Aug 23rd, 4:30 a.m.
His still body lay on the ground with blood pooled around his head, his hair a sickly red. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open, one fang missing. Other bodies lay mangled feet away, some human, some saber, some wolf and odd piles of bloody, thick goo. Howls, screams and cries echoed throughout the wooded area along with grunts of pain.
The saber approached the figure on the ground and smelled his chest, sneezing at the dust on his ripped and torn, bloody t-shirt. She pushed her nose against the side of his head and pushed it tenderly. It lobbed awkwardly to the left. As gently as she could, she licked his arm twice, his skin peeled off. Humming loudly, she nudged his hand until it was on top of her head, wanting only for a loving rub. It simply plopped back down in the bloody dirt.
A blonde woman ran over but stopped suddenly when she saw the saber-tooth tiger that had been trying to get his attention. The woman stuttered, "I … I'm only here to give him my blood." The saber sat on her hind legs, looked at the woman and nodded. She flinched in shock then said, "Eric," the human moaned as she knelt by him. Picking up his head gingerly, she grimaced as the back of his head seemed to disintegrate in her hand. "Oh, Eric."
She saw his fang lying by his shoulder, picked it up and slammed the sharp end into her carotid artery, crying out in pain. Putting his lips against her neck, she said, "It's Sookie. Drink, Eric, Drink."
Knowing Eric was getting the blood he needed to heal, the saber turned and ran off to find her Maker, her aunt, her friend. But she couldn't pick up her scent. She looked around in a panic; a sudden surge of fear tore through her entire body. Pam. She had to find Pam …
"Pam!" Kris screamed as she bolted up in bed, her heart still beating heavily from the dream of her in her saber form.
The door swung open wide and Pam burst in. "Kris, honey, what is it?"
"Bad dream," she mumbled in her hands as more of the dream came to her. "It was at this bar with bodies everywhere and weird piles of bloody, gooey stuff. Eric was really hurt and … a blonde woman came to Eric to heal him … Sookie, I think her name was." Kris was afraid to tell her she didn't know what happened to Pam.
Pam gasped, her eye wide. "Sookie? When did you hear that name?"
The urgency in her voice made her think twice before she answered. "In my dream."
Pam frowned. "You've never heard Eric or me mention that name?" Kris shook her head. "Do you remember the name of the bar?"
"No. It was in the woods, a lot of pine trees. A thought crossed her mind, and she grabbed Pam's arm. "What if … Alexis is telepathic. What if I'm … what's that word? A psychic?"
"Clairvoyant. Has anything like this happened before?"
"No. This can't be … It can't happen!"
"Why would I give a shit?" Eric asked. He and Pam were on the roof watching the moon descend just above the horizon. "I'll heal, apparently."
"Her dream doesn't bother you? The fact that she is a seer?"
"No."
"That poor girl has been crying non-stop—"
"That doesn't bother me, either." His voice was monotone and cold.
"You know what bothers me, Eric? The fact that you are a heartless bastard. This game you two are playing needs to stop. The bond between you two is doing nothing but making you both miserable and unbearable to live with."
"Speaking of, I was thinking. Maybe you and your seer-saber-vampire baby should go live in the caretaker's flat." He flew off before she could say anything.
Pam went back to her bedroom calling Eric Northman a million and one names, none of them good. When she'd passed Kris's bedroom she was still crying, but Pam knew she'd soon be asleep with the sun coming up. It still was no comfort. It had been a long day for Pam, as well. She didn't like feeling Kris's pain and confusion. And Pam knew there was not a damned thing she could do about it.
Eric didn't fly off too far due to the sun soon rising. He just needed some peace and quiet to get his thoughts together. Before Kris had knocked on his door earlier in the evening he was on the phone with Vilgot, who insisted he take Kris back with him to the school after their meeting. Eric protested that she stay with him. Vilgot threatened to tell Pam of Eric's hindrance, since she was his Maker. Eventually Vilgot knew the power Eric had in the area and no longer argued, but he knew Vilgot would have his way.
Eric was blocked into a corner. Kris could go to the school, yet spend the days with him. It was that simple. But there he was pushing Kris away. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his fault. It was just the way it was with the bond they shared.
It did bother him Kris could see the future. He was never one that appreciated knowing what would happen to him a week or a month later. He lived for the moment. He thrived on living in the moment.
But what he couldn't see scared the shit out of him. The fact that Kris was at his side when he was injured in the little-known future told him one thing: He would never be rid of Kris. He wore a smile all the way to his bedroom to sleep for the day.
Aug 23rd, 9:15 p.m.
"Pamela, you suck at billiards," Eric muttered as he sunk the eight ball in the middle pocket, just as he planned. "You now owe me 24 vestal virgins."
"I never claim to be a pool shark, Eric. And I think I said 24 pestle sturgeons."
"Hey, guys," Kris said as she came into the billiards room as if nothing was said between her and Eric earlier in the morning. "Oh, man it's gorgeous in here," she exclaimed as she looked around at the cherry wood paneled walls, pinewood floors, shelves over the fireplace and the moon's rays coming through the two dormer windows, giving an ethereal glow to the room.
