Whenever I felt my mind flutter to Eric's past, I tightened my grip on him with the greatest strength I could muster. He didn't seemed at all disturbed by the pressure. I powered through glimpses of women pressed against walls and pillows and tables, with their irises rolling up into their eyelids in pleasure—fading into fleshy horizons like pastel suns—and breathy pulses of air leaving their parted lips—pants of wolves having run through rough terrain. They were all beautiful, but I didn't focus on that. I focused on myself, for perhaps the first time in many years.
His mouth filled mine with the taste of wind rushing through minty forests. I could feel the green on him—the blue of ocean, the white of moonlight, the red of blood, and even the gold of the sun from which he had parted so long ago. He abandoned the speed of his kind and worked with the slow familiarity of human nature; he moved with a softness I thought forgotten and a passion I thought relinquished. I reduced him to colors, tastes, and scents; the memories I took were only shadows lost to the sun.
I was tall in height—several inches taller than Sookie and much closer to Jason by comparison—but Eric still towered over me. His hands securely grasped my waist and sat me on the edge of the bed. I felt a roll of butterflies flitting around in my stomach when his cold, large hand curved around my upper thigh, pushing me farther into the bed and wrinkling the sheets beneath me. I boldly looped my forearm around his neck and pulled him down over me. In the blink of an eye my head collapsed on the pillow; he'd moved us both up with a quick jolt of movement. As much as my stomach and heart warmed to him, nerves still welled like a growing tear in my throat. I could've really used a drink to tame my nerves.
"You want a drink?" Eric laughed above me. My eyes opened and widened while my mouth parted. My lips felt red and wet and warm, like the bloom of a carnation in May rainfall.
"What?" I breathed. "How did you know that?"
"I can feel your emotions keenly. It's odd, to be completely honest," he admitted, looking at my forehead. He reached to smooth a tuft of lively orange hair. "It feels almost telepathic."
"You can read my thoughts?" I asked.
"No, but every drifting emotion I can feel—no matter how severe or transient. I've felt your tedium through the past two days, and it even made me feel a bit bored at times. I came to your room because I felt a revelation, and I found it was when you were seeing the past."
The corners of my lips turned up in a smile. "Really?"
"Yes," he smiled. It was beautiful to see him smile; he so rarely did. I reached up to his lips and brushed the top of my finger along the edge of his teeth. His brow furrowed and his nose scrunched in a quick movement, and his fangs emerged. They were beautiful and white as swan feathers—pointed to a pristine tip. I pressed my thumb to the tip of one and pressed into it, splitting the skin slowly and permitting a red bead.
"Is this what th'whole fuss is about?" I examined the droplet between our close faces and felt the rumble of chuckle in his chest above me. In an exchange, I promised the blood to his lips. His mouth met mine and it was hot—so unlike the rest of him. He regained a pace I expected, and soon he devoured me; he sunk deeply into my mouth and pulled my body against his with urgent hands. I could feel his fangs against my skin as he kissed down my neck, leaving faint lips of blood and wet patches where he spent the most time.
One of his hands dropped to my hip, and he tugged upward so my pelvis crushed into his. I could feel him there, but any pride I had in arousing him was overshadowed by my squeamish virginity. It was not the past I saw in him that stopped me now, but my own girlishness.
"Don't be ashamed of it," I heard him say after our lips broke. I dropped my eyes low so they appeared closed. I could only see the contact between our garments.
"How do you know?" I asked him, feeling hot blood rush to my cheeks.
"I can taste it," Eric answered. I felt one of his hands curl around my ear.
I looked up and met his eyes with scrutiny. "You ain't that experienced."
"It's not experience. It's your blood. The blood of virgins is the sweetest. It's one of the reasons why virgins were sacrificed in ancient times. Virgins' blood was too pure and sweet for this world, so it was given to the gods."
He kissed my forehead again, leaning up on his knees. I sat up on my hands and wiggled toward him as he retracted his fangs. "I lied to you," I admitted.
Eric looked up at me quizzically. His hand reached for my waist as he pulled me to his side. I felt perfectly content there. I leant my cheek on the hard curve of his shoulder. "About what?"
"I'll tell you. But can you do something for me if I tell you?"
"Depends on what it is," he smiled snakily.
"Stay in here through the day," I answered quietly. "It's awful lonely in here. I won't bother you none. I'll just read. But I don't like bein' in here all night and day alone."
"Okay," he nodded, his smile sinking into a genuine version of itself. "What did you lie about?"
