Hi all. Thanks for all the reviews & follows - especially Jackie69 & Suzi.

*Waves to old man* - most of us are anonymous to some degree on here. Are we up to petabytes? I think that's coming. Data, data everywhere. Like too many TV channels, and nothing you want to watch.

Here's today's chapter. Hope you enjoy.


Turning the Tide


The vampire disintegrated around my sword. I snarled in frustration as another took his place. Even with Pam and Rory at my side, I couldn't break through the faceless mass. And time was running out.

Yasmin was inching up behind Tennessee. Too slowly.

I roared in frustration when he whirled round to face her, somehow keeping a grip on the woman struggling in his arms. He pulled a stake from his sleeve and plunged it onto Yasmin's chest. Her eyes met mine as she crumbled to dust soundlessly, take my last hope with her.

"So much for your worthless spy." Tennessee jeered at me, dropping his stake. "Now I can take what is mine."

Sookie struggled desperately against him, our eyes meeting briefly as the bastard sank his fangs into her neck. When she slumped in his arms, he pulled back, triumphant, fangs dripping blood and mouth smeared red.

But it wasn't Tennessee. Shorter hair, broader face, darker eyes…

Ocella.

My blood froze.

"What did I teach you child? No human can love us," my Maker sneered. "They cannot love what they cannot understand. We are so far above them. Come here."

The command overtook me, its icy grasp dragging me from where I stood. Ocella whispered, "End her."

Sookie's eyes snapped open. I bit, tearing into her neck. Red life sprayed out of her–

"No!" I bellowed, jack-knifing forward.

Water sloshed out of the bathtub, splattering onto the floor. I looked around wildly for a split second, confused.

Shit. Grimly, I shook the realistic images out of my head and leaned back against the tub. I had run a scalding hot bath shortly after Pam left, hoping the heat would ease me into downtime and give me some answers. Now I had two: Downtime was still fucked up. And the latest nightmarish episode, much to my dismay, proved Rory's theory.

My subconscious – did vampires have one? It was news to me – was definitely hijacking downtime. My own mind fucking with me was troubling enough, but worse, it meant only self-examination would straighten things out.

I hated untying Gordian emotional knots even more than I hated having feelings in the first fucking place.

The knowledge weighed me down and I slid to the bottom of the tub, staring up through the water at the wavering ceiling. I sighed heavily, watching bubbles of expelled air ripple the silvery surface above me.

It was peaceful under the water. And there was no time like the present. I had an hour to kill before dawn. I began shifting through the 'nightmares' I'd had so far, digging deep for hidden meanings. By the time the water was cold, I had a mixed bag of insights.

Pam's unreasonable anger was a repeated theme. It had thrown me. I should have forced the issue, cleared the air, but I let it fester. With Rory, I was entirely to blame. It was pride, plain and simple, that stopped me seeking her out to end our argument.

My subconscious had been prodding me to fix things with both of them. Last night I had done that. Not exactly by my own efforts, but still. Two knots resolved. Pleasingly, the peace I'd made with Rory and Pam had already spilt over into my personal horror channel. They fought by my side in this latest vision, not against me.

This latest 'episode' oozed guilt, though. An emotion I didn't succumb to often.

Yasmin, for instance. Sending her into the lion's den was dangerous. I pushed her out of sight, out of mind, on a mission that could easily end her, all so I did not have to acknowledge the similarities between our turnings, or the reminders of Ocella's long dominion over me.

I couldn't take that back. She was in Tennessee, what was done was done.

The scenes with Sookie sprang not from fear for her safety, but from the same treacherous emotion: guilt. Her eyes as I drained her this time were tear-filled and accusing. The look they held during our argument at Sanctum, and it had cut me just as deeply as then. Knowing that she felt I had broken faith with her by leaving for Oklahoma had been eating away at me ever since.

Guilt and regret. Regret that I said nothing at Sanctum, played the hard-hearted bastard, made no move to comfort her.

That knot might prove impossible to tease out. I could see no way to make it right with her. And she would not thank me for trying, not now she was with the tiger.

...

Geraldine looked up from her desk when I emerged from my office at sunset. "Good evening, Mr Northman," she said, a small smile on her lips.

"Good evening, Geraldine. Give me a moment to sync my new phone." A present from Pam, I found it waiting on my desk. The latest model. I frowned down at it as I accessed the bluetooth function and put in the password to access the office system. A few seconds later my schedule appeared.

"Miss Kingfisher called," Geraldine said. "I pencilled her in for ten."

"That's fine," I murmured, speed-reading through three nights worth of messages. My shoulders tightened as the invisible yoke of power settled back onto them.

Goro arrived. "Kikugoro," I said with a nod in his direction, flicking through the pile of mail Geraldine had just handed me.

"Kitajin-sama," he replied, bowing deeply. I was wearing jeans and a Fangtasia t-shirt in defiance of expectations. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the faint new scar running down my forearm. He added, "You had a pleasant weekend, I trust."

