A/N: Thank you, loves. Your encouragement—reviews, follows, favorites, reads—kills me. (In a good, Holden-Caulfield kind of way.) xo

Chapter 14

The scream rang in my ears, disorienting and wild. If I hadn't felt it reverberate through my chest, I wouldn't have believed I made the sound. The disembodied yellow eyes shifted swiftly into a massive gray werewolf steadily advancing out of the shadows. A growl rattled in its throat. Before I had time to register anything more, the wolf lunged. The world became a blur of scrabbling claws, rotten teeth, and matted fur. I smelled the tang of unwashed hair and beer breath as its paws connected with my shoulders, sending me crashing to the floor.

The force knocked the wind out of me, and my head cracked loudly against the tile. My vision stuttered into a bewildering, lagging haze. The phrase this is not ideal ran repeatedly through my head as I tried to regain control of my limbs, to focus on anything happening outside of me. I remembered the pepper spray I kept in my purse, but it had already skittered halfway across the room.

And then several things happened at once. For some inexplicable reason, the werewolf, who had me pinned helplessly on my back, teeth poised near my jugular vein, bent to the side and tore into my arm. The pain shot through me lightning fast, blood running off my elbow hot and thick. The werewolf pulled away slightly, lips curled back, bloodied teeth exposed. In the moment's pause, despite the wound, I flung both hands in front of me, placed them between the wolf's body and mine, and pushed away.

Something inside me took over. It felt similar to the way I experienced Eric's emotions when he opened the bond—foreign, charged, overpowering. In fact, I thought for a split second I was feeling Eric until I recognized the violet jets of light radiating out of my hands. The werewolf shot away from me so quickly I barely had time to register what happened. Its head smacked the wall, and it instantly stilled; a small dusting of plaster cascaded down from the ceiling. The air was tinged with the odor of charred hair and newly soldered metal. In its unconscious state, the werewolf slowly shifted back into human form: a grizzled, muscular man, collapsed on the floor. I'd never seen him before.

The second I was out of immediate danger, both the adrenaline and the fairy light disappeared. I slumped back again, disoriented and exhausted. Though I had momentarily forgotten about my injury, the pain surged in with a vengeance. I scanned the bite briefly. It wasn't clean like a vampire puncture, but an angry, bruising mass—the skin was torn away in several places where my blood seeped out, forming a small pool on the floor. I briefly wondered how many times I would have to sop blood off of Gran's spotless kitchen. While I instinctively knew I shouldn't close my eyes, that sleep was a terrible idea, it seemed a welcome alternative to the red, cramping throbs in my arm.

Just as I was about to fade from consciousness, the door burst open, and Eric and Pam rushed in. I said a silent prayer of thanks that I hadn't learned to control my end of the bond yet. Upon seeing me in a bloody puddle, Pam's fangs descended, eyes dilated. She took an involuntary lurching step toward me.

"No," Eric barked sharply, finishing the phrase in Swedish. She quickly regained control, and walked to the already-subdued were slumped on the floor. Pam positioned the heel of her boot just over his neck, almost a parody of dominance. I wondered briefly if the position would even be effective if the man woke.

I didn't much care what Pam was up to, though. The room had suddenly shrunk to a circle around Eric and me. Crouched near my head, unconcerned about the blood soaking into his pants, he glanced between me and the unconscious were.

"…you?" he asked, his expression a mixture of concern and deep, knowing pride. I nodded. His eyes shone with admiration. I felt a little giddy as he rapidly appraised the situation.

"Turn," he commanded. I rotated as best I could to offer him a better angle. He bent his head to my arm, and with complete restraint, cleaned the wound with his tongue, mending the ruptured skin. In just seconds, the wounds were closed. I surveyed his work. Ugly purple bruises still bloomed down my skin and the bone-deep ache remained, but the immediate problem was fixed. He looked around for a way to make me more comfortable, but I waved him off, pulling myself into a half-seated position against the wall.

