From the Waist Down

Chapter 8

I awakened at dusk to find her still sleeping, her swollen, bruised body tucked against my ribcage like that of a frightened animal. She was shivering in her sleep, and I longed to be able to reach inside her, to soothe the ache in her heart. That just wasn't possible, no matter how strongly we were connected. In a thousand years, I'd never felt so close to a human, and it seemed as though with every night, I was pulled closer to the young waitress from Bon Temps. My soul burned with anger, and though I hated to leave her alone, I had to wash the disease of Victor Madden from the Earth as soon as possible.

In the bath the previous night, I'd watched her features contort as she felt the consequences of our blood bond, the pain inside me that passed through into her. She was already tortured, already in so much pain. I didn't know it was possible, but I was able to sever the connection. I could still feel her, her terror, but she seemed unable to sense the hatred that boiled within me. Knowing what the night had in store for me, it was a blessing that came only with the consequence of divided focus.

I touched her cheek, careful to avoid waking her. When I admitted that I loved her, I knew that truer words had never passed my lips. But, on the other hand, if she'd never been in this situation, I might never have realized that I was capable of such an emotion. I'd fallen in love with a human, or at least mostly human, girl. At my age, love seemed as impossible as willing my heart to beat. And yet, I had somehow accomplished it. I had let this girl, this independent and fiery woman, into my core. Her suffering was more than I could stand.

There was a soft knock on the door, and I moved across the bedroom to open it. Pam stood outside the door, her eyes revealing an emotion I could not put into words. Could Pam even feel emotions? Her mouth was flat, the smirking grin hidden away.

"If she stirs, alert me at once." I grunted firmly.

"Of course," Pam agreed. She stepped into the room, a pale blue skirt rustling against her white thighs. "Sam and Bill wish to accompany you."

"Let them wish," I snarled. "Madden is mine."

"He violated her," Pam stated tentatively.

"He tried to conquer her," I growled, looking over my shoulder. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

"She's strong, Eric," Pam murmured as I stepped out of the room. "She's going to make it."

I stalked down the hallway, through the living room, to the door that led to the basement. Sam Merlotte stood near a sectional black leather sofa, his hands balled into fists, his face red with anger. Hatred seeped from his pores, so thick I could smell it filling the room. Bill stood only a few feet away, his face pale and his fangs out. His brown eyes were alight with the fire of rage.

"I will deal with Madden alone," I grunted at the pair of them, my voice thick, daring them to defy me. Bill, of course, could do nothing. He was my underling. But Sam was bold. He took steps forward. He would not be denied.

"I'm going with you. I want a piece of that son of a bitch!" Sam howled.

"Do not test me." My eyes narrowed, and my fangs slid down around my tongue. "Go and see Sookie. Keep her safe."

That comment seemed to rile him, to remind him of his failure. We had all failed her, all betrayed her. Sam sank backward like a puppy hit with a newspaper. Bill's features sank without a sound. I yanked open the basement door and descended the dark staircase, so quickly that the stairs did not have time to creak.

***

Wordlessly, Sam stripped away the clothes he'd found in the closet of the guest bedroom. He left them in a heap on the floor and began to change. It was a particularly difficult maneuver, what with the almost dying by gunshot and the vampire blood now coursing through his veins like an intruding cavalry. Still, the transformation was familiar, and the four-legged shape that was his signature was welcoming. The collie, affectionately named Dean by an unsuspecting Sookie, darted down the hallway to Eric's bedroom. He pawed at the door, echoing his movements with a low whine, until it opened. Pam looked down at him, her irises calm but still confused with emotions that seemed inexpressible. He squirmed past her and hopped up onto the bed, curling up at her feet like a guard. Pam shut the door silently. She resumed her seat in a straight backed wooden chair in the corner. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and she fell back into the waking coma of the living dead.

***

Madden chuckled, his thick brown eyes almost glowing in the inky blackness of the basement. I yanked on a bald lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling. A shard of light split the sticky air between us. I expected him to speak, to taunt me like a coward, to try and distract me. Victor, though, was a surprising character. He seemed to have accepted his fate, perhaps expecting that I would simply stake him or sever his neck from his body. What a fool. What a stupid, stupid fool.

"I will make sure that the King hears about your death, Victor. He will know exactly why you have died and how I have killed you, in minute, explicit detail."

"He will have your head on a plate, Viking. I am the King's most trusted advisor." Madden spat.

"You're his lap dog, nothing more than a puppet. You won't be missed."

"Regardless of my fate, Northman, the damage is already done. It's so sad, really, to see a vampire of your caliber seduced by a pathetic human woman. She isn't even that talented in the sack."

Rage boiled in my blood, but with effort, I remained icily calm. Victor Madden would die slowly. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of a swift and merciful execution.

"You have not defeated her. You have no idea of what that woman is capable." I hissed.

"You're so far removed from the human condition, Northman. You have no conception of what rape does to the psyche of a woman. Long after you kill me, I will haunt her. I will rule her. She'll never share your bed again."

"Enough," I spat.

From the pocket of my jeans, I removed a black-handled pocket knife. The blade clicked into place as I snapped my hand out and pulled Madden's savage tongue between his curling lips. The organ would grow back, but the process would be painful and slow, just as his death would be. His scream was strangled and blood showered his face and my hands. I dropped the wagging part on the floor and ground it into the cement with the heel of my shoe.

"You think anyone will remember you, Madden? Not even de Castro will remember you."

In my time upon the Earth, I've witnessed many deaths, and been part of more than half of them. I am capable of sadistic cruelty, mayhem, and destruction, and there was a time in my younger days when I took a certain joy in being a plague upon the human race. I have employed some of the most memorable methods of torture, but when it came to selecting a death for Victor Madden, only the most relished sadism would do. The method was called the Death of a Thousand Cuts. If it is done in the proper way, it can make a vampire suffer cruelly without passing into oblivion. After all, while vampires heal fairly quickly, a cut of tissue and skin is still painful. And if I happened to remove a few vital body parts along the way? Well, so much the better.