There was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, which I ignored, gesturing for him to follow me into the office. We got straight down to business. Nothing drastic. Mostly routine. Goro tactfully didn't point out that the kingdom had barely noticed my absence.

I took a walk around the grounds to make my presence felt, Goro a respectful shadow at my shoulder, ready with a piercing stare and quiet contempt for any guard not up to his exacting standards. I played the relaxed and magnanimous king. Our usual good cop, bad cop routine. Tedious.

We were back in the office discussing one of the guards when Geraldine buzzed the intercom to announce Rory. Goro tensed slightly, but said nothing. Her presence here, where he rested, put him on edge. He excused himself as she came in.

I wished I could follow him. He wasn't the only one she unsettled tonight. Rory hugged me once we were alone. She pulled back, smiling, but her eyes were sharp. "How are you, brother?"

"You know how I am, sister," I said, resigned to an uncomfortable couple of hours. She would want to talk.

"Hmm," she said, rubbing my arm absently. "What's a fairy to do in a house full of vampires? I know, show me this gilded cage of yours. I haven't seen the place."

I blinked. "Really?" I asked suspiciously.

"Yes."

I shrugged and held out my arm.

When she left an hour later I was in a far better frame of mind, her wild laughter still ringing in my ears.

We had ended our tour on the roof, stargazing. It was clear, crisp night and I couldn't resist grabbing her and launching into the sky. She was delighted by the impromptu flight, and her joy made me smile. Before that we had been all over the house and she had been introduced to just about every vampire on duty, draped over my arm to reinforce that she was my personal guest, off-limits to them all.

Goro was waiting stiffly outside my office, no doubt ready to lecture me on the security risk Rory presented. He mistrusted her: he, like all the supernaturals on staff, saw her as fae, despite the illusion she cast to disguise herself as human and her lack of scent.

Goro deserved an explanation. To kill two birds, I gestured for Geraldine to follow us into the office. Leaning against the desk I watched them as I spoke. "Miss Kingfisher will be here more often. Treat her as you would Pam. Full access to me, any time." Goro's face remained a smooth unreadable mask, but Geraldine's eyebrows flicked up. "Something bothering you, Geraldine? Speak freely."

"She's very..." She cleared her throat. "Nice. I'm a little surprise, is all. She's not blonde."

I said airily, "Variety is the spice."

She leaned forward a little, dropping her voice. "She's more than she seems, isn't she? Not quite … human."

"Not exactly," I said, amazed she had picked that up through Rory's glamour.

"What is she?" she breathed, an excited gleam in her eye.

"Dangerous. But trusted. That is all you need to know. Goro, make sure the staff understands to disrespect her is to disrespect me." I added in Japanese, "She is my blood sister, but keep that to yourself."

His eyes flicked down to my arm and he asked carefully, "Is that prudent, given her origins?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"A thousand apologies for my impertinence." He switched to English. "As you wish, Dono. I will inform the guards."

Geraldine looked between us, picking up on our seriousness with another whip-sharp burst of that intuition that had inspired me to hire her.

"This is a big deal to y'all," she said slowly. "Should I be congratulating you?"

"Ah. Not that sort of deal. Miss Kingfisher is, ah, dating Mithradates."

"Your lawyer?" She hummed in approval. "She has good taste, I'll say that."

More light-hearted than I'd been in months, I mimed clutching my heart. "Geraldine, how could you?"

Momentarily shocked, she quickly rose to the challenge. "Oh, I appreciated the view, Eric. Every inch of it," she drawled, shooting me a playful wink. "But I prefer 'em dark and mysterious."

Goro's eyes were saucers. I almost laughed, which was somewhat of a shock after the events of the weekend. He stared at Geraldine like he'd never seen her before, examining her head to toe.

"How do you feel about dark and exotic?" he asked slyly, and she blushed.

"Oh, Mr Takahashi, that's very flattering, but I'm–" She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"What? Too tall for me?" Goro shook his head, feigning a disappointed tone but winking at me. "You see Eric? I'm too short for American women. They don't realise exquisite delicacies come in tiny bites."

"Oh no!" Geraldine said hurriedly. "That's not it at all. It's just... I was about to say I'm too old for you, but that's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Age is much respected in my parent culture," Goro said solemnly, then broke into a wide, leering grin. "The older the woman, the more ways she knows to ride the bull."

She stared at him in shock. It wasn't often Goro showed any expression around humans, much less his wicked and often filthy sense of humour. Then she recovered. "Oh hush. You're teasing me. I know you prefer men."

He shrugged. "I can be flexible. If the woman is talented. Is she, Eric?"

"Goro," I said mock-sternly, "quit harassing my staff and get back to work."

"That good you want to keep her to yourself, eh?" He left, chuckling.

