It's About Power
Chapter 7
I dated Bill for nearly a year before I met his employer, Eric Northman, at a vampire bar in Shreveport, Louisiana. Bill had met my small family and a handful of close friends. They seemed to like Bill well enough. Gran was enamored with the fact that Bill was in the war, and Jason liked that he had Southern manners. Of course, Jason was annoyed by Bill's obvious vampire qualities. None of them knew what kind of relationship we shared, though I sometimes got dirty looks from my boss, Sam Merlotte, when I came into work with a scarf around my neck or a bandaid on my arm. Other than that though, people thought Bill was a fairly nice, quiet man.
Although Bill was acquainted with my family, I knew very little about him. Bill once told me that vampires don't like to discuss their lives before they turned, so I never ventured to ask. I was deeply curious, and often, I'd make up stories in my head, usually revolving around some Gone with the Wind fantasy. Bill would be a gallant soldier headed off to battle to fight for Southern rights. Even in his early thirties, Bill would be unwed, waiting for the right woman to come along, someone with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a blue silk dress with dozens of starched white petticoats. I didn't actually know anything about Bill Compton. He was an investigator, but I don't know what he actually investigated, and he visited the cemetery sometimes, so I guess any family he has was buried there. I never did go and look. I guess I was afraid that whatever I found would diminish my dreams of the gallant William Compton.
On a quiet Saturday night, Bill decided to expand my horizons a little and take me to Fangtasia, the most thriving vampire bar in Shreveport, a metropolis about an hour outside of Renard Parish. I wasn't sure how to dress for the occasion, so I asked Bill. He picked through my closet, admonished me for my lack of attractive dresses, and finally pulled out a short denim skirt and a lacy dark blue tank top. I put the ensemble on, making a note to myself to go to the mall to look for some new outfits. I didn't have a lot of money, but if Bill was going to be taking me out, I needed to look my best.
We took Bill's car to the bar. I sat back and listened to the radio. Bill liked classical music, and I pretty much hated it. It's not that I don't appreciate that sort of thing, but gosh darnit, it always make me really sleepy. It was a long drive to Shreveport, so I held in my yawns. Whenever I thought I was going to pass out, I'd pinch my thigh to jolt myself back to waking. Bill reached over and slid his hand along my leg as we drove. I smiled bashfully and looked down at his greedy fingers.
We pulled up in front of the bar at quarter to eleven. Bill came around and opened my door. He took my arm, perhaps a little more roughly than was typical, and led me up to the bouncer. In the year I'd dated Bill Compton, I'd never met another vampire. The bouncer was an enormous man with a shiny bald head. His skin was sallow, yellow with some sort of jaundice condition. He had watery hazel eyes, and the nametag on his tight black tee shirt read "George." Well okay then. I nodded my head to George and Bill took me inside. I don't know exactly what I was expecting from the bar. I guess I thought it would be like Merlotte's on a Saturday night, sorta crowded with Parish types, some passersby, everyone drinkin' beers or whiskey. Fangtasia wasn't like Merlotte's, not one bit. There were young people, lots of them, dressed in black patent leather or shiny latex costumes. Most of them wore black or bright red makeup, even the men. There were vampires in every corner of the room, some of them dancing on tables or just leaning against walls. The vampires looked really bored, like there were better places to be.
Bill ordered a True Blood and a gin and tonic for me. I sat down at a small round table and sipped at the drink. Bill pressed his lips lightly to my head before wandering off. I watched him almost float around the room, though I knew that wasn't possible. He pulled the arm of a young woman with black hair and black lipstick to his mouth. He bit into the flesh of her proffered wrist, sucked for a half second, licked the wounds, and walked away. She looked like she was about ready to faint. When he returned to our table, I slid off the stool and curled up against his side. He smiled and stroked my hair, leaned down and kissed my neck.
"None of those girls taste as good as you do, baby," he murmured reassuringly.
"I'm glad I please you so much," I replied. I could taste a bit of jealousy on the back of my tongue. I poured more of the drink down my throat and swallowed hard. I didn't have any right to be jealous. I belonged to him. He didn't belong to me.
In the smoky, heavy air of the bar, I noticed movement. Bill noticed it too, and we turned our heads simultaneously to a massive man seated on a dais. He flicked his fingers at us a second time, the movement casual and unhurried. Bill's face seemed to sour. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes became cloudy. He took my arm and pulled me against him again. I left my drink beside his empty bottle on the table, and we walked toward the heavy elevated chair. I watched the vampire as we walked. He looked like a dog on a leash, straining to get away and yet pulled in. He was obeying an order, it looked like. I was shocked. Bill gave orders. He didn't obey anyone.