Eric stalked to the were and gripped him from behind, pinning his arms back while Pam fastidiously searched the body. The exchange was so practiced I wondered how often they had performed the procedure. She shrugged in her usual bored manner; there was nothing to show. Eric had expected as much. He released the body with disdain; the were slouched to the ground at an unnatural angle.

"They didn't even try to kill her," Pam remarked, as though I wasn't in the room.

"They wanted to see what I would do," he agreed flatly.

"They're testing you, Eric." Though I had no idea who "they" were (and neither, I suspected, did Pam or Eric), there was something chilling in her warning; a new prickling fear ran through me.

With expert thoroughness, Eric searched the room. I wasn't sure what he was hunting for until he found the hidden camera embedded in the ceiling lamp. Still woozy from blood loss, I was more impressed than disturbed.

Most people, I assumed, would have ripped the camera out immediately, but not Eric. He bent down and lifted the limp body of the were, eyes locked on the camera. For the first time since I shot him, the man seemed to regain consciousness. His face sprang to life in a ferocious, unrepentant snarl. I barely had time to feel relief that I had not actually killed him before Eric's fangs tore into his neck. So much for tedious office work. The entire time the were's life force drained away, Eric stared into the camera—steely, menacing, and controlled. Finally, he dropped the body in a lifeless heap, and with a conclusive, gratuitous lick of his lips, crushed the device between his fingers. I imagined what it must look like on the other end. Cinematic, surely, but intimidating as hell.

"You up for a ride, lover?" Eric turned to me, blood still trickling down his chin. Despite everything, he looked…sexy. I began to fear for my sanity a little.

A few moments later, I was in Eric's car speeding away. Pam stayed behind to supervise the cleanup team. I wasn't exactly surprised that Eric had such staff to draw on; in fact, it helped make the event seem commonplace. I was having trouble parsing the significance of the event as it was. Though I knew I should have been overwhelmed with extreme terror, I felt…calm. Was this what shock felt like? Or was I just becoming acclimated to violence?

We were headed for Eric's house, which would be under the protection of his surveillance team during the day. I didn't need to ask why; it was obvious that Eric and I were both involved in whatever this plot was. I tried hard not to think about the fact that someone now had footage of me and my…light show.

As we rode through the darkness, I glanced over at Eric. His face was unreadable. I was certain he was concentrating on getting us (really, me) to safety, but there was something isolating in the silence. Images of him killing the were—eerily self-possessed, impeccably controlled—ran unbidden through my mind. I thought back to the banal interrogation earlier in the night, and I could not reconcile the two.

"I know this should be the last thing on my mind, but why did you treat Rai so well?"

"Bait," he replied. "We're monitoring him. It's a good way to check up on who might be doing the manipulating. If someone really is using him to get to me, perhaps they will get back in touch. If they decide to kill him for talking, well, then we'll know more about who we are dealing with."

"So…you don't care what happens to him?"

"Not in the slightest." He looked at me quizzically. "Do you feel badly about the were?" Though it pierced to the heart of my concern, the question caught me off guard.

"Yes! …actually, no. Well… maybe. Mostly on principle," I finished, flustered and a little indignant. Despite the gravity of the situation, he smiled at me. I rolled my eyes. "You have no sense of shame about any of this, do you?"

"None. You are well. It's hard to feel ashamed about that." He grasped my hand. "Besides, I've been told my confidence is my most attractive quality," he said with a twinkle. I couldn't argue with it, so I didn't.

We soon pulled up to Eric's house; the gray concrete walls had never looked warmer or more inviting. As I exited the car, though, the events of the day caught up with me. I staggered a bit, and almost slid to the floor. Wound sealed or not, I had lost a lot of blood.

"Sookie," Eric exhaled, rushing to me at vampire speed. He effortlessly scooped me into his arms and carried me down to his room. With anyone else, the action would have made me feel weak, but not with Eric. He did not see me as something fragile. He expected and anticipated my strength, and when I had moments of vulnerability, he supported me. In spite of all the danger and death, this made the relationship better than anything I had experienced before. We seemed…well-matched, of all things.

