A.N: Here it is; a present for the new year from me to all of my beloved readers! Chapter Fifteen has arrived, later than promised but whole nonetheless. For those of you that haven't already, you may want to re-read the whole story from the beginning, as it has been revised. Enjoy, send feedback, and expect more soon.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OCs, and most of them are heavily inspired by mythology.
"No friendship is an accident."
Heart of the West, O. Henry
'Oh, I have such fond memories of this part of the club.' Loki exclaims sarcastically as the Viking vampire leads the way down the stairs into Fangtasia's basement. It is mercifully clean and free of prisoners, so she follows him, but the Æsir mage glares up at Eric when she reaches the concrete floor. 'Why are we down here?'
'It is the only room I am sure is not bugged by the Queen.' Eric concedes, stone-faced.
'I can find the other bugs.'
'It is not a matter of finding them – I know where they are.' He rubs his jaw in agitation. 'I was ordered not to destroy them.'
Huh. Tricky. In this case, Loki supposes the basement can be tolerated. 'Are the walls fully soundproofed?'
'Yes.'
'Oh. Good.' Without preamble, a wall of power slams the vampire Sheriff into a wall. He hits the concrete with an audible crack of ribs.
Vampires recover fast though, and it's only a half-second later he is looming over her, fangs out and growling. 'Do not do that again.'
She bares her teeth right back, hackles fully raised. 'Like you could stop me if I wanted to.'
Eric snarls in the face of her insubordination and pounces, and she sends him flying straight back with a solid push of power. The cycle repeats; attack, push back, attack, push back. But the problem with fighting a smart opponent is that they learn as they go, and it's only a matter of time before the Viking feigns a convincing swipe and whooshes around her to go for her exposed back.
It may have worked on anyone else, but Loki has been a warrior since well before Eric was even born so she drops to the ground in time to see him fly over her, find his feet, and growl in frustration. But not in time to stop him from grabbing the right sleeve of her dress and ripping it straight off in the momentum of his fall.
'You pig-dog!' Loki snarls, disappearing and rapidly reappearing behind the vampire and delivering a firm tug to the back of his vest top that rips the fabric like wet paper. He spins, surprised by her sudden teleportation, and the motion brings the shirt off his torso completely.
They stand there, each clutching pieces of the others clothing and the atmosphere shifts from serious brawl to something lighter. Even though they both know the fight is no longer serious, Eric gives a good approximation of a furious scowl.
'I liked that vest.'
'I could tell.' The black-haired woman fires back. 'It's the only thing I've ever seen you wear, after all.'
He ignores the snark. 'You seem rather fond of that dress.' Eric observes, glancing to the torn-off sleeve in his hand and settling on a smirk. 'I think I'll be taking it.'
The Viking pounces – this time, without aiming to rip her throat out – and in the interest of fairness Loki doesn't slam him with magic, choosing instead to whirl smoothly out of his path. But without her power it is simply a game of human speed versus vampire speed, and that game only ever has one victor.
And laying face-down on the floor, pinned by a giant vampire and shrieking in frustration as his hands rip the back of her dress from top to bottom? Not exactly dignified, and the fact she chose not to wear a bra this evening doesn't help at all.
Loki relaxes against the floor, a clear sign that she is admitting defeat in their mock-battle, and his hold on her slackens accordingly. '...You had better have something for me to change into when I leave, Sheriff.'
'I'm sure I can find something.' He confirms, drawing absentminded patterns on the bare skin of her back. Loki squirms at the sensation.
'Get off me – you weigh a ton.' The Viking obliges, and she rolls onto her back and sits up, mirroring his cross-legged position on the ground before her and being careful not to flash him anything R-rated in the process. When Loki finds a comfortable position, she stares at Eric seriously. 'If you ever try and seriously harm me in anger again I will rip off your arms.'
'...Alright.' Eric looks properly chastised. Finally.
'That said,' she adds, unable to withhold her excited grin, 'we are definitely sparring again.'
