Thanks, as always, for the reviews, and the supportive comments. Much appreciated. Some housekeeping:

My attitude to reviews is on my profile. Note the word polite. I view my role as keeping things civilised.

Last week, rather than delete I commented, as I did when I wrote domestic violence into Turbulence, because an issue was important to me. I mentioned things from many reviews to avoid singling anyone out. Not to slam reviewers who are unhappy with the character for other reasons. Apologies if it came across that way.

I'm a relative newbie and unaware of previous upsets in the fandom.

I'm not about to delete reviews wily-nily, or stop writing, so no need to panic.

To be clear:

1. Criticism is welcome. Offensive language/attitudes are not. If that's all a review contains it's a wasted review.

2. Reviews rarely offend me, but I have deleted ones that were offensive / didn't address the story. Only 2 or 3 I think. None on Crash and Burn, and I want it to stay that way.

3. Believe it or not, I have taken on board some of the comments about Sookie in writing later chapters. Whether that will be enough to satisfy those who made them is another matter. Being more specific than 'she's an x, y, z' is more helpful in that regard.

4. I learn a lot from talking to readers. Guests often raise good points and occasionally I respond in A/Ns. It feels rude not to, when I reply to everybody else. If you don't want that, perhaps add 'pdr' (please don't reply) or something to your review & I will respect that.

5. Last week's A/N was a reminder for everybody to be polite. I hope guests keep reviewing. Your opinions are welcome just like anyone else's.

Note: Writers can't turn off guest reviews, but they can hold them for moderation (I don't).

Phew. Now onto the good stuff.


Shock Therapy


Pam straightened up. "Fuck a zombie. What the bloody hell happened in here?"

"Pam. Leave." It was difficult to sound authoritative from the floor, but I tried.

"What?"

"Leave," I repeated tiredly, with little expectation that she would.

"Eric, what the fuck is going on? You missed a meeting. You weren't answering your phone or my call… Why the hell are you on the floor?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "Did you rest there?"

Ignoring her, I gathered what strength I had and put it all into a command: "Get. Out."

She hissed, struggling futilely for a moment before stepping stiffly backwards. I rolled over, turning my back to her. Once she was out in the corridor she stopped.

I cursed quietly. Of course. Why obey and leave me in peace when she could take advantage of the obvious loophole. She had, literally, got out of the room. She was pacing the corridor, obviously on her phone, cajoling someone quietly. Then she moved rapidly away.

Thank fuck.

But Pam was never a quitter. Ten minutes later I sensed her returning. Then I heard not one but two voices in the corridor.

"… is very wrong. Get in there." Pam, tense.

"Alright. But if this is one of your stupid pranks, I'll fry your ass." Rory. Fucking wonderful.

I pushed myself up to sit against the wall, arms hanging loosely over my knees and hair curtaining my face. The door opened.

"Why are you here?" I asked coldly as Rory came in cautiously.

"Because you can't command me to leave."

I scowled at the floor. Boots and jeans came into view. She whistled, low and long, as she turned around.

"This place is a mess. What happened?"

I didn't respond. She knelt down, but I kept my eyes stubbornly on the floor. Why couldn't they just leave me be? A wave of lethargy swept over me.

"Eric, what happened?" she repeated, more urgently.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Bullshit. Nothing doesn't scare your child out of the few wits she has."

Pam's voice floated in, brittle with false cheer. "He didn't command me to go deaf, fairy."

Irritated at them both, I roused enough will to say firmly, "Just go. Both of you."

"Tell me what happened," Rory demanded.

I gritted out, "No. Leave."

The devious fairy changed tactics, softening her voice. "What is it, Eric? You feel so…"

She reached out to touch me. I knocked her hand away and snapped, "Leave me the fuck alone."

Hissing in shock she stood up. Her voice hard, she said, "No. I'm staying until you answer me. And for pity's sake let Pam in before she paces a hole in the floor."

I raised my head, fangs bared, and growled menacingly.

She snarled right back, undaunted. "Growl all you want, asshole." The air crackled and smelt sharply of ozone. Her eyes darkened, a flame sprang up on her open palm, and she gestured at the remains of the couch with it. "Let Pam in or I set fire to the matchwood."

I growled again, but my heart wasn't in it. We glowered at each other until I conceded defeat, my shoulders slumping. Staying angry was too much fucking effort.

"Come, Pam."

As soon as I uttered her name, Pam was next to Rory, staring down at me. Our connection was closed, but I didn't need it. Worry was etched into her face.

She gestured at the mess. "You did this."

It wasn't a question. I didn't bother to reply.

She folded her arms. "The night before Halloween."

My jaw clenched hard and Rory asked incredulously, "You've been living like this for a month?"

"I've been busy," I hissed, my tone conveying it wasn't any of her fucking business.

Pam and Rory shared a long look that spoke of united purpose. It made me want to crawl into a hole. Rory held up her hands in a gesture of truce. Or a poorly veiled attempt to humour me, which, under normal circumstances, would have me itching to rip off her head.

But I wasn't on the same planet as normal.

"Okay," Rory said. "We get it. You have an enormous… Y chromosome and you're not going to tell us what sparked this orgy of destruction."

Good.

I wasn't sharing the incident with the donor. With anyone. Ever.

Rory knelt down and went on gently, "But you can't stay like this."

