March
Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend. Oliver Wendell Holmes Snr.
…
At their third meeting, Rory opened the door with a scowl on her face and a cell phone at her ear. She smiled briefly and waved Eric through as she gave curt yes and no answers to whoever was invoking her displeasure long distance.
In the cheerful yellow lounge Eric spotted a tray balanced somewhat precariously on a stack of papers on the coffee table – a tray that held a bottle of wine, a carafe of blood and the familiar glass and goblet. The phone call had clearly interrupted Rory's preparations. Without a thought he picked up the tray, took it out to the hothouse and set things out on the table how she usually arranged them. The room was unusually warm and he realised the skylight was still shut. He looked around for a mechanism to open it, shrugged, and flew up to the glass roof. The latch was simple. He hovered there for a minute, scenting the cool air and listening for their friend the bat.
He was just returning to the ground when Rory came in.
"Oh. Thanks Eric," she said, gesturing at the drinks as she took her usual seat. She stretched and rubbed her face, and instead of curling up in that feline way of hers she slumped inelegantly back against couch, thumping the cushions behind her irritably.
Eric joined her. He didn't take up his usual confident posture either, startling her by kicking off his shoes and sprawling on his back across the other couch. "Problems?" he asked.
"A stubborn patient. One I don't care for."
"Ludwig couldn't deal with it?"
She snorted. "She likes him even less – we actually drew lots for the sod. Guess whose luck ran out?" Eric chuckled and Rory gave him a longer look. "Not yours. You look like the cat that caught a whole family of mice."
He smirked. "No, just one big fat snake."
"The danger is over then?"
He shrugged awkwardly in his prone position. "When is it ever over? But I think we'll have a quiet spell." He gave her a once over and noticed how tired she really was. He sat up abruptly, poured their drinks and handed the glass of wine to her.
She gulped half of it down and groaned. "I needed that."
He sipped his blood. "If you are too tired …"
She waved him quiet. "I can sleep when I'm dead."
He chuckled. "Only in the day."
She frowned and then laughed when she realised what she'd said. "Sorry."
"Think nothing of it. If you insist on proceeding with tonight's instalment of our little trust building endeavour, I have a proposal."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Go on."
A challenge sparked in his blue eyes. "We agree to answer each other's questions."
She tilted her head, curious. "Are you sure you want to risk that? I could ask you anything."
"Perhaps I trust you enough to take a chance, Sorcha. Besides, I'm on a winning streak."
His good mood was infectious and Rory smiled widely, pleased to hear her real name. With amusement bubbling under her words, she gloated, "You can't find out anything about me and your curiosity is killing you."
He rolled his eyes at her, pretending to be annoyed that she could sense his feelings with her empathy. Let her think she had an edge, he thought. Her heartbeat, her breathing, the dilation of her pupils, her movements – he had long centuries of practise reading those. Mostly in humans, but her reactions were similar enough. "I admit it," he said. "I'm curious. So will you agree?"
"I suppose you'll go first?"
"It was my idea."
She shook her head, amused. "Okay, shoot."
He grinned and said deliberately, "Tell me your history with the Pythoness."
There was a flicker of something in her green eyes, squashed quickly, but Eric was watchful enough to catch it. She covered it with a smile. "That's your first question?"
"Yes," he said simply. Then because of that flicker he gave her an out. "If you are willing to answer it."
She paused for a second, but she didn't disappoint him. "I'm willing, but that's a long story. You might not get another question answered tonight."
He shrugged. "Then perhaps you will allow me additional questions during your tale."
"I think that's fair. Very well." She settled back and began with the practised relish of a keen story-teller. "It all started when I was kidnapped."
After a dramatic pause, she continued. "It was 1807 and I was living in the mountains near Budapest, north of the Danube, with a group of part-fae, elves and various other nature spirits. It was my habit at the time to gather herbs in the forest alone, to guard my sources. Some herbs must be cut at a particular time of day, or in a certain way. On this fateful occasion I had been gathering dove's foot and milkwort at twilight. With a silver sickle."
Eric's eyes glinted with interest. "Useful against vampire."
Rory smiled slowly. "It would have been. But it wasn't vampires who appeared suddenly in the half-light that evening, surrounding me amongst the trees, far from any assistance."
"Fae?"
She said sternly, "Interrupting constantly spoils the flow of the story."
He held up his hands in capitulation, and sat back, wondering fleetingly if the myth was true: that certain fae could weave stories so compelling the listener became trapped in them. He dismissed the thought as fanciful and concentrated on her as she began again.
"Good. So, three fae appeared. All male. Before I was overwhelmed I recognised only one, Nolan, a water fae, distant cousin to Neave and Lochlan. He was bleeding out as I was subdued, my sickle buried in his thigh." She flashed that feral grin at Eric and he grinned back, fangs down.
"I lost consciousness. When I woke, I lay still, assessing my situation. I sensed two fae nearby with my empathy. They were on edge. I was bound in iron so I couldn't leave the fae way, and blinded by sacking over my face. I was gagged too, so I couldn't curse my captors with magic. The air was cold and smelt strongly of pine. I felt around with my hands carefully and found the ground was strewn with pine cones and needles. The forest near Budapest where I was taken was oak and beech so I knew I'd been transported some distance.
"Once they realised I was awake, Nolan had me dragged upright and punched me hard, in the belly, as revenge for his leg. Gasping for breath and concerned by the fury I sensed in him, I heard a low whistle off in the forest. Instantly both fae were fully alert, even as the third popped to us. None of them spoke." Rory paused and Eric shifted forward minutely, caught up in her tale despite himself.
