. I opened our connection briefly and shot Pam a burst of annoyance. Internally she was defiant, but outwardly she bowed her head respectfully and kept quiet.

"Stan. This is unexpected."

"I apologise for the lack of warning." He bowed, and I nodded, accepting the apology. He continued, "We need to talk. About the murder here in Shreveport. And what went wrong in Houston."

"Ah."

Things hadn't ended, as Stan hoped, with the FBI exposing the Chosen as a murderous bunch of thugs, whilst the shapeshifter vigilantes melted into the background undiscovered. The situation had shifted over the winter, before Joseph met his end in February.

I took a seat on the couch facing Stan, spreading my arms across the back. "Proceed."

"What do you know already?" he asked.

"Four of the Chosen were quietly arrested in January." While I was organising the takeover, but I followed the press reports. I had recognised their names from the dossier Joseph had given me.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he said drily.

"Yes. Tax evasion, embezzlement. Not exactly the stuff of headlines." At the time I assumed the FBI were waiting for the right moment to announce prosecutions for hate crimes but that moment never came. "Disappointing, but after the Were attack in December–"

"Yes, that was unfortunate," Stan agreed. "A game-changer, as they say."

It had been played repeatedly on the news channels: grainy footage of a wolf shifting back to human, a fatal shotgun wound gaping in his chest. Killed by one of the Fellowship's new, squeaky-clean spokespeople. A woman, in her own home, a few days before Christmas. The footage, complete with tree, presents and screaming children in the background, was leaked online.

It created a media storm. Simon Trent, the Fellowship leader and every inch the suave, confident and attractive politician, appeared on TV appealing for calm. The woman herself made an emotional statement from her perfect front lawn, surrounded by her apple-pie family, regretting the death but denouncing the wolf's attack on her family. Under Texan law she had a right to use deadly force to repel a home invasion. With sympathy heavily on her side, it was doubtful she would face a murder charge, much less be convicted. It was written off as self-defence.

No-one explained how the wolf got in, or how she and her children escaped without a scratch.

"You think that was orchestrated to turn opinion against the two-natured. Get the Chosen off the hook if they were arrested?" I asked. I suspected so myself.

Stan shrugged. "The wolf was Carter's brother-in-law."

"Ah." That I hadn't known. Carter had been oddly missing from the file Joseph gave me. Yet Stan believed Carter had been the leader of the Houston vigilantes, Tooth 'n Claw. Joseph had been holding out on me.

"Carter himself died a few days earlier," Stan informed us. "A car crash."

"Interesting. Was the brother-in-law seeking revenge?"

"I thought so at first. He was a hot-head. But one with a habit of running his mouth. If he held the Fellowship responsible, he kept it very quiet."

"Hm. Was the crash an accident?"

"Joseph said it was. Carter's wife believes not. She's been petitioning me."

"Why you?" I answered myself: "Joseph. When we spoke, his preferred solution was eliminating the wolves."

"Yes. And it appears Joseph was less than honest with me," Stan said grimly.

"Hardly a surprise," Pam offered, "since he intended to betray you."

"He was lucky I ended him quickly," Stan growled.

"If Joseph was set to take Texas," I said, thinking aloud, "he had a strong motive for solving the Houston problem. Why not make use of Carter's death to frame the Chosen?"

"Perhaps the FBI proved too difficult to fool," Pam suggested. "Or events moved too quickly."

"On the other hand," I said slowly, a second theory coming to me, "if Joseph stuck to the original plan and opened negotiations with the wolves, but Carter refused, became an obstacle, Joseph would have removed him."

Stan shook his head. "Carter's widow is convinced Joseph double-crossed him. Her husband died two nights after his first meeting with Joseph. She insists Carter was, albeit reluctantly, considering a ceasefire in return for Joseph handing the FBI enough evidence to damn the Chosen. I'm inclined to believe her, given the extent of Joseph's duplicity."

I raised an eyebrow.

"All the evidence was destroyed when Joseph was ended. By a child he made without my knowledge."

"Sulphur and brimstone," Pam muttered.

Stan grunted his agreement. "Joseph also told me his maker was finally dead. She contacted me two months ago for compensation. She's in Spain. She hates wolves with a passion. Quite rabidly." His mouth twitched at the pun.

"Ah."

Stan had had Joseph's maker investigated. Spain had seen particularly brutal Purges and she still harboured a grudge. Stan concluded that Joseph had never truly supported his policy of co-operation with the two-natured.

That put the mess in Houston in a new light.

But even if Joseph loathed shapeshifters, containing the Chosen was in his interests. Stan was sure Joseph destroyed the evidence purely out of spite, and would have hand the Chosen to the FBI on a silver platter if he'd succeeded in taking Texas. Stan had questioned the Dallas FBI liaison about the low-key nature of the arrests, but he didn't get an adequate explanation. Just bullshit about procedures and admissible evidence. Unfortunately the evidence Stan had counted on was gone.

