I MUST BE LIVING WRONG

Disclaimer: The characters found herein are the property of Charlaine Harris, and I make no claim toward them.

A/N: It has been a while since I have worked on this story. I completed the chapter a while back, but was not happy with a "soft" Eric. He has edge and that's part of his charm. For me, he is the conflicted character, no matter what. I hope you still "hear" him. BTW: Happy Release Day! Thanks for reading and there's more from "my" Eric.

Excerpt from Chapter 7:

"Mmmm. Don't you have something to say to me?" I teased, my heart standing still, belying my taunting voice. I waited. I had to know. I had to hear it, even though our bond beat wildly with it. I wanted the words, too.

He looked on, his eyes narrowing, his lips curling. "Stop teasing and fuck me?" he queried, a hint of laughter in his sexy, husky voice.

Chapter 8

Well, it was what he wanted, he mused, chuckling unabashedly.

He always wanted Sookie to fuck him, and he didn't care if he was single-minded in this. He couldn't recall a time since he'd first laid eyes on her, when he hadn't wanted to sink his cock into the yielding heat of her, feel that sweet give of welcoming flesh, and lose himself in her eyes as she came apart, his name dark and urgent on her soft lips. In truth, he'd spent far too many days and nights these last few years in lurid imaginings of the two of them doing just this in as many ways as he'd be inclined to have her. And they were countless. It made him harder just thinking about them.

Yes, he always wanted her, her taste, her touch, her decadent blood, even her unusual mind; for a human, she had surprising depth. She made him hungry for her in ways no other woman, and certainly no other human, could. He absolutely ached for the feel of her beautiful body wrapped about him, her soft mouth on him, lost in eager exploration, enjoying him, all of him. Thankfully, there were still hours left in this night…In quiet anticipation, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his gaze sweeping warmly over her, noting the gleam of her bare skin, her perfect round breasts, still rosy from his touch, his possession, his undeniable ownership. His. He couldn't stop his smile from deepening, his fangs from running lower when he caught the stormy rhythm of her heart, felt the deliberate breath she fought for and which set all that bountiful beauty into mesmerizing motion. She really should not blame him for a libido which she fed so wholeheartedly…

Apparently, she did not share the humor in his earlier response, as she leant over him, her kiss-swollen lips tightening slightly, her forehead creasing in a frown. Her fingers slipped along the rigid length of him, absently stroking, her eyes intent on his, the curtain of her hair throwing her face into shadow. If she kept that up, he thought, swallowing audibly, he'd say whatever she wanted, give her, whatever she desired, and then some. The movements of her fingers, the pad of her thumb, were pure paradise and he moaned roughly, unable to keep the sharp pangs of pleasure, which lanced through him, at bay, or his hips from thrusting ever so slightly. Her grip tightened, exponentially; his motion ceased. Still not what she wanted to hear.

"You were saying," she prompted, her voice as Southern and as sultry, as he'd ever heard from her. There was nothing innocent in her tone, and he knew she was most assuredly aware of what she was doing to him, where she was leading him. She didn't need the increasing thrumming of the bond, to alert her. She held his eyes, and his dick, so that about covered it. Sookie was nothing, if not enterprising.

He had to have her. Again. Always.

And "always" had terms. Hers. The problems this would cause in his world; had already caused, were unending. Many would never see her as an equal, and even his Child had regarded him with a measure of consternation, once upon a time, when she'd noted the power over his life, his happiness, this little blond telepath held. He had only wondered at it, awestruck, in spite of himself. He'd thought that it was only the pressing need to have more of her than just the unexpected excitement of stolen kisses, and had been caught totally off his game, when the emotional attachment had developed, which the blood-bond only enhanced. Now, she possessed his mind. And he would have said his soul, if it still existed in the manner that it did to humans. The philosophical argument was one for those who had little better to do with their time, and who were not, literally, in the grip of their future. For him, soul or no soul, he loved her. And he could love… desperately. Possessively.

He could love.

Even if the woman above him, whose forehead was creased with a frown, looked as though she didn't quite share that belief, he knew it with ever fiber of his body. Her doubts flooded the bond between them and it quivered with the question in her heart, her unvoiced fears. He wanted to erase them from her thoughts, her spirit. He wanted to dispel from her mind, the memory of Bill and his misplaced loyalties, and that treacherous tiger, Quinn, from whom he'd yet to collect his pound of flesh. But for his bonded, he'd be fashion accessories for Pam, even now… They had been weak, and had both repaid her loyalty and trust with betrayal, and heartache. He would be different. She had braved an exploding building for him. What would he not do for her? He was different. He was stronger.

"Sookie," he murmured, his voice husky with hunger, emotion.

He reached for her hips as she went to move away from him, his hands gliding up to her waist, his long fingers fanning outward, his thumbs massaging gently, seeking to calm her. As she closed her eyes, he glimpsed the shimmer of tears. His chest tightened painfully. Damn! He hated when she cried. He sat up, his movement a blur, pulling her resisting body closer to his, growling as she released her intimate hold on him, yet enveloping her in his arms, and crushing the softness of her breasts to him. One hand went to the back of her head, entwining in the thick fall of her hair, as the other sought the sensitive small of her back. He leaned toward her, inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring at the intoxicating scent of sex that lay heavy on her; he loved that, wanted more of it. He purred against her ear, seeking to distract her, from the cause of her tears.

"Open your eyes, lover," he whispered, his lips gently brushing the shell of her ear, her sensitive earlobe. She quivered deliciously in his arms, her breasts tightening perceptibly against his chest. This was what eternity was for…His fangs extended fully, as he rubbed his chest against her softness, groaning deep in his throat. Always.

