I'm so glad that you seem to have enjoyed last chapter's fight scene. YAY! And now I hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter as well :) Charhamblin's incredible beta-skills, as usual, were priceless! Oh, and kids: please stay away from this chapter! :) hehe! Cheers from Portugal everyone! Célia

Sookie "Wanted, Dead or Alive"

"Sookie, we have to go," Pam said.

"Is the fight over?"

"I don't think so. I guess they are still fighting, but I'm not sure."

She wasn't sure? She guessed that they were still fighting? What the hell?

Besides, I knew that Eric wouldn't want us near Shreveport if the fight was still going on. Actually, the whole point of staying at Jason's was for Pam, Liz and I to stay the hell away from Shreveport. And now she was telling me that she thought that they were still fighting, but that we had to go there?

I was absolutely sure that Eric would not want us in Shreveport. And I was also sure that Pam knew it as well. But, despite that, I did want to go. If there was a chance that Eric was injured, and needing me, I wouldn't need much convincing to leave. After all, I have never been known for my strong sense of self-preservation, right? But I didn't want to do something that Eric wouldn't want me to do. And Pam wouldn't want it, either.

And so I asked, "If they are still fighting, then why do we need to go?"

"Because Eric is feeling desperate. And because he is in pain. Badly."

Oh my God! Eric "desperate and in pain" probably meant that he had been badly hurt and that he thought that he would lose the fight. But… Well, I still remembered Eric's face and expression and his… well, I apologize for the vulgarity, but I still remembered Eric's mother-fucker strong will-power when he fought those five fairies that had tried to kill me two and a half years before.

Back then, Eric had attacked unarmed, five really strong fairies. And he had single-handedly killed three of them before they had managed to hurt him gravely. But even when he was drenched in his own blood, and losing all this strength, he kept hanging on to one of the fairies' swords. He was prepared to die, and he probably thought that he would die too (I had never seen Eric so pale as on that night, because he was losing so much blood). But even then, when all seemed hopeless, he hadn't looked desperate. Actually, he had looked quite accepting about the whole situation. And I also still remembered Eric's words about Brad and Tom, the two weres that had died that day. Eric had said something about theirs having been a good, brave death. And that they would have been proud of the way they had died. And I was sure that Eric still felt the same thing about… well, honorable deaths. Including his own.

So… if Eric wasn't feeling desperate because he was afraid for his own life, then why would he be feeling that way? What the hell was going on in Shreveport?

"But are they still fighting?" I asked, trying to comprehend the whole situation.

"I… I…" Pam was moving her head from right to left, as if saying no with her head, "I don't know. I don't think he is but… I can still feel his bloodlust, as I felt until one minute ago. He's still… driven to kill."

Okay. Well, not really okay but… There had been so many times when I hadn't understood either Eric or Pam. Or Bill, for that matter. Vampires sure did have their own, special way of feeling things, and of telling things. And most time, when I didn't understand them, I let it be. Because I knew that if I would ask what they meant, they would only repeat the same words and I would be at the same place as before, except that the vampire would be pissed off for my not-understanding.

But either way, I was glad to be going there. I wanted to go home. Bon Temps wasn't home anymore. Shreveport was. Eric's house was home. It was my home. And I wanted to go there, so I would know what had happened. So yes, Pam really didn't have to do much convincing because I would leave with her to Shreveport immediately.

And so, I left a note to Jason, in his kitchen, next to the coffee machine (my brother had the same caffeine addiction that I did) saying that I was leaving and that I would call in the morning because of Lizzie. At least, I hoped that I would be able to call in the morning. I quickly went to Jason's kids' room, where Liz was sleeping, and I quietly kissed her cheek.

And then we left my car at Jason's and drove to Shreveport in Pam's car.

Pam's chatty mode had obviously ended when we left the house, and so we had a very quiet and tense drive. During the whole time I could only think about Liz and Eric. I hoped and prayed that Liz wouldn't lose her two fathers in a little less than a year. And I was so focused on how I would react if Eric was dead, that I hadn't even realized that Pam had already parked at our place, in our driveway. We had made in a little over 30 minutes the one-hour drive from Bon Temps.

I saw Pam turn off the key and the car stopped in silence. I was already opening the door or the car when I looked back at Pam and saw her closing her eyes and sniffing the air.

"Pam?"