I swallowed. This was my last secret to give. "I can bring some things back to life."
"What?" He answered loudly, eyes bulging. I internally leapt for joy upon discovering that I'd surprised a thousand year-old vampire.
"It's only happened twice—to my knowledge. And so far it's only been plants."
"I am going to get the bleeds if you keep puttering around down there and waking me up," I heard Eric's deep and moderately irritated voice from the bed. I looked up at him with wide eyes and saw him watching me from the side of the bed. I had a chess board in my lap and was playing myself as quietly as possible.
"I'm not makin' any noise!" I exclaimed.
"You are in my ears," he sighed, rolling onto his back. "Why don't you just sleep, too?"
"I ain't tired!"
"We can do something that will wear you out," I could hear the grin in his voice when he said it. A flush of pink rose to my cheek and I looked back to the ivory-and-obsidian chess board.
"Stop talkin' nasty like that!" I fought. "But I do have a better idea."
I walked to the silver doors and cracked them open, catching sight of the tall guard who manned the door. "Excuse me, Mister Guard, sir?"
"Yes? Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
"No," I grinned. "How are you? We haven't talked in a while."
"Is there something I can get you, Miss?"
"Yes sir. Do y'know if Mister Edgington has any wine in the house?" I asked.
"Yes, Miss. Would you like a glass of red or white?" He asked.
"White, please. And a bottle."
"Yes, Miss."
I smiled and shut the door behind me. Eric watched me carefully as I went back to the bookshelf, trying to find a title I hadn't noticed before. The wine arrived quickly, and I poured myself a glass and went back to the bookshelf. I felt eyes on me and turned around, seeing Eric still watching me. I looked back to the colorful bindings of books and opened my mouth: "Do you miss it?"
"Miss what?" He asked.
"Wine," I answered. "Or, sorry—mead? What is it you folk drank?"
"Ale, mostly."
"Ale, like beer?"
Eric laughed. "Sort of. In my times, beer was an umbrella term for sweet beverages, like ciders. Sometimes there were fruit wines. Never grape, but other kinds. They were rare though, usually at weddings and some feasts. The wealthiest and most powerful men drank the wine; Odin lived off only wine. And sometimes there was mead—more common than wine but much less than ale."
"Do you miss it?"
"I can't remember the taste anymore. And I wouldn't want it, if I could have it. It would remind me of home," he said.
I laughed lightly, turning to look at him. "Is that such a bad thing?"
Eric responded only with silence, repositioning himself in the bed so his face turned away from me. I hadn't meant to hurt him, but I couldn't experience what he felt for what he'd lost. When I thought of Gran, I was happy. The only time I avoided her memory was when I saw something bad—like I had seen the blood on the floor of the kitchen at home. Usually, however, our memories were sweet like sap, but hardened and untouchable from the inside. The light they reflected was beautiful still, though; scattering flecks of amber touched golden by the sun. I didn't expect a thousand-year removal from my family would be the same as it was for me with Gran, but I simply couldn't see why he wouldn't want to remember them.
Warmed by the wine, I reached out my hand and touched Eric's arm. He didn't react to my touch; I rounded the bed and crawled into the empty side. Figuring he didn't need the warmth of the duvet, I tugged it from its lax draping over his waist and bundled myself in it. I wiggled off the pants and kicked them to the floor, subsequently curling into a tight ball and closing my eyes as my head hit the pillow. I forced myself into a land of obscure and filmy thoughts that I hoped would tug me along into sleep, but only ended up squirming. I peaked with one eye open and saw an annoyed look hanging above Eric's closed eyes in his eyebrows.
"Sorry," I whispered.
"Why do you keep moving?" He asked in a steady tone.
"Gran said I'm like a beaver. I got to make myself a cozy nest before I sleep in it. This bed just ain't as soft as mine. I can't nest in it," I grunted, turning over in the swaddle of blankets and limbs I made myself. Eric only hummed in response, but I saw one corner of his lips curl upwards minutely. "When I was little I used to steal all of Jason an' Sookie's pillows and build towers of 'em around me. 'Fore Jason cared so much what people thought of him, he would curl up in there with me. But Sookie would wake up right up and snatch the pillows from under our heads when we was sleepin'."
At this I received a smile with teeth. I studied Eric's position on his back. He didn't look comfortable at all—no wonder he couldn't sleep… And there was my constant chatter, too. "Still can't sleep?"
"Georgina!" Eric exclaimed as his eyes opened widely.