"A few seconds later, three vampires arrived and fanned out opposite Nolan and his fae. I could tell what they were from their speed and the thrill of fear that ran through the fae gripping my arms to hold me upright. There was a short exchange. Ignoring my own fear as best I could, I concentrated on reading the emotions of the two leaders, attempting to discover what was happening."
Eric was watching her face. If Rory was weaving an enchantment, she was caught in her own telling, her eyes dilating with remembered panic. But even blind, and bound, and helpless, she'd kept a cool head and used her empathy. Eric grunted quietly in admiration, but didn't interrupt.
"Nolan spoke first, full of impatience and tension, saying in German: 'You have the payment?' Something hit the ground in front of his feet with a heavy jangling thud. One of the vampires, the one in the centre, replied in heavily accented German. 'If she is not the one, you will regret it. For many nights.' He was serious, excited and also strangely repulsed. Suddenly I was thrust forward roughly, sprawling onto the ground between the two groups as Nolan sneered: 'She's all yours.' One of the other fae darted forward to snatch up the payment and all three popped away, leaving me alone and defenceless.
"Cold hands lifted me to my feet and the sacking was removed. Blinking, I took in the scene before me. It was night, of course, and thick pine trees surrounded us, but enough moonlight filtered through them to reveal the vampire in front of me. He was dark-haired and heavyset. The other two – females, one blonde, one redhead –were armed with crossbows loaded with iron bolts, held loosely and pointed at the ground.
"To kill Nolan and his fae if they double-crossed them," Eric said before he could stop himself.
"Yes. Naturally there was no trust between the two groups. Once Nolan and his accomplices disappeared, the vampires had relaxed a little, but they were still wary. Of me, I assumed. The male, their leader, touched my hair as he said something to the others in a language I didn't recognise. I discovered later it was Romanian. The blonde smiled, gesturing between me and the other female as she made a quick reply in the same burbling tongue. The male laughed, barking a short reply. The redhead snarled in annoyance, but I sensed her amusement. I presumed the leader had made a joke about our shared hair colour.
"Then the male spoke to me, asking me in broken German if I understood him. I nodded cautiously. He asked, 'You are a healer?' I nodded, hope welling up that I hadn't been sold as a tasty meal – which would have been disastrous when they found out I was not at all as delicious as they expected. 'You healed one of us, Leopold, over forty years ago?' I nodded again. He smiled, and felt satisfaction. I realised I had been kidnapped because they wanted me specifically, and I began furiously plotting ways to exploit that."
Eric nodded his approval, but bit back his comment this time.
"He asked if I could repress my scent for another hour. When I confirmed I could, he apologised that the chains and the gag would have to stay. Moving slowly he took me into his arms, slinging my bound wrists over his head. I had never been so vulnerable, so close to a vampire. His fangs ran out, shocking me. The scent from the other fae had excited him and I feared for my life, but he did not bite. Instead he stared straight ahead and took off at full speed, running south through the forest, his women following."
Rory paused and then said with an amused look, "Ask or I fear you will explode."
Eric fired off questions rapidly. "How did the fae know where to find you if you gathered herbs in secret? Where was this exchange with vampires made? Who was the vampire leader and what did he want with you? Did he have history with this Nolan? Why did Nolan betray you to him?"
She smirked. "That was Vlad's first question once we were safely away: why would Nolan hand one of his own race over to vampires?"
Eric's eyes widened comically. Rory could almost see a series of light bulbs flickering on behind them: a vampire called Vlad, with dark hair, speaking Romanian, accompanied by female vampires …
She laughed wildly as she felt his rising excitement. "No, not that Vlad," she managed to choke out.
Eric frowned at her reaction, then narrowed his eyes and bit out one word. "Pam."
Rory covered her mouth and nodded. Once she was calm she admitted, "She may have mentioned your bromance with the dark prince of Wallachia, yes."
Eric growled out some terse Norse.
Still smiling Rory carried on. "To answer your questions. The pine forest was somewhere in the Carpathians, in Romania. I do not believe Stefan – the women did call him Vlad to tease him about the resemblance, but Stefan was his real name – had met Nolan before. Later Stefan told me he had let it be known to the local weres that he was willing to pay handsomely for a red-headed healer renowned amongst fae for healing a vampire, a fae woman he had a grudge against but wanted delivered intact. Nolan was in the area and heard this, contacting Stefan through the wolves to arrange an exchange."
"How did Nolan find you?"
"That was my own doing. I had been wandering Europe skipping from fae enclave to enclave for almost a century when our paths crossed. At first no fae would hire me as a healer – the usual fae snobbery and obsession with lineage – so I was frustrated, unable to develop my talent. I occupied myself making herbal remedies for humans, as healing them magically was frowned on lest they discover us." Her face clouded. "At any rate I was not comfortable around full fae and kept myself apart from my mother's kind initially. It was a lonely existence."
She shook her head to forestall the question on his lips. Eric was dissatisfied, but let it drop. He would come back to her uneasy relationship with the fae another time.
"After several decades of such wandering, a prominent water fae living in Bohemia approached me for help in 1762. He needed a healer who could be around hungry vampires with some degree of safety. That was the first time I had any real contact with the undead. Healing Leopold and his guards gave me some status amongst the fae. Some began to accept me, as a healer anyway. Pleased, I built on my successes and developed my gift. Forty-five years later, my reputation as a healer had spread far enough for Nolan to track me down from Stefan's description and I encountered vampires for a second time."