She then opened their eyes and she looked at me. Pam's hand moved towards me and she touched my arm, right before she said, "I smell both their bloods. But Natércia's stronger."

Natércia's blood was stronger? Was it good or bad? "What do you mean by that?" I asked nervously.

"She's dead. Eric stands," she whispered.

Oh my God! Thank you God! Thank you! Pam had said that Natércia was dead. And Eric still stood. Oh, thank you God! I then closed my eyes and I listened around me. I could only feel our down the street neighbors' brains, as well as Pam's blank spot next to me. I focused on our house, and there was only one void in there. I immediately left the car and I ran to our door with Pam beside me.

I had some problems opening the door, because my hands were shaking too much for me to pick the house keys from my bag and open the door. But luckily Pam was just behind me and she took the keys from my hands and she opened the front door herself. She immediately entered the house, walked towards our living room. And, of course, I followed her.

And the first thing I noticed was the house's destruction. Most furniture was, at least partially, destroyed. And even the walls hadn't escaped what had happened there. It was as if in four or five places, something really hard had smashed there; almost as if a little car had drove into our wall. Yes, a car. Even though I knew that it had to have been Eric or Natércia's bodies. Jesus! The whole room was a mess. It reminded me of the images of victims of huge natural disasters. And by "huge natural disasters", I meant 9.9-in-the-Richer's-scale-earthquake-kind-of huge natural disaster.

And that was when I first saw a big sort-of bloody goo-pond on our living-room's floor. And a smaller one, close by. And I knew what it was. Yes, unfortunately I had already seen my fair share or dead-dead vampires' remains. And it was not "unfortunately because I miss them" but rather "unfortunately because I wish I hadn't been there on the first place", that is. Yes, first there had been Long Shadow's, and then Lorena's, and there was also the night when the former Arkansas King, Peter Threadgill, had been killed. And, of course, I saw many vampires' goo both in Dallas and after the bombing of Rhodes too. And recently, I had seen Eric's maker and his son's remains. And now, I was seeing Natércia's.

So yes, I knew what it was. I knew that it was a decaying vampire-body. Or rather, a decaying vampire-former-body, because it was already more liquid than solid. And kneeling close to the biggest part of Natércia's remains was Eric. And his expression and position reminded me of Ocella's face when he kneeled by the crumbling mass of flakes that had once been Alexei. And Eric seemed in pain. I felt sorry for him.

But, at the same time, when Pam and I walked into the living room, and I saw all of that, I also felt extremely glad, anxious, thankful and scared. All at the same time. I was glad that Eric had prevailed. But I was anxious to know how he would react to his friend's death. And, he had to not only deal with Natércia's death, but also with her death by his own hands. And I was also scared that he would perhaps think that it was entirely my fault. But above all, I was thankful that we would still have the chance of trying to put that all behind us, like we had done after the Fae attack, David's death and Ocella's episode.

But then Eric screamed at us to leave.

And Pam left.

And, apparently, she took the "glad", the "anxious" and the "thankful" feelings with her. Because in that moment I was just feeling "scared". More than that, I felt terrified. I really felt terrified. But even worse than feeling terrified, was the fact that I was terrified of Eric. Why? Because, just like how before his body's position and his face's expression had reminded me of Ocella, now Eric's eyes reminded me of the eyes of Ocella's younger son. Yes, Eric's dark-blue rim and his pale blue and white rays in the iris of his eyes, reminded me of Alexei. And Eric's eyes had always been the exact opposite of Alexei's eyes. Eric's eyes had always calmed me; they had always showed me that he had a soul, no matter what the Fellowship of the Sun or other religious freaks said. Eric had a soul, a good soul; and his eyes had always been a window to that soul.

But not at that moment. Because right then and there, they were full of hatred and contempt. And I sure hoped that they wouldn't be showing me what his soul convened. Because at that moment, there was only odium and disdain in Eric's blue eyes. And for the first time ever, I saw the real vampire in Eric. And I was afraid of him. No, not "him". I was afraid of "it", because Eric didn't have the eyes of a man, but rather an injured animal that would attack anyone who would get near him.

Okay, so now let's stop for a second so I can share my thoughts. And here's my theory: do you know how between two brothers, or two sisters or a brother and a sister, there's always one who is smarter than the other? Well, between me and Jason, I had always thought that I was the intelligent, shy one, and he was the dumb but popular one.