Geraldine watched him go. She shook her head."He's a dark horse, that one." She smiled warmly at me. "It's nice to have you back, Eric."

"Get me the files for tomorrow."

"Yes sir. Coming right up."

…..

The rest of the week was calm. Except for the hour I spent safely locked in my quarters before each dawn. The nightmares were lessening in intensity, but they were still there, waiting for me.

I met Pam at Fangtasia on Friday, as planned. We went over the Area accounts, then spent a pleasant hour in the bar gossiping until closing. I made an effort to be upbeat, and by the time I left for Rory's – as late as I feasibly could – Pam had relaxed enough that she didn't protest when I damped our connection.

I didn't want her to feel whatever talking to Rory stirred up.

But Rory didn't want to talk. After greeting me with a warm embrace, she led me down to the lake and began removing her clothes. I stood stock still. What the hell she was doing?

She grinned at me. "Can't swim, brother? It's not like you need to hold your breath."

"Not too cold for you? It's winter," I said, kicking off my shoes and undoing my jeans. A swim was fine with me.

"In Louisiana? I've swum in far colder waters. Come on," she said impatiently, throwing her underwear on top of her discarded clothes. "Last one in is a loser."

Feeling a blast of pure mischief from her I stripped at full speed. Before I could take a step towards the water, she popped over the lake and, with a whoop, cannonballed down into it.

Drops of water splattered me to the sound of her laughter.

Cheating fairy.

Determined to have the last laugh, I slipped noiselessly into the lake, diving deep under the dark water. Then I rocketed up underneath her and grabbed her legs, pulling her down like the dead weight I was.

Fairy-demon hybrids can't breathe underwater. Who knew?

Once she stopped spluttering, our swim degenerated into an extended game of hunt and evade. The angry squawks of annoyed wildfowl echoed over her quiet corner of the lake as I blurred after her and she popped all over it. Eventually Rory, breathless with laughter, flopped down on the grass next to her clothes. A grin on my face, I stretched out on my back a few feet from her, hands behind my head.

"Who won?" I asked smugly.

"Lost count."

"I did. Admit it, woman."

"You've no proof. Should have kept score." She stretched, sighed and closed her eyes as she settled further into the thick grass. "I needed that," she breathed softly.

Was something bothering her? Problems with the demon, perhaps. Maybe I needed to have that word with him. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, and saw... What the fuck?

The grass by her side rippled, I was sure of it, but the air was still. I turned towards her, propping myself up on my elbow. There it was again. "What are you doing?"

She cracked open one eye. "Recharging."

"Ah." She did feel... relaxed. I watched, fascinated, as the grass undulated unnaturally around her in the moonlight. After a minute it got less fascinating. I laid back down, staring up at the stars, and admitted quietly, "I needed that too."

"No shit," she mumbled, running her hands over the cool grass between us. I opened my mouth to thank her, but she interrupted. "No need. In case you hadn't notice, I like you. And I miss your zest for life."

Her eyes were closed again. I reached out and took her hand. "I like you too. This was... good."

She squeezed my hand.

"Shouldn't you be doing this sort of thing with that devilishly handsome lawyer of yours?"

"Maybe I already have." She opened one eye to glare at me. "And Sebastian doesn't cheat."

"Flying is not cheating. You teleported."

"Oh please. It's not like it gave me an advantage. You're faster, and you can track me now I've had your blood."

I smirked. That had come in handy.

"About that..." she started cautiously.

I rolled on my side to face her, guessing what she wanted to discuss. "The gift of your blood."

"You picked that up, huh?" she said, letting go of my hand and rolling closer, onto her stomach. The skin on her back glowed almost as pale as mine in the moonlight and her hair was dark with water. She was beautiful. My systir.

"I wasn't turned yesterday," I said lightly. "What sort of gift was it?"

"One that should stay secret. The properties of demon blood are not common knowledge." She swept her hair over her shoulder so she could look at me. "It might not do anything. I'm a mongrel," I winced at her casual use of the term, "and you're not human."

"Demons give humans their blood then," I said slowly, following her implication. There were old legends of blood drinking ceremonies, demons with incorruptible flesh – those always amused me, given my kind's post-mortem preservation – and demons spreading corruption throughout the world. "To corrupt the human?" I guessed.

She chuckled. "You could call it that."

"So how might it 'corrupt' me?" I asked calmly. She wouldn't harm me. Not purposefully.

"There's the rub. I'm not sure it will do anything. It's not like demon blood is a common vampire tipple."

Some imbecile would have tried draining a demon at some point in the last millennium, so... "It has to be willing given."

"Yes."

"What does your blood do to humans?"

"No idea. Never given one my blood."

I growled impatiently, unimpressed by her flippancy.

She laughed and elaborated. "It's rarely done. There are consequences for the human. Nothing damaging, just... noticeable."

I felt her discomfort in my blood. "You are holding out on me."

