Sooo, lots of stuff happens in this chapter. Hope you've got your reading glasses on. Vaguely sexual themes in this one as well. (Okay, who am I kidding, it's True Blood. Sex is required.) All underage sailors—you have been warned.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Especially not the one who likes to suck on things that aren't his.

CHAPTER 2: THE FAMILY BUSINESS

I'm almost relieved when my phone starts screaming.

Yes. Actual screaming. And not the bloody murder kind. No, that would have been too generous. This is more like the orgasmic bliss kind. I close my eyes slowly in utter exasperation. There can only be one plausible explanation for this. I sigh and mouth the name like a curse, "Tony…"

"Are you going to answer that?" The vampire across from me can't seem to wipe the grin off of his face. "Nice ringtone, by the way."

"Thank you."

My phone's obnoxious orgasm seems to be getting more intense. Oh YES…mnn…ooh, harder, HARDER—

The vampire looks like Christmas has arrived early, and I don't want him getting any strange ideas, so I plunge my hand into my oversized purse, suddenly frantic to shut the device off. This is quite possibly the worst stunt Tony has pulled yet. Well, not really, but the situation is. I'm so embarrassed my face feels like it's melting off; I'm sure it's the color of cherries by now. And it just keeps getting louder. Oh my—I think Tony actually recorded this—

"I'm gunna to kill 'im," I hiss under my breath as I search for the offensive device, my voice slipping back into a southern drawl in my distress. "No, first I'll castrate him, then make him swallow it like the little bitch he is—" I don't usually curse, but when I'm stressed, pissed, and/or around people I know, my filter shuts off. My whole arm nearly disappears into the purse before I finally find my phone—a result of the expanding charm my great-grandma Azra gifted me with last spring; I am now literally the owner of a Marry Poppins bag. I normally find it useful, but in situations like these? Not so much. "Aha!"

When I emerge with the offensive device, I shoot a look at the vampire, who nods at me in consent. Only then do I hit the send button—don't want to needlessly upset my captor. "What the hell do you want?"

"You sound like you're in a good mood."

"The best," I reply, staring blankly at the vampire in front of me. "The people here in Dallas are great. I even made a new friend."

Tony snorts in disbelief. "You don't have friends."

"I love you too, asshole. Nice move with the ringtone. You're in rare form lately," I speak without an ounce of inflection.

"Gotta keep sharp if I'm going to whoop your ass this solstice," he responds in kind. "I'm not letting you take this from me. It's all I've ever wanted since I was old enough to understand it."

"I know," I tell him more softly. Our relationship has suffered immensely because of Aunt Sage's meddling. Pitting us against each other. Stupid trials. "You know…we're stronger when we're together. We don't need to fight. Just because they tell us to—"

"Shut the fuck up, Am," he says just as softly, but it cuts me to the quick. I bite my lip to keep from saying something I'll regret.

"…Why are we talking, Anthony?"

"I heard She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gave you the mirror treatment," he bounces right back to his regular bravado. "If you care about me at all, you'll tell me what she's planning."

"Tony…"

"Listen, Jinx—if you really have any idea how much this means to me—and if you have any wit of sense in that silly head of yours—help me now, tell me what—"

"Tony!" I raise my voice, cutting him off sharply. "If I thought it would help—if I thought it would change anything between us—I would've told you! But it won't! She does what she wants without caring about the consequences, and there's nothing either of us can do about it! That's how it's always been—so stop putting me in the middle of it! I'm so sick and tired of both of you pulling me in two different directions! I'm not playing their stupid game anymore! Enough!"

I'm met with dead silence after my rare outburst. Finally he grits out through his teeth, "You're right. We—don't—have—a choice. It's never going to be enough. It will never be over. And if you think for a second Auntie is going to let you off—think again." His voice is low and gravelly—inhuman sounding—and I know it's a result of his contract, the dark blood surfacing with his roused emotions; it's a rather new addition to him that makes me sick to my stomach to think about. He's changed so much. "Even you are smarter than that, little cousin. Stalling and fooling around with old spell books isn't going to help you. Sooner or later, you're going to have to pick a side. You better be on the right one."

"…Don't you dare threaten me Anthony Derwood," I hiss back at him stiffly. "I am not afraid of you."

"You should be."

The line went dead.

Silence presses down upon us until the vampire innocently prods, "Family issues?"

I shut my eyes, feeling the months of exhaustion weighing down my shoulders. "Oh, you have no idea."

Something about the words makes him grin again. "I'm here on family business as well."

"Are you?" That's surprising. "You know, it's astounding how often I find myself wishing I had no family at all. I wasn't aware vampires had them too."

"We don't think of family in the same terms as humans do."

"That's probably for the best," I remark dismally. "Human families are fucked up. And if they're not, then they're hiding something."