His answering look of excitement is all Viking. Above all, Loki appreciates the fact that he appears to be anticipating a repeat as much as she is – with his strength and speed and her more basic sorcery they may be evenly matched, and a challenge is every warrior's birthday.
'Tell me why the Queen has you so worked up.' Loki commands, and it prompts the return of Eric's guarded look.
'It's about Bill.' He reveals shortly. She understands immediately.
'And the blood?' Eric dips his head in reply. 'Have you arranged to get rid of him?'
The Viking blinks at her – it's pretty much the vampire equivalent of a human recoiling in surprise. 'What?'
'You know: get rid of him.' The Æsir mage frowns when he continues to stare blankly down at her. 'Kill him. Have you arranged to kill him?'
'You are very cavalier about the prospect, Victoria.' He says, evading the question. Loki lets it slide because avoidance is pretty much a solid confirmation anyway, and she huffs.
'Eric, my personal affection for Bill Compton is pretty much zero to none,' she informs him baldly, 'and if his death means you don't get ripped apart by Sophie-Anne then so be it.'
'Oh?' He gives a devilish smirk. 'I had no idea you were so attached to me.'
'It's not like that,' Loki scoffs, 'but you're...' Godric's progeny, she almost says, but clicks her mouth shut just in time and swiftly backtracks. '...we're sort-of-friends, right?'
'We are more than "friends".' The Viking insists, eyes shining with his amusement. 'I would much rather call us "lovers".'
'Yeah, well,' Loki's lips twitch at his persistence, 'if you put your money where your mouth is I might be more inclined to agree.'
Eric seems to take this as a personal challenge, because he launches at her and presses their lips together in a searing, heart-stopping, toe-curling kiss that sets every nerve ending on fire, and all the Æsir mage can think is more, more, more...
This is, of course, the moment when the basement door opens with a clang and two sets of footsteps start thundering down the stairs.
xXx
'Sookie, stop.' Eric pulls away from Victoria's sumptuous lips with a growl at his progeny's completely insincere call, highly displeased at being disturbed from such a pleasurable activity. 'Please, come back.'
'I know he's in here. Bill!' The telepath's voice sounds down the stairs, and the Viking notes that his mage is pushing him back and sitting up, clutching the shreds of her dress her bare skin. She rounds the corner of the stairs and freezes at the tableau before her. 'Holy S.'
'Sookie,' he greets her jovially, lounging on the floor topless and shamelessly admiring the view of Victoria from behind and dressed only in black lace panties as the dark-haired woman leaps to her feet, 'see anything you like?'
The telepath is still staring between Victoria and him in incomprehension, but it Pam who answers with a leer and a purr that are not directed at him. 'I do.'
'I take it Sookie couldn't be stopped?'
'What can I say?' His childe doesn't tear her eyes from the tantalizing show of womanly skin. 'She overpowered me.'
'Pam,' Victoria cuts in, voice taking on a whining quality that is more endearing than it has any right to be, 'your maker ripped my dress.'
'Such a shame.' Is the breezy reply. 'But, when passions run high...'
'We were fighting.' The mage grits out. 'We were fighting and he ripped. My. Dress.'
Eric really should have seen it coming because Victoria has a knack for figuring out things like weaknesses, but her comment earns him a semi-horrified look from his progeny. The desecration of clothing in anything over than carnal pleasure is tantamount to sacrilege to Pam.
'Off you go, Pam.' He dismisses before she can comment.
'And please bring me a shirt.' Victoria adds. Eric barely withholds a sigh – he is cursed to be surrounded by headstrong females.
The Viking waits until Pam has delivered said shirt – a black button up he recognises as his own – and leaves again to turn his attention to the telepath. 'Sookie, you know Victoria.'
'Yeah.' The blonde woman gulps. 'Hi, Vick.' The mage returns the greeting distractedly, attempting to slip the shirt on without flashing the whole room – Eric catches a flash a breast and smirks hugely even when she shoots him a sharp look.