She shifted uncomfortably, dropping her eyes. "Some things are not my secrets to share. Not when they don't affect you directly."

"Fair enough. How will it affect me, directly?"

"It depends what gift my blood carries."

I blinked. Carries. Gift as in... talent. "Your empathy," I said flatly.

Shit. More emotions on top of my own was the last thing I needed. But it could be useful, very useful, in the long run. Her sheepish reply dashed that possibility.

"I'm not quite strong enough to pass that on, I'm afraid. Or control what you get. One of the lesser gifts is more likely." She shifted her weight, freeing her arm so she could extend it and open her palm. A flame, blue and steady, flickered into existence.

I said drily, "I'm flammable."

She grinned. "So are demons, but none catch fire from their own flame."

"Ah." That might be useful, then.

She closed her palm, extinguishing it. "Abilities skip generations, too. It's a lottery. You could get anything in my bloodline."

"Seeing auras?"

"No. That, as far as I know, is a combination of demon empathy and the fae ability to sense one another's life force and magic. Aura viewing is actually unheard of in either race."

"As unique and precious as its wielder, then."

"Flatterer." She smiled, and I sensed her swell of pride and affection. "You won't get any of my fae talents. No teleporting."

Damn. I would have liked that one.

"It won't manifest immediately," she continued. "So if anything weird happens in the next few months, blame me."

"Oh, I will."

She side-eyed me. "Not mad?"

"No. Intrigued." Vampires didn't change much. It was a novelty to gain something new at my age. I could pass it off as an ability I had kept hidden.

The sky was paling to the east. "Shall we?" I asked, nodding at the horizon as I got to my feet and offered her a hand up.

Inside, she offered me some bagged blood. I declined, saying I wanted rid of the smell of lake water, but in reality I was escaping to the room she kept for me before she decided we should talk.

She knocked on my door ten minutes before sunrise anyway.

"Come in," I grunted from the bathroom. Sticking my head out when I heard the door lock, I raised an eyebrow when I saw what she was wearing: tartan pyjamas. "Shouldn't you be getting up?"

"Day off," she said as she turned down the bed.

She meant to stay the day, which gave me an excuse to avoid downtime. Torn between annoyance and relief, I frowned. "Sebastian won't approve of you making a habit of this."

"Sebastian isn't here. And you're lonely," she said bluntly, slipping under the covers and patting the bed beside her. "I could feel it from the other side of the house."

"I'm not a fucking charity case," I muttered, slipping on a pair of grey sweat pants as a concession to her presence.

"It's not charity. You're family."

Grumbling under my breath, I got into bed and turned away from her, thumping the pillows into shape.

"I don't want to talk," I said shortly.

"We'll talk when you're ready," she whispered, spooning up behind me and sliding her warm arm around my chest. True to her word, her soft breathing was the only noise she made until death took me. I rose ten hours later to the same peaceful sound.

Easing out of her embrace, I turned to look at her. Her hair was spread out across the pillow in soft red waves, and her thick eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks peppered with freckles. She was ethereal, smelling comfortingly of warmth and woman. My unique, impulsive, fairy-demon systir.

I pressed a bitter-sweet kiss to her forehead. However deep my affection for her, hers were not the arms I yearned to rise in.

She stirred, mumbling my name, no doubt sensing my sadness. I hushed her and shifted gently off the bed. I kept some clothes there, so I was dressed by the time she sat up, hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders. She yawned noisily.

"Have time for a blood before you leave?"

"Duty calls." I sat on the bed and pulled on my shoes. I still didn't want to talk.

"Eric," she began, but my phone rang. Saved by the bell.

"Oskar," I greeted.

He was not calling with good news. The bratty newborn Milena had taken on was causing trouble. Again. The more I heard the angrier I got, and the shorter and harsher my replies. Finally I snarled, "Hold him there. I will be there as soon as I can."

Rory's face was as grim as my own when I left.

The next week lurched from one irritation to another.

New Orleans was a fucking drain on my time. I had to go over again mid-week. Too many young wannabe Lestats with a piss-poor grasp of the concept of respect, let alone discipline, their over-inflated egos not backed by age, skill, or usefulness.

The tourists loved them. I wanted to silver the lot of them and lose them in a bayou for a few centuries. They could drink as much alligator blood as they wanted.

The turd on top of the rancid pie was Oskar's reaction when I told him I had taken Rory as a blood sister. Oskar was never one to hold back criticism. He disapproved, vehemently. The usual: fae couldn't be trusted, it put my alliance with Stan and Bartlett at risk, I had to think of the kingdom before my cock.

I told him to suck it.

We traded insults and old grievances until we almost came to blows. Like old times. He was seething when I left, but he could hardly attack his king after berating me for not respecting my position. Fortunately he had plenty of fatuous, idiotic subjects. He could vent his spleen on them.

