From the Waist Down

Chapter 6

Eric's blond muscular arms embraced me from behind, and he drew me against him. Though I longed to be close to him, my heart beat quickened in my chest. I could only imagine Victor, his hands around my throat, his tongue lapping at the blood rushing from my veins, the invasive injection of his masculinity. I tore away, splashing water onto the floor as I moved to the other end of the tub, away from the Viking. I was panting, I realized, and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

"He said you were gone," I whispered hoarsely, as though my voice had left me for safer places.

"There was no one waiting for us in New Orleans, Sookie. I was on the phone with the King when I heard you." Eric looked at me from across the bathtub, his cool eyes almost black. His mouth turned down in an expression of pain, pain I'd never seen on his face before.

"You heard me?" I blinked.

"Your terror, I could feel it. I could hear you, your pain, your fear. I threw myself back into the car and drove back as fast as I could."

"How?" I asked, though I was certain I knew the answer.

"You are bonded to me, Sookie. When I joined with you, I had feelings for you. That makes our connection stronger, much stronger. And those feelings, they have only increased with time." He paused, and his eyes closed. They opened again a moment later, their color softer, more sapphire than black. Part of me wanted to go to him, to curl against him and feel safe.

"I love you, Sookie."

"It doesn't matter now," I said coldly, not missing a beat. It didn't either. I'd never belong to Eric, or anyone else, again. I was Victor's property now. I'd been claimed. Rivulets of despair dripped through my veins. "Victor…"

"I'll take care of Victor," Eric grunted, as softly as he could manage. The coldness rushed back into his eyes so that they almost glowed.

"He claimed me. I'm his." The words were dead weights on my lips. Bile lurched up my throat for a third time, and it was all I could do to turn my head and heave over the side. My gut clenched and pain shot like BBs through my limbs and torso.

Eric floated toward me and took me back into his embrace. I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm and looked at him, his hands on my arms. He sought my eyes, and when he'd found them, I was trapped in the heaviness of his stare.

"You belong to no one, Sookie." He touched my cheek with a wet thumb. "No one owns you."

"You're wrong." I spoke quietly, but a rage was building in me. Blame settled on my shoulders like lead. There was more to it than a simple claim of ownership, a power that Victor suddenly held over me. I'd done this thing, this horrible thing, to myself. I'd let this thing happen. I'd been so stupid. I'd yelled at Bill about Lorena. I'd sent him away. I didn't have any protection when I let myself into the house.

And I didn't even fight back, not when it mattered. He was on me, on top of me, and I just let him do it. At first, I didn't realize my cheeks were hot and wet with tears. It was only when Eric dragged me against him, his cool chest a wall in which to bury myself. He didn't say a word, but his hand rose up to stroke my hair. I looked down at his hand, his forearm laced with blue veins, and I thought about how much easier things would be if I let him heal me. Would the life-giving blood in his body erase my memories if I let it? Would it heal the holes in my soul? Could I be safe if I just gave him access?

"If I drink from you, will it all disappear?" I was sullen and quiet, but he heard me. The hand in my hair stopped moving, and Eric remained as still as death.

"No, my love," he sighed. "Nothing can make it disappear."

I wanted to weep, to just give in and let my emotions take over. But it seemed like, now that fighting didn't matter anymore, I was fighting every instinct to let go. I was a control freak, a wall of steel. I kept the anger and the heartache in, and showed only what couldn't be chained up. There were a few tears, a few shivers, but that was all.

Wordlessly, Eric brushed my tangled hair from my neck. He lifted a white wash cloth from the corner of the tub and began to dab at the wound Victor had left me. Though I couldn't see it, I knew it was bad. Pain still oozed from it like smoke swarming around the embers of a fire. He dipped the cloth in the water, and a cloud of red tinged the surface. Eric didn't seem to flinch. For whatever reason, the sight and smell of blood seemed to have no effect on him.