"What's happening on the solstice?" he suddenly demands in the same soft, agreeable tone as always, but I can hear more of the razors in it this time.

I've yet to reopen my eyes, and I mutter, "I don't want to think about what's happening on the solstice. I came here to get away from all that."

"Do I need to ask again?" His voice is velvet, dark, and dangerous.

I pin him with a dead stare. "It's witch business. Nothing to do with vampires. You won't understand."

"Humor me."

I eye him with interest. "Why do you want to know so badly if it has nothing to do with vampires?"

"I'm an incorrigible busybody," he imparts as if relinquishing a guilty secret.

I narrow my eyes at him in irritation, but it's obvious that he's not going to let the matter rest. "Fine. Do you know of the Trials?"

"The trials where we burnt several of your kind to death? Why of course. How could I forget?" he hums as if speaking of a fond memory.

"No—not the damn witch trials." I shake my head as if trying to shake away an annoying fly. "The Trials of the Triumvirate."

His brow furrows a bit in consternation. Obviously this vampire is unused to not knowing what the hell is going on. His voice finally wavers with a bit of foreboding when he demands, "What Triumvirate?" He sounds like half of him doesn't really want to know the answer.

I run a hand down my face in exasperation. "If you don't already know, might we please wait until we get wherever we're going first? Because I really don't want to have to explain myself twice. I hate doing that."

"Better start getting your story straight then, little witch," he concedes reluctantly, letting his burning blue-eyed gaze drift towards the tinted window. "We're here."

He's out the door so fast I don't even see him move, and before the vehicle has even come to a full stop, he's dragging me out of it by the elbow leaving me to stumble awkwardly over my feet behind him. Fluffy leaps out the door just before it slams shut in a close shave, loping into my shadow and disappearing in it. That causes the vampire a millisecond of pause, but he only shakes his head and curses, "Witches…"

"You still never told me your name," I grumble, struggling to match his pace, tripping every few yards or so as we cross the stately yard to a posh-looking estate, and he appears to be hell-bent on dislocating my arm...

He also appears to have abandoned all polite social conduct and gone into what I like to call full-on-vampire-badass-mode, I grimly notice. He summarily ignores my protests as he drags me into the residence, the doors flying open in our wake. But we hardly make it another two paces of the freakishly tall vampire's wide stride before another—notably shorter—vampire appears before us, halting the blonde in his tracks.

"Eric," the newcomer greets my vampire captor genially. I instantly like his voice. I don't sense any razor blades in it, and it carries a strange lilt that I can't quite identify. It means that he's very old. Some of the older members of the coven—like great-grandma Azra—possess an accent that is very similar, if not quite identical. And not only that, you can tell from the eyes. They strike me instantly because they're the same color as mine. They look me over impartially if not without a spark of curiosity. "…Who is your companion?"

The newly dubbed Eric eyes me threateningly, and I let out a put-upon sigh, giving the other vampire a polite nod. Say what they may, but I am not stupid, nor am I suicidal. "Amity Hartly—witch. At your service."

The old vampire's brows lift up in surprise as he eyes Eric. "You caught a witch?"

I yank my elbow out of Eric's grasp with a glare and straighten my jarred outfit—a trendy, off-the-shoulder black and white zig-zag shirt with denim shorts barely visible beneath—letting out a soft sniff. "More like I came willingly. I'm not here to cause trouble. I take it you're the sheriff of this area?"

"Yes." He eyes me with polite interest. "I am Godric." His mouth quirks crookedly as he mimics my own introduction, "Vampire. At your service." He gestures towards a room at the end of the hall where the blueish light of a computer pools out—I'm guessing it's an office. "Shall we?"

"If we must…" I throw another glare at Eric for good measure, but dutifully follow after the sheriff at a thankfully more human pace. I'm still unhappy with the whole situation, but the youthful looking vampire carries with him an aura of peacefulness I've rarely encountered before. Most people harbor such urgency and vigor—like Eric, his presence larger than life and looming over all. Vampires especially possess an inherent violence and chaos about them, but not this one. The complete absence of conflict is…oddly soothing. "You're not like other vampires," I can't help but note aloud.

He cocks his head at me as he holds the door open, gesturing us on through the entrance of his office to some modern looking seating. Godric looks decidedly out of place within it all. "How do you figure that?" he wonders, clear green eyes holding me captive as he sits across from me in an armchair, somehow managing to make it look like a throne, despite his out-of-place-ness.