But guess what? I was wrong. Because I sure was stupid.

Why? Because there I was, in front of a menacing vampire, whose hatred eyes scared the hell out of me. And said vampire was screaming at me to go away. But what did I do? Well, I did what any stupid, brainless person would do. I walked towards him.

"I said: LEEEAVE!" Eric screamed again.

But I, still stupid, gave another step.

Towards him. Again.

And Eric's eyes still showed the hate that I had seen before. But now I could also see in them quite a bit of the desperation that Pam had talked about before, when we were leaving Jason's house. Eric was really desperate. He had killed his best friend and he was probably having confused feelings about the whole thing.

And suddenly, I noticed that there were a few lines in Eric's forehead. It was like he was zooming in… oh God, me!

I had to do something or, at least, I had to say something. And I chose to speak, because I sure didn't know what to do then. And I started by saying his name. But apparently, I had chosen wrong (still stupid there!) because I had only managed the "Er" part of Eric's name when I felt him running towards me. And then, suddenly, he was right there!

Unconsciously, I took a step back. And then another, and another until my back hit against a partly destroyed wall. But then, in another second, or probably in even less than one second, Eric was right in front of me, again. He curved his back and the lowered his head right towards mine. It almost looked like he was going to kiss me, but his eyes showed no love. Quite the opposite, actually.

And then, he snarled at me, showing me his fangs while he kept closing the gap between our faces. I could even feel the cold skin from his nose touching my face, when he was doing a mix of sniffing me and intimidating me by scaring the hell out of me with his growling and his groaning.

Oh. God.

I felt that my heart was beating a thousand times a second, and I could also feel a single tear escaping my left eye. I wondered what would happen to me. Would Eric kill me? Had the pain from killing Natércia made him so desperate that he would really kill me? And what would happen to Liz if I died? Would Eric still keep raising her? Would my daughter grow up with her mother's murderer?

I was thinking so many things all at the same time, that, in my mind, we had been in that position for at least half an hour. But, of course, it had only been a few seconds. A minute, at most.

And that was when I heard Pam outdoors, knocking on the door, and shouting at Eric for him to let her in. She screamed for him to take his order back, so she could get inside. But apparently, Eric didn't even hear her. He was only focused on growling at me.

And that was when I had enough. I would not be afraid of Eric. I would not. And so, raising my hand and pointing my finger at him, I almost screamed, "Eric! Snap out of it! Eric!", but when he still didn't react I started poking my finger in his chest, which only deepened his growl.

"I said: leave," he almost screamed at me. And he actually brought his face even closer to mine. Yes, angry, scary Eric was right there. However, I was still stupid because for some reason, and even though I was scared of him that way, I was still sure that Eric wouldn't harm me.

"I won't," I whispered facing him.

And then Eric immediately screamed a scaring "aarrght" before he punched the wall right at my left – I even felt some of the debris hitting my face.

"Why not?" he growled between his fangs.

"Because I'm your wife," I whispered again.

And there; I had said it. I had accepted my marriage with Eric. Seeing him that way, hurt and almost losing his mind because he had actually killed a close friend because of me, was the catalyst that made me recognize our status. And he needed me. So I would stay there with him because I trusted that he wouldn't hurt me; I believed that he would fight his basic instincts and his nature for me.

Eric's face moved slightly away from mine, and, still through his fangs, he said, "My wife."

"Your wife. I am your wife. Eric, please, snap out of it," I almost begged while I tried to hug him.

But then, all of a sudden, Eric pushed me against the wall again and asked, screaming, "So why the fuck do you smell of another vampire? Why the hell do you smell like Compton?" Bill's last name almost echoed through the house because of Eric's scream. However, he didn't allow me to answer his question, because he then moved his hand towards my throat.

I looked at him, and I still saw Alexei's eyes in his face. And then, I suddenly realized that I was lucky that Eric's hand hadn't squeezed nor broken my neck, thus killing me. And besides, he was still allowing some air through my throat.

Glass half full, instead of half empty – that was me, alright.

Yes, I was pushed against a wall by an angry, mad vampire, but he hadn't killed me. In fact, I was very much alive because I could still focus on everything around me, including Eric. And when I looked again at Eric's face in front of me, I still had the presence of mind of noticing that he had dried blood all over his face from the nose down. It was obvious that during his fight with Natércia, Eric had broken his nose (already healed, of course) and that it had bled. And because he was snarling right there in my face, he was really close to me. And that was when I managed to slightly open my mouth and move my tongue. And then I licked, from his upper lip, some of his dried blood. I then forced my mouth to produce some saliva and I tried to swallow that dried blood.