'So, what brings you to Fangtasia?'
'Bill's been kidnapped,' she fires back without preamble, 'and I think you did it.'
'I didn't.' Eric lies right back. 'Any other theories?'
'I'm still on this one, thank you very much.' The telepath places a sassy hand on her hip. 'Where were you tonight around midnight?'
'He was here, Sookie,' Victoria pipes in, finally fully in the button-down, 'with me.'
Eric takes a moment to appreciate the effortless way the lie rolls off her tongue – if he didn't know for sure that it was untrue, he'd think she was being sincere even with their bond; there is not even a hint of guilt from her at the deception. He can't help but wonder, absently, why she covers for him so readily.
(A dark voice in the corner of his mind asks him what else she's lied to his face about.)
'With you?' Sookie chokes out, eyes wide with such disbelief that Eric is snapped out of his dark thoughts. Clearly, he notes with amusement, she thinks they were partaking in more pleasurable activities. 'For the last five hours?'
'You seem surprised.' He lays the innuendo on thick, and it makes the mage at his side nudge him with her elbow.
'Don't listen to Eric.' She advises her telepathic friend. 'Yes, we were here – in the club. For the last five hours. But there was no sex.'
'Well, a man can dream...'
'Shut it, Sheriff.'
'Okay.' Sookie cuts off their banter with a shake of her head. 'Tell me where I can find Lorena – if you don't have him she does.'
'Solid theory. But given the tenor of your last run-in with Ms Krasiki I think it's better if I dealt with her.' A pang of macabre amusement runs through the blood bond, but clearly Victoria's expression gives nothing away as the blonde woman carries on unperturbed.
'How do I know that you will?' The Viking wants to huff with impatience at the telepath's demanding tone – honestly, you save one human from a fanatic church and she thinks she can order you around for eternity. Despite his darkening mood, though, Eric answers.
'Because if Bill was, in fact, kidnapped by human or vampire, I am duty-bound as Sheriff of the Area in which he resides to find him.' He recites mechanically, only pausing to add wryly: 'Even if he is a massive bore.'
'Then do it.' Sookie commands before making her way back up the stairs. 'By the way,' she pauses to add, 'you owe me 10,000 dollars.'
She sweeps out the basement in a swirl of lavender and righteous indignation, and Eric stares after her, steaming, until Victoria's voice cuts through the silence.
'Well,' she announces, rolling the ridiculously long sleeves of his dress shirt up to her elbows, 'I'm going to have to bet you my car that the people that have Bill are not your people.'
'Do you really have such little faith in me and mine, Ms Storm?'
'Nah,' she ignores the dangerous edge to his question expertly, 'we're just not that lucky.'
Eric calls Pam to him and orders her to retrieve his phone, back muscles tense as he reaches Mr Rubin, the vampire he'd trusted to capture Bill, and it turns out?
They aren't that lucky.
He avoids the eyes of Pam and Victoria, both stood by the foot of the stairs and watching him pace like a caged tiger in a zoo. 'You remember our last conversation?'
'Yes, of course...'
'I asked you to do one thing for me:' he cuts the other vampire off, fury sweeping through his veins and into his tone, 'bring me Bill Compton. And you said "done". So why wasn't it done, Mr Rubin?'
'I already told you. By the time we got to the restaurant he was gone and there was a cop car...'
'You failed me.' Against his bidding, rage overtakes him. 'How could you fail me?!'
'Eric.' Pam calls out to him, attempting to pull him back from the abyss of his temper – but he barely hears her.
'Find him, Mr Rubin.' The Viking commands, tone laced with authority. 'Or tomorrow's sunset will be your last.'
'Eric.' He takes a deep, unnecessary breath and releases it slowly. Pam has always been the one to pull him back from murderous anger, but even his progeny's prompting doesn't seem to help much tonight.
'But... sun-up's in a few minutes.'