We went back and forth over why Joseph might have killed Carter: to send a message to the wolves, to provoke them into something rash, to get rid of him. It was impossible to know. If it even was Joseph – any evidence was long gone.

Once we'd exhausted the possibilities I asked, "Did Joseph's maker have anything to do his bold plan?"

None of us believed he could hold Texas without a backer. Joseph had half a dozen allies within the state, allies who had fled or been ended, but none with significant power. Whoever his backer was, they'd been cautious. Shrewd. Old, probably.

"I think not. She hasn't left Spain for a century. I lean closer to home, but let's focus on this murder in Shreveport. I've found two more possibles."

Pam and I were instantly alert. "Where and when?" I asked.

"One in Austin, at a gas station, back in April. Dismissed as an armed robbery gone wrong. We only found it after the murder here had us checking old records. And one in Little Rock in July. A body in a burnt-out car. Rita called me two nights ago, when dental records identified the victim as an ex-marine, resident in Houston at the time of that house fire. He was using a false identity in Arkansas, so Rita's investigator missed it at first."

Pam said, "Whoever it is could be targeting those responsible for the fire. If we could find the culprits ourselves, it might lead us to our vengeful wolf."

"Perhaps," Stan said doubtfully. "But what about the pastor here? He had no connection to Houston as far as we know. I'm concerned we may have a splinter group."

"There's still no sign of them in Houston?" I asked. The original group had vanished like smoke on the wind after Carter's death. Daisy and her brother too, but that was no shock to me. Her people were secretive and extremely twitchy around federal authorities.

"No. They've scattered. What concerns me is they may be after publicity. The murder here was blatant. A more visible target and–"

"The bite marks," Pam finished

"Yes, exactly. None of the others had such an obvious calling card. We've been lucky so far."

"If they have switched tactics, it's only a matter of time before this gets out," I said.

We fell silent, imagining how that would stir the pot.

Of the two Chosen members Tooth 'n Claw killed in Houston, one was a shooting, easily passed off as random gang violence, and the more gruesome aspects of the second murder had been kept out of the press. Instead, hints had been dropped about the victim's past – a drug charge, violence – to explain away his murder.

The FBI had kept the truth quiet so as not to inflame the situation, but we couldn't rely on their discretion forever. Not if we had the start of a spree on our hands. And with three more murders in Austin, Shreveport and Little Rock it certainly looked likely.

Stan asked if I had any idea where Daisy might be, but my knowledge of her was three generations old. A dalliance with her grandmother sixty years ago wasn't much use. Pam suggested Niall might know where to find her, from something Daisy said when they'd met last year.

When Sookie was kidnapped. I battened my emotions down tightly, let nothing show on my face. Pam would pick up the slightest tell, even with our connection closed.

I was glad of that when Stan turned to me and asked, "Any favours to call in with Brigant?"

"No," I said stonily, keeping tight hold of myself.

"Pity," Stan said nonchalantly, not reacting to my terseness. Bartlett, or more likely Russell who was the bigger gossip, would have spilt the beans about my run-in with Tennessee by now, and Niall giving her his protection. "I'll have to beg a favour from Niall myself then."

Pam snorted. "Good luck with that, Stan."

She got up to warm some blood for us, and we chatted about other matters. The upcoming Amun summit, human politics, the oil business. Soon it was time to leave.

"Any other Area 5 business?" I asked Pam.

"No. Nothing new. You have the figures."

"Good. I need to get back." I stood.

"You're not staying?" Pam shot a glance at Stan. "I'll walk you out."

Outside, on the drive, I waited for her to speak.

"Niall called me. A courtesy call he called it, but there was precious little courtesy involved."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Sookie will be visiting Bon Temps for the holidays. No vampire here is to, and I quote, touch a hair on her head."

"That's all?" I said evenly.

She frowned slightly, examining my face. She said carefully, "She called herself to confirm. She asked if the tiger might–"

I shook my head. "Too soon."

"Yes. I told her she was free to come and go, and always had been, but the tiger should wait for an invitation."

I nodded. "Perhaps next summer."

She blinked, puzzled. I turned to go, but she stopped me.

"Eric, wait. Are you...?" Unusually hesitant, she changed what she was about to say. "Are we good?"

I looked at her. Were we?

Her driveway wasn't the place to discuss her interference with the donors and how pissed I was with it. Stan's presence had spared us that. She didn't seem as angry with me, which was something.

But the tension between us was palpable.

"We've been better," I answered truthfully and launched into the sky.

Back in Baton Rouge, I buried myself in kingdom business.