I hissed at her, but she wasn't budging. She was going to sit there, patiently waiting me out, all damn night.

Women. Stubborn women. Why the fuck did I surround myself with them? Arguing with them was exhausting. I slumped down against the wall, dropping my head into my hands.

After a long pause, I whispered, "I need rest."

"Yes. I can feel how exhausted you are. But that's not all. Your aura is off. Washed out."

Pam knelt down too. "Eric, when did you last feed?"

"Last…" I blinked. Fuck, I didn't know. I swallowed and hazarded a guess. "Some bagged… Maybe fortnight ago."

Her mouth tightened. "It must be longer. You look like shit."

Fantastic. Always blunt, my Pamela. Probably right. I certainly felt like shit.

She bit into her wrist and held it out. "Take what is yours."

I watched the dark blood welling up, but I didn't move.

"Please."

Pam hated to beg. Knowing it cost her to do so in front of Rory, I took her hand, reluctantly closed my mouth over the wound, and swallowed a mouthful before I let go.

She scowled and shoved her oozing wrist back in my face.

I pushed it away. "I am not hungry."

She began to argue, but Rory interrupted. "He really isn't, Pam."

"I wouldn't know, because I can't feel him." Pam locked eyes with me over her wrist as she licked it clean, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Rory looked between us. Sighing softly, I opened our connection.

Pam's eyes widened. She hissed, "What magic is this? You feel a thousand miles away."

"It's not magic," Rory said, with an ominous frown. "Did the blood help?"

"A little." The numbing fatigue had receded an iota, and my mind was slightly less fogged.

"Hm." Her eyes flitted over me, critical, assessing, professional. "This loss of appetite, is it recent?"

"No," I said uneasily. "A few months."

Pam put in helpfully, "Goro said he's been more short-tempered than usual this last month."

"Hard to say if that's significant," Rory said thoughtfully. "What about other appetites? Lust?"

I shrugged. They looked at each other again. Fuck, I wished they wouldn't do that. It set my fangs on edge.

"This fatigue, was it gradual or abrupt?"

"Abrupt. Last night."

Rory sat back on her heels and mused to herself. "This goes deeper than lack of blood. If you weren't vampire, I'd ask how you've been sleeping."

I twitched – a tiny movement – but, like a pair of hunting falcons scouting for prey, neither of them missed it. Two pairs of eyes drilled into mine. I dropped my head back against the wall with a quiet thud and groaned. I could feel them waiting.

After another silence I admitted grudgingly, "Downtime became unpleasant, after…" I gestured at the mess.

"Unpleasant how?"

"Disordered."

"Is it worsening?"

"I have avoided it since."

Rory was surprised. "You can do that? Are there consequences to skipping it?"

"None that I'm aware of," Pam answered. "We don't have to indulge in it if events are pressing."

"I waited for it last night," I said quietly. "But it never came, only … this." I had no words for the state I was in.

Rory bit her lip pensively for a few moments, then nodded decisively.

"You know what this is?" Pam asked her hopefully.

"Probably. I can't be sure without more information." Throwing me a look that cast the blame for that squarely on me, she got up and dusted her jeans off. "It's not as if vampire psychology is well-studied."

Pam and I stiffened. The ennui, the boredom that ate away at the sanity of ancient vampires, drove them to seek the sun. A condition we all dreaded.

"Don't look so worried. It's not a death sentence." Rory had no idea how good that was to hear, even if her confidence sounded shaky.

"You can fix this?" Pam blurted out.

"I've treated demons with something comparable. Lock the door, would you?"

Pam did as she was asked, too relieved to query her. Rory held her hand out to me. "Come on. Up you get."

Clinging to my tattered pride, I refused her help and levered myself off the floor. Once I was on my feet, she took my hand and tugged me towards the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "You too, Pam."

Confused, I stopped, jerking Rory to a halt.

"Are we fucking?" I asked dully. The idea didn't fill me with enthusiasm. Or much of anything.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Trust you. No, we're not. No offence Pam, but I'm done experimenting. And I doubt Sebastian would appreciate me messing around with you."

"The demon found his balls," I murmured, strangely envious.

Rory arched an eyebrow. "With a little push, I hear. A peace offering, huh?"

She understood me far too well. Pam shot me a curious look as we followed her into the dark bedroom. Rory halted two steps over the threshold. "Sulphur and brimstone! What died in here?"

The shadows did nothing to hide the smell of month-old blood. Pam flicked the light on and they looked grimly at the upturned bed and broken furniture.

I leaned against the wall by the doorway. "The fridge … ah … met with an unfortunate accident."

Muttering 'Why do I get the untidy ones?' under her breath, Rory marched over and opened the unlucky appliance, covering her nose when the stench hit her. She took a breath through her mouth and chanted a few phrases in fae, making a series of sharp, irritated hand gestures. With a quiet pop the clean scent of lavender filled the room.

Pam risked peering inside. "Spotless. Impressive," she said. "Sebastian is a lucky man."

I heard the dig at me loud and clear.

Rory grimaced, eyeing the overturned bed-frame and the wrecked mattress sagging in the corner. "Sebastian is refreshingly neat. Mercifully. I did enough cleaning up after Cadogan." She made a swift sweeping motion with her hand. The debris from the door and the night-stands shot across the floor, clattering into a tidy heap in the corner.