'Then I suggest you find a day walker you can trust to find him for you.' And with that he hangs up, muscles quivering in the restraint it takes not to crush the phone in his palm. The feeling of two sets of eyes burning holes in his back is not helping him calm, though, so he glances back to snap an impatient "What?"
'You're losing it.' Pam tells him, blunt as ever. 'You need to call the Queen.'
'The Queen is the last person I need finding out about this!'
The skin around her lips tightens in a tell-tale sign of stress. 'You're not the only one whose fate hangs in the balance here.'
'What do you think the Queen will do if I tell her I've lost the one vampire who could link her to the dealing of vampire blood?' The Viking stalks closer to his childe. 'And that I have no idea where he is?'
'And what do you think she'll do if she finds out from somebody else?' His progeny, he decides, makes an annoyingly valid point. 'Call. The. Queen.'
But valid point or not, Eric is in no mood for rationality, so he dismisses Pam curtly. She storms back upstairs in a fit of pique, and the Viking is left alone in the basement with an uncharacteristically silent Victoria. 'Well?' He snaps when the silence begins to grate on his nerves. 'Are you going to take your turn telling me how to run my Area?'
'I think you're old enough to make your own decisions.' She says, and the wry tone is comforting in its familiarity. 'Call the Queen, or don't, or run away to Mexico – I'm sure whatever you decide will be for the best in the end.'
Her faith is grudgingly satisfying, but he turns to face the mage with a blank mask in place. 'And what about Sookie?'
Victoria huffs and moves closer, meeting his gaze straight on. 'Eric, we both know Sookie would probably be better off without Compton hanging around – but did you see the fist-sized diamond ring?' When he nods she purses her lips. 'She's definitely going to get tangled up in this if her fiancé is involved.'
'What do you have against Compton?' Eric has to ask, curiosity temporarily over-riding the more pertinent issues at hand.
'He's a rude, sexist, arrogant toe-rag.' Victoria rattles off right off the bat, then tilts her head as if in deep thought. 'And the last time I saw him he tried to eat me.'
'...What?'
'It was during the whole maenad debacle,' she waves it off like she's discussing a bought of bad weather, only losing some of her nonchalance when the mage glances up and see's the dark expression on his face, 'I got stabbed so there was blood all over – it wasn't really a surprise but, well, I don't really appreciate almost becoming dinner.'
'You should have told me. I could have him staked for even trying...'
'I thought you were already planning on staking the snob?' He nods. 'Then why would I bother mentioning it in passing when it's got you so riled up? You know, you're awfully possessive of blood you've never even smelt before.'
'Then release the spell hiding it from me.' She shoots him a wary look and he scoffs. 'I've scented the blood of a mage before, and I have far better control on my impulses than a 160-year-old.'
Victoria's eyes flick over his face and body language for so long he begins the think she will deny him, but she blows out a long breath. 'Do you have a knife?'
Obligingly, Eric reaches into his jeans for his penknife, but hesitates in handing it over. 'Why?'
'If we're gonna do this,' she snatches the blade from his hand and quirks a brow up at him, 'we're going to go for broke.'
'Very well.' The Viking agrees, body humming with anticipation at the prospect of another of his mage's secrets being revealed. She flicks open the sharpest blade and studies it with eyes of a woman who knows a bladed weapon well, but those green orbs flicker back to him.
'No biting.' She emphasises. 'No licking, no sucking – smelling my blood and drinking it are very different things.'
'I understand, Victoria,' he confirms, a tad impatient, 'it's almost sun-up.' The mage nods in concession, and poises the sharpest point of the blade over the tip of her middle finger and rips open the skin there with a quick, dexterous flick of the wrist. A bead of crimson wells up immediately, and she offers him a steady look.
'Ready?'
'Yes.' And an instant after the words escape him, the scent hits him like a stake to the gut. His fangs snap out before he can stop them, and he stares at the mage before him – she smells like ozone and the crackle of a lightning storm in high summer, and the only logical conclusion he can come to is that he is smelling the magic that pounds through her very being. But Victoria is staring at him unblinking, body tensed in preparation to dodge any attack, so with effort he retracts his teeth with a schnick and takes slow steps towards her.