"I don't really know how to explain it without sounding all witchy, and new agey—which makes me look like a really huge dork, and believe me, you really don't want to see me go full on dork. It's painfully awkward." While rambling, and not really paying attention to the sounds coming out of my mouth, I try to analyze the aura further. It's never really been my area of expertise, but for some reason, vampires are easier to read for me. And while comparing the two, Eric's and Godric's side by side, something in my head just clicks and I come to an abrupt realization, exclaiming suddenly, "Oh! You two are related!" I look back at Eric. "You weren't lying about the family business, huh?" At that point, Fluffy jumps out of my shadow, settling on my lap to scrutinize the new vampire critically—to his credit, Godric doesn't even flinch.

Instead he exchanges a deliberate look with Eric and nods. "I can see why you brought her to me. But I do not see that there is much cause for alarm at this time. This one is docile—peaceful even. Why detain her when she means no harm?"

Eric thumps the back of the couch where he looms behind me, opting to stand instead of sit. "Tell him the rest."

A dour expression mars my features and I sigh, "If you insist…" My eyes flick back to the older vampire and I ask, "Do you know about the Trials of the Triumvirate?"

"The Triumvirate?" Godric repeats in surprise, leaning in with clear interest. "You mean to say they still exist?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure," I say. "Just try and keep that on the down-low, okay? I can get in big trouble for talking about it. You didn't hear it from me."

"You would so easily betray your own?" He frowns, as if the thought is upsetting somehow.

"Look…" I tell him softly, mentally getting ready for the speech I've been preparing, "I've recently been disillusioned to a lot of the protocols within my so-called order. I don't see it as a betrayal." I sighed, and added almost inaudibly, "They betrayed me first…" More strongly, I explain, "I was inducted into the coven when I was six years old—my cousin was ten—and nobody wasted any time getting right down to business. Feelings were not spared. The whole Great Revelation thing you guys pulled on everyone really freaked people out—witches too. They were gearing up for a war to end all wars when they realized vampires were all uniting and plotting something. My cousin and I were to be the greatest assets in said war…" I shrug dismally. "Turns out, that was pretty much unnecessary, but here I am—my cousin was actually disappointed when it turns out all the plotting was just you guys coming out of the coffin. Really anticlimactic after being trained your whole life for a fang-war." I stare into his eyes earnestly with a jaded glaze. "Tell you the truth, I really just want to live my life without having to worry about all that shit. I'm so done."

"I can imagine…" And from the way he says it, I actually believe him. He continues to lean in, elbows resting on his knees and hands laced together in front of him as he eyes me up and down inquisitively. "Tell me, what coven do you hail from, Miss Hartly? You strike me as familiar."

My brows lift in surprise. I've never met this vampire before, so that's strange. "McCarthy. You've had dealings with us in the past?"

To my shock, and personal awe, his face breaks into a wide smile as if he'd just struck gold, eyes shining with mirth. "Cassia. That is who you remind me of."

My eyes go wide and I nearly jump across the coffee table in my eagerness. "Cassia? Cassia was my mother!" I return the grin wholeheartedly, a strong, intense joy encapsulating my chest. Strange though it may be, I feel as though I've met a long lost friend in this Godric. "You knew her?"

"Yes," he laughs. "We crossed paths several times during the various witch wars. Rarely did I have an encounter with her without some sort of memento to remember her by... She was quite thoughtful in that way."

The smile melts right off my face when I realize what a grave mistake I've just made. "Oh…"

"Fear not. I am not bitter in the slightest. She got as good as she gave," he reassures me quickly with a laugh, the smile not leaving his face as his eyes trace mine. It's almost as if he's seeing a whole different person before him. "We had our moments. I remember her quite fondly. We were even allies when it suited our purposes—or as close to the term as two vastly different individuals could be in our position at the time. I would not have guessed she would have children. She did not seem the type when I knew her."

"My Aunt Sage says the same thing all the time…" I reply, suddenly shy. "She says Mama went soft…"

"Sage? Is that what she goes by now?" Godric chuckled darkly. "She was and always will be a nasty piece of work, that woman… If one can even call her a woman."

My face splits into a wide grin once again, and I let out a peal of laughter, shaking my head. "You—I really like you. I could kiss you for saying that—oh if only I could see her face—" Anyway brave enough to insult Aunt Sage without an ounce of fear is someone I admire greatly. I round on Eric, who's been oddly quiet through the whole exchange, with the same grin, "Thank you for abducting me. Your maker is wonderful." Turning back to said maker, I duly inform him, "You've just made my night."

"It is you who has made mine, Miss Hartly," he protests graciously. "I have not laughed this much in what feels like decades. What is the term they use now-a-days…a 'blast from the past,' correct?" He sits straighter, the same crooked smile playing at his lips as he declares stately, "On behalf of all the vampires of Dallas, I welcome you. You will have friends here for however long you intend to stay."

"Thank you," I respond sincerely, and with no small amount of surprise. "I'll admit, I was not expecting any sort of welcome what-so-ever when I got here—especially not from a vampire."