"Who's Cadogan?" Pam asked as she helped Rory right the bed-frame. "Iron doesn't affect you?"

"Demon metabolism. Great for expelling toxins. Touching it is fine, but don't stab me with it. Cadogan is Connal's father." Rory nudged the frame and it wobbled. "Can you twist this flat?"

I might as well have been the wall I was leaning against for all the attention they were paying me. It was a relief, not fending off questions or seeing concern in their eyes. And oddly comforting, watching them work together so seamlessly.

"Of course, Tinkerbell." The metal complained as Pam warped it back into shape as if it were wire. "Who's Connal?"

Rory turned her attention to the mattress. "My son. He was at Sanctum, back in July. Dark hair, brown eyes."

"Oh. The one glaring daggers at you. I assumed he was an ex."

"Ew! No, that's Connal. Two hundred, acts barely twenty." Concentrating hard, Rory wove another spell. Springs reshaped with a series of twangs and holes in the mattress sealed themselves.

Pam said drily, "If he was mine, I'd have drowned the whelp."

Rory laughed, light and warming. "Oh, he lost an eyebrow or two over that little performance. But they grew back."

"Remind me not to piss you off," Pam drawled as she hefted the mattress, dropping it gently onto the frame. She turned to me. "Sheets?"

"Closet. Top shelf."

As Pam blurred around the bed I rubbed my face. I was wearing last night's clothes and when I ran my fingers through my hair, they snagged on matted tangles. I considered showering, vaguely embarrassed, but frankly I didn't have the energy. At least I'd taken my boots off.

Rory shifted the broken closet door to root inside. She tossed me a thin pair of sweats and I changed silently, discarding my clothes on the floor. Glancing up from tying the drawstring, I saw them exchange another of those looks.

"What?" I asked testily.

Pam grimaced. "You're slower."

Weak. Sluggish. Pathetic. And I felt it. Staring miserably at the floor, I felt the weight of Pam's fear.

Rory coughed.

Lifting my head, I watched blankly as she clicked her fingers. Her jeans and blouse and boots vanished, replaced by green and white striped flannel pyjamas. Green rods appeared in her hair, creating a gorgon's nest of snakes, and her face was slathered with a thick layer of grey mud.

Pam cackled gleefully. "Oh, that's wonderful, Tink. Is this how fairies get their beauty – swamp mud and curlers?"

Rory clicked her fingers again and Pam was drowning in hot pink silk pyjamas several inches too long for her. From the neck up, she matched Rory: curlers snaking in her hair and a mud mask. She blurred into the bathroom, cursing like a sailor.

I smirked after her.

"There's that smile," Rory said softly, coming over. Her face was already mud-free, her hair in a loose braid. Sneaky fairy. She touched my lips. "But it's not real."

Like the pantomime I'd just witnessed. Pam wasn't horrified, despite her loud threats to dismember Rory in the most gruesome ways possible. It was touching, how flawlessly they ad libbed that scene, but it was wasted. I was beyond amusing.

Rory had me sit on the bed. Pam came out of the bathroom clean-faced, combing out her hair. Wordlessly, she sat behind me and worked the tangles out of mine. I winced as she tugged at the knots, remembering her grooming me when I was injured. Before that the last woman to comb my hair was … Sookie. I pushed the bitter-sweet stab of pain away.

Rory sat down beside me, running her hand up and down my arm. Her touch was warm, shockingly so. Was I colder than usual? I leaned into it; the heat seeping into me.

"What are you doing?" Pam asked her.

"Soothing. In the manner of the fae."

"What does it feel like?"

I opened my eyes when Rory stopped. She reached over to stroke the back of Pam's hand. Puzzled, she asked, "Do you feel anything?"

"No." Pam looked at her hand suspiciously. "But it works on Eric?"

"Yes," Rory said pensively, stroking my arm again. I sighed gratefully.

Pam suggested, "Because he thanked you?"

"No." Rory pushed the front of my shoulder. I took the hint, moved up the bed and laid down. Rory knelt next to me, looking at Pam. "I need your assistance. How do vampires comfort each other?"

"Blood and…" Pam glanced at down at my obvious lack of arousal. "Through our connection."

"Do that then. Now."

Pam nodded, filled with determination. Rory lay down and nudged me until I rolled away from her, onto my side. Pam lay down facing me. Rory's hands settled on my bare back, and Pam settled into my blood, sending comfort, tentatively, with an undercurrent of worry. I sent reassurance in return, but it was faint and weak.

Like me. I felt like I'd been drained. My eyes drifted shut.

"More," Rory encouraged. "He needs more."

Pam pressed against me and sent a fierce blast of affection. I soaked it up like a sponge, wrapping my arms around her. She sent more, tinged with admiration, respect. Rory made long rhythmic strokes from my shoulders to my waist, warming my back with tingling magic.

After a while, my shoulders relaxed. The fatigue began to ease. I opened my eyes when Pam whispered in Norse.

"Dawn is coming. Drink, maker."

She bared her neck. I bit gently, savouring the taste as her cool blood welled up onto my tongue. Apples, sweet and sharp. That was how Pam always tasted to me. Sweet and sharp. I forced myself to draw deeply three times before the wound closed. Pam shivered against my chest.

"Good. Your aura is stronger," Rory said softly. "The next part will be difficult. Pam, don't stop."