Then, all of a sudden, and immediately after I had done it, Eric opened his hand and he dropped me. And, obviously, I was still unsure about everything that had happened, so I fell to the ground, on my knees, and somehow, I kind of I twisted my ankle in the process.

So, I was on my own living-room's floor, grabbing my twisted ankle, and trying to straighten my back that had been forced against the wall with a lot of strength… by Eric. And that was when I started crying, which made me cough non-stop.

After what was probably ten or fifteen minutes, my breathing had returned to normal. Or, I guess, to as normal as it could be, concerning that situation. And it was then that I really contemplated what that happened.

Eric had almost tried to kill me. Granted, he hadn't squeezed his hand, but he had sort of attacked me. Eric had attacked me. And so, I started crying all over again. And I honestly can't say for how long. Although I think that it was probably for a long time.

But, eventually, I calmed down. I guess that there were no more tears in me. I had wasted all the tears that I could cry in one night. And that was when I saw the vampire on the other side of the room. He was also sitting on the floor. And he was looking at me as if I was the Empire State Building and that was his first trip to New York, or something.

"I am sorry," he whispered. And when I didn't answer him, nor I showed any indication that I would, he whispered again, "Please do not be afraid of me." But I still didn't move. I just kept staring at him, just as he had been staring at me before, while I coughed and I cried.

Again, I don't know how much time passed, but after a while, the vampire whispered that he was sorry again. But I reacted the same way I had reacted before. I reacted by not-reacting at all. I didn't move, nor did I speak.

Until I screamed because, suddenly, the vampire had appeared at my side. And then, quite intelligently, I finally did what my self-preservation instincts told me to do and I moved back towards the wall. And YAY! I was intelligent again; because instead of moving towards the vampire, I was then trying to move away from him.

So that was what it took to increase my IQ: being almost attacked by a vampire! Good to know.

"Please. I was not me. I am so sorry. Please. I cannot stand that you are afraid of me. Please," he said. And the vampire kept repeating those words to me, time after time.

But the words were lost on me. They did not matter. However, despite that, the vampire never stopped whispering, in a sort of soothing way, that he was sorry and that he had been out of his mind before, and begging me to stop being afraid of him.

But I was still afraid of him. I was terrified of him. And I knew that because of the tiny bit of dried blood that I had tasted from him, the vampire could feel my fear, not just smell it.

And then I heard Pam again, for the first time since I had fallen to my knees on the floor. And I heard her yelling pretty much the same things that she had been screaming before. And for one moment, I really wished that he would let her in. Because she was Pam. She was my friend. But it was as if the vampire, Eric, didn't even listen to her. Because he just didn't react to her screams and her knocks on the door. He only kept looking and whispering at me.

So I turned off what he was telling me too. If he wouldn't hear Pam's screams, I sure didn't have to hear his whisperers. And again, we stood there, in the same position and doing the same thing, over and over again. I kept trying to move away from him while he kept staring and moving his lips, though I wasn't hearing him anymore.

"Lover, please…" he whispered finally.

And that, for some reason, I did hear.

And you know what? My stupidity came back. Because when he called me lover, I truly recognized him as Eric. He was my Eric. And that was when I saw the sorrow and repenentment in his eyes where before I had seen hatred.

"I was not me. I was out of my mind. And I am sorry. Please, I am so sorry…" he continued whispering.

And I… I believed him.

And he was… he was Eric. And Eric had followed me. He had gone to me. Twice. I had run away to Tennessee from Eric and he had given me the space and time that I had asked him. But when I was kidnapped, when I needed him, Eric had risked his own life (and the life of his child and a few more vampires) in the Fae War for me. He had offered me his blood, which I declined. And then, he let me decide again, and he continued giving me the space I needed at the time. And then, a few years later, I was in danger again. And, again, Eric risked his life for me. Even though he knew that I was married to a were-bear. And he forgave me and accepted both me and my daughter in his life again. With open arms. And he had been such a good friend, and such a good husband and such a good father... Yes, Eric had been pretty much perfect for the previous two and a half years.

Would that entitle him to "a couple of out-of-his-mind-moments"?