His smile fades a bit. "Unfortunately, Miss Hartly, that is not an uncommon sentiment. Nor is it entirely unwise…"

Sensing I've hit a sore subject and upset him in some way, I quickly make a decision that may not be 'entirely wise.' "You can call me Amity. And in fact, I think I'll take you up on that offer of friendship if you weren't just offering out of propriety. I don't have many friends, and, quite honestly, I'd love to see you again after this if you could spare the time. You could tell me stories about my mother?" I ask. "I only have a handful of actual memories…and Aunt Sage isn't a very good storyteller."

"I should imagine not," he chuckles softly, his smile returning. I like his laugh, I realize. It's understated, and modest—like the rest of him—two traits you don't often find in vampires—and it seems to come to him as a surprise each time he does it. Like he's not used to it. He laces his fingers together again and appears to come to a similar decision as mine. "I would like to see you again as well. In return for the stories, perhaps you might provide some more information on the McCarthy coven and your business here in Dallas?"

"That sounds like more than a fair exchange." I nod in agreement. "You're a shrewd businessman. I can see where your Eric gets it from." I eye the blonde leerily over my shoulder. "'Unscheduled detour' my butt."

He shrugs at me unrepentantly. "It seems to have had a favorable outcome. I won't hear any complaints out of you."

Godric shakes his head at his progeny good-naturedly. "'Unscheduled detour'—is that what you called it? I'll have to remember that one." He rises then to his—rather diminutive—height, and holds out a hand to me. "Come, I shall escort you out. I'm sure this has all been rather inconvenient."

"Well, Eric's right. In this case, the end justifies the means." I toss the blond giant a reluctant smirk. "Let's not do it again."

"I make no promises, little witch."

Godric's hand is cold in my own when he politely helps me to my feet, but certainly not unpleasant like Eric's touch had been. Perhaps it's the knowledge that I'm not being led to my death, and maybe I'm not in the practice of letting vampires touch me at any given time, but it's actually rather nice. His peaceful aura sweeps over me like a warm tide, and washes away any inherent unease the chilly fingers evoke. I've spent more time around vampires than I care to remember, and not in the most favorable of circumstances, so that's possibly the reason I haven't noticed it before… It's hard to explain. If I had to come up with a terribly cliché metaphor, I'd say Godric is a hauntingly smooth and mysterious sonata I can't entirely make out, while Eric is a stupidly loud, catchy, and not altogether awful pop song—the kind you really want to hate, but can't help but sing along to at the top of your lungs when you're driving down the road alone in your car—a guilty pleasure. The thought makes me smile as we exit the estate.

The limousine is still there and Godric turns to Eric. "Will you see to it that she arrives at her destination safely?"

"Of course."

"No more detours." The corner of the ancient vampire's lip curls into a discernibly amused smirk.

Eric places a hand over his unbeating heart and gives his maker a little bow, saying something unmistakably cheeky in another language I don't understand. Godric responds in kind with a clearly exasperated shake of his head, I imagine because he's too dignified to actually roll his eyes. I've never actually seen vampires interact with each other before. It's fascinating, and bizarrely intimate in a way I can't really explain very well. I feel like there should be a documentary on these sorts of things. Now that the vampires are out of the coffin, they could put it on the discovery channel. Maybe even Animal Planet! The thought makes me giggle, and they both look at me strangely.

I shake my head. "Sorry. I see what you mean about vampire family dynamics, Eric. You have very strong bonds. I'm actually a little jealous." Frowning, and thinking of Tony, I admit, "I wish human bonds were as durable…"

"The bond must be strong to better withstand the burden of time," Godric explained solemnly. "Most come to terms with it. Some resent it for the rest of their existence. Everyone is different…" he gives me a small smile, "much the same as with human bonds."

"You're comparing religion to science," Eric is quick to protest. "There is no comparison."

"Isn't there?" Godric stares at him intensely, as if the answer is written in his progeny's eyes. Eric gives him no answer, reflecting on his words in quiet contemplation. The moment is over when the old vampire turns back to me, snatching up my hand and placing a kiss upon it. "It's been a true pleasure, Miss Amity. I look forward to meeting with you again soon."

A bit dazzled—he's still holding my hand—I give him a flustered nod, shaking out of my daze and plaster on a grin. "Yes—soon. Definitely. I can't wait." Yes, because that sounds so sincere. Crap. I'm a nervous wreck. What the hell is wrong with me? He's like, sixteen. Wait no. Not sixteen. Definitely not sixteen. Damn vampires.