Rory's hands stilled over my shoulder blades. I felt a… tug, pulling gently on something deep inside me. Something my instincts were telling me not to let go. I shifted, but Rory kept her hands pressed firmly against me.

"That feels… wrong."

"Suck it up," she said, her voice tight. "It's the only way."

Pam bolstered me with her strength. Using it to fight the urge to pull away from Rory, I tightened my arms around Pam, burying my face in her neck as the tugging increased.

Flickers of rage and frustration lit up inside me. Shit. If I snapped I could hurt… I fought for control, shepherding the rogue emotions behind the mental wall I had constructed, but it was like carrying sand in a sieve. The wall was softening, leaking.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, as a burst of sheer fury hit me.

"You need this," Rory said hoarsely.

I struggled to tamp down the anger, rebuild the wall. Rory's breath came in pants. The tugging intensified.

"Eric," she gasped. "Stop fighting me."

I hesitated.

"Trust me."

Gritting my teeth, I stopped resisting.

The wall crumbled.

A tide of anger and hostility washed over me. I clung to Pam as it ebbed and darkened to loneliness and despair. Pam snarled, feeling the turmoil washing through me second-hand. Her grip tightened and she sent more strength, but it was tainted with her fear and it was a drop compared to the ocean closing over me.

My throat tightened. My chest ached. My eyes stung.

Fuck no. I would not break down. I would not. I clenched my fists behind Pam's back, clenched my jaw, bit my tongue hard, fighting down the raw pain swamping me.

I shook with the effort. Dawn was close. Only a few more minutes.

Pam's presence in my blood faded out, the sun pulling her away. Without her, I was holding on by the thinnest of threads. A wave of black despondency almost took me.

"Stop," I hissed urgently to Rory, not caring that my voice shook, cracked. "Stop."

"Let go," Rory pleaded. She brushed a kiss to my neck even as her hands pressed relentlessly against my back.

Despair crashed over me. Choking on it, I pushed Pam's dead weight away and rolled onto my front. Overwhelmed, drowning, I pressed my face to the pillow, muffling the sounds I didn't want to hear, that I didn't want anyone to hear.

Long minutes later dawn took me and I sank gratefully into death.

I rose flat on my back.

My eyes snapped open at the unexpected change in position. Instantly several things crowded my awareness: I was on my bed, in my room. The bed was warm. My face was damp. I smelt lavender, soap, coffee. The exhaustion, the terrible lethargy was gone. I was lighter in my skin. A little peckish even, for the first time in weeks.

Coffee?

I lifted my head. Pam was next to me, unmoved. Someone was in the bathroom, splashing water. Rory. I expected her to be gone.

Fuck. Pam would wake soon. Dawn. The pillow. I sat up, searching. Where was it?

The bathroom door opened and I froze.

Rory came out, humming softly to herself and carrying a towel. "Hey," she said when she saw I was up. I found, disconcertingly, that I couldn't quite meet her eyes. She came around the bed, sat beside me, and gently patted my face dry.

She had washed me. While I was dead.

My eyes flickered shut, hiding my shame. Then I remembered she could sense it and automatically started to lock it away.

"Don't," she said sharply.

My eyes opened into a fierce, demanding stare. A stare with no trace of pity.

"Don't suppress your feelings," she explained. "It will trigger a relapse."

I was dismayed. I had never experienced anything like the fugue state I'd been trapped in, and I didn't want to ever again. But feelings were what caused it in the first place, and, perhaps obstinately, I didn't want to give up my go-to coping mechanism.

"I mean it, Eric," she said firmly. "And no more avoiding downtime."

"I have to stay in control, Sorcha," I protested, gesturing angrily at the mess in the corner. "Next time it might not be furniture. Losing my temper is not an option."

"Neither is slipping back into ketraka."

"Ketraka?"

"A demon term. Melancholia."

I stiffened. "You think I am… depressed?" I didn't know whether to scoff at the ridiculous idea or feel insulted.

She counted off on her fingers. "No appetite, low libido, disturbed sleep – well, downtime – lethargy, irritability. The cap fits."

I leaned back against the headboard and folded my arms. "Downtime is not sleep."

"Dreams are a way to process events. Surely downtime performs a similar function."

Given the nightmare quality mine had assumed she might be correct, but I wasn't admitting it. Yet. I ran my hand through my hair. "What did you do to me last night? It was extremely unpleasant."

"It was no picnic for me either. Absorbing whatever was strangling your aura, blocking your psyche."

Fuck. The wall containing my fucking unruly feelings. Since the donor incident, I had sequestered every unwanted emotion in that deep secret place where I'd hidden things from my maker, relying heavily on a technique I'd used for centuries.

Too heavily.

Now I was lucid, I could see that. I scowled down at the bed. The numbness, the emotional fog – it was my own fucking fault.

But I'd done it under Ocella's thumb for far longer and never had a problem. Why now?

As if she understood Rory said, "You've had a tough decade."

"I've had tougher centuries." I pointed out drily.

"You had more to lose this time," she countered. "A measure of freedom and satisfaction. After the Revelation, you bounced from crisis to crisis. Curses, bombings, takeovers. Oklahoma. Losing a maker, a child. A lot of shit hit the fan in a short time."

I couldn't refute that. And I took Louisiana on the tail of that shit storm, when all I wanted to do was get away, regroup. I should have heeded that instinct.