On top of putting out fires, I had a meeting with the mayor of Baton Rouge. The culmination of months of diplomacy and playing sickeningly nice, and it did not go smoothly

I smelt Ms Lindenberg outside his office when I arrived. At his invitation, he said, when I mentioned it. He had been even more wary of me than usual, making it obvious she had whispered poison in his ear.

Dearest Sally was proving to be a giant pain in my ass. Her claws needed clipping but frustratingly, if I got her fired and her bosses were really out for our fangs, her replacement was likely to be worse. At least I had something on her. Goro suggested digging into her private life for more, and I agreed. For now.

Then there was Area 4. Francine had run to mommy to bitch about the fine and silvering Rasul handed out for under-reporting her accounts and withholding tithes. Her maker came directly to me to complain, unaware that I was the one who uncovered her child's fraud. Things became... unpleasant when I refused to side with her and her offspring over my sheriff. She was currently back in Maine, regrowing the arm Goro had removed.

It was not wise to bring a silver dagger into my office.

There was a good chance I would hear from her maker next. Granddaddy would be trickier to dispatch at six hundred, but – thanks to Bill's meticulous record keeping – I had some dirt on him. If he came to negotiate, that is.

If he came armed for a fight, I was in the mood to take his head.

The final straw was the Brick breaking down. Some kind of electrical fault, a part that wasn't available. All in all it had been such a shitty week I wondered fleetingly if I'd been hexed. I had not had a minute's peace, and not because I'd been avoiding my own company.

By Saturday, I was beyond frustrated. There was a backlog of paperwork cluttering my desk that I wanted to burn.

Pam was due to visit – she and Rory were tag-teaming, apparently – but she was delayed, denying me an excuse to play hooky. I couldn't spend the whole night in the dojo with Goro. Inevitably, I got stuck behind my desk, Sanjay periodically bringing fresh letters to sign and figures to go over. When Pam finally arrived an hour before dawn I was ready to quit. She stood in front of my desk, hand on hip, her eyes flicking over the mess of papers and then over me. A slight crease formed between her eyebrows.

I stood up. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Shouldn't you finish that lot?"

"It can wait. I'll see you at sunset."

I was out of the office before she could argue, blurring past Sanjay, who was on the phone arguing with a mechanic about the damn limo. Up the stairs, out onto the roof and up into the sky.

Rain pelted down and my clothes were soaked in seconds. All I thought of was escape. I didn't turn back until dawn chased me.

I rose, later than usual, and felt Pam rising next door, in her hidden room. She complained it was the size of a broom closet, but she was too exposed resting in one of the third floor suites. A king's child was a tempting target.

Still in a foul mood, I waited until Pam went upstairs to exit my quarters. There was a small utility area down here, at the end of the corridor, for those occasions when I needed to personally ensure all traces of bodily fluids had been removed from my clothes. I shoved the wet jeans and t-shirt from my flight into the dryer and set it going. Upstairs, the pile of paperwork seemed to have grown, which was impossible – the office and my official suite were both sealed during the day to protect their contents and the hidden entrance to my quarters.

Now though, the door to the outer office was open and through it, over the whir of the copier, Pam was talking quietly to Geraldine. Too quietly. I strode out of the office and the conversation stopped abruptly. Geraldine turned away to the copier, but not before I caught her nervous expression.

"Pam. A word please."

Sitting behind my desk, I pushed irritatedly at a the papers. "Geraldine does not have time for gossip, Pamela."

She ignored my tone. "So I see. Busy, busy. Let's order in while we work. Dolores has a new girl."

The reminder of how chummy she was with Dolores put my back up. I said coldly, "I don't bring donors up here."

"I thought it would save time. You'll like her. Fresh blood."

"I decide who I like," I snapped. "Let me make one thing clear, Pamela. You are not to interfere with my staff, especially Dolores. I am the one they answer to, not you."

By the end of my sentence, I was on my feet, fangs down, growling.

One of us was stunned by that, but it wasn't Pam. Calmly pulling out her cellphone she pressed a button. "Plan B," was all she said into it.

Trying to appear calm, I retracted my fangs and said tensely, "If that was Dolores–"

"Rory. She's on her way."

I folded my arms. Mainly to stop myself breaking something. "I do not need her interference either."

"Eric, I don't like this any more than you do. In fact, I fucking hate it. But if it takes ratting you out to Rory to fix you, I will." She added with a bitterness that shocked me, "Fuck knows, you won't listen to me. Not when you can command me to shut up."

She sounded, and felt, rejected. "Pam, I..."

Before I could work out what to say, Rory breezed in, careful to shut the door behind her. Two against one. Wonderful. She didn't beat around the bush.

"You've been bottling things up. Again."

"It was that or a trail of bodies," I snarled. What the fuck was I supposed to do, give in to the desire to rip our charming BSA rep to shreds? I hadn't felt so out of control in centuries. It was maddening.

Pam put in, "You should have taken it out on Oskar. I thought breaking bones was how you two communicated."