"Lover, I was not me," he repeated.

I looked again at his eyes. And they were Eric's eyes again. And I could really see the grief and need to atone in his eyes… in the dark-blue rim around his iris and in the even mix of pale blue and white rays of his eyes.

"I am so sorry…" he said again.

And I… And I both believed and forgave him. "Will you give me your blood?" I asked in an almost inaudible voice.

And even before you ask me about it, let me just answer you that yes, I did remember what exchanging blood with a vampire would do. I still remembered what a blood-bond was. And I still remembered it, at that moment. And I consciously asked Eric for his blood. Because I wanted for us to connect, to be connected, again.

He immediately bit his wrist and offered it to me.

And I drank.

At the first swallow, my throat pain that I hadn't previously noticed I had, disappeared. And by the third, both my ankle and my back were healed already. But I kept drinking Eric's blood until his wrist wound closed.

And then he hugged me. Eric then kissed my hair, my forehead, my nose, my eyes and then my hair again and so on in between his words: "I can feel you. I can feel you now. And I know you've forgiven me already. I can feel you. You forgave me." His hands the grabbed my face and made me look at him. "Thank you. And be sure that I love you. You mean the world to me. I'd die without you. I really love you." I wasn't feeling him yet. It would take more of Eric's blood in me but his eyes were truthful. "I love you," He repeated.

He loved me. He. Loved. Me.

And more than that. He was mine. He. Was. Mine.

He was mine, just as I was his. And I wanted him. By God, I wanted him so much. And I wanted him right then and there. Right in the middle of our destroyed furniture, and right next to that… well, that bitch Natércia's rotting body.

And… hell… I don't know what had gotten into me. Maybe it had been the waiting at Jason's for something to happen, and for a disclosure to Eric and Natércia's meeting. Maybe it was Eric's attack and my fear that had made me think about life. About being alive and just… enjoy. Carpe diem, you know? Or, maybe it was Eric's blood. I just didn't know. I just knew that I wanted him. And that I would have him, just as he would have me. Because in what was, undoubtly, my most un-Sookie-like feeling ever, I wanted to be possessed by him. I wanted him to scream that I was his, and I wanted Eric to just… claim me.

And so I grabbed him. And then I kissed him. And when I kissed him, I bit his lips until I drew blood, right before I moved my tongue across his fangs, piercing it. Eric's hands moved from my upper back, to my lower back and then my butt, and he grabbed it while he growled in a cavernous but still sexy way. And that was when both my hands grabbed Eric's hair and I just hold to him, kissing him as deep and as ferociously as I could.

"What are you…?" Eric started asking as soon as I left his lips for a second so I could breathe. But I did not even allowed him to finish his sentence, because I kept kissing him. And during my kiss, I cut my tongue again on his fangs and I opened his lips again with my own teeth. And, during those minutes, we kept kissing, while both our blood got mixed in the process. And yes, I know that it sounds gross. But what can I say? I guess that my un-Sookie moment had continued, because I only saw that bloodied kiss as something incredible sexy. And I swear, it was the sexiest moment of my whole life.

But then, suddenly, Eric grabbed me by my shirt and coat and he suddenly stood and pulled me, almost violently, back over the small couch, catching me totally by surprise. His eyes were fixed into mine, and we stared at each other for a few seconds, before his iris moved from my eyes, to my lips, my neck and finally my chest. Because of my nervousness and because I was… well, very sexually excited, I was breathing with deep inhales and exhales, and so my chest was moving up and down very quickly. And Eric looked almost hypnotized by it.

I then opened the first two buttons of Eric's shirt and that snapped him out of his staring at my chest, because he immediately looked back to my eyes while he ripped his shirt off his own body. I could see his white t-shirt and the blond hairs on his chest peeking through it.

I felt a thrill of excitement, as I automatically tried to pull him towards me, while he quickly yanked the top of my coat halfway down my arms, efficiently trapping me in my own garment. The strength and expertise of Eric's moves instinctively told me I was dealing with a 1000 year old vampire. And one full of lust. But unlike earlier that night, that thought only exited me and I wasn't scared any more.

However, his stare at me, his eyes, with the dark-blue rim around the iris, and the even mix of blue and white rays, were as hypnotic to me as my breathing chest had been for him. And I froze, not daring to move.