"Ah. The price of fame."
"Yes." Her smile faded. "And treachery. I was betrayed by an elf woman I knew, who lived in the enclave near Budapest. Nolan paid her well to find out where and when he could catch me alone."
Eric pursed his lips thoughtfully and then asked, "If you had so little contact with my kind, this vampire cannot have had a grudge against you, unless Leopold was his enemy. What did Stefan want with you?"
"I'm coming to that. During that first hour, I was very afraid of Stefan and his women. Afraid I would be killed. Eaten. Or worse. When we stopped our headlong rush south, Stefan set me down and said: 'You will not be harmed. You have my word. Do you know why you are here?' I shook my head, still gagged. 'A powerful vampire has need of your healing talent to avert a war. I am charged with delivering you before time runs out. We must travel quickly, without rest. If you resist I will use force and the journey will be … unpleasant for both of us.' I could sense no duplicity, only wariness in him. I nodded cautiously, planning to co-operate until I had a chance to escape. He pulled out a knife and cut the gag before I could flinch. The redhead handed him a flask and he held it to my lips so I could drink my fill of water.
"I thanked him. Then he asked why Nolan had been so eager to sell me out to vampires. He was disgusted again, with Nolan I realised. I shrugged, saying I was only half-fae, with no family in Europe to protect me. Not the full truth of course, but enough for Stefan to accept. And it was a half-truth that came easily."
"Why was that?"
Rory shifted, looked down and for a moment Eric thought she would brush off this question too. She met his eyes again and answered softly, "I had been in Dae for a long time before this period. When I returned in the early seventeen hundreds, only a handful of older fae in this realm knew of me, my history and my origins. Most of them, the few who might have recognised me for who I was, believed I remained in the demon realm with my father."
Eric could see she was distressed. He had an idea why. He asked her gently, "Why did your father take you to his realm? You said your mother could not go there."
Rory's eyes filled with tears. She let them fall as she spoke. "My mother was killed in 1589, in Ireland, during an uprising in Kerry against the English. She had been helping the locals, the starving, the sick, and she was caught in one of their skirmishes, killed with an iron blade. Memnon was devastated. They had a scant century together when he anticipated many. He took me into Dae with him and in our shared grief we became very close."
Eric allowed her to feel his sympathy and waited silently for her to compose herself. She gave him a soft smile before she continued.
"When I returned to this world, I kept my true identity secret. Sorcha had baggage and she was far too exceptional for it not to follow her. I am the only one of my kind, the only fae-demon hybrid. Among the fae and their allies, I used Rory and other aliases to become a nobody, a half-fae who did not know her fae origins."
Eric was humbled: after centuries of hiding it, she had given him her true name within hours of meeting him. He said quietly, "You gave me a great gift the night we met."
Humility wasn't an emotion Rory had felt from the proud vampire until then. She smiled warmly at him. "How could I not, after you thanked me from the heart."
Remembering the night they met, they looked at each other quietly for a moment, until Rory cleared her throat and began again.
"Stefan asked how much longer I could mask my scent and was not surprised when I said until dawn. I might have wondered at that, when no fae can mask indefinitely unless they are truly scentless like me, but we set off again immediately. We travelled south for three nights at a punishing pace. In the day he sedated me, something we both regretted. Me, because I had no chance to escape."
"He did not hurt you."
"No, he kept his word. He was an honourable vampire. The best kind," Rory said seriously, meeting his eyes. Eric acknowledged the compliment with a nod. "On the fourth night, we arrived at our destination: a highly guarded, very well hidden cave system in the foothills of Parnassus. A stone's throw from Delphi."
"Ah."
"Quite. I had no idea whose lair I was walking into, only understanding that it was a vampire of some significance when Stefan apologised and blindfolded me so I couldn't find the caves again. We were stopped half a dozen times on the way in, weres and vampire guards, rough hands patting me down, checking my iron shackles. I wasn't gagged, but the walls were dripping with wards and protection spells. I doubted I could mutter half a syllable of magic without triggering a hex.
"Finally, Stefan, who was very tense, handed me over to another vampire and we entered a large cavern where vampires, humans and a demon were gathered. Before I could tell whether the demon was friend or foe, I was pushed roughly to my knees and my blindfold was torn away. I blinked up at an old crone with fangs."
"The Pythoness."
"Yes. She stared at me with those dead milky eyes and I glared back. She spoke to Stefan, congratulating him I thought, because he relaxed a little. Then the demon growled out a demand for her opinion and she snapped: 'Bessos, all will be well. She is the one I saw.'
"Bessos I had never met, but knew by reputation to be bad-tempered and petulant. He was clearly in no mood to put up with the way the aged vampire spoke to him. He sneered: 'I care nothing for your visions, seer, only my unborn son. Should he die, my vengeance will be legendary and from these caves will spew forth a river of blood and ash.'
"She hissed and they began a heated exchange. The spat distracted the vampire holding me and I twisted out of his grip and rose to my feet, shackles clattering with the motion. Abruptly, the room went still. 'Crone,' I said–"
Eric's eyebrows shot up and Rory flashed a grin at him. "What? I was pissed. And not a vampire. I owed the old girl no respect. 'Crone,' I said. 'Did you order my kidnapping?'
" 'What of it?' she rasped back. You have not been harmed.'
" 'Not yet,' I scoffed. Then I spoke to the demon. 'Bessos. If I am to save your unborn son, it was a mistake to drag me here in chains.'