I had Geraldine fill my schedule – meetings with vampire, human, were or demon, I didn't care – from sunset to dawn. I worked hard, and harder at keeping control. Locking my emotions down became my first action on rising. I avoided downtime except for the briefest of intervals before dawn. Then when even those few minutes were filled with disturbing visions, I busied myself until the day took me, silencing my unruly mind with the tedium of office.

When the walls of the house closed in on me, visiting my sheriffs provided a brief respite. I flew to the other Areas by choice, focusing on the cool night air, the stars.

Some nights even that solitude was oppressive.

At first, Goro approved of my industrious work ethic. Then I began to feel him watching me, in my periphery. He didn't say anything, but he was more cautious when we sparred, more deferential when we spoke.

It was indescribably irritating.

Ms Lindenberg visited us again. She was unrepentant, making snide remarks, toe nudging the line I'd drawn in the sand but not quite crossing it. That tested my already worn control and after she left I snapped at Dolores. Everyone, not just Goro, walked on eggshells around me for the rest of the night, which only served to shorten my temper further.

When I expected Yuri and his wolves to work through a drill Thanksgiving night, Geraldine raised objections. I refused to alter my schedule. She went to Goro behind my back, and the two of them argued that the breathing staff expected time off for the holiday, even if I didn't. I conceded resentfully, insisting on shuffling appointments to fill the gap.

I worked relentlessly from dusk to dawn after that. Like a machine.

The first Saturday in December I was in front of Geraldine's desk a scant five minutes after sunset. I was on edge. A few items had cropped up earlier that week that meant we'd had to juggle my over-full schedule. My phone hadn't picked up the alterations.

"My cell is acting up. What's first tonight?"

"Oh, Mr Northman. Good evening." She smiled a firm, polite smile. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a mix-up. You don't have anything scheduled until midnight tomorrow."

I blinked. "What?"

"My mistake," she explained, completely unapologetic. "I cleared tonight when we were rescheduling, and accidentally skipped over the date."

"Shuffle things around," I snapped.

"Well, all your hard work has paid off." Her smile became determined. "Next week is actually pretty free."

"Let me see." I leant rudely across the desk and turned her laptop around, stabbing at the buttons. I stared at the almost empty calendar. What the fuck was this bullshit?

Goro came through the door at speed, straightening his cuffs. He faltered slightly when he saw me. Covering with a graceful bow he said, "Kitajin-sama. You are here."

"Of course," I said tersely. I gestured at the screen in front of me. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"Dono, is something wrong? I will assist however I can."

"You and this incompetent woman," I said coldly, ignoring Geraldine's intake of breath, "have deliberately conspired to mess up my schedule. Do not deny it."

Goro bowed again, more formally if that was possible, his face smooth and polite. "Kitajin-sama. Your majesty. Please excuse your humble servant this disrespect against your honourable personage. It was necessary for the performance of my duties."

The excessive politeness was his way of calling me a bloody idiot. Holding tightly to the anger coiling in my belly, I said very slowly, "Do not treat me like a child."

Goro straightened and looked me right in the eye. "I do only what I must." Slipping in to Japanese he misquoted a proverb pointedly. "Mitsugo no tamashii sen made."*

I growled. He didn't flinch.

"Kitajin-sama. We are upsetting the woman. We should step into your office."

I glared at him for a full minute while I reined in my rage, finally turning on my heel wordlessly and stalking inside. Geraldine let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind us.

I leaned against my desk, arms folded, fists clenching. "Well?"

"Eric. Louisiana will not fall apart if you take a night off."

"I will decided that. You have exceeded your authority."

"I made a decision for the good of the kingdom. You are too tightly wound."

"I am fine."

He shook his head. "You are not. Otherwise you would not take offence at this."

My jaw clenched, holding back an angry retort that would only prove his point .

Fuck. He did have a point. I was snapping at the littlest thing.

"Fine. I'll take the damn night off."

"Thank you." He sounded relieved. I realised with a jolt that he expected this would come to blows. Serious blows. "I will see you tomorrow at midnight, Dono."

"Unless you want to spar," I offered slyly.

He shook his head. "I must decline. I like my head where it is." Then he winked at me. "Go fuck a dozen pretty donors until you don't want to snap my neck any more."

I waved him out. "Yes, yes, Goro. Get your scrawny Nippon ass out of my sight."

Alone, I looked through my in-tray, answered a few emails and cleared my desk, bored out of my mind. Even stretching it out, it only wasted half an hour. I wasn't in the mood for donors, pretty or not. Perhaps a flight.

I went up to the roof. It was drizzling. I leaned against the rail around the terrace, staring at the damp, grey sky and sighed heavily. No stars.