Eric busied himself restacking the table. "How did it go?" Pam asked.
"Fine. I knew when to stop feeding. He's asleep. I wore him out, you know after …" Eric looked at her with contempt, which she saw. "I thought Swedish men were hot, but Scots are hotter and have way sexier accents. They talk so fast and their accents are so thick you can't help but have to get close to them to understand them. It's kinda hot."
Eric then had his back turned and Pam mouthed, 'You didn't do it.'
Kris mouthed, 'No." Pam looked at her confused as to why she had said that.
"Kris, choose your weapon," Eric said menacingly as he stood by pool table, chalking the end of his pool stick.
"How about a stake?" she replied, eying him evilly.
Eric was about to say something back when Pam said, "Kris, if you are going to be—"
"Pam, I was asking about the stakes in the game." Going to the rack, she chose one. "This will do."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "You dare to get cocky with me?"
"At least one of us has one." Pam snickered, and when Kris looked at her she gave her aunt a quick wink. She mouthed, 'Tell you later.'
"I already know what I want," Eric said, though there was no sexual teasing in it at all.
"And I know what I will get when I win," Kris said confidently.
"Are you ready or not?" he asked impatiently.
"Fine. I break," he said.
"No, ladies first," Kris said.
"Like he said, Kris. He goes first," Pam teased as she stood by the fireplace ready to watch the action.
"Sore loser," Eric snipped. "I shall let the lady break, if you will, my fair maiden," Eric mocked in a very bad British accent.
"Stripes, 12, left back pocket," Kris said confidently as she went to the end of the table, bent over, aimed and made the shot. The cue ball hit the leading ball off-center and the balls dispersed around the table. The predicted purple striped ball went into the predicted pocket.
"Oh, shit," Pam muttered then chuckled.
Eric remained silent as Kris evaluated the table. "11, same pocket."
"Easy shot," Eric mumbled.
Kris sunk the ball then quickly and easily made five more, calling each shot correctly. Eric was squirming as he stood by watching with egg on his face. "Well, well, well," Pam snickered.
The 8 ball remained, which was hidden behind a solid ball. It wasn't an easy shot. The only way she'd be able to make it was with a bank shot, the 8 ball had two possible pockets it would go in. If the shot was miscalculated, the 8 would go into the middle pocket instead of her initial thought of the right back one. If that didn't happen, game over.
She went to the rack and got the stick with the brass spider fingers, an addition to the stick that had four prongs to put the tip of the player's stick for trick shots. Looking for the chalk block, she saw it hidden behind Eric's head on the fireplace shelf. "Hmm, nice try, cheater. Gimme."
"Someone's cheating, and it's not me," Eric said as he handed her the block.
"With the 980 years or so difference between us one would think you'd have worked on your skills, Mr. Northman."
"Oh, shit," Pam laughed.
Making calculations and evaluating the table carefully, she placed the spider stick on the table, moved it here and there until she was comfortable where it was. Eyeing the shot, she finally said, "8, right back pocket."
"That's an impossible shot. You may as well give the game to me," Eric commented.
"Oh, I never give up, Eric," she said as she eyed him.
Looking back at the table, she took one final glance at the set up and was happy with it, until Eric pressed his crotch against the corner of the pocket she was aiming for. And apparently her challenge had done something to his libido because the bulge was bigger than any bulge should be allowed without bursting out at the seams of a pair of jeans.
"Eric, I don't really know my own strength yet. It might be dangerous for you if I accidentally overshoot the ball."
"I'm not worried," he retorted.
"Fine. It's your penis," Kris said, shrugging her shoulders, causing Pam to burst out laughing.
"Shut up, Pam!" Eric barked at her. "Make the shot, Princess," he said sarcastically.
Lining up the shot, she said a quick prayer, pulled her arm back then said another prayer. "Wait!" Eric bellowed. "You didn't call it."
"Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't.
"8, right back pocket."
"Yes, that's what she called, Eric," Pam snickered.
"You are sleeping on the porch tonight, Pam! Well, go for it."
Concentrating, Kris made the shot. The stick hit the cue ball, which bounced off the side and headed straight to the 8 ball, where it made contact. The 8 ball ever so slowly rolled closer and closer to the pocket, slowing down every revolution until it looked like it stopped on the edge of the felt just outside the pocket.
"Ha! You missed!" Eric screamed in joy, doing some type of Viking dance, never taking his eyes off of the table. Out of the blue there was a click as the 8 fell into the pocket.
"I believe you are mistaken, Eric," Kris told him.
His eyes flew open, and he stood as still as a statue. "How in the hell did you just do that?"
She put the pool sticks back in the rack then approached Eric. "Being the only foster child in a family with a pool table, what's a girl to do but play all night long?"
"You cheated. It was magick!" he insinuated.
"I did no such thing. I won fair and square. But good game there, sport."
Eric was still protesting when Kris dashed out of the room, Pam's laughter filling the billiard room.
So, y'all know where I'm going with this now! It'll be a showdown at Bellefleur's Bar and Grille the evening of the vampire-human match up of this summer's season finale when the vampire-zombies show up. Question is: Who lives and who dies?