'Eric...' The mage starts, but the words falter when he cups her jaw in a large hand. Her skin is so warm it is almost uncomfortable, but he tilts her head so she meets his gaze.
'I told you I had control, did I not?' His words break the tension in her frame, and she smirks as, as suddenly as it appeared, the enticing scent of her blood disappears.
'I guess you did.' Without thought, Victoria pops the sluggishly bleeding finger in her mouth, and Eric's libido pounds as her cheeks hollow around it – this woman may be the true death of him.
'It is minutes to sunrise.' Eric comments, and she nods, removing the appendage and wiping it on her (his) shirt absently.
'Yeah, I should go.' She fetches the torn dress from the floor and stuffs it in her purse. 'You know where to find me if you need anything.'
Eric leans deliberately close, mouths only inches apart. 'Anything?'
'Any help with this whole Bill shit-storm.' Victoria clarifies with a roll of her eyes, and she turns to make her way out of the basement. 'Call me.'
'Victoria.' He calls moments before she reaches the door, and the mage pauses mid-step. She looks, he thinks, delightfully ravished in his shirt and nothing else but those heels that Pam would surely coo over, but that is beside the point. 'Did Godric ever taste your blood?'
Surprise pounds through the blood bond, but Victoria's eyes only widen a little. Godric (and her relationship with him) is something of an elephant in the room between them, but Eric can't help but ask, and after a moment she nods.
'Yes.'
'Did you ever reciprocate?'
'...No.'
Eric blinks. He hadn't been expecting that. 'Why not?'
'Godric and I...' she pauses, but Victoria doesn't need to say anything for Eric to get the picture. There is a flood of nostalgic fondness, a deep swell of affection that rolls through him, and he knows it's not his own. But, much to his surprise, there is no great romantic softness, not enough lust to equate with a truly romantic attachment. 'We were friends – good friends – and occasionally lovers, but never enough for him to want a bond. Or for me to be classified as "his".'
'Have you ever belonged to a vampire before?' Eric asks, and the look Victoria gives him is incredibly amused.
'Oh, Sheriff,' she damn near purrs at him, 'you and I know both know that I'll never truly belong to anyone but myself.'
She's out the stairs before he can respond, and the Viking can't help but chuff a laugh at the truth in Victoria's words. The mage is far too strong-willed to be property.
But the fact she tolerates him doing so on occasion is probably more revealing than she would be comfortable with.
xXx
Aware that she's been somewhat neglectful of her best friend, Loki delegates to spend the next day with Lafayette, and invites him over for lunch. But the meal is far from the relaxing moment with a friend she wants it to be – as she spins about her neat little kitchen cooking spaghetti bolognaise, the fry-cook tells her about Eggs.
'Andy shot him?' She stares at her friend with wide eyes. 'How did he even confess, anyway? Didn't he forget?'
Lafayette sighs. 'Apparently he went to Sook, all riled up 'bout not bein' able to remember nothin' and she looked into his head – made him relive it.'
'Really?' Loki grip on the pan she is holding tightens. Amateurs messing about with minds is always dangerous – fuck, it's dangerous for her to mess with minds, and she's been doing it for almost four-thousand years.
'Mm-hmm.' Lafayette sighs deeply. 'Now Tara is all sorts of suicidal – I don't wanna leave her, but I just needed a break.'
'Hey,' the Æsir mage's ire deflates at the sight of her friends tired eyes and guilty expression, 'you totally deserve a bit of a break from all the crazy shit you've gone through in the last month. And I'll provide that – and plenty of tequila if you're feeling up to it.'
His lips twitch in a grudging smirk. 'Oh, yeah?'
'Yeah.' They share a smile before Loki turns back to the stove. 'Now grab a plate, food's done.'