Whatever my particular mental affliction is, Godric thankfully doesn't appear to notice, and gifts me with another one of his smiles, giving my hand a squeeze before releasing it and stepping back. He looks at Eric then, and gives him a nod, at which point the blond giant's hand claps down on my shoulder and he steers me towards the vehicle. "Come along, little witch. You've caused enough trouble for one night."

I fix him with an incredulous look. "Me?! Excuse me, but I think you're the troublemaker in this equation!"

"You're excused."

"You're impossible."

"You're too easy."

"Ugh!" I shrug off his hold and march to the limousine furiously muttering to myself about fascist pigs, opening the door and slamming it closed ferociously without waiting for him. Eric exchanges a few more words with his maker before following, and settling into his previous seat across from me. I'm staring determinedly out the tinted window, my elbow on the arm rest, propping up my chin petulantly. I blow my straightened bangs out of my face with an irritated puff, trying to ignore his intense stare as the vehicle starts moving again.

He finally breaks the silence when he asks, "Where to?"

My eyes dart to him warily, and I mumble out, "56 Iron Chaise Lane."

He slides open the hatch to the driver's seat a crack without taking his eyes from me and informs the chauffeur. It's a quarter of an hour drive from the airport in Dallas, plus the added distance from Godric's house makes it even longer. I let out a sigh. This is going to be one long, awkward trip if he doesn't stop staring at me any time soon.

I experiment with the high-tech window controls that I was too tense to play with last time I was in here, and somehow manage to figure out how to get the damned thing to go down. I instantly stick my head into the car's slipstream, letting my long, kinky curly hair do what it pleases. The dry smell of vampires isn't terrible by any means, but fresh air is never a bad thing either. I try to concentrate on the rush of the air over my skin—something I've always loved, ever since I first stuck my head out of a moving car. Tony always joked that I should stick my tongue out like old Gus—

And thanks to my inattention, Eric managed to get a whole lot closer without me realizing it. He's sitting right next to me now—I only noticed he'd moved when he rested his arm on the back of my seat, dangerously encroaching on my personal space—and you'll find yourself hard pressed to discover any hot blooded female who can ignore something like that. I close my eyes in a prayer for strength before regarding him with as much composure as I can muster. "Yes?"

"I can't help but find you…curious. I've not encountered any witches like you before." His eyes are no less intense than they were a minute ago.

I shrug. "There are as many types of witches as there are fish in the sea, Eric. You've got your fire witches, hedge witches, voodoo priests, wiccans—my personal favorites are the sky witches—"

"What kind are you?" he interjects smoothly, but shortly.

"Well now, don't you think that's a bit of a personal question—" I start, a bit flustered.

"You don't want to play games with me, Miss Hartly." His face is suddenly very close to mine. I can smell his sea-salt ocean scent wafting off of him like a cool breeze. "Not where my maker is involved. I haven't seen him act like that in decades. What did you do to him?"

My eyes widen. "Hell, Eric, I didn't do anything to him! Magic can do a lot of things, but it can't sweet talk a vampire! I meant everything I said back there! I think your maker is wonderful!"

His hand moves to grip my shoulder, thumb brushing my collar bone lethally. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Careful now, because I will not ask again." He enunciates the words slowly and carefully, his nose barely an inch from mine. "What—are—you?"

"Okay—o-okay. Now…don't do anything hasty—" His hand on my collar inches treacherously towards my neck. A warning. It goes without saying that he could snap it in an instant. "I'm…I'm a..." I suck in a sharp breath, feeling his deadly fingers caress my throat. This is the closest I've been to death in a long time, and I've let it happen. This is my fault. Swallowing thickly, I close my eyes in a wince.

"I'm a necromancer."

All at once, I'm slammed into the back of the seat by my neck, cut off from my air supply. I manage to choke out a strangled warning, "E-Er-ic—d-don't—" but it's too late. A low, ominous yowling comes from the shadows in the vehicle. They move in strange, unnatural ripples before they suddenly pounce upon the vampire, quick as a viper's strike, penetrating the skin. Eric is abruptly flung unceremoniously from my person and back into the seat across from me, his arms spread eagle across the back, as if pinned there with crucifix nails.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I cry brokenly, massaging my sore throat as tears run down my cheeks, staring at him in horror. It's always horrifying when this happens. It...I can feel everything in him. A cold, sick feeling settles in my gut. I know that I could make him do anything if I wanted. He's furious, eyes burning, straining against the shadowy restraints, and arching against the seats when a jolt of pain surges from the unfamiliar power holding him down. "I told you—" I gasp out. "I told you I had defenses in place—"

"Release me," he grits out between his teeth, fangs already out and glinting dangerously.

Trembling from my corner of the limo, knees pulled up to my chest, I stutter out, "P-promise you won't hurt me again?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep," he snarls at me.