"He scowled and turned to the crone. She hissed: 'It was the fastest way to get her here.'
"Before Bessos could throw another volley of insults, I snapped: 'If time is of the essence then perhaps someone could apprise me of the situation with some haste. Before it is too late for the child.'" Rory repeated her speech with a marked sarcastic drawl.
Eric snorted, imagining the scene vividly. "If you spoke to the Pythoness and an angry demon in that exact tone, I'm surprised you made it out of the room with your head."
Rory grinned again. "Oh you bet I used that tone. They needed me, so I risked a little insolence. And you forget, I could read the old crone's emotions. She was as angry with Bessos as I was and amused by the way I spoke to her."
"She has a sense of humour under all those wrinkles?" Eric was faintly surprised.
"Don't tell anyone. And the old girl wasn't that amused with me: my barb hit its mark, exasperating her. But it goaded her into barking out the details without any further delay, which was my goal. To cut a long story short, Bessos had been visiting the seer with his heavily pregnant woman to find out if the infant in her belly was a worthy son. As they were leaving, there had been an incident, a fight. I never found out exactly what triggered it, probably Bessos, who not once curbed his temper or his tongue while I was there. During the scuffle the woman had been thrown against a stone wall. Mother and child were close to death and Bessos was threatening violent reprisals, a war, if his son died – the son with a noteworthy future if the seer was to be believed.
"Bessos held the seer responsible for not predicting the fight. The Pythoness needed to appease him. Making it clear I had little choice in the matter if I wanted to continue breathing, she proposed a bargain: my freedom for the child's safe delivery, which was all Bessos cared about. Not the vessel."
"The mother was human?
"Yes. You know how that goes with demon spawn, her life might have been forfeit anyway. Because mother and child were both so close to death–"
"It was too dangerous to give them vampire blood."
"Yes, accidentally turning either of them before the birth would be disastrous. So the Pythoness desperately needed my help. I refused to agree to her terms until I'd examined the woman. Without Bessos. The crone agreed and he stayed outside of the room, cursing my name."
Rory closed her eyes for a second. "She was almost dead. Broken shoulder, a skull fracture, but the worst was a cracked pelvis. I told the pythoness I doubted I could save her. The infant, perhaps, but it was weak. It depended how much blood the mother was leaking internally. I would only make the attempt if the Pythoness personally guaranteed my safety whatever the outcome and promised that Stefan would escort me back as far as the Carpathians. And if the woman survived, Bessos had to leave her there. The handmaidens had cared for her. I knew they'd be kinder than the demon." She added grimly, "He was the type to kill her if his precious son died and she survived."
"Did the Pythoness agree to your terms?"
Rory gave a wry grin. "Reluctantly, with much rancour." She sighed heavily. "I warned them that I hadn't had much experience with childbirth, but I would do my best. First, I used my fae abilities to heal the woman as much as I could but she didn't regain consciousness. There was no way either of them would have survived a labour."
Her voice was bleak. "After I'd recovered some strength, I prepared for a caesarean. It was my first. I have not performed another." She looked down, in shame Eric thought.
She spoke quietly. "Stefan's redhead – she was French, her name was Mathilde – agreed to give the woman blood as soon as," she swallowed convulsively, "as I cut the infant out of her. It was her only chance."
Her hands clenched and her eyes were far away. Eric moved closer, not liking the way her skin had paled and shone with sweat. She spoke slowly and haltingly, her hands moving in the air as she relived that night.
"I worked as fast as I could. Cut open her belly … found her womb … opened it. But by the time I got my hands on the child he was swimming in blood. He was slick with it … like a fish, slipping out of my hands … so much blood… too much …"
Her breath caught and she covered her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. Eric blurred from his couch to sit beside her, placing one cool hand on the back of her neck, the other on her forehead. He hushed her, stroking the hair from her face as she swallowed noisily and leant into his cool hand gratefully, trying to quell the nausea she felt.
After a minute of breathing deeply, she seemed better and he took his hands away, scooting back a little so there was some space between them, but staying on 'her' couch.
She said sheepishly, "Sorry."
She took a deep breath. "I had the infant delivered in minutes and healed him enough to stabilise him. Mathilde tugged out the placenta and opened her wrist over the woman's belly. The child lived. Barely. The woman died. Mathilde might have turned her I think, but she lost too much blood, too fast and Mathilde herself was struggling with the scent of it. I was exhausted, but I staggered out of the room and thrust the babe into Bessos's waiting grasp. I told him to get to Dae as fast as he could. Find a wet nurse. Then I collapsed."
She stopped to wipe her face, waving away his concern. "I woke up in one of the handmaiden's rooms the next day. They'd washed the blood off me, put me in clean clothes. Before I left, the Pythoness asked to see me. She was brisk, rude. You know how she is. But under that belligerent manner of hers, she felt a great deal of sympathy for the dead woman, and for Mathilde and me." She looked straight at Eric for the first time since she'd broken down. "Some of you hide great depths behind your fangs."
Eric smiled faintly. "They make a good disguise. Like your fae illusions and glamours."
"They do. It takes time to see what's really underneath." They looked at each other for a long moment.
"So what happened next?" Eric said when the silence had stretched far enough.
"The old girl said I had averted a potential war and much bloodshed. She offered me payment: a fist-sized ruby. I told her I wanted nothing, only that she kept my identity secret. You see, when I spoke to Bessos I spoke the demon tongue and she felt no surprise. And Stefan knew my scent wouldn't be a problem. A seer powerful enough to see me half a continent away, to know that the weres in the Carpathians would know a fae who could find me … She knew more about me than I found comfortable. I asked her to take a blood oath never to reveal what she knew about me."