She didn't open her eyes; Sookie was nearly as stubborn as he. Nearly. He gave her a light shake, tousling her hair, and sending her breasts in motion, again. Her eyes flickered open, wariness in their depths, but still that surprising fire, that intense blaze that kept him coming back, time after time. Would that fire eventually consume him? That was part of the attraction…the excitement…He grinned at her, and transmitted what he knew of warmth, and pleasure-which was a lot- across the bond to her.

"Lover, what would you have me say?" he asked, his fingers drifting up her body, floating along her ribcage.

"Eric, it doesn't matter. I should have known--" she started, attempting to pull away again, her breathing rough.

"You're right. You should have known. You should have known that I had feelings for you. I have told you that. I have also told you that I could love you and marry you. I have not lied to you."

Her eyes grew round, and she frowned deeper. Would she quit with the infernal frowning!

"You weren't yourself. Hallow …"

"I am always myself." His hands stilled; his eyes narrowed. That witch's name still managed to bring his sluggish blood to boil.

"Right! You are Eric, after all," she scoffed.

"Yes, I am. I am also your bonded, as you are mine. I told you that you would come to like it, being bonded to me, but you will come to love it, as you love me, and I love you." Again, that almost imperceptible shift in the bond, the sense of something strengthening, and now expanding.

"What I was asking you has nothing to do with the damn bond and you know--" she stopped, and he watched as realization of what he'd said filtered through the veil of anger and doubt. He could practically see her mind churning away, almost hear the "click," as everything fell into place.

"You love me?" she asked incredulously, her mouth agape.

Now it was his turn to frown. "Did I not say that I did? Have I not shown it, time and again?" He wanted to give her another shake, but quelled the urge with no small effort. "Either I love you, or I have taken complete and utter leave of my senses. Either way, I am on unfamiliar ground, and thought to be a lunatic or a heretic by my kind."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and tilted her head to the right, fixing him with what he considered, was her attempt at a piercing stare. He could feel her back stiffen beneath his hand. He braced for a fight. Always.

"That's a backhanded way of saying you love me, you know, Eric. Why is it such a crazy thing to love me?"

"Backhanded?" He bristled. He closed his eyes and reined his temper in with effort.

"Yeah. Couldn't it all just be about us, and not the Bond?" she demanded.

He didn't need to breathe, but he took a measured, calming breath, and let himself remember that she'd been hurt, scarred even, by others who's professed to care for her. Her lifelong friends had misused her, and she'd been ill-treated by her own brother. Before him, only Adele had loved her for herself. It was easier to believe that there was something more powerful than any part of herself that would make someone love her. Especially him. His voice when he spoke was gentle, yet firm.

"Is that all you think this is about, Sookie? The magic of the blood-bond?" he asked.

"You do us both a disservice to believe this. The bond may bind us, true; even I do not know the extent of its hold, or how we are enhanced by it. However, I do know that I came here tonight, only for you."

His voice became thicker, his eyes boldly braving the depths of her soul. "I came here because of you. And somehow I am certain, that I will always come for you, my lover. Always."

He leaned over, gently feathering his lips against hers, sealing his promise, willing her to believe him. He wanted this more, he realized, than he wanted her body, and that was quite an admission. Silence hung between them and for a moment, he didn't know what to think. He could just feel her trembling as if she were colder than she'd ever been in her life. Had he said the wrong thing, again? Had his vehemence frightened her?

He was unprepared when her arms went around his neck and she hugged him close, her cheek resting against his, the quiet fall of her tears, wetting his face, his name, a litany on her lips. He closed his eyes, and pulled her tighter, willing the moment to last, that feeling of euphoria bubbling up through the bond to never end. She was happy. Purely happy.

"Eric. Eric. You do love me," she told him, as she pulled back, and fixed him with an accusing stare. "But don't think that you get to tell me what to do all the time. I won't be controlled. I want a partner…"

He rolled his eyes. "Sookie, you're talking too much." His mouth closed over hers, as he got the conversation back to where it was twenty minutes ago.

II.

I was bone tired, and happy with it. Eric loved me and had loved me all night, and through most of the morning. I wouldn't be able to move for days! I didn't care though. I was starting over, and I was a little scared. I wanted to be enough for Eric, who lived as big as he was. He'd said that I excited him and I hoped I continued to do that, whatever it was for him.

Contentment swelled in me, and I smiled knowing it came from him, as he stirred behind me, his arm pulling me closer into his chest. A satisfied purr, rumbled through his chest, as he leaned down, pulling my hair back so that he could kiss my shoulder. Even in my exhausted state, it still had the power to arouse me, even if I couldn't do anything about it. I was so thankful in those moments of early morning for Eric; I wanted him never to leave.

"I love you," I told him, burrowing beneath the covers, and into him.

"As I love you," he murmured.

I fell asleep, for the first time in months without worrying about tomorrow and what new Supe would want to kick my ass, or shoot me. I had Eric at my back, literally, and I was going to be just fine.

My dreams that morning were not filled with quickies with Eric, but of dark and bloody deeds. There were vampires fighting and slashing at each other in the darkness, blood splattering the grass of what looked to be my front lawn. How dare they bring this fight to my home, again! Pam was there and Bill, Felicia and others from the bar and Area 5. They were snarling and fending off what looked like dozens of other vamps, and it was like a scene from Braveheart. Sort of. There would be no William Wallace racing across my lawn, at least, I didn't think so. I searched for my bonded. He was there; a lethal vision as he slashed away with a long sword in his right hand and dagger in his left. There was blood on both weapons and on his clothes, his face. Pieces of what looked like Victor lay at his feet, and he stepped over them to take a fighting stance in front of Felipe de Castro, the king, no less. Felipe raised his own sword and the clash of metal on metal brought me awake. I remember screaming. I was still screaming when I met the waking world.

I opened my eyes and Eric was gone.