They share a meal (and large glasses of liquor) and it is nice. Comfortable. But the underlying tension in Lafayette doesn't disappear, and when he eventually takes off to start his shift at Merlotte's the Æsir mage looks over the dirty dishes before her and closes her eyes.
Considering she's trying so hard to protect her friends she is doing a spectacularly shitty job.
The humans in this town are really good at getting themselves involved in seriously dangerous shit. Loki turns on the faucet, scrubbing pasta sauce off of the china, and she can't help but ponder it. When you make friends, the instinct is to do everything you can for them. But the problem is that Loki could, potentially, do a lot – there has to be a line drawn somewhere, or she'll spend all her time improving their lives and never letting them do anything for themselves.
And then there's Eric.
Somehow the vampire Sheriff has wormed his way into the exclusive group she subconsciously designates as people to protect, and his progeny has joined him by proxy. It can't be purely coincidence that the two of them and Eric's maker are the only vampires within the circle – maybe it's Loki's curse to adore Godric's bloodline, but good or bad she can admit she gives a damn whether they live or die.
And it is so, so tempting to want him. The troublesome urge to give in to his numerous advances and go to the Viking's bed for what is sure to be a very good time seems to grow with every encounter, and some weeks ago she might have simply given in to get it out of her system. But Eric is complicated.
For a man who's the king of the one night stand, he is possessive when it comes to those he truly wants. The line between casual sex and sex that has potential meaning is a fine one, and the Viking already considers her "his human" – fucking him now would likely solidify the claim that he has no real right to. Loki isn't delusional enough to assume that any intimacies they exchange would have sentimental meaning to him, but she's a self-aware woman. She knows that she doesn't want to be just another woman who he seduces with the twitch of his finger then promptly forgets about, not least because the Æsir mage has grown to genuinely enjoy his company and the fast, flirty banter therein.
Eric is infuriating, immoral and ruthless; he held her friend captive in a dungeon; the Æsir mage shouldn't trust any of her feelings for him when all of them could potentially be born from the fact she has consumed his blood.
But the black-haired woman is more invested in him than she has been with a man for centuries – and she hardly has any room to talk about being cruel anyway.
If my brother could see me now, Loki thinks, he would be laughing. Thor has spent the better part of 200 years trying to convince her to open up to the possibility of companionship with other immortals, and she has fought him every step of the way. And now that she has? Each and every one of them is troublesome. It's probably karma.
Now's not the time to stress over the situation, the black-haired woman realizes. A quick glance to her watch has her cursing; she's nearly late for work. So she dumps the remaining dishes into the sink and races to her bedroom to change and rushes out the front door and into her car. Punctuality is one of her few virtues – she's not going to let go of it.
xXx
When Loki ducks into the kitchen's walk-in freezer, the last thing she expects to see is Pam looming over Lafayette menacingly with a cooler full of V clutched between them.
'...I can rip your throat out if I need to.' Pam is saying, blasé as anything and oblivious to her presence, and the Æsir mage clears her throat loud enough to make the pair of them snap their heads in her direction.
'Pam, I like you,' She informs the vampire, tone bland but eyes taking on a steely edge as she crosses her arms, 'but don't threaten my friends.'
Pam eyes her, considering, and pulls away from the fry-cook slowly. 'Sure thing, doll.' She spares a shaky Lafayette a final glance. 'I'll be back tomorrow to pick up the money. And I'll be borrowing Ms. Storm for the evening.'
Loki only has time to shoot Lafayette a reassuring glance before the vampire links their arms together and tugs her out of the freezer and breezily though the bar. 'Borrowing me?'
'Eric wants to see you.' Pam explains and the Æsir mage nods.
'Right. I'm driving.'
xXx
In contrast to the previous night, Fangtasia is empty save for one Viking Sheriff sat on his throne and staring fixedly at his hands. Unfazed by the quietness, Pam leads the way towards her maker and deposits Loki before him with a wink.
'Your mage, master.'