"She agreed?"
Rory tried to look modest. "She owed me. I insisted."
Eric looked suitably impressed. A blood oath, a binding one, was a rare thing for a vampire to do. The Pythoness could not be made to break it, so Rory's, or rather Sorcha's identity, was safe from that quarter.
"That's about it. Stefan escorted me back to the Carpathians, and I returned to Budapest and went on an elf hunt." She played with her pendant for a moment. "I haven't thought about that night for a long time. It … is difficult for me to relive it."
Eric knew it wasn't the gore, she was far from squeamish. "Losing the woman?"
She pierced him with a look. "I killed her."
Eric stilled. He didn't point out what she surely knew: that the woman would have likely died anyway or that the demon and the Pythoness hadn't give her much choice.
Rory shook her head slightly, as if she knew what he was thinking. She did: she'd thought it herself a million times but in her heart she felt those facts didn't absolve her. She said evenly, "I made the decision. It was my hand on the knife, my skin drenched in her blood."
His blue eyes were stormy, matching his emotions, but he didn't try to soften it. "Yes. You killed her."
She bobbed her head, thanking him for his honesty. "It hit me hard. I would have found it easier to accept if she'd woken and consented. But she didn't and I made the decision for her. I chose my life, the child's life over her."
"It was the only choice." He paused. "You were strong enough to make it."
She gave a wry smile. "Yes. I didn't falter or hesitate, didn't grieve until the business was long over."
"You averted a war and protected your secret. These things do not come cheap."
She sighed. "No, they don't." She turned away and poured fresh drinks. They settled back at opposite ends of the couch, comfortable with the closeness and the silence.
After her wine was gone Rory asked, "Have I answered you question satisfactorily?"
"Yes, you have."
"Then it is my turn." Rory paused.
Eric saw her hesitation and realised he was not going to like her question one bit. In fact he was probably going to hate it. His jaw twitched. "Go on."
Green eyes met blue as she echoed the format of his question: "Tell me your history with Sookie Stackhouse."
Blue eyes widened a fraction. She felt his slight surprise; he had not expected that question.
He sat back slowly, thinking. Thinking and locking down his emotions. Rory could sense nothing from him when he began, that vampire mask firmly in place.
"Very well. Perhaps it would be good to have an outside opinion, as they say. Sookie came to my bar, looking for a killer to exonerate her brother..."
Stoically, he spoke of their first meeting, the theft at Fangtasia, his staking Longshadow without hesitation. Then the maenad attack, following Sookie to Dallas, her bravery and determination there.
Rory saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes, the first crack in his mask.
The bombing was next, her sucking bullets from him. When he got to the orgy and described his outfit, there were tendrils of amusement coming from him and Rory felt free to laugh. He smirked at her.
Then Bill's disappearance and the bind it put him in with his capricious queen, reluctantly 'persuading' Sookie to go to Jackson, sending the wolf to help her, the staking, giving her blood and almost … He skipped over what exactly 'almost', but Rory got the gist.
He was just as reluctant to discuss how he entertained Bernard.
His face was still set as he spoke, but she began to sense flashes of emotion from him: concern at Sookie injuries in the car trunk, and unease when she came to rescue him at the gas station. Anger at himself for failing to anticipate the Were ambush at her house, and amusement as he described Sookie rescinding both his and Bill's invitations.
When he described those brief, wonderful nights under Hallow's curse, he locked down again. Tight. She didn't understand that until he got to the part where the curse was lifted and he lost that time. He was stony as he described Sookie leaving for work as if nothing had happened, Pam only half filling him in on his missing time, him writing a check and leaving without a backward glance.
Evidently, he didn't want Rory to know how he felt about the curse and that puzzled her. Did he feel Sookie had taken advantage of him, which Rory sort of thought she might have, or did he resent her for keeping quiet about what happened? Maybe, Rory thought, it was just too painful to remember after the way things turned out.
Still unemotional, he described his slow realisation that something important had happened that he couldn't remember. It distracted him, plagued him. He stayed away, but Sookie came to ask a favour, still refusing to tell him anything. He was frustrated, torn between wanting her and wanting her gone, done with. She made him vulnerable in his dangerous world. He bluntly admitted he considered killing her for his own safety, but found to his disgust he couldn't do it. Then he became even more distracted when she was in danger at every turn: a sniper, a house fire, her friend getting involved with Mickey. Finally he forced the story out of her, only the shit hit the fan again, first with Mickey and then with Twining.
Rory felt nothing from him until he got to Mickey's attack, catching a flash of fear and admiration for Sookie. Then, as he described how he'd mistakenly sent Hot Rain's would-be assassin to protect Sookie, she sensed a flash self-recrimination for his error.
She got a strong surge of protectiveness when he spoke of forcing Bill to reveal the queen's orders concerning Sookie. He glossed over the tiger, but not tracking him and Sookie when they were kidnapped only to find Sookie holding down a struggling Sandra Pelt after she'd stunned Sandra's henchman. That had impressed him. And then the fight at the abbey, when yet again a protector abandoned her and he took advantage.
Rhodes. This was hard for him and Rory soon saw why. Sookie was with the tiger and working for Eric's queen, not him. He had no official connection with her. And yet when the telepath caught Andre's interest, he found himself stepping in, putting himself at risk to protect her again.