Within moments, Eric had filled the bathtub and stripped me out of my clothes. With shaky legs, I slipped into the lukewarm water. He knelt just outside of the tub, washing me gently with a cloth, the caked-on blood dissolving into the water. I wondered what was going on behind his composed exterior.

A new thought occurred.

"Eric…"

"Yes?"

"I can't feel you. I haven't felt you this entire time." He didn't reply, and I faltered a little. "It's kind of bothering me." Eric continued to run the cloth over my skin. "Can you…can you let go a little?"

"No." The answer surprised me. "They're too strong," he finished simply. I didn't know what he meant exactly. I reached up to stroke his face in inquiry, but a crushing wave of pain brought me up short. Eric's eyes filled with stormy concern.

Quickly, he drew his wrist out of the tub to his mouth, puncturing the skin. He offered his blood to me cautiously, as if concerned I might not want it. In instant reassurance that bordered on excess, I brought it to my mouth and drank.

Taking Eric's blood to heal felt different, richer, fuller than it had on other occasions. I gasped as I felt it bubble through my system, rush to the site of the injury in a kind of microscopic, effervescent frenzy. It took the surface burn and the deep dull ache and exploded them into little sparks of pleasure. The sensation dazzled me.

And then the lust began. Starting subtly at the base of my toes, warm golden light began to pour into me, pooling at my center and radiating out toward my limbs. My eyes, which had drifted shut at some point during the process, flew open and found Eric's, dark and hungry. He began to rise, as if to leave me to rest, but my hand shot out and stopped him.

"Eric." He stilled. "You said you were going to practice with me earlier…"

"You think now is a good time, lover?" he murmured, but twined his fingers into my hair.

"Why not?" I asked.

Eric took a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and exhaled slowly. His feelings slowly crept in. They were not too strong, like he suggested earlier—at least not the ones he let through now—but they were unbelievably sexy. Tender, intricate sensations wound down my body. The almost narcotic aroma of jasmine, the soft, white sound of snowflakes piling on frozen earth, the luxurious slip of silk across bare skin… My mouth watered for Eric, and I reached for him. He bent down and touched my lips lightly. His fingers twitched in my hair, but did not descend lower. I could sense his reserve, and I tried to break it by running my hand down him. He moved his lower body just out of reach, though he continued to brush his fingers over my hair and face.

"Why not?" I repeated.

He bent so his lips just skimmed my ear. "Be still," he whispered, "and enjoy…"

He streamed the sensations into me again; the original pretense was that I would try to resist, but I welcomed them into me with abandon. Though I knew Eric wanted me, too, he watched me writhe in silent stillness. For some reason, that made the experience even more arousing. As I ran my hands over my body, I felt him stroke me from the inside, coursing through my veins along with his blood. The floor dropped away beneath me and suddenly I was tumbling inside an avalanche of Eric's associations—devastating, overpowering, sublime. My eyes locked with his, wide and full and open, when I finally released.

A few moments later, I felt his feelings slowly trickle away. I missed them immediately. Eric stared down at me with smoldering affection.

"That was hot," he said appreciatively as he bent to lift me from the tub. His erection pressed against me through his jeans. Though part of me wanted nothing more than to continue, the evening's exploits had taken their toll. Eric wrapped me in his cool, white sheets and stroked the hair out of my face.

"Sleep now, little warrior." He placed a deep kiss into each of my palms with significance. "Gods, I wish I'd been there to see it…" he breathed.

I felt so secure tucked against Eric's side that the day's harrowing experiences began to fade from my mind entirely. Tiny glimpses flooded through me and away, receding quickly from view—Rai's interrogation, the werewolf's snarling teeth, the shattering pain, Eric's soothing lips and tongue on my arm, his shining eyes over me in the bathtub…

The last image was different, though. It was something I'd never seen, at least not outside of my imagination. It was a first-person view, as though through the camera in my kitchen light fixture: a close-up of Eric's gorgeous face, blood running down his jaw, in deadly, menacing control.

And then sleep took me.