"Sorry, sorry!" I backed off. An idea sprung into my head as he attempted to drop back into attempted sleep. I gripped the pillows hard with my hands, thinking of Eric and the wrinkles in his nose when he smiled. The pillows' last sleeper's dream came to me—dark, quiet, peaceful, and a little cold, like a forest in the dawn of winter. I saw it all in my head when I closed my eyes—the dreamer's dream was mine.
"Come 'ere, Eric," I asked, keeping my eyes shut but reaching out. My hand landed on his blanketed space between us.
"For what?"
"Please," I urged quietly. He shifted toward me in the bed. By the time I swore if he breathed I would've felt his breath on my face, I reached up for where I believed his ear would have been. Successfully, my fingers curled around it and I shared the dream with him. "Do you feel it?" I spoke with an intake of breath.
"Yes," he sighed. In his newfound peace, I felt his arm curl around my torso and pull me into a caged embrace. Settled with my atypical nest, a natural tiredness overcame me. With his nose nuzzled into my hair, I left the day and descended into my own manmade night. But while I drifted away I could not help but feel milked. I had offered my solace to him and I admitted to that, but I reduced his embrace to its bones: Eric finding sleep in my abilities. It didn't have to do with me, because who I was and what I could do were always separate entities in my mind And I thought about what I gave him and the times when our greatest intimacies lurched out into the air; it rarely ever had to do with me, only my abilities.
It took Eric a little bit longer to discover Sookie wasn't the only girl living under Gran's roof with qualities that could only be distracted as supernatural. And when Sookie was pulled off the market by Bill, maybe Eric picked up what he could—the leftovers. In my dreams I surely gnawed on the inside of my lips; memories resurfaced of Eric leaving me in a rush because of Sookie, Eric leaving me without a word because of Sookie, Eric watching me being pushed aside by Sookie, Eric showing up at Gran's house for Sookie…
The tall man who stood outside my door yanked me out of sleep with his hand wrapped tightly around my arm. My free hand flew out to slap whoever had woken me, but a strong hand around my wrist halted its movement.
"Hey!" I wriggled in the grip, opening my eyes to see Eric pulling me out of bed. He stood beside the guard, who helped stand me up once I forcibly stood. "Ain't you got some respect for the sleeping?"
I expected a wry response from Eric but received nothing. The tall man reached for my wide-leg trousers and attempted to put them on me, but Eric pushed him away and did the job himself.
"Go tell Russell she's on her way down," Eric told the man, who speedily disappeared in a quick flash of motion.
"You're as slick as owl shit, Eric Northman. You're going to get me out of here—my ass!"
"Georgina, listen to me very carefully," Eric looked me dead in the eyes once my bottoms were secured around my hips. "Do not act out in front of Russell. I wasn't lying when I said I'd get you out of here, but there's something I need to do first. You can't come in the way of this, do you understand?"
I felt his fingers making bruises in my arm under his grip. Slowly, I nodded. He left one hand around my upper arm and pulled me from the room. My directional senses failed me as he tugged us through numerous hallways; I only gained recognition when we reached the top of the master staircase. In the antechamber at the base of the stairs, I saw Sookie and Bill.
"Gee?" Sookie shouted at my introduction into the scene.
"Sook?" I responded.
Eric grip tightened and I swore the blood stopped pulsing through my forearm. "Remember," he spoke through teeth clenched shut.
"Remember what, Mr. Northman?" Russell echoed from downstairs. I just now noticed him at the bottom, looking up at Eric and me.
"Only not to act out," Eric answered calmly.
Another figure materialized behind me. It was a woman—dark-featured but ivory of skin. Her dark cat eyes widened at the sight of someone in the room, and I followed her eyes to Bill. "What's he done?" The woman asked in a distinct accent. It was not foreign but an archaic strain of Southern—velvety and old.
"Hiding something very interesting from us all," Russell answered. It hardly seemed as though a second passed before Bill planting a makeshift stake into the tall man's chest. I only blinked, and by that time he was an explosive mass of vampiric viscera. Elastic stretches of red and clotted black flung out across the room and scattered in messy shapes upon the floor. Bill made some sad attempt to mount Russell, but the senior vampire made a stealthy and easy escape. Bill was flung across the antechamber and collapsed onto the stairwell, breaking the wood and sending breezes of flying dust.
"Are you serious?" Russell laughed—fangs very much present. "I am almost three thousand years old!"