"So, what precipitated this?" Rory gestured at the empty doorway, towards the mess in the other room.

My arms tightened reflexively against my chest, warding the blow.

Rory grimaced. "Or should that be who?"

I hated she could read me so well.

Sookie.

Her name stirred things in my chest I wanted to yank out. I clenched my fists, resisting the temptation to lock it all down as usual, but I craved the clarity that brought me. Cold logic was so much easier than this.

Rory moved to sit beside me, her back against the wall. "I've been waiting for that shoe to drop."

Losing Sookie was painful, but… I admitted quietly, "It is more than that."

She waited patiently for me to continue. I rubbed my face, feeling the walls close in, the weight of the house above me, the burden I'd taken on. Picking some imaginary lint off the sheet between us, I said gruffly, "I am trapped. Like Oklahoma. Worse; it is my own doing. I should not have become king."

She looked at me in surprise. "You hate it that much?"

"Enough." I shrugged, raising my knees and resting my arms on them.

"Why do it then? For Sookie?"

I glanced at Pam, still dead to the world. "No. Not entirely. Louisiana needed a change of leader." I added morosely, "Bartlett should have picked someone else."

He would have if he knew Sookie was still my Achilles' heel. And I'd kept her relationship to Niall from him. He must have worked that out. I wondered how pissed he was.

"You're a good leader, Eric. Your people respect you."

"I would not have chosen to take the throne now." If ever.

"Why?"

"The curse of living in interesting times. The fundamentalists, the BSA, human politics… All too volatile. A melting pot. And the uncertainty has powerful vampires like de Castro snatching at power wherever they can."

Rory didn't let me hide behind politics. She prompted, "You feel trapped. How?"

"Apart from the target on my back?" I grimaced. "My actions are not my own."

"Sure. You have to act for Louisiana. What else?"

"I have guards, an entourage, a court I don't want. Millstones around my neck. The paperwork alone bores me to tears."

"Ugh. I hear you there. Try health insurance forms. And?"

"I loathe playing nice for the humans almost as much as I loathe dealing with the short-sighted posturing and stupidity of my own kind."

"Uh-huh," she said encouragingly.

I warmed to my topic. "I hate living in a glass bowl. The gossip. Distrusting everyone around me. Being watched, overseen. That conniving bitch from the BSA threatened a donor into accusing me of abuse. Me. In my own home. It was sheer luck that he stood up to her. Otherwise that would have been another fucking disaster." I added bitterly, "Like Tennessee."

All the bullshit I waded through nightly and I had no fucking influence over that situation. I hated being helpless more than anything.

Still lying on the pillows besides me, Pam asked, "You fed from a male?"

Rory peered around me. "That's what you took from all that? How long have you been awake?"

Pam sat up, smoothing her hair down. "Long enough to hear that you distrust everyone around you, Maker mine."

"Obviously he didn't mean us."

Pam cocked an eyebrow at Rory. "Us? That's presumptuous of you."

Rory raised both her eyebrows. "Says the vampire who died for the day in front of me." She looked at me. "But I haven't exactly been around, have I? I knew something was wrong, but I let my anger get the better of me. I'm sorry I stayed away." She nudged me with her shoulder. "See? I can apologise. Out loud."

I nudged her back. "It must be easy when you have to do it so often."

Rory groaned. "You're such a stubborn arse."

Pam was watching us with a strange expression. "I thought you were just working too hard. I had no idea you were… unhappy. Why didn't you confide in me?" She searched my face. "Do you still trust me Eric?"

I felt her uncertainty, her doubt.

"I do," I said firmly, reaching over to take her hand. "We're king and sheriff now. I was allowing you space to make Area 5 your own."

But mostly I hadn't told her how miserable I was because she was so enthusiastic about me ruling and I didn't want to disappoint her. Pam was more ambitious for me than I was. She could feel I was holding something back, and guessed, wrongly, what it was.

"I've been a bitch for months. But I would never let a squabble over… a breather come between us. Not if you needed me. You know that."

Did I? She had been so angry about Sookie leaving, and it wasn't my fault, not entirely. I hadn't enjoyed being at odds with her. Or Rory. The timing had sucked. I had needed them. Both of them.

"You're here now," I said. "That's all that matters."

We sat in companionable silence for a while, until Pam said flatly, "I don't like feeling you like this."

"Me either," Rory agreed. "When was the last time you had some fun, Eric?"

"I am beginning to think kings don't have fun."

"You could take some time off," Pam suggested.

"Out of the question. The first year is always the riskiest, you know that. Every vampire in the state is relying on me to keep a cool head."

"You were no use to them last night," Pam pointed out bluntly.

"My time is not my own. There are things I have to do."

"So?" Rory cut in. "You're the king. And don't you have a reputation as a maverick?"

"I do," I said slowly.

"So break the rules. Take time off. Healer's orders." She added sternly, "And no bottling things up."

"Feed once a week too," Pam added.

"Spare me from nagging women," I grumbled, rolling my eyes but secretly enjoying their fussing. It was much better than being in the doghouse.

"The next few nights are critical," Rory said.

"I can stay most of tonight," Pam offered.

"And I'll make time tomorrow. When are you next in Shreveport, Eric?"

"Friday." Four night's time.

"Good. Come see both of us," Rory advised. "Until then, give your emotions free rein, as much as possible. Call if there's any hint of a relapse."