'Thank you, Pamela.' He sends her off with a wave of the hand, and his progeny pouts slightly but goes. 'Victoria.'
'Eric.'
'The Queen was here earlier...' Eric says without preamble, blue eyes flicking up to study her. 'With the Magister.'
Loki's lips thin at the news – it is not good. 'He knows about the V?'
'He knows it's being sold by a vampire.' He corrects. 'And he didn't fully believe the excuses I gave.'
'Well, that's ominous.' She shifts in her seat. 'What do you need me for? I can't sell V.'
But her amusement trails of when Sookie, Pam and Jessica come marching through the club, the telepath looking determined and clutching a coaster.
'I found Bill's car,' Sookie tells him, 'he wasn't with it, but there was a dead guy there who had a brand on his neck.'
And the plot thickens. Loki hums in interest, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the scribbled brand on the coaster in Eric's hand. 'Where was the car?'
'Just outside of Bon Temps, off the road – it had flipped.' The telepath tells her, turning back to Eric. 'It stands for Operation Werewolf, some kind of secret Nazi commando force from World War II.'
'You found this branded on a dead man's neck?' The Viking clarifies, calm in the face of a woman's frantic triumph. Sookie nods.
'Bill summoned Jessica there. He was trying to show us who kidnapped him.'
'Yeah, Nazi werewolves.' Jessica pipes in – of all things, she sounds positively tickled.
'That dead guy was strong and fast enough to take Bill. He had to be something supernatural.' She hypothesises. Loki is inclined to agree with her one this one, but werewolves mean a whole new ball game. 'I was hoping you could tell us more.'
Eric stares at the symbol for a long moment, seemingly in a trance until he throws it to the table with a shrug. 'Never seen it before. Sorry.'
'Why do I get the feeling you're blowing me off?' Sookie demands, and, again, Loki has to agree with the telepath – the Viking lies well, but... she's Loki. She's something of an expert in such things – the moniker of "Lie-smith" (1) is not false, no matter how much she dislikes it. Eric obviously sees that she won't let it go, so he dismisses Pam and Jessica is sharp Swedish.
'Here's what I know about werewolves:' He announces solemnly once they're out the room. 'There's a reason their existence has remained a myth to humans for thousands of years. They're territorial, vicious, pathologically secretive...'
Sookie shoots Loki a wry glance. 'Boy, does that sound familiar.'
'I was thinking the same. It's uncanny.' Eric ignores the byplay.
'...And here's what I know about you, Ms Stackhouse: You're so blinded by your obsession with Bill Compton that you're likely to run through the streets screaming "werewolf bait", alerting whoever has Bill that we're onto them or getting yourself killed.' The Viking swivels to pin a look on the Æsir mage. 'And you'll probably end up dragging Victoria down with you.'
'You think I'd bring Vick into this mess?' Sookie asks, stunned. 'You think I'm that stupid?'
'No, I think you're human.'
'Don't underestimate me.'
'Don't overestimate yourself.' He snaps back. 'Going to Mississippi will be monumentally dangerous. You have no connections in the Were community. They're not gonna answer your questions. They don't even want you to know they exist.'
'Bill's out there somewhere in danger. I can't just go on with life like that's not happening.' The telepath draws a shaky breath. 'You know that, maybe better than anyone. When Godric went miss–'
Loki and Eric both bristle simultaneously at the mention of the elder vampire. 'Bill Compton is no Godric.'
'But he's everything to me.' Sookie's face crumples as she finally begins to sob quietly, and she and the Viking exchange mildly panicked looks. Loki has never been good at handling such emotional outbursts, but seeing as Eric is clearly considering running for the hills, the black-haired woman scoots closer and wraps an awkward arm about her co-worker; she huddles into the gesture immediately.
'Come on, Sookie, don't cry.'
'I risked my life to help find Godric, and I don't expect you to do the same for Bill,' the telepath draws a shuddery breath, 'but at the very least, I hope you'll help me if you can.'