Sookie ran toward Bill, seemingly renewed in her love for him. To my knowledge, he had ended things; however, this appeared to be no longer the case. Eric materialized in front of her, blocking her passage. Eric took her arm like he had taken mine, but Sookie struggled with a much greater passion than that I had.
The foreign man—who quite evidently played the role of housekeeper in his relationship with Russell—stomped his foot on the ground. "Does our home mean nothing to you, Russell?!" He cried, heading toward the stairs. He feet angrily met each stair as he ascended, whilst muttering oaths in his native tongue.
"Eric, what are you doin'?!" She fought.
He brought her to Russell. "This is the right one. I wouldn't get rid of her if I were you."
"Have you tasted her?" Russell inquired, looking to Eric's guidance.
"I haven't, unfortunately. But I expect great things, seeing her peculiar talents. She is most definitely supernatural."
"I know," Russell responded with his careful tact. "And I wonder what supernatural qualities she shares with Miss Georgina. Have you any idea?"
"I've spent a fair amount of time with Georgina, my king. Nothing is out of the ordinary, and her story rings true. She is human, that is all."
"Have you tasted her?" He asked.
"Yes," Eric lied. The only taste he had had of me was a droplet of blood from my pierced finger. "Delicious, but nothing special."
Russell allowed a snakelike grin to meet his pale face. He met eyes with Sookie, looking at her as though she were the most delicious meal he'd encountered in a long while. "Hugo," he addressed a guard. "Bring her to the library. Her and I have much to discuss."
"We ain't got nothing to discuss!" Sookie argued hopelessly.
"We do," Russell sighed. "But first I have to repair what remains of my marriage. Hugo, wait with her until I arrive. It should't be long."
Following his partner, Russell ascended as well. At me he stopped, squinting his eyes and examining closely. "Do you truly not share Sookie's… strange abilities? It would be must better off if you told the truth now. So much less trouble to sort."
"I ain't got no powers, Mister Edgington," I spoke in the mildest voice I could maintain.
"And Sookie? Does she have any powers?"
"I won't speak for her," I answered truthfully.
"I respect your individuality, Miss Stackhouse," he replied before continuing up the stairs. I noticed now that he had lost interest in me, he had acknowledged my rightful surname.
"What should we do with Georgina, my king?" Eric called from downstairs. I almost imagined him giving Russell an apple, being the teacher's pet that he was. "Release her?"
"Yes," he answered, keeping his leisurely pace. Eric's eyes met mine across the antechamber as he fulfilled his promise of getting me out. "On second thought—don't. I have great trust in you, Eric, but I worry about your trust in her. I wish to keep her around for a while longer, just for good measure. Jacques, take her up!"
Tara knocked against the wall separating us. It had begun with my tedious knocking against the wall with the sharp curve of my knuckles in a long-forgotten tune. Tara had seemingly heard, and knocked at her unknown neighboring prisoner in response. I'd had no clue that she was here at Russell's manor in Mississippi, nor why, but it didn't matter. That was to be revealed when we escaped together, according to our morse messages.
When Tara and I wound up in the same trigonometry class in ninth grade, we found ourselves separated from one another by the teacher. Tara sat alone at one side of the classroom, whilst I sat at the opposite side. When we began tapping the tune to our shared favorite song together one class using our sneakers on the metal chair legs, we resolved to communicate through each class. Everyday after school we gathered at Gran's to learn and practice. We'd never told Sookie in the hopes of keeping one thing between us.
I'm getting us out of here, Tara said through long and short series of taps.
How?
I just am. When the time comes, be ready.
Okay. Are you alright?
No, but I'll explain later. Are you alright?
Just glad Russell lost interest in me. Sookie is still in dangerous waters, though.
We'll get her too. We have to.
I know. Good luck.
You too.
I'll be ready when you come.
Relying on Eric to get me out now seemed like a distant figure in the horizon. It scared me how his adoration for Sookie could drop in a heartbeat, and how he feigned such an intense faith to Russell. And my earlier thoughts still hung over my mind like long shadows in the evening—what about me did he want? Myself or my abilities? Thinking of how impossible it would be to get a legitimate answer to this question, I decided I could not lean on him. Eric promised me a way out of Russell's manor, but that didn't mean his way was the only way out.
I crawled into bed and laid there with my eyes wide open. No tiredness had grown on me during my short and sweet trip on the staircase; sleeping was not an option. For a while, I only kept my ear against the pillow. The indent Eric had made in the pillow was still present—white silk sunken concave into plush feather. My fingers slipped into the crater tentatively, and touching where he'd been gave me flashes of the sea. In blinks, I saw whitecaps slamming against the long wooden panels of a longship. Nearly a hundred oars slapped into the tumultuous mouths of black water, sinking in like a knife, and pushing. Rain pelted down on the sea in steady streams, as though the dark sky was weeping over its watery mirror below.