Rory asked how Sookie felt about the bond they were forced to make.
Reluctant, Eric paused for a long moment before quietly describing Sookie's flight from the scene and her traumatised reaction coming loud and clear through the fresh blood bond. He hesitated again. Then he described how Sookie fought the effects whilst he was adjusting to how tightly they were bound. As he went on to explain how the bond intensified his feelings for Sookie until they were undeniable, drawing him to her when she was in danger, Rory felt a surge of doubt from him – a deep uncertainty he muffled at once.
He was emotionless again for the soda-can bomb, the tiger … the trial and the Pythoness … the tiger taking an arrow for Sookie … But the dance, that was something special. His eyes glowed as he described the memory and finally Rory could see an emotion on his face: joy, clear and bright.
Sookie's dramatic rescue of Eric and Pam amazed Rory. She was perplexed when Eric was ambivalent about it. Grateful, but ambivalent. And Sookie proved her mettle again, rescuing many from the rubble.
Niall entered the tale stage left, like a pantomime villain. Rory agreed with Eric: Brigant sending Claudine had not been enough to protect Sookie, and the prince turning up himself when the fae conflict was at DEFCON 1 was hardly in her best interests either.
Eric did not hide his disapproval of Sookie's involvement in the pack war. But then he said, with a shrug, that he was as bad for her as the wolf. He ran right to her during de Castro's takeover. And then after that was settled, his memories flooded back as he sat on her bed … and she sent him packing.
He broke off, looking into the distance. His control was slipping. Rory felt his heartache, but kept quiet.
Sookie was hurt in a scuffle between the tiger and Bill. Eric gave her more blood, and they... Rory filled in that gap, and asked carefully why he felt so conflicted.
Eric shifted uncomfortably, explaining what he offered Sookie that night, an offer that she turned down, telling him what little she wanted from him instead: to carry on with her life as before, making few demands of him. She hadn't even asked how he felt towards her and he had been perplexed by that.
The recollection disturbed him. And it unsettled Rory too, who began to realise that this story wasn't a long flirtatious pursuit, culminating in Sookie finally accepting the depth of her affection for Eric when they became lovers. Not at all. It was turning into something else entirely.
It was the shifter who called Eric when Sookie was upset about Calvin's hand. Not Sookie, Rory noticed. Sookie's brother had behaved poorly, she agreed with Eric about that.
Eric was grim when he described Sigebert's attack, admitting he lost control of the bond and couldn't keep it closed. He never meant for Sookie to come back. Rory thought it was a good sign that she had, but Eric felt that ambivalence, that doubt again. He explained that the rescue had drawn Felipe's attention to Sookie, made him covet her. That was bad news, but Rory intuited Felipe's involvement wasn't the reason for Eric's mixed feelings about the incident.
Victor … He paused to explain what a huge pain in his ass Felipe's regent had been. She got his disdain and anger clearly, he wasn't hiding them. He got wind that Victor planned to escort Sookie to Las Vegas, where Felipe would force her to work for him under the guise of his protection. Or possibly there would be an 'accident' on the way and Victor would kill or turn her; Eric wasn't sure of Victor's loyalty to de Castro at the time.
A pledge was the only way to refuse a request from his king. He couldn't reach Sookie to warn her about it. They just about pulled it off, but Victor was suspicious. And no, Sookie and he had never really discussed it. He'd expected a fierce argument, a scolding that never came.
Eric stopped.
He poured some blood and downed it, clearly fortifying himself before he continued. Rory understood soon enough: Victor's revenge for the pledge, for being outplayed. Sookie was taken and tortured while Victor held Eric helpless in chains and only Pam's quick thinking saved the day.
Rory echoed Eric's sheer admiration for Sookie, her strength. The fae siblings were … Well, Rory had tried to heal one of their broken victims and had failed. She knew only too well what devastation Neave and Lochlan could wreak.
Eric looked at his hands as he described the fight at the clinic and Sookie's slow, halting recovery. When he finished he looked up. "Would your gift have helped her?"
"Yes, at the time. Now, no. Mental scars are very like physical ones. Once they harden they can't be easily removed. I can only make a difference when the trauma is fresh."
"Why didn't Niall –"
She shook her head. "I was in dae, out of reach. And there's no other fae empaths, of course."
"Ah. Of course." The ability came from her demon side. A full demon empath would never reveal their gift let alone volunteer to use it to help Sookie, mostly human as she was.
Eric moved on to Victor's attempts to hurt him through attacks on Pam and Sookie, and mentioned that Sookie's fae kin moved in with her.
Rory interrupted. "That would have helped her heal."
"That touchy-feely family bond the fae have?" Eric asked, remembering the phrase Rory had used the night they met.
"Yes. If Sookie was withering after the torture, having her kin close would have stopped it."
"Withering?"
"Depression fae-style. With actual physical symptoms. It's dangerous."
He nodded absently and moved on to his Maker's visit, Alexei's precarious mental state and keeping them both in Shreveport away from Sookie. Then Alexei's disastrous meltdown that left him and Pam badly injured, and Sookie yelling at him, snapping him out of his funk even though she hated his Maker. He commented, "She would have hated him even more if she knew about the contract."
"You hadn't told her."
"I didn't have chance to, I had only just found out."
Eric described the fight at Sookie's that ended with Coleman, Alexei and Ocella all reduced to ash, including how his Maker saved Sookie and the surge of glee Eric felt from him. He didn't understand it at first. Not until later, when he found out there was no way to break the contract with Ocella gone.