"Agreed," I said, sighing.

"Now that's sorted out," Pam said briskly, "it's time to clean this place up." She glanced down at her pyjamas. "Tinkerbell, I need my clothes. And my phone."

"In the other room."

"I'll be back with supplies." She wrinkled her nose at me. "And shower while I'm gone. You reek."

She dodged the pillow I threw at her and blurred out of the room.

"That was abrupt," Rory said, frowning after her.

"Pam doesn't dwell."

"She's hiding how upset she is by being practical," she said disapprovingly. "Like someone else I know."

"It's a gift," I said, getting up to retrieve the pillow.

Rory nodded at it when I tossed it back on the bed. "The other one is soaking in the sink." She wiggled her fingers. "Bit low on cleaning mojo."

"Ah." An unwelcome reminder of my… breakdown. I sat on the end of the bed, my back to her, embarrassed.

"You hung on till dawn. You didn't want Pam to see."

"Or you."

"We can pretend I didn't."

"I… didn't expect you to stay the day." I glanced back at her.

She pulled a face. "Neither did I. I was so depleted I didn't wake up much before you. I almost slipped a disc rolling you over."

I was too uncomfortable to find that amusing. "Do you need to be somewhere else, Sorcha? Eat? I have a cook, upstairs."

She shook her head. "Day off. I had just enough magic left to summon breakfast."

"I smelt the coffee."

She chuckled. "There might be crumbs in the bed too. I was ravenous. Didn't think that coffee through – thank goodness you have a functional toilet down here. Paper too, I'm impressed."

I blinked at her, got up and walked into the bathroom to stare at the toilet like I'd never seen one. A roll of paper hung beside it. Rory must've put it there. I opened the cupboard under the sink in a daze.

Toilet paper. Two packs.

I picked one up and stared at it in disbelief until I sensed Rory watching from the doorway. Without looking at her I put it carefully away, like a grenade that might explode any second.

I said quietly, "I'll take that shower."

Rory retreated, pulling the door shut with a soft click and leaving me to my scrambled thoughts.

Under the spray all I thought was: A year.

A fucking year. I'd been deluding myself for almost a whole year.

I still loved her. I knew that. Even after months ignoring it, denying it, trying to shake it. I knew it was still there. What truly froze my blood was while I was consciously doing everything I could to forget her, I had designed my hidden quarters with indoor plumbing and stocked the fucking bathroom for a human.

No. Not just any human. No more delusions.

For Sookie.

I hadn't even fucking noticed. Oh, I'd hidden my innermost desires from my maker before. But not from myself. Never from myself. If that didn't qualify as madness…

I laughed hollowly. After last night's psychotic break, I was questioning my sanity over fucking toilet paper. I sagged against the tiles as the significance hit me: I never gave up hope.

That embrace after I'd been healed. The way she was all over me when she was drugged. That was all it took to keep a spark alive in some secret place. Never mind that I hadn't seen her for months, that our last conversation was one of the most painful I'd ever had. Including ones with my psychopathic maker.

Never mind that she'd run from me, my territory, to be with another.

Was I ever going to stop clutching at straws when it came to Sookie? That had turned out so well last time, kidding myself she actually–

Angry and frustrated, I snatched up the shampoo. I was fucking crazy. Crazy to repeat the same mistake. Crazy to hope after centuries of witnessing humanity's fickle nature.

I came out of the bathroom in a towel. Rory was sitting on the bed in jeans and a blouse, looking at her phone. Subdued, I pulled on a pair of sweats and an old Fangtasia t-shirt.

"Pam's rounding up some furniture," she announced, slipping the phone into her pocket and eyeing me. "That shoe dropped pretty hard, huh?"

"Apparently." I sat on the bed, my back to her again, and looked my hands.

"Wanna talk?"

"No."

After a minute of silence she said, "The fae have a saying. Love, like a crying baby, won't be silenced until it gets what it wants."

"Is there any chance you might be silent?"

"Demons have one, too. Love is a vine that roots in the smallest crack, and can split the hardest heart. They have choker vines there that can break granite, you know."

I flopped backwards onto the bed with a groan, throwing my arm over my face. "Not. Helping."

I could still hear her.

"Not in the mood for ancient wisdom? The plain truth, then. The love you have for her is too big, too wild to stay wherever the hell it is you've shoved everything for the last ten centuries. You hit capacity, blew a fuse."

I muttered, "How long until I can–"

"Be cold and logical again?"

"Have some privacy around you, I was going to say."

She chuckled. Hard-hearted fairy. "Soon, I think. You're more yourself already."

"Yes, I feel so much better," I said.

"You do. I've felt more animated rocks than you last night. Honestly, you scared the shit out of me. I haven't felt anything like that since–"

I heard her swallow and lifted my arm to look at her. She was upset. I sat up with a sigh.

"You said demons. Your father?"

She nodded. "After my mother was killed. I almost lost him. The worst case I've ever seen. Took everything I had to snap him out of it. Last night was eerily familiar." She tried to smile. "He didn't die for the day though, so no back injuries."

I regarded her steadily for a moment, then deliberately sent her a pulse of gratitude.

"You're welcome," she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and the ring she was wearing caught the light. It was old, a warm green stone that matched her eyes.

"Sebastian?" I asked, catching her hand and hoping to turn the conversation to more pleasant things.