"I didn't—I didn't mean t-to do it, Eric," I blubber out in tears, guilt overcoming me, more than actual fear of an angry vampire. This is my fault. If I had control... "I'm really, r-really sorry! Please don't—p-please don't hurt me, okay?"

I creep over to him warily where he still strains against the necromantic bonds attaching him to the other side of the cab, muttering fractured apologies all the while trying to come up with some kind of solution. I might know how to get him free in theory but… Oh, I hate it when this happens. I hate not being in control. I hate it. And the tears come out and make it a million times worse. I bite my lip savagely, attempting to get them wrangled back in, regulating my breathing, and wiping my face hurriedly as I straddle his lap. Nobody likes tears and snot all over them.

"Just…just try and relax, alright?" I tell him in what I hope is a placating tone of voice. His only reply is an angry-vampire growl, and I only hope he'll be in a more agreeable mood after he's freed. After another moment of careful thought I first go about massaging his wrists to open up the pathways, focusing on the tendons and joints. I frown when he shows no sign of cooperating with me. "That's not how you relax."

"What is this, a spa treatment?" he spits through a strained voice.

"Just trust me," I sigh.

"Never," he hisses back, baring his fangs.

Growing irritated very quickly, guilt and regret drying up like puddles in a drought, I drop both my hands from their ministrations limply and put it to him frankly, "Then you are going all the way back to Godric's place—just like this—where he will find you—just like this—figure out exactly what happened, and drive back here with you—just like this—where he too will ask me to release you, and I will go about doing the same thing I'm trying to do now while he watches." I eye him flatly. "Now, I don't know about you, or what kind of kinks you have, but that sounds like a lot of pain, humiliation, and wasted time to me. When does dawn happen around here, anyway? I'm still not sure of the hours—I've got major jet lag." I check out the window surreptitiously. "I can ask the limo guy to park it in the garage until nightfall. Then again, my pop-pop hates vampires, so that might not be the best idea when you're at your most vulnerable, not to mention wide open for a stak—"

"Fuck—stop talking and just do it," he groans as another jolt of pain shoots through the necromantic energy infecting his system. And now the guilt is back... I can sense the nettle-thorn energy it in his chakra pathways, wiggling like snakes sinking their fangs in; this is going to be like a live (ish?) vampire version of Operation—I can see it now. After the latest surge is over, he slumps back against the seat and retracts his fangs reluctantly. He looks away from me, which I take as a go-head gesture. Either that, or do-your-worst. When it comes to Eric, and what I currently know of his personality—which I'm getting to know very quickly—I'm thinking it's probably the latter.

With that, I start back up on his wrist again, moving up the pathway until I get to his shoulder. I've never actually done this on a vampire before. Healing is not my forte, but I have a rudimentary knowledge of the chakras and whatnot. It's easy to see that my necromantic energy has glued itself in there… (Oh my god, does this qualify as rape? I didn't even think about that until now!) Now all I have to do is clear a passage to get it out… "Holy crud, Eric, how in the hell did you manage to get so clogged up? I don't understand how you manage to physically function like this."

"I don't understand most of what just came out of your mouth," he says to the ceiling, eyes closed as if he's trying to pretend this isn't happening to him. He's breathing deeply to deal with the pain, breath hitching every now and then; it may not be strictly necessary for vampires, but it sure does help in painful situations. I can feel his body shudder with pain beneath me when the energy pulses. I feel so awful, even though he tried to kill me less than five minutes ago. There's probably something severely wrong with my brain. If I were smarter, I'd kick the (suspiciously oblivious) chauffeur to the curb, and park the limo out in the middle of the desert with the roof window open and listen to him scream all day until it's all over.

But nooo… No, I clearly have a death wish.

"Never mind, this one is almost clear," I tell him, concentrating on rolling my palm into the shoulder muscles. He lets out a groan at a particularly nasty jolt. "Sorry…just a little bit longer now," I murmur, and shift slightly on his lap. "The pathway runs through the chest now—do you mind if I get under your shirt? Skin on skin contact is better."

He gives the slightest of nods, and I take that as the okay, putting aside my embarrassment. This isn't about that. Come on now, you idiot, just like a band aid—and with that, I slip the front of his shirt up and over his head. Wah-hah-HOkay, okay, not okay, not good, not good—don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it—crap—too late—I'm already thinking about it—holy shit what did this guy do for a living before he became a vampire—oh my god—can you say ripped—any moment now my eyes are going to fall out of my goddamned head—

"Having fun?" he asks, suddenly looking at me predatorily while I look at him and his chiseled physique in all its shirtless glory with poorly disguised virginal terror. Fuck.

"No," I say a little too quickly, "there is nothing fun about this situation—nothing at all. Not even a little."

"Oh?" he asks, shifting his hips just slightly. "I beg to differ…" And that's when I feel it.