I glared at her.

She shrugged. "He called to bitch. You know what he's like."

Rory interrupted, "When did you last feed?"

I had fed on... Fuck. I sat down heavily, running my hand over my face.

"Thought so," Rory said tightly. "Not hungry?"

"No," I said quietly, my anger deflated by the disappointment pouring off them both. And my own. I wasn't recovering as well as I thought.

She sat down. "I met someone who can help, I think. You have an interesting staff."

"You were here in the day?" Checking up on me, I realised.

"Yes. Geraldine is lovely. I see why you picked her; she has the spark."

I shared a blank look with Pam. "Spark?"

"Oh. Thought you knew about that," Rory said uncomfortably. She sighed. "Me and my big mouth. You've noticed those rare humans who are more open to us, right? Intuitive, better instincts around us."

Pam and I shared another look, and I nodded.

"The fae call that the essential spark." She rolled her eyes. "As if humans without it are just dumb animals."

"I see." Niall had once remarked casually that Sookie had a certain spark, as if he was testing me. I had brushed it off, assuming he meant her fierceness. Openness to our otherness, now that quality she always had... Reassuringly, that might explain why Geraldine reminded me of her on occasion.

Ah.

Rory assumed I would know about it because of Sookie. Who she was avoiding bringing up, handling me with kid gloves. Well, why not? Apparently I needed reminding to feed.

Swallowing my annoyance, I asked, "And how will this spark of Geraldine's help?"

"Oh, no. Not Geraldine. Your interior designer, Emmett Flavell."

What was so special about the breather? He was attractive, he had a flair for design, but that was as far as it went. "You met him here, today?"

"By good fortune, yes. He lost his house keys, or I wouldn't have. I knew what he was as soon as I saw him. He's willing to feed you, but there are conditions."

"Go on."

"Blood only. He's married."

"Not a problem." Not at the moment.

"He won't be a donor for anyone else. And Baptiste wants to be present."

"My cook?" I asked, surprised. "Why?"

"He's a little overprotective." She rolled her eyes at my continued confusion. "He's the husband. You didn't know?"

"Didn't ask." I shrugged. "I employ him to cook."

"Whatever. You know, it might benefit you to take an interest in your staff. Your wolves let Emmett in this afternoon, no questions asked."

The cook was cousin to one of the Weres, but not a wolf himself. That explained their laxity, but didn't excuse it. Yuri's leadership, or lack thereof, was an ongoing concern. I would deal with that later. "Dolores vetted both of them. But point taken."

"Thank you. I have a condition too. Emmett can't know what he is."

"Which is?"

"I'll tell you after. I fed him a line about a rare blood type and wanting to treat you. He might suspect there's more to it, but it's better he doesn't know. He's waiting outside."

Sighing, I got up and moved to the couch. "Fetch him."

Emmett was slender, with mid-brown hair and pale brown eyes. He was wearing a well-cut suit and expensive cologne. Baptiste followed on his heels. The Cajun cook was a large, heavyset, bearded man with black unruly hair and a generous paunch. Never trust a skinny cook Dolores remarked when she hired him. I left the decision to her, for obvious reasons, and hadn't had much to do with him since.

In jeans and a splattered grey t-shirt that smelt of roasted meat, he was the complete opposite of the neatly groomed Emmett. The mismatched pair reminded me of Russell and Bartlett. Imagining the king of Indiana in an apron amused me briefly.

Emmett smiled nervously at me. "I'm your present. Surprise!" He shot a glance at Rory as she came over. "You explained everything?"

"Yes. Thank you so much for doing this for me," she said, as they kissed each other's cheeks.

Baptiste cleared his throat, eyes on me.

"Oh," Emmett said, pulling away from Rory to look at me. "No glamouring, okay?" I nodded. "And I know this is off the books. We won't say anything to a soul, will we Baptiste?"

His husband nodded.

"And no hanky panky. Not that you're not a beautiful hunk of man. If I was fancy-free and single I for sure wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers, not in a million–" He broke off when Rory tugged his sleeve, and he gave an embarrassed half-laugh. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"This is your first time?" I asked smoothly, patting the couch next to me.

"Er, yes. I'm a fang virgin." He smiled weakly and sat, leaving a foot between us.

Rory gestured for Baptiste to take the couch opposite. He shook his head, but moved closer, folding his arms. Rory and Pam had no such qualms and sat down, watching me expectantly.

"Perhaps Mr Flavell would prefer some privacy," I suggested as he nervously removed his jacket. I certainly didn't want an audience, and resented the implication I needed one. Were they going to count how many times I swallowed?

"Oh, it's fine," Emmett said. "Where are you... Should I take my shirt off? I don't want to ruin it."

"I am not a messy eater. Your choice. The neck is faster, the wrist more painful."

"No pain," Baptiste said. He had a soft voice for a big man.