"Yes." She admired it. "Lovely, isn't it? Very valuable. Rare."

Demons didn't give away that kind of thing on a whim. "Does giving a ring have some meaning amongst demons?"

"Oh, not especially," she said, shrugging. "It's not like we opened negotiations. Yet."

Marriage negotiations. And she sounded… hopeful.

"It's serious, then?" I asked. I shouldhave asked him what his intentions were. If he was toying with her, I'd rip his head off.

She smiled to herself. "Fairly."

I was surprised. They'd only known each other a few months, as far as I knew. "Do you love him?" I said evenly.

"You think it's too soon."

"Perhaps."

"Not for me. I know, I know. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Giving it away too quickly has always been my problem. But I knew of him in the demon realm. From my half-brother."

"Is he… well-liked?"

"Yes. Don't worry." She patted my hand reassuringly. "Sebastian is a good man. He reminds me of Nestor, only there's more," she wiggled her eyebrows, "heat between us, if you catch my drift."

"You married Nestor." Without the heat.

"I'm something of a serial monogamist." She shrugged. "If Sebastian becomes my fourth husband, we will be happy for a good few decades I think."

"You will be. Or the world will be short a demon lawyer."

She grinned. "That's very gallant of you, but I don't need protecting. Not any more." She looked at me closely. "Something else?"

She hadn't been shy about prying into my relationships. "You were with Connal's father for much longer."

"Yes. Cad was my grand passion. I won't have that again." Her eyes were dark with memories. "But I've grieved long enough."

I blinked. Fifty years was a long time to mourn.

"I'm healed. My heart is a butterfly again, flitting between blossoms, easy and light." She sighed. "Truthfully, I'm a little jealous. You, my friend, love much more deeply. As my father did." She laid hand on my chest. "You don't give this away lightly, but when you do your love is passionate and lasting."

I looked down at her hand, my hair hiding my face. I loved a woman who didn't want me. I didn't want it to last. I swallowed. "Memnon. How long did he…?"

"Grieve my mother?"

I nodded, looking up warily.

"Truly?" She bit her lip, then admitted softly, "The rest of his life."

Four centuries. Fuck. I shouldn't ask things I didn't want to know. Like what my face showed then that made her pull me into a tight embrace. I buried my face in her hair, clenching my jaw against a pathetic swell of self-pity. Once I was calm, I pulled back, ready to thank her and damn the consequences.

She stopped me with a finger over my lips. "There's no need. You are kin."

What? Completely confused I asked, "Kin?"

"I worked it out. Our connection." Her eyes crinkled. "It's kinship. We are family."

"I…" Was that what it was? "We are?"

"I believe so."

"How? We have no blood in common."

"No. We chose each other instead. Maybe that is better. Blood kin hasn't always worked out so well for me."

"How?" I repeated. I'd never heard of such a thing. Although I supposed turning a child was a somewhat similar concept.

She shrugged. "No idea. Stranger things have happened."

Yes, they had. What she was suggesting wasn't the most improbable thing I'd come across. After chewing it over I asked, "What makes you think this?"

"I can soothe you. Fae magic is living; you are dead. It shouldn't work, but I'm more than fae. I thought the demon in me spoke to your blood. Yet it didn't work on Pam."

Pam, my blood. "Can fae only soothe their kin?"

"No, but the closer the blood, the easier it is. With you, it's like it was with my mother. As if we are brother and sister."

I grimaced and reminded her, "We fucked."

"Well, I am part-fae. We're a sensual race." She smirked at my unease. "What? Aren't vampire siblings intimate?"

"Ocella never gave me a sister." Or demanded that with my brothers. Although, if he thought it would help Alexei… I'd dodged an axe blow to the face there. Feeding him my blood and having to feel the insane little shit was horror enough.

"I mistook it for something physical when we met. And you needed comfort that night." She tilted her head, frowning. "We could be kissing cousins, if you find that more palatable."

"Siblings," I said thoughtfully. I had two human sisters. I stilled, dredging my memories, comparing the feelings I had for them to what I felt for Sorcha. The closeness, the protectiveness, the teasing… It fitted.

I stared at her in awe. "Systir."

"Deartháir," she whispered, her eyes glistening as she put her hand over my heart.

I covered it with my own, thinking hard. I knew exactly where the dagger from Rhodes was. "There is something I would ask of you. An old loyalty ritual amongst my kind."

When Pam returned, pink from a meal, Sorcha and I were sat cross-legged on the bed, the black velvet bundle between us. Pam stopped nonchalantly in the doorway as if we couldn't feel her shock and confusion.

"What's going on?"

I ignored her and answered Sorcha. "Swearing an oath this way is considered stronger than swearing fealty, more personal. It is meant to bind vampires as if they shared a maker."

Pam froze.

Sorcha said, "I am honoured to do this with you, Eric Northman."

I unwrapped the knife, grasped it and opened my left forearm with a quick slash, elbow to wrist. I passed it to her, hilt first. She didn't hesitate to mirror my action, barely wincing as the knife parted her creamy flesh. Her blood smelt metallic, coppery. Neither one thing nor the other: not sweet and intoxicating like fae blood, not sharp and acid like demon blood. My fangs itched, but I held them back.

She laid the knife down. I reached across and clasped her elbow, pressing our forearms together, wound to wound. She clasped mine in turn, her grip firm.

