A/N Another speedy update! I think my chapters might be too short, maybe I should merge some of them. I just find it easier to break a scene with a new chapter. Thanks again for your positivity!

Chapter 6

Eric was sitting on his sofa in the middle of the day. Tracks of blood lined his face and neck. He'd tried to slip into his black, dreamless death-sleep but he could hear faint movements from the apartment above, sighs and tuts, hums and small groans of frustration as Sookie carried out her chores. These little human noises raised waves of emotion that Eric did not recognise; they'd compelled him out of his coffin to sit bleeding in the dark, staring at his fists clenching and unclenching.

This woman. The Merlotte's bar maid who'd had Bill Compton slavering and drooling for the best part of a year. She'd said it in a barely articulate whisper; Eric didn't believe she'd even intended to say it out loud. He was convinced she'd not meant for him to hear it and he'd pretended he hadn't. He couldn't begin to process it anyway. He'd comforted her, helped her clear up her sitting room and took his leave politely, assuring her that he was there if she needed him. And all the time those words pounding in his head, sickening in their implications: 'Bill Compton's my ex.'

This woman. She was toxic. Rumour had it she was the reason Bill had killed the queen and if that was true then all the bloodshed, the war with New Orleans, his exile, all of it, could be traced back to this tiny female moving lightly through the apartment above him. This scrap of human flesh had destabilised the entire state of Louisiana and parted him from his progeny, possibly forever. He growled low, and punched the sofa again and again and again. He should go up there and break her fucking neck. This woman.

But the feel of her soft, warm hand on his; her eyes, so bright and full of spirit even when full of tears. Bill had hurt her, that much was obvious. Their split was common knowledge, but nobody knew the reason for it, or at least nobody was prepared to say. What had he done to her? She'd moved to Shreveport to get away from him, that figured, but he was showing up at Merlotte's and making trouble for her, leaving her so distraught she nearly ended up getting killed by weres? And she'd ended up in his house, unconscious, and she remembered nothing? What had Bill done to her? He'd seen no bite marks on her body, or at least no visible bite marks. Jesus. She'd looked so pale. And the way she jumped back when he refused the Tru Blood – he couldn't account for how he might have been staring at her, she was such a fucking sweet vision. He shivered. Wishing to kill Bill Compton was not an unusual emotion for Eric, but at that moment he could think of no greater pleasure, nothing in one thousand years on this earth that would come close to the furious glory of staking that vampire king through the heart and watching him turn to blood and pulp.

His fangs ran out and he threw back his head. Months of loneliness, devastation, abjection – all of that was better than this. This – was - madness.

This would kill him.

At that moment, a motorcycle courier was receiving a parcel from the proprietor of Merlotte's bar. Sam seemed anxious and perplexed as he attempted to convey to the deliverer that this consignment was not from him, but from a customer who did not know, and who was under no circumstances to find out, the recipient's address. Yes, that might sound bizarre (the courier had widened his eyes in amazement), but it was vital that any receipt, or further communication, was to come back to the bar and not to the billing address. And so the motorcycle headed off to Jackson Avenue, Shreveport, with a delivery for a Miss Sookie Stackhouse - six red roses and a white card which read:

'Sookie,

I am extremely sorry for my behaviour at Merlotte's. I lost control. I have not been myself lately. Please accept my heartfelt apologies. I am glad, though, that my servant Pam was able to come to your assistance and that my house afforded you some protection from the weres that I understand attacked you. However, the repercussions of that incident are likely to be felt for some time and I would ask you to please take special care over the next few weeks. Pam dealt very efficiently with the threat posed to you, perhaps a little too efficiently. There may well be reprisals and I would like to offer you the benefit of my human security team. I will not send vampires to your home. Whilst I believe you are unlikely to accept this offer, should you wish to do so then please tell the courier delivering this gift. He will convey the message via Sam Merlotte who has kindly agreed to mediate for me in this matter. Please rest assured that at least in this regard I have not betrayed your trust. I have not tried to find you. If you accept the protection of my guards, they will be glamoured to ensure they do not reveal your location.

Yours Truly,

Bill.'

The courier had three more deliveries to make before two and none of them were within ten miles of each other. He slowed down at the corner, but not enough. The road was still slick with rain and his wheels skidded from under him, the bike spinning down the bank, a forty foot drop to the river below. The satchel containing the message for Sookie detached from the bike and whirled away, caught up in the swell.