Eric is silent, but anything he might say is interrupted when Jessica comes back in hesitantly. 'Sookie, you gotta get me home before dawn.'
The blonde nods and takes off without another word, and Loki is left staring after her. There is a slightly damp patch on her shirt from the part-Fae's tears and when she eventually looks back at Eric, she's frowning.
'Well,' Loki announces, 'I feel like the biggest bitch this side of the Mason-Dixon line (2).'
Eric mouth hitches at one corner at her blunt tone, but he picks up the coaster and passes it over. 'Do you recognise this?'
With the appearance of a side-ways "Z" with a slash through the centre, it immediately sends the cogs of her mind spinning. '"Operation Werewolf"...' Loki breathes. 'It was a Nazi commando force that operated behind enemy lines.'
'Yes.' Eric confirms.
'But it's a Wolfsangel symbol.' She adds, and the Viking perks up in interest. 'It's associated with magical qualities to either ward off or capture wolves.'
'Does the symbol have magical qualities?'
Loki favours him with a meaningful look. 'It depends who's drawing it. But, Eric,' she moves to sit beside the Viking, 'what are you going to do about Bill?'
For a long moment Eric's gaze bores into her, but then he leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees and he is close enough that she can see the flecks of green in his eyes. 'I may need your assistance in the search for Bill – he is not my main concern, but he is still a problem, and your input would be valuable.'
The Æsir mage's eyebrows shoot up before she can contain her surprise. 'You're asking me... for help.'
'Yes.'
'Why do you trust me with it?' She genuinely wants to know, but the question seems to make Eric uncomfortable because he draws back a little and seems to think hard on his answer.
'You are just a human,' he states it like it's a known fact and a bad thing – Loki almost snorts, 'but you are a mage first. Powerful, clever, dangerous, and most importantly... you're loyal.'
Reeling slightly from the generous summary of her personality, Loki blinks at the Viking. 'Why do you say that?'
'You came for Lafayette at risk to yourself because of a friendship, and you went above and beyond to find Godric for the same reasons.' Eric states. 'Loyal is the one thing I know you are for sure.'
It's probably the nicest things she'll ever hear from Eric Northman's mouth, and it takes a minute for her to absorb before she shifts and pins him with a serious look. 'What makes you think you can order me around, Sheriff?'
'You are my human.'
'You were the one who said I was a mage before a human;' Loki's reminds him a little smugly, 'tell me the truth.'
The Viking looks like he wants to growl at her, but after a moment he calms and gives a grudging sigh. 'You are loyal to your friends,' he announces, pointedly avoiding her gaze, 'and you were the one who designated us "sort-of friends", did you not?'
Loki smirks, pleased. 'So I did – and you are: so I'll help you if you call for it.'
'Then why the incessant questions?' He frowns at her, and she has to chuckle.
'I wanted you to admit it. Verbal validation is always nice.' She leans back and sighs in mock-awe. 'Eric Northman's friend: I feel like the title should come with a medal, or something.'
The Viking rolls his eyes grandly, and Loki throws her head back and laughs. Eric, if nothing else, is exceptionally fun to tease.
'I will go to Sookie tomorrow night,' he announces when her amusement has trailed off some, 'she will undoubtedly go to Mississippi despite my warnings – it only seems fair that she be fully aware what she's getting into.'
'You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better,' the Æsir mage can't help but poke as she gets ready to leave, 'but she's your friend too.'
'Shut up, Victoria.' He throws back without heat, and her answering giggles echo through the club even after she is long gone on the road to Bon Temps.
(1) The Loki of mythology is often called "Lie-smith" (or "Lies Smith") because of his propensity for deception – it is not an affectionate nickname.
(2) The Mason-Dixon line is a boundary line that divides North America into the North-eastern and the Southern states. I'm not sure if the name is commonly used now, because I'm not American myself, but what OFC!Loki is basically saying is that she feels like the "biggest bitch" in all the Southern states.