I said slowly, "I take you as my sister in blood. Let this bind us until my final death."

Eyes shining with a fierce joy she replied, "I take you as my brother in blood and of the heart. Let this bind us until I draw my last breath and return to the dirt."

She placed her free hand on my chest. Copying her, I placed my palm over the steady beat of her heart. Her eyes were warm green pools fixed on mine. I held still for a full minute despite the tingling I was beginning to feel from the contact with her blood.

I let go, smiling widely. "Welcome to the family, Sorcha."

"That's it? No blood drinking?"

"That gives vampires power over each other. The exchange is symbolic."

"Oh." She looked at the blistered wound on my arm. "That will scar."

I shrugged, unconcerned. I didn't care.

She glanced at her own wound, still slick with blood. Her eyes snapped back to mine and she raised her arm, saying solemnly, "Brother. Take this gift, freely given."

I blinked. Pam shifted slightly, and I heard her fangs click down, but she stayed put.

"Sister, I am honoured by your gift." Refusing would be an insult. And I was curious to taste it.

I cupped Sorcha's arm with both hands, steadying it. She held still, even when my fangs snapped down as I lowered my face. Careful not to scratch her, I licked along the slash, sealing it and cleaning every drop of blood from her velvet skin. I release her arm, sat up and swallowed. My head fell back, my eyes closing. It was potent, rich, heavy. Spicy and sweet and sharp all at once, stinging my throat and mouth, just this side of painful.

After the high had peaked I ran my tongue over my teeth and sucked the roof of my mouth, trying to dispel the odd sensation.

Pam said drily, "You must taste bad, Tinkerbell."

"Is it burning?" Sorcha asked anxiously.

"No. It… buzzes. Like a mouthful of bees." I wiped my tongue on the back of my hand.

She laughed delightedly. "Like popping candy." Her eyes fell on my still-bloodied arm. "May I?" she asked boldly.

I warned, "I'll be able to sense you. Track you."

"Only fair. I can track you with my mark."

I held out my arm. She didn't hesitate. Her tongue was warm, wet, and firm. When she finished she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed. She was there, in my blood, relaxed and very happy.

"You pack a punch, brother. Smoother than bourbon." She smacked her lips and giggled, a lovely sound. "Does this make me Pam's aunty?"

"No. But I might command her to call you that if she pisses me off."

Pam muttered, "Stake me now."

Sorcha laughed, doubling over. Her phone rang and she answered it, her face lighting up. I felt her swell of affection.

"Hey, Sebbie… Of course, sweetheart. Give me half an hour… See you there."

She grinned. "You'll have to clean up without me. I have a hot date." She stood up, stretching gracefully. "Mmm. I feel wonderful. Thanks." She pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, and playfully tugged my hair. "Call if you need me."

I smirked. "You're tipsy."

She winked. "You betcha. Sebastian is in for a wild ride."

Once she had gone, Pam raised an eyebrow at me. "Sister. Is that some fairy version of the friend zone?"

"No. It's what she is to me."

She stared at me. "You're serious."

"Yes."

She shook her head and threw me a roll of trash bags. "Whatever. Let's make a start."

I groaned. I loathed cleaning. "Can't we glamour a human to do this?" I suggested, half-serious. It would be a security risk, unfortunately.

She smirked. "No. And don't think I'm doing it all. Your mess, you pick it up. It'll be therapeutic, transcendent even. Cleanse the room, cleanse the soul."

I snorted. "Like you believe that New Age bullshit. I could command you to–"

"Oh hell no. I'd need to suck whatever vein you've been tapping dry to swallow that bullshit." She mumbled, "A fairy for a sister. You must be high as kite."

She was more relieved than annoyed. So was I. She was teasing me. Things were right between us again.

Clearing the debris didn't take long. Filling the dents in the wall was a drag, but it wasn't the first time I'd done that. We manhandled some replacement furniture down the hidden passage, gossiping as we worked. I'd missed that. I told her Neb was Salome's maker, knowing I could trust her to keep it to herself.

"They're powerful together. Are you sure he's loyal?"

"Neb? He's been supportive so far. He doesn't seem ambitious. Likes a quiet life."

"He turned Salome."

Hm. Neb's comment about daughters and trouble. With a smirk I conceded, "Maybe not that quiet."

"What about her?"

"Salome is all about money, a true businesswoman. She wants stability. As long as I'm providing it, she'll be loyal."

"Even after Mickey?"

"Oh yes. She was furious with the ungrateful little shit."

Pam grinned wolfishly. "I wish I'd seen her stake him." She plugged in the last lamp and looked around the room, hands on her hips. "I think we're done. You'll have to wait to paint the walls."

"You should go."

"I could stay," she offered, trying to sound off-hand.

Not anxious. Which she was. I'd damped our connection, but she knew all my tells and my mood had darkened. I wasn't looking forward to being alone either, but asking her to stay would just delay the inevitable.

"Go home, Pam."

"Let me feel you then."

"You won't feel much from Shreveport."

"It'll be enough."

"As you wish." I opened our connection and her face fell. She set her jaw and marched over to pull me into a tight embrace. I basked in the strength she sent thrumming into my blood, sending my affection and gratitude back as I hugged her.

"Call if you need me," she whispered. "I'll see you Friday."

"You will," I promised, kissing her hair.

...