There was nowhere I wanted to go. Flying around aimlessly was not appealing. I stayed outside a while, dragging my feet.

Eventually I went down to my hidden chambers and flicked on the lamp I'd brought down from the office weeks ago. Not that I needed it, coming down here just before dawn, staying just long enough to shower and dress each sunset. I looked at the mess that I finally had time to clear up, and kicked sullenly at a few bits of debris. I hated cleaning.

I'd moved my bed of blankets into the sitting room when blood in the mini-fridge began to stink out the bedroom. I could start with getting rid of that. It wouldn't take long.

I didn't move.

Clearing the mess wouldn't fill all the hours until dawn. Empty hours with nothing to focus on except myself, nothing to stop me slipping into downtime.

I realised I was afraid of what would happen if I did.

Fuck that. Time to conquer that fear.

Entering downtime, much like sleep, required a state of relaxation. Leaning against the wall, I swept my hair back off my face. I closed my eyes to the wreckage and focused. Slowly, carefully, I relaxed my mind, expecting a deluge of unlocked emotions.

My eyes flicked open.

Nothing had changed. I wasn't overwhelmed with pent-up anger, finally uncorked. Instead I felt… numb.

And tired. Tired down to my bones, every one of my nights pressing on me. I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. After a time I lay on my side in the nest of blankets, waiting patiently for downtime.

It didn't come.

Unless the intense lethargy that overtook me was some new version sent to torment me. Hard to say if it was any better than the terrible visions. I rolled over onto my back, throwing my arm over my eyes. I was exhausted. Dawn took me, and sunset washed me back up to the same bone-gnawing fatigue.

I didn't get up.

What was the point? Another joyless night, just one in the long line stretching out before me.

My cell rang, insistent and irritating. I had taken it out of my back pocket sometime last night and tossed it on the floor a foot away. I ignored it.

The third time it rang I crushed it with a slap and rolled over to face the wall, pulling the covers around me. Goro wanted me to relax. He could deal with whatever fucking ridiculous emergency it was this time.

The pulse of anger faded quickly and I couldn't summon it again. Even when I thought of what had provoked the whirlwind of destruction down here, thought ofher, with the tiger, deliberately poked that wound. Dull resentment was as worked up as I could get.

Those thoughts brought an unpleasant ache though, so I stopped thinking them, sighed heavily and waited for downtime, a vision. Something, anything.

Pam's call in my blood broke the monotony.

It was muffled, like a shout in thick sea fog. Vague and hard to locate.

Fog. Peaceful, quiet fog. I imagined a soft damp grey wall blanketing me, the tang of salt, the dull echo of waves slapping softly against a hull, the gentle splash of oars…

Pam's call tugged at me again, shattering the soothing fantasy.

I didn't open our connection. I didn't want to feel her. I wanted to be alone, even in my blood. A quiet sadness rose in my chest. Karin. There was a call I would never feel again.

Another loss, another ache.

Time passed.

I didn't keep track.

I rolled onto my back again, staring at the ceiling. My mind drifted aimlessly, until I heard movement and a sharp intake of breath from the corridor.

Last night I anticipated going to and fro, taking out the trash. The door was still unlocked. Not even pushed all the way shut I realised dully, as my blood told me who had arrived.

I didn't have time to groan.

Pam blurred into the room, fangs down and hands clawed, ready for a fight.

...

Footnotes:

The actual Japanese proverb is 'Mitsugo no tamashii hyaku made' meaning literally 'the soul of a three year old until a hundred.' It means our personalities persist, no matter our age. Goro substituted sen, a thousand, and used the saying rather bravely to tell Eric he was behaving like a three year old.

Author's Note:

First, the good. Thank you for the reviews as always. Well done to everyone who spotted the donor was a plant last week.

Second, the not so nice.

Okay. Here's the thing. I have a bunch of reviews worried about poor Eric because he hasn't had meaningless sex for a few months. And another bunch of reviews calling Sookie all the names under the sun for falling into bed with an old flame, for whom she still has feelings, and then beginning a committed relationship with him.

Do you see the difference there?

Now, I'm sure if it was Eric's bed she'd fallen into, there would be no name-calling.

But.

Stepping outside of the story and the fandom for a moment, I want to address a real world issue. I feel obliged to do so because this is an open site and teenagers read it.

It is not okay to call women (or anyone) sluts just because they have sex, want sex, or are assertive about it. It is not okay to have different standards for men and women.

I would love if those attitudes were long gone, but the world ain't perfect. Yet.

Let's tone down the invective please. I don't want to delete reviews, but I will if they continue to be blatantly offensive.

On a more positive note, I've added more stories to my favourites. They're all great. If you want something sweeter, or thinking the fandom is dying, go look. There's plenty out there.