Time passed at a glacial pace, and I lay with my eyes open as the day surely slipped into night. Through hours beneath the moon I read one of the few English books in the room—an ancient copy of the Canterbury Tales. I faced great adversity picking apart each line and comprehending its meaning, but the hours that passed permitted such inspection.
When I lay in my bed trying to will myself to sleep, I caught the sound of shouts and thunks of steel. I stood from the bed and walked toward the door, poking it open slightly. Hugo was gone and Jacques had been reassigned to guard my room, but he was nowhere to be seen. I pushed the door open further and stepped into the hallway, looking both ways. It was empty.
After a gulp of courage, I tried to retrace my steps toward the grand staircase that led to the antechamber. Most of the times I'd been taken there had been at the speed of a running vampire, and I hadn't had time to observe my surroundings and memorize them. However, when Jacques had led me back to my room I'd taken careful note of each hall and turn. With this to reflect on, I very cautiously and quietly made it to the stop of the staircase.
Shards of golden light streamed in through the rectangular windows flanking the massive front door. The color was premature and purpling at the edges, telling me it was no more than the early approach of dawn. My steps down the stairs were agonizing—avoiding every creek I could predict. I held the railing in a tight grip, occasionally seeing past ascenders and descenders. I watched slippered feet descend and memorized where every creak had sounded; I caught heel shoes walk up, and imprinted in my mind where the stiletto produced the loudest yawns in the wood. I stepped around each one and made it to the marble floor of the antechamber without having made a sound.
With my hand on the handle of the door, I stopped myself. Tara had planned to rescue me and take me with her, and there was the chance she and Sookie had managed to take out one guard and get down the hallway, but now I heard nothing. Most likely, they were restrained and shoved back in their rooms; it was only a matter of time before Jacques discovered I was no longer in my room, or whatever guard would be covering his shift now that the day had arrived in its purple veil. I decided to proceed, figuring getting one chicken out of the henhouse was better than none.
I opened the door so slowly it didn't make a single sound, slipped out through a crack no bigger than a foot, then closed it behind me. The daylight felt so fresh on my skin I wanted to cry; I could never imagine how vampires lived centuries without a kiss of the sun. Only a few days of deprivation felt like a month of darkness.
I took off with all the speed I could muster. The lofty pants and loose blouse gave me freedom of limbs, and I could hear them rippling in tight cracks as the wind whipped through them. The earth felt nonexistent beneath my feet—they were more air-bound in sprinting steps than not. I had never seen the house aside from what was inside it, as I'd been unconscious upon delivery. I now saw a massive flat of ripe green grass spread before the house, which I hadn't had time to look back upon. At the edges of the tightly-mowed field stood a thin wood—only a framing that kept the manor concealed. I saw some movement between the thick trunks of trees and only quickened my pace, only heading in the opposite direction from which I came.
The snarling of wolves was soon an unavoidable aspect of the world around me. I had no choice but to try and outrun them and never look behind. I could hear the yelps from my heels as I kicked up dirt behind me. I took a sharp right and was almost caught by one that leapt and caught only my blouse; the cloth ripped and the wolf scrambled back around, the cream-colored cloth hanging from his jaw.
I kept running until I neared the boundaries of the estate. There were no fences—only an open area where a wide sand road split the grass in half. As though the wolfs wore shock collars, they stopped their chase at the road. Turning around finally after having crossed the road, I saw three large wolves. Their coats were all dark and shaggy, and their eyes were wild with the scent of pumping blood. Their chests heaved as they turned, backing into the thick rows of oaks that sat along the edges of the estate. I watched their tails disappear into the shadow cast by the foliage.
I leant over on my knees and caught my breath. I reached to where my shirt had been torn by the wolf and felt a moist patch on the skin it exposed. I pulled away my hand and examined the blood that was now coating three of my fingers; I hadn't realized it, but the wolf must have gotten some of me. It didn't hurt much to my surprise, and I tried to forget it until I secured some personal safety. But that was a long way away, as I couldn't leave knowing Sookie and Tara were still in the cold, pale hands of Russell Edgington. I only looked up at the sun and then down the sand road. Tactlessly, I walked down the road, hoping something of worth awaited me at the end of it.