And that was when I watched as both his hands went to the buttons of my blouse and opened them, and as I felt the fabric give and collapse into my skin, I felt as sensual as ever. Eric's eyes, his lust over me, made me feel as sensual as ever. And then there was a pause, just before Eric slowly opened my silk of my blouse like a man unveiling a meal, and exposing my chest and my bra. Eric's entire face was still in shadow, because only the hall's lamp was still turned on (either Nat or Eric had destroyed the living room's lamps), but I could feel his eyes on me, taking me in, and that was when I felt his hand on my breasts, first one, then the other. I felt the strength in his fingers, the tension as he fought the urge to crush them in his hands, but still his gentleness, and that made me bold. I summoned all my strength and I tried to free my arms from the coat again because I wanted to touch him too, just as he was touching me. But Eric held me with embarrassing ease, as if he was consumed with my breasts and hardly even aware of my struggles.

Eric's intense glare and his huge figure would probably scare everyone else. And he also seemed terribly focused, but yet I was sure that he wouldn't ever hurt me. It was something else. Eric was almost… worshipful.

And suddenly his hand left my breasts and slid back up to my throat and he pushed my face gently up and to the side, as if to examine his previous grab of my neck. But his blood had already healed everything and I was already alright. And, apparently, Eric was satisfied with my recovery as well, because he soon stopped staring at my neck and instead started kissing it over and over again. And, just like it had happened before, I suddenly couldn't control my breathing, and my breasts began to heave as I began to pant and almost hyperventilate.

"Hush," Eric whispered, his lips right next to my ear, "I'm still not done with you."

He then removed his hand from the back of my neck, where it had been while he had kissed it, and his fingers slid down again over my chest to my breast. Eric traced the edge of my bra over my mounds and I could only lay absolutely still. My attention was totally drawn to the soft touch of his fingers on my skin. Eric then repeated the motion, his time sliding his finger inside the cups, into the warm space between my flesh and my underwear. And Eric's cold hand, felt even colder because I was almost feverish in desire for him.

I shivered.

But Eric didn't care about it, and he kept touching me.

He grasped the top edge of the cup and slowly slid it slowly down over my right breast, as if ejecting a piece of fruit from its peel, apparently fascinated by its slow exposure. I tried to control myself as the fabric dragged over my nipple but it was maddening. I wanted to touch him so much, but my arms were still pinned by my coat, and so I just groaned with impotent anger and extreme desire. My groan brought Eric's eyes from my breast to my eyes again, and he smiled at me for a second, before the pulled down the other cup of my bra, so that both my breasts spilled free. His head then came down and his tongue touched my nipple.

And… OH. MY. GOD.

Quite uncharacteristically for him, Eric was breathing as well. And while his breath was on my flesh, his tongue was circling my nipple in slow, wet circles. Oh Jesus. I just wanted to open my legs and feel him in me. I had never felt as sexually exited as in that moment. Not even in past times with Eric. I groaned again. And again. But just like before, he just didn't care, and he kept his ministrations. Eric's lips then formed a ring around my areola and he sucked, slowly forging himself on the warmth and tenderness of my breasts.

And I just… I didn't even know what to feel.

Because I was feeling way too much.

And Eric had such an uncanny sense of just where and how to touch me, as if he was the telepath; as if he could read my mind. In fact, right from the beginning, since that first time when an amnesiac-Eric entered my bathtub at Gran's, Eric had had a strange kind of physical intimacy that spoke directly to my body. And the way he lingered at my breasts – sucking, licking, teasing, catching my nipples in his teeth and fangs, was far more than I could stand, and I started saying his name over and over again, as a mantra. I wanted him to get on with it. And for the love of God, now!

But he didn't.

Instead, he kept teasing me.

One nipple, then the other – the slow circles, the fluttering tongue, the long, lurid licks, and finally sucking my breast into his mouth and biting and sucking my blood. And that was when I heard his urgent, animal sounds of pleasure, and I felt his urgent, kneading hand.

And when I thought that I couldn't stand the stimulation to my nipples anymore, Eric began to kiss and lick my breasts from armpit to sternum, planting soft bites, somehow not breaking my skin, on the full undersides while he rubbed his rough, manly face on the upper slopes, holding my arms back and making me press myself harder into his mouth.

"Oh! Oh!" I mumbled, while I raised my head, but still all I could see was the top of his blond head and his strong hands holding my arms.

But suddenly, Eric let