I looked between them. "It will hurt. Unless I make it pleasurable. You understand?"

Baptiste nodded stiffly and Emmett said fondly, "You'll reap the benefits, sweetie, I promise. I guess the neck, then."

Whatever floated their boat. "Loosen your collar. This won't take long."

Emmett undid his shirt with shaking hands. Eyes on his husband, he said hoarsely, "I'm ready."

I took hold of his shoulders and he turned his head, locking eyes with the cook and exposing his neck. Close up, under the cologne, he smelt of man, no hint of whatever it was Rory recognised in him. He shivered as I ran my tongue over his jugular, his skin breaking into bumps. He tasted pleasant, salty and sweet. Almost... meaty. Once he let out a moan, I bit with no further warning; fast was best when they were nervous.

Warm blood filled my mouth and I swallowed, concentrating on the flavour. There was nothing at first. Maybe a slight tang, a wildness. Then it hit, heat flooding my throat. I drew more deeply. Two, three... five times. I nicked my tongue automatically and wiped my blood over the bite before I pulled away. Dropping my head against the back of the couch, I licked my fangs lazily, hunting out the last drops as I adjusted my pants. I was throbbing uncomfortably.

"Oh my," Emmett said dreamily, a glazed look in his eyes. "Sugar pie, can we...?"

Baptiste chuckled. "I'll take care of you, chickadee." He pulled Emmett gently to his feet, picked up his jacket, and pointed him at the door.

Emmett glanced back over his shoulder and winked at me. "Any time you want a repeat, cowboy. Anytime."

The door closed softly behind them. Rory glanced down at my quite obvious state and grinned. I shifted on the couch but it didn't help. I was aching.

"Ladies. Excuse me," I said, giving in. Pam smirked when she realised where I was going.

The shower, next to the walk-in closet at the back of the office. Intended for cleaning up a different sort of mess to the one I was sluicing of the tiles an embarrassing short time later. It had been a long while since I had to do that, but it had taken the edge off.

I squared my shoulders and opened the door.

"...wand is amazing. Bedroom toys have improved greatly," Rory was saying. "Men really miss out in that department."

"Sebastian not cutting it?" I asked lightly, sitting behind my desk to hide my residual excitement and waving them over.

Rory laughed. "Oh, he hits the spot just fine."

"Feeling... relieved?" Pam asked as she crossed the room, her amusement bubbling through our connection.

I ignored her. "So, what is our friend Emmett? He tasted human, with a faint hint of other. His blood... had quite a kick." I felt like I'd had shifter blood.

"It certain got the sap rising," Rory said, eyes twinkling.

"Viagra for vampires," Pam said, mouth twitching. "Think of the possibilities."

Rory gave her a sharp look. "No-one else is to feed from him. Not even you."

Pam raised her hands in submission. "He's off-limits, I get it."

"You'd better. He has a rare and ancient bloodline." She added warningly, "And no-one in their right mind pisses off his ancestors and their friends."

I sat forward. "Some sort of demon?"

She shook her head. "Satyr. Disciples of Bacchus. Lovers of maenads."

"Ah." No, no-one wanted to annoy Callisto and her sisters.

"He shouldn't find out from you. It's for his kin to tell him what he is, if they ever acknowledge him, which is very unlikely. Races who interbreed with humans, we generally leave our more diluted... by-blows alone. Harsh, but less cruel than dragging them into a world where they'll always be the runts of the litter, so to speak. A liability, easy to use against their relatives."

"He will not hear it from us." I assured her, trying not to think of how her words applied to Sookie.

"Even if his blood is vampire Viagra," Pam added.

I was going to be hearing jokes for years.

Rory grinned. "I was looking for more of a Prozac effect, actually. Satyr magic is supposed to be invigorating, euphoric. They're the ultimate party animal." Her eyes defocused, checking my aura. "I guess that goes hand-in-hand with lustiness for you."

"Prozac?" I couldn't place it.

"Mmm." She fluttered a hand, concentrating on things only she could see. "The latest happy pill. Anti-depressant."

"Ah." Ouch.

Her eyes snapped up to mine. "Pride bruised, brother?"

Yes. Yes, it fucking was.

"Isn't artificially enhancing his mood just a sticking plaster?" Pam asked as if I wasn't in the room.

"Relieving symptoms breaks the cycle, quickens recovery," Rory assured her. "It must be acting as an appetite stimulant. Makes sense. Satyrs have notoriously healthy appetites for all kinds of pleasure. Baptiste is a lucky man."

Pam considered that. "Yes. That's what he's missing. An appetite for pleasure."

"I am still here," I said testily.

Pam bulldozed on. "What about the underlying cause, what heals that?"

Rory's eyes softened. "Time. Give him time, Pam. Speaking of which, I have to be elsewhere."

"I am grateful you helped my maker, fairy." Pam said stiffly.