I let out a small, undignified shriek and fall over backwards, ass over teakettle, on the floor of the vehicle—flailing limbs and everything—with a rather loud thump. Okay, that's it, now I'm positive the chauffeur is glamoured. Not only that, but now Eric is positively roaring with laughter. At me. Well, at least now I know he's in a happier mood—hold the phone—

"You're not in pain at all, are you!?" I exclaim, scrambling up and bracing myself against the opposite seat again. Gritting my teeth I snarl at him, "What the fucking hell, Eric?! Stop laughing! It's not funny! What is wrong with you!?"

"With me?" he manages to choke out between breaths of laughter. "What's wrong with you? You act as though you've never had a good stiff fuck before—" He breaks off slowly as I look shyly away from him without comment. And then he starts laughing even harder.

"Shut up!" I protest loudly over his mirth, shameful tears brimming in my eyes, but he's completely lost it. Eric is crying too, but they're tears of laughter and blood. Suddenly my shame turns to anger. My fury gets the best of me and I pull something that has probably gotten most people their arms ripped off for less. The slap rings out in the compartment with a heavy silence in its wake. I stare at my hand for a moment—now slick with Eric's blood tears—like it doesn't belong to me.

Finally, he remarks, "I may have deserved that. Just a little." I continue to stare at my bloody hand blankly. Bored with my silence, he asks, "Are you going to have it, or just stare at it all night?"

Numbly, I approach him again and offer him my dripping, sticky hand with a mute shake of my head. I honestly don't know what I was expecting him to do with it. Maybe stare at it like I did? But instead, he sends me another one of his smoldering looks before darting forward against the restraints and taking my delicate fingers into his mouth. My knees actually buckle and I collapse amidst his legs when I feel his clever tongue laving up and down between my digits.

There has to be something wrong with me; a vampire licking his own fluids off my fingers is somehow turning me on. And then his fangs snap back out, giving me a good nick along the side of my index finger and he's sucking it deeper and deeper into his mouth before I can snatch it back with a yelp. It feels shallow, stinging only a little, but it bleeds profusely, and he's obviously savoring it by the appreciative moan I can literally feel rumble up his throat. Something soothing in his saliva makes the cut feel all tingly and wonderful, and when he finally lets it go—there is no more cut. My hand falls limply into my lap where I continue to stare at it as if it's not mine.

"You know," he says conversationally after licking his lips of any more of my clearly enjoyable donation, "there is no real difference between virgins' blood and regular blood. That's a myth."

"Huh," I manage to reply breathily, shell-shocked, and rather unwilling to think about what just happened or how it made me feel. "you learn something new every day…"

"Yours has something spicy in it. Can't put my finger on it…" he hums, as if we're having this discussion over tea. "I might actually forgive you for this tragic accident of yours if you cooperate and let me have another taste after you set me free."

"Sure." I get unsteadily, numbly, to my feet. "Why the hell not? Can't exactly hurt my chances of survival, can it?"

"If you run from me, I might even sweeten the deal," he adds in that velvet voice of his.

"I need the exercise anyway." I shrug limply, resuming my work on clearing his pathways with a mechanical sort of attention.

"Likewise." He cocks his head, watching my progress with a little too much interest. He doesn't seem to be in pain at all now. On the contrary... "Hunting hasn't been the same since the Great Revelation. Humans are all too ready to bare their necks. That's no fun at all."

"My heart bleeds for you," I tell him flatly.

He grins at me slowly. "I'm hoping another part of you will bleed for me…"

I reward him with a swat on the cheek—nothing like the slap from earlier, just a friendly reprimand. "Watch your dirty mouth."

"As I recall, you were quite enjoying my dirty mouth just a moment ago," he purrs at me, leaning closer to my neck as I reach in for his other shoulder. I firmly but gently push his face away. He grins again. "I think I like this game." He nips at my wrist, and I resist the urge to pinch his nose shut in retaliation. Really though, if I knew that all it took to make a vampire friendly was to wrap them in restraints and slap them into next week, I would've done it ages ago.

"You're almost out… Just have to extract it now—" I inform him, still working out how to actually do that, but then I frown at his bloody face. "You look ghastly." He merely arches a brow, and I shake my head with a sigh, reaching for my purse and emerging from its depths with a plastic bottled water and a handkerchief with ridiculous colorful umbrellas on it. "Hold still." I then proceed to methodically wipe his face clean. Why am I acting like his goddamn mother? Because it really is that bad. Vampires aren't pretty when they cry.

After taking one look at the ruined hanky, I toss it unceremoniously over my shoulder. "You owe me a new handkerchief with silly designs on it after this."

"Any particular preference?" he humors me, as I straddle his lap again, eyeing him thoughtfully as I search for an appropriate extraction point.