Eric wanted nothing more than to stop talking, but he carried on doggedly. Victor's continued harassment. Sookie breaking the bond without warning, becoming more distant. Pam forcing him to tell Sookie about Freyda. Rory raised an accusatory eyebrow.
He shrugged, defiant. "I was still hoping to find a way out."
"Warning her would have given her time to accept it."
"She didn't need time. She was in the shifter's arms two days–" He bit off the angry words and looked away.
Rory waited.
Stoic and locked down again he carried on, but she was getting scraps of hurt from him. Sookie decided that Victor had to die. She was determined. Planning it. Executing it. Then she had a complete about-face and was reluctant to feed him when he was wounded, in front of his people. When he'd risked everything, they'd risked everything … He knew the bite hurt her but he needed the blood and he could hardly make it pleasurable in front of other people because she would hate that, and yes, he wouldn't – he was too angry with her. Resentful. Sookie had expected him to kill Victor and he'd done so willingly, but she was appalled that he celebrated the victory.
He said bitterly, "She thought me a monster in that moment."
"Christians," Rory commented wryly.
Eric looked at her curiously. "You object to torture."
She shrugged. "Yes. But not killing in battle, killing to defend the ones you love. Or even to put down a rapid dog like Victor."
He was pensive, weighing up her comment. "No, it was more than just her faith. She changed after the torture. The damage was deeper than I hoped; it pushed her beyond her limits. She was … afraid of being hurt like that again and taking revenge for it, because she felt Victor was partly to blame. Killing for those motives was a line she hadn't crossed before. I did not want her there for Victor's death, I knew it was too close to the bone for her, but there was no other way. Victor was the first time that it wasn't self-defence in the heat of the moment for her."
Rory snorted. "That's splitting hairs. It was self-defence. He was a threat to her. If he hadn't been killed, as she wanted, then you would have had to contain him some other way."
"She would have found 'some other way' more palatable."
Rory shook her head. "I don't think it was the killing, or whether you enjoyed the bloodshed. She'd seen plenty of battles."
"Too many. If it wasn't the torture something else would have been the last straw."
"Bullshit," Rory said. "Your instinct is to protect her, but anyone who survives Neave and Lochlan is strong-willed enough to survive your world. Having regrets after taking a life is not the same as lacking the stomach for what needs to be done. The woman who scoured the rubble at Rhodes for survivors has plenty of stomach."
"No. She is a woman of her times, not made for death and destruction."
Rory raised both eyebrows and pierced him with a look. "Didn't her strength impress you? Don't you admire that about her?"
"Yes," he snapped back. "But I saw how broken she was after those fucking fairies. And she was raised a Christian. You said it yourself."
"Yes I did. She wanted Victor dead and that conflicted with her Christian morality. But she is also a woman. I think there's a reason she lashed out at you. I think she wanted you to step in and get the blood on your hands. Then she could sweep the whole thing under the carpet."
Eric scowled. "I've never understood that expression. Why do that? The dirt is still there."
"Yes, that's my point. The sin would still be there, staining her soul, but she could pretend she wasn't culpable. Like all the other occasions you and others took lives to protect her: she washed her hands of those deaths. She had no problem with you meting out justice on her behalf with Longshadow, did she? With Victor, she planned it and participated in it. The blood was on her hands. She couldn't escape it."
Eric spoke firmly. "No. She is no coward. She does not hide from things she has done."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. She dealt with her guilt over killing Debbie Pelt. Killing Victor in cold blood was out of character. It conflicted with her upbringing."
"Perhaps," Rory shrugged. "You know her better than me, but you are hardly impartial. I think she is better at lying to herself than you think."
Eric frowned at that but decided to think about her words later. He pressed on, wanting to plough through the worst. Felipe's impositions, the party at his house. The were-woman laced with fae blood, Sookie's anger, the police investigation. Her closeness with Bill as they worked together, another sharp reminder that he would be gone soon and another would take his place. Sookie's refusal to tell him she had the Cluviel Dor. Her distance, turning him away, refusing to talk, still angry about the feeding he assumed.
Eric stopped, puzzled. "You are not…"
"Not what?"
"Not disapproving. About the Were."
Rory shrugged, prepared to play devil's advocate. "Did you mean to get intoxicated?"
"No. I did not realise her blood had been … doped."
"Were you going to go further than feeding?"
"No."
"Even once you were, in effect, drunk?"
"No. I might have drained her, but not that. I didn't even notice she was … enjoying herself."
"Did you glamour her to do that?"
"No." He couldn't quite believe Rory was giving him a pass. Even Pam had been annoyed with him. "You would be angry if you were in Sookie's shoes."
"At first. But later I'd be pissed at myself."
Eric was stumped. "How so?"
Rory wanted to make him see something. "I've learnt a lot about vampires in the last few months. You don't need much blood at your age. She could feed you, right? Just her, no ill effects?"
"Yes."
"You were hungry enough to drink from an untested source with enemies in your house, potentially leaving you vulnerable. Would you usually do that?"
He admitted slowly, "No. I would have fed elsewhere, the night before perhaps."
"Why didn't you?"
He hesitated.
"You wanted to stay true to her, as she'd asked you," she said shrewdly. "So you didn't feed because Sookie wasn't available. You were waiting for her, expecting she would arrive in time. In fact she was late and didn't phone. You were hungry. And worried that she was in danger."
Eric flinched.
"That's exactly what you thought, isn't it? That she was in trouble. That's why you chose the Were, the stronger blood in case you needed to fight." She frowned. "And yet you still feel remorse. Why?"