"He is family, Pam. I will always help him. I'll see you soon, Eric." She blew me a kiss and with a pop, she was gone.

"Nice exit," Pam said drily. "She left us with the donkey work again."

I looked at my desk and groaned.

Pam grimaced. "I'll play secretary. It'll be like old times. Prioritise first?"

I nodded, picking up a pile to start on. I was still buzzed from Emmett's blood. Buzzed enough that my dismay at the evening's events faded as we worked in companionable silence, creating order out of chaos.

Until Pam put her foot in it.

"You know," Pam said far too casually as she leant to add a letter to the urgent pile, "if the fairy hadn't been here, I would have offered to help you out in the shower."

She was carefully not making eye contact. We were long past that stage of our relationship, and my limping pride yowled loudly.

"I don't need pity sex from you too," I snapped and immediately wished I'd held my tongue.

Her head snapped up. "Too? Who else... Oh. Rory."

I winced. Yes, it bothered me that she said she fucked me because I needed comfort. And there hadn't been a flicker of interest from her since the night we met. Not that I wanted her to be interested when I wasn't – that would be awkward, especially now we'd cemented ourselves as siblings – it was just... Pride. I didn't welcome charity. Especially in bed.

I wasn't used to it.

Pam moved around the desk to deposit another file. "Does it bother you that she's with the lawyer?"

"No," I said tersely, hitting the stapler too hard as I reattached the separated pages of a document.

"I call bullshit."

I scoffed.

She raised an eyebrow. "You were jealous when she told you."

If I didn't make her understand, she would keep gnawing at the bone until it cracked. "Not of Sebastian. Of Rory."

"I see. You've developed a taste for male half-demons. That is amusing."

I snorted. "He's too quiet for my tastes. It's not that. Rory is happy with him. I envy her. That's what you felt from me."

"Oh." There was a pause, while she took that in.

"You don't approve." I ran a finger down the pale scar on my arm to indicate what I meant.

"She's grown on me. It's just..."

"Jealousy." I felt it clearly.

She groaned. "Fucking blood exchanges."

She'd never been jealous of other women where I was concerned. Except Karin.

That's what this was about. She didn't mind if Rory and I were lovers. Lovers came and went. Family stuck around. That made Rory a potential threat.

"Can you blame me?" Pam sighed. "We've only known her a year, yet you trust her implicitly. That's not like you. Oh, I understand, I do. I miss Karin too. But aren't I enough?"

"I chose you. You are my child, my blood, and my friend, Pamela. More than Karin ever was to me. This is not about replacing her." At one point I'd thought it was, purely because Rory was closer to my age, as Karin had been. But that wasn't it. "What I have with Sorcha does not take away from what is between us. I do not understand it, neither does she. But it is there."

"I know," she admitted reluctantly. "I can see it when you're together. You fit."

"We do." Like family. I reached over and patted her hand. "But so do we."

"And she does like teasing you," she mused. "Maybe after a few decades we could be friends."

"I would like that." Not the teasing. That was going to be a bitch. And new: Karin had never been one to join in with that. I put the last letter in its place and Pam began neatening the piles, deep in thought.

"Start with these," she instructed, handing me a pile and taking one for herself.

Something was still bothering her. I wasn't letting it fester this time. "What is it, Pam?"

"I feel responsible. I pushed you to become king."

I waved a hand. "Please. I'm the maker here. And a stubborn ass. I didn't do this for you."

"No? Not even a tiny bit?"

A smile tugged at my lips. "Maybe a little. You deserved better than that caped idiot."

"True."

She settled down to the paperwork, and I dispatched two items before she spoke again.

"I thought the worst had happened." She gave me a tight smile when I queried her with a look. "Last year. Torture, injury, that I expect. We're vampires. Shit happens. But this came out of left field. I have no idea how to deal with it."

I leant back against the chair, staring moodily at the letter in my hand. "You think I do?"

"No. Which makes it worse, you realise."

I grunted.

"I don't understand what caused it. You were over what happened in Oklahoma."

Fuck. I didn't expect Pam to be the one to play psychiatrist. I put the letter down and rubbed my face, feeling ambushed. Pam waited patiently for me to speak.

I said slowly, "Rory had the heart of it. I bottled up too much. Too many losses, and no room to grieve. My Area, my freedom, Karin," I added Sookie silently to the list, "Ocella."

She frowned. "I find it hard to believe losing Ocella was anything other than a relief."

"He was my maker, Pam. His blood was mine. Losing that is traumatic, even with a maker like Ocella. It affected me in ways that are only now coming to light."

Like the fact Ocella had glamoured me to do fuck knows what, to make me his perfect child.

That was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. It would lead to questions about her own turning, and that was not something I wanted to discuss right now. I was not ready to deal with another rift between us.

Thankfully she let it drop. Once my desk was cleared, she suggested the dojo and I accepted gratefully. Sparring was far less dangerous than conversation.