"Bill Compton," the man sneered as we approached. I examined him closely. His hips pressed against the back of the straight chair, but his legs extended well out beyond the seat. He was obviously quite tall with long legs and an equally long torso. He had folded his hands into his lap, and his fingers were long and pale white, his fingernails neatly manicured. He had a beautiful face, decorated with fine blond stubble. His eyes were bright and blue, like cubes of perfectly cut ice. He had long white-blond hair which fell around his shoulders. Dressed in a tight black tee shirt and black denim jeans, I could tell that he was muscular, far more so than Bill. He really was a beautiful man, well-preserved by immortality. "It has been awhile."
"Eric," Bill grunted. "Yes, well I've been…"
"Mainstreaming," Eric smirked, cutting him off. "I heard." He paused and turned to look at me. His piercing blue eyes could have been hot pokers for all they did to me. "I see that is going well for you."
"My apologies, Eric, this is Sookie, Sookie Stackhouse." Bill fumbled nervously. I'd never seen him so… at a loss. It was disconcerting, and I didn't like it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stackhouse," Eric smiled. The polite Southern girl in me wanted to stick out my hand and shake his, but I knew better. I tucked myself against Bill and remained still.
"You too," I said quietly. Bill squeezed my hand so tightly I thought it would pop right off in his grip. I shut my yap and hoped I wouldn't have to pay for that later.
"So, Bill," Eric grinned, looking from our clasped hands to my face. "Are you quite attached to your friend?"
"She is mine," Bill hissed. It was the first time I'd heard him say something like that aloud. I felt my heart swell with pride. Yes, I was his. It was all extremely gratifying, like he was proud to take ownership of me.
"Well, what a pity, for me." Eric frowned. He cocked his head to one side, as though he were studying me and my silence, then dropped his eyes along the length of my figure. If my knees could have blushed, they would have.
After we'd been introduced, Eric dismissed us again. I could feel his eyes boring holes into my shoulders as we turned away and resumed sitting at our table. Bill's eyes roamed the bar and fell on a young woman with unnaturally auburn hair and brown eyes. He stroked my head briefly before walking away to join her. I looked around the bar, nursing my single drink. A woman appeared rather suddenly at my side. Her black hair shone under the reddish lights of the bar, and she pressed her cold hand against my arm. She pressed her face into mine, and I saw her red-stained fangs glint.
"Hey there, all alone?" she hissed at me.
"No, she isn't," I heard a dark male voice answer for me. I whipped around to see Eric Northman at my other shoulder, preparing to sit down on the stool Bill had abandoned. The woman squeaked and departed as quickly as she had appeared. Eric, I gathered, was the big man on campus. If he could make Bill go all gushy, he had to be a pretty scary guy. Now that he was sitting with me, I was sure I'd done something wrong.
"Tell me, Sookie, how long have you been with Bill?" Eric asked. There was a gentility in his voice that I hadn't noticed before. I couldn't name it or put my finger on it, but it was like he realized who his audience was and catered his actions to that specific crowd. The harshness of his eyes had faded too. He looked more human.
"About a year," I answered quietly. I twirled the straw in my drink.
"You're unhappy," Eric commented. I blinked and looked up into his face, though I did not meet his eyes again.
"I'm not," I answered, even though it was clearly a statement and not a question. Who was this guy to tell me I was unhappy? He didn't know me from Adam!
"It is clear that you are. I can smell it on you. If I took your blood, I could taste it in you. Tell me, why do you put up with him if you are miserable?"
"I'm happy. Maybe you're getting that…that smell…off somebody else. I love Bill. He loves me. We're very happy together." I could feel my voice shaking and I hoped he wouldn't notice it and think the worst of me.
If Eric did notice my wobbling, he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he pressed his large hand under my chin and turned my head. I kept my neck tight, but he moved me with ease. His skin was rough but at the same time soft (if that makes any sense). He tilted my face and turned it despite my unwillingness. I felt him flinch when he saw the bruise on my neck, hidden under my hair. Bill had been playing rough, as he often did. He'd clutched the back of my head and squeezed. I'd actually passed out for a second. When I woke up, Bill had me tucked against his bare chest. He was stroking me affectionately, waiting for me to wake up and be okay.
"Bill should take better care of his things…" Eric frowned. I snatched another look at his face. His frown looked sincere, as though he were disappointed by the way Bill had treated me. I didn't know what to do with that frown, how to talk to him, how to relate. He swept his hand along the line of my cheek, the edge of my jaw. He looked like he wanted to kiss me, the way his mouth moved and his eyes half-closed. If I could have read vampire minds, this would've been a great moment.
Eric disappeared before Bill rejoined me, his face bright and pink, his lips tinged red and damp. He kissed my forehead, and I swear he looked over my head at Eric. He had retaken his seat on the dais and he watched us as we left, my arms clamped around Bill's one forearm. I looked over my shoulder at him as we darted out of the bar and into the warm, humid night. He was still staring at me.