"She saw it. It hurt her."
"But she knew that if she wasn't feeding you, you had to drink from someone. Especially with Felipe breathing down your neck. And she knew what feeding entailed, so why … Oh. I see." Rory mimed lifting a rug and sweeping dirt with her hands.
"That saying again."
"Uh-huh." She waited expectantly for him to join the dots.
Eric said slowly, "If she didn't see it, she didn't have to …"
Rory said bluntly, "Face what you are."
His shoulders slumped. "Yes. That." It still bothered him that Sookie had never really accepted what he was. Feeding was just one more thing: the power structure, his ties to Ocella, the violence, bloodlust … even the fact he was actually dead, deep down she believed that made vampires worth less than the living... He halted the bitter thoughts with an effort.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to describe the pack meeting, Jannalynn's attack and Sam's resurrection. The inevitable divorce. He regained some composure when he detailed his careful plan to make sure Sookie ended up in the shifter's arms sooner rather than later.
Then he got to the last time he saw her before Oklahoma, injured again, with the shifter at her side, refusing his blood and asking him to let her go.
"My plan was a great success," he said wryly, picking up his drink and downing the last of the blood. The silence stretched as Eric stared blindly into the empty goblet in his hand.
Rory gave in to her impulse, scooting over to lean against him. Putting her hand on his bare arm, she began to stroke him, soothing him the fae way. For a while he let her, feeling the tickle of her energy soaking into his flesh. Then he put his hand on top of hers and stilled it, squeezing gently.
She squeezed back once before she pulled away. She pulled her legs up, sitting sideways to face him. "May I ask something?"
He relaxed back against the chair. "Go ahead."
"You fell in love when you were cursed. Have you considered that–?"
He interrupted firmly. "No. The curse was meant to send me to my heart's desire. I already … had feelings for her. And the curse certainly couldn't be responsible for my feelings after it was broken." He paused. "But perhaps it was responsible for hers."
Rory frowned. "You think the curse affected her too?"
"No, not directly. I was helpless, I needed her. She responds to that."
"A saviour complex? Hmm." Rory thought over what she'd heard about Sookie. It fitted. "Perhaps."
But then why hadn't Sookie tried to free Eric from Ocella's contract? She didn't doubt that the join played a part, but that came later. Had trauma from the torture overridden Sookie's basic nature in more ways than Eric suspected?
Rory narrowed her eyes at Eric, who was deep in thought. Perhaps the proud vampire in front of her hadn't let the woman he loved know how distasteful the marriage to Freyda was to him. That actually seemed very probable to Rory; that he would not ask his woman for help even though part of him wanted Sookie to offer to use the Cluviel Dor. Of course, once Sookie had used the wish to save the shifter, the fae magic had sealed her fate and the contract his.
Rory cleared her throat. "One more question."
Eric sighed. "Go on."
Rory thought that the uncertainty and doubt he kept feeling during his tale was connected to the blood bond. "The bond. Do you regret it because neither of you chose it freely?"
Eric looked away for a second, and there was that flash of doubt again. Then he looked her in the eyes. "No. I don't regret it, but Sookie resented it. She feared it made her … fonder of me than she would have been. Or that I might use it to call her, manipulate her. I never consciously did so."
"Not consciously."
"No," he said evenly.
"You think …"
"My feelings for her are very strong. I may have … influenced her without intending to."
Rory didn't point out his slip into the present tense. Instead she said, "You think her feelings in the bond were an echo of your own, that you somehow drew them from her. Is that possible? Wouldn't you be able to distinguish genuine feelings?"
"I do not know. I do not have much experience with bonds."
"You have other blood ties. To your children."
"Maker ties are not quite the same. And neither Pam nor Karin loved me. Not in that way. Once they weren't ruled by hunger and desire, once they didn't need to be controlled, I often shut down our connections when we were together to give them privacy." He paused. "And Ocella …"
"I shouldn't imagine that would help."
"No." Eric looked right at her. "Tell me the truth Sorcha."
Sorcha looked right back. "I didn't spend much time with her in your presence. So this is second hand, from what you told me tonight … a complicated tale."
She sat back, taking a moment to review everything, comparing Sookie's behaviour with the bond and without it, accounting for his own bias in the telling as best she could.
It seemed clear cut. Sookie had turned away from him once the bond was broken, despite continuing to profess her love. The woman who risked everything to save him at Rhodes was surely not the same woman who'd watched him leave for Oklahoma, stripped of his autonomy and children.
"Before the bond, she was attracted to you, but not interested in getting involved, wary of you. She wanted to keep you at a distance, or she would have told you what happened between you and her under Hallow's curse."
Eric nodded.
"She risked everything to save you at Rhodes, while the bond was fresh, strong. But she did not turn to you after that, and even when you came together later, she held back. If you were influencing her, it was very subtle or she fought it like she fought the fae magic."
Eric nodded again.
"Your feelings drew her to you during Sigebert's attack. And she came to your aid with Ocella, perhaps for similar reasons. Then once the bond was broken…" She shook her head sadly.
Eric nodded, thinking again that the shifter had seen what he missed. "We agree then. It was the blood. Perhaps it is not only Sookie who practises self-deception." He smiled crookedly. "What do they say? No fool like an old fool."
He looked down into his empty goblet regretfully. "No toast tonight. I'm out."
"Then I will toast for us both." Sorcha raising her glass to him. "To honest friends."
He repeated the phrase quietly as she drained the last dregs of her wine.