Chapter 3

Sookie's head lolled forward and her eyes half opened. Had she awoken naturally, or had something out there pulled her from a deep, dreamless sleep? She reached for the bottled water on her passenger seat and took a sip, suddenly jolting upright. Yes, there was something out there. Not human, not straightforward shifter either, but some restless, violent cloud of emotion was lurking just beyond the line of trees by the track... oh shit...wolves. Werewolves. Sookie dropped into the foot well under the dashboard and tried to focus, to control her breathing, to control her fear. They would probably smell her. Hell, they must surely have smelled her already and if they were the weres from Merlotte's earlier, they would recognise her scent. Angry, hungry wolves looking for a kill and lo and behold who should pop up but the waitress responsible for their public humiliation in a packed bar less than two hours before. Sookie figured she might as well put a gun to her head. It would be quicker and less painful. Her only other option, besides shivering on the floor of her car waiting to be eaten, was to drive the hell out of there and hope she reached the highway before they attacked. She tried to remember how far she'd turned up the track before stopping in the rain. How far did she have to reverse to get back to the road? It wasn't going to be easy to back up quickly, the track would be muddy and if she went too fast she ran the risk of the wheels sticking and sinking. So, she was going to let herself be taken by a pack of thugs like a frightened little animal, then? A sudden jolt of rage obliterated Sookie's fear for the second necessary to flick on the engine and throw the car into reverse. A streak of fur out of the trees. The car skidded back violently. A dark shape, low growl, a gleam of amber. As Sookie had dreaded, the wheels stuck fast in the mud. She pumped the peddle down harder and harder, screaming in fear and frustration as she accepted that, in her panic, all she was doing was driving the wheels deeper and deeper into the mud. Flash of white, claws scraping on metal. Sookie put her head on the wheel and closed her eyes. Oh Bill ... why... why?

There were several long, deafening roars. Then a series of shorter growls and whimpers, some very close, some distant. The sound of mud and water churning, of wood splintering. Movements of air, a whooshing noise like a great bird landing. Then silence.

Her mind strangely tranquil, Sookie wondered how it was that she had failed to become aware of the ripping of her limbs from her body. Was this some kind of transitional state between life and death? She remained still, almost senseless. Then she wiggled a toe. A finger. She began to feel her forehead sticky with sweat against the driving wheel of her car. How was this happening? How was she... still alive? She raised her head tentatively an inch or so and opened her eyes. Looking at her through the windscreen was a female vampire, some six feet tall, fangs extended, covered in blood. She looked like the very angel of death. Sookie screamed and fainted.

'What a stupid fucking car.' Pam plucked twigs, grass and fur from her hair and marvelled at the absurd life-style choices of certain humans. Is it designed for midgets, she mused? Has the state of Louisiana decided to award driving permits to eight year olds? Eric might have called it a 'tea cup car!' Pam smiled, then frowned. Sun rise wasn't far off and she'd have to get her shit together if she was to get back in time to explain this matter to Bill in such a manner that he didn't stake her on the spot. As she manoeuvred Sookie on to the back seat, she reviewed the situation. She'd killed three weres. She scented another four in the vicinity, that was less than half of the New Orleans pack. Unless the rest were enjoying a civilised gin and tonic back at the motel these were the only weres in Bon Temps, though surely not for long given the devastation Pam had just visited upon their number. Oh, she was in deep shit. And as she squeezed awkwardly behind the wheel she was struck by the sheer ridiculousness of the circumstances – that she, a one hundred and thirty year old vampire and daughter of Eric Northman, should be reduced to driving this preposterous vehicle.

Bill was pacing the office and when he spotted Pam crunching heavily over the gravel, he was surprised to see his PR manager smile brightly and wave enthusiastically like a child back from a school trip rather than a vampire drenched in blood lugging an unconscious human over one shoulder. He was on the drive-way in a second, his face a spasm of incredulity and fury.

'What. The fuck. Have you. Done.'

'Bill, please. I was only following your own orders. That we must act at all times in the best interests of humans unless we ourselves are under immediate threat. The weres were set to attack this human. I had no choice. And I was fast, Bill. They didn't know what had hit them. I'm sure the survivors didn't clock it was me.'

'The...survivors?'

'Three weres dead. Four fled the scene. I recognised all of them, I can give you their names and...'

'NO! NO!'

Bill had moved round to check out the human and appeared momentarily to have taken leave of his senses. He quickly recovered. 'Enough, Pam. You can report back tomorrow. Take this woman to my office, lay her on the coach. Gloria can deal with her. Go to your room.'

Pam jogged off, baffled and mightily relieved. What the hell had come over his stupid fucking majesty? Who was this silly human who got stuck up dirt tracks in were-infested woods driving a fluffy bunny little yellow car? But as Pam laid the girl down on Bill's sofa, she froze. She looked more closely at the logo on the blonde kid's shirt. Merlotte's. She started to shake with silent laughter. Ho Ho Ho Hoooo...ooookay!

Sookie had been left in a dishevelled heap and her breathing was shallow and laboured. Bill re-arranged her into what he imagined was a rough approximation of the 'recovery position'. She'd lost weight, her bones felt sharp under her skin. He stood back and gazed at her. Her shirt had risen up slightly exposing a tanned patch of skin above the waist-band of her shorts. It was mesmorising. Bill reached out his hand and placed a cool finger on the smooth flesh slick with sweat. He swallowed hard. If he could just kiss her there, bite her, taste just one drop of her sweet blood... he could heal her before she came to... No. Madness. Bill jerked back his hand and virtually ran out of his office. He couldn't be there when Sookie woke. She couldn't see him here at all. Gloria would have to explain what had happened and drive her home.

He stopped in the hallway and pressed his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and when they opened a second later, his expression was one of cool sobriety. He texted his secretary and strode towards her room. On the grey marble floor, a single drop of blood. One solitary scarlet tear.