***

Sam Merlotte sat up suddenly, knocking his forehead against Pam's arm. He threw himself from the sofa and staggered to his feet as though dizzy. His eyes narrowed and he lifted his nose to the air, tracking Sookie's scent.

"She's with Eric," Pam said gently, admiring the well-formed muscle of Sam's backside. He was certainly an attractive man, for a supe. "She's safe."

"I need to see her. I need to be sure." Sam grunted, turning to look at Pam. He didn't seem to notice that he was naked, or that it mattered. There were other things to consider now. Sookie was in trouble.

"I don't think she's capable of receiving guests at the moment, Sam." Pam shook her head. "Besides, you aren't wearing any pants. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"What happened? The last thing I remember, I was at the bar." Sam shook his head. His hand drifted wearily in front of his genitals, as though he were only vaguely aware of his nudity.

"You were shot, with a hunting rifle, in the gut. I know you heal quickly, but you would have died if I had not fed you." Pam smiled thoughtfully. It had been her pleasure. She could now sense Sam's whereabouts, and that would surely be handy in the future.

"Vampire blood?" Sam looked squeamish.

"If you prefer, I can shoot you again and we can test out the death-by-gunshot theory." Pam shrugged.

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Sam frowned. He looked over at Bill, still lying on the sofa, his eyes closed. The wound to his head was still healing, the cracks in his skull binding themselves together. "And him?"

"Bill will be fine. He needs time, but we have plenty of it. The sun will not rise for another three hours. I will take him to ground before the time comes."

"Sookie, how is she?" His voice felt raw and scratchy, imagining Sookie in the clutches of the greasy Victor Madden.

"I don't know." Pam shrugged. "But Eric has locked Victor in the basement. I imagine we will know more soon."

"Jesus," Sam swore. "I hope she's okay."

***

After an unreasonable amount of time in the tub, with pruned fingers and toes, Eric lifted me out of the water and wrapped me in a fluffy white towel. He prepared to carry me out of the bathroom, but when we passed the mirror, I held up a hand to stop him. I crept toward it, holding the towel around my shoulders like one of Gran's afghans. My hair was limp and wet, pieces of it stained pink with blood. I pushed back a handful of it and looked at the garish bite on my throat. The flesh was ragged, and a full quarter-sized chunk of skin was missing. The bite had scabbed over, but it looked revolting. Beyond the bite, there were bruises on my neck, finger shaped bruises. I didn't want to look any farther, but something inside me compelled me. I dropped the towel in front of the full length mirror. It pooled at my feet. There were more hand-shaped bruises on my hip, where he'd grabbed me. My thighs were red and black and blue. I turned out one leg to look at the bite on my thigh. It was even worse than the one at my throat, blackish in places, scabbed, scraped.

Eric came to stand behind me. He retrieved the towel from the floor and wrapped it carefully back around me. My lips quivered, and my skin rose up in goose bumps. In the mirror, I watched him press his lips to my crown, his cheek brush carefully against my wet hair. I was glad those myths about vampires and mirrors were untrue. I needed to see him right now. I needed to know he was there. Eric lifted me back up, carefully, his arms supporting my shoulders and hooking under my knees.

In the bedroom, he pulled back the covers and placed me down on the sheets. An oversized tee shirt lie on the bedspread, intended for me. I grabbed it and squirmed into it, letting it drape over me like a parachute. The mattress was luxuriously soft, but I couldn't relax into it. Instead, I sat straight up like a soldier and waited for Eric to reappear from his closet. In a minute, he did, clad in a pair of cotton pajama pants. I could see the soft blond hair on his chest, glistening like wheat reaped under the morning sun.

"You can't love me now," I whispered to him as he sat down beside me. He turned and stared at me, his arm slithering around my waist.

"Why?" He asked, sounding neither irritated nor angry. If anything, he seemed sincere.

"How could you…after…after I let this happen?" I almost choked on the words.

"Sookie," he frowned, touching my chin. He lifted my head to look up into his solemn face. "It wasn't your fault. Do you understand me? It wasn't your fault."

But it was. I knew it.