"Just as long as it's exceedingly stupid, I don't care. It's a quirk of mine. Long story. Don't ask."

"One handkerchief. Stupid designs. I'll take it under advisement."

Well, there's really only one way to do this—doesn't look like there's any getting out of it, unfortunately—and I'd rather not give him any more advantage over me than he already has… Weighing my options with a frown, I let out a resigned sigh. It's not exactly like it can get any worse... Decision made, I quickly take his face in my hands and—with little to no warning—seal my lips firmly over his. I may very well be a virgin, but I do happen to know a thing or two about kissing. I am a pro at playing tonsil hockey. But as much as I like to brag about that, Eric has, like, a thousand-something-years of experience over me.

After the split second of surprise—ha! I actually caught that!—his sculpted lips are bearing down on mine with a ferocity I've never felt before. And not the nice kind. He deftly catches my lower lip between his blunted teeth and bites down until I taste my own blood. He savors that for a moment, soothing the rupture with his magic, tingly vamp-spit, giving me a moment to gasp for air, but it's only a moment. And then he's using the stolen opportunity to plunge in with his slick tongue—which is actually what I was waiting for—tracing the roof of my mouth with a telltale, ancient rhythm that gets me thinking about…well, not his tongue.

This needs to stop before it progresses any further and I actually start to lose my head, I decide—and if Eric had any say in the matter, I certainly would have. But then I slowly move my hands from his working jaw, to gently massage his throat, subtly but insistently coaxing out the dark energy inside his pathways to move up and ouuuut…and…there it goes. I can tell I've gotten things moving when I feel the vampire freeze up beneath me, shuddering at the strange and unfamiliar feeling. His pathways are no longer blocked, so this should be a lot more pleasant than if I had just torn it out of him to begin with. Like running a nice warm stream through his veins as opposed to ripping out barbed wire.

I don't like to torture people. And with that thought in mind, slowly, and ever so gently, I pull back from him with my lips slightly ajar, continuing to massage the junction between his jaw and his throat to encourage him to do the same as a stream of dark energy escaped through his parted mouth and back into mine—where it belonged. The further I pulled away, the more the energy pooled out from within him until I was backing away, all the way, to my original seat. Finally, like a rubber band that was previously holding us together snapping apart, Eric's arms drop back to his side limply, and the black, smoke-like magic comes slamming back into my chest like a freight train, knocking me back, slumped in my seat.

I let out a bit of a wheeze—more than a little out of breath, for various reasons—and I mutter, "Oww… Never, ever again…"

When Eric recovers, he actually looks and sounds somewhat bewildered. "Was that my soul you just sucked out of me…?"

"Do you even have a soul?" I wondered.

He pauses, seriously contemplating it. "I don't know."

"Well, you've definitely got something knocking around in there…" I answer my own question. "It sounds like Justin Bieber on steroids—or V." I ponder briefly on that, and nod decisively, "Yeah. He's definitely on V."

"I'm honestly not sure whether to take that as a complement or an insult…" He blinks at me. "I'm not usually this confused."

"You sound conflicted," I sympathize.

"I'm uncertain whether to kill you, turn you, or fuck the living daylights out of you. None of those seems right…" He deliberates internally and voices the idle thought, "Maybe all three…? In that order?"

"I thought we were going for a run," I remind him. The car stopped in at Iron Chaise Lane a while ago. Someone really glamoured that chauffeur good.

"Ten minute head-start?" he offers generously.

I bolt from the vehicle as soon as I get my bearings back.

In case some of you are confused about Eric, I tried to make his personality a mixture between Book!Eric and TV!Eric. I'm a fan of both. Hope you enjoyed. I haven't written many sexy scenes before, so this is a bit of an experiment. It wasn't exactly meant to be romantic—since Eric/OC is not the main pairing, here. But something Book!Eric once said got me to thinking about how to go about approaching character development between the two. Book!Eric's maker, Appius Livius Ocella, wouldn't allow him to call him by his full name until "they'd gotten to know each other better," and he explained that there was only one way to get to know Appius better... I figured the same would hold true for the progeny. Anyway, they omitted APL from the TV show because he was too explicit. So I'm going to make him Godric's maker instead for the purposes of this fic. (Just FYI, Book!Godric/Godfrey didn't make it into the TV show either due to similarly explicit reasons, although they borrowed a lot from him. HBO does not abide by child molesters. Don't get me started on Book!Eric's poor, deranged little brother...)

I'm also keeping Book!Sookie's background and plot, by the way. Along with her Demon lawyer/supernatural sponsor, Mr. Cataliades. And Amelia the witch! And Dermot, Sookie's deranged, half-fey uncle! (He's my favorite).

...I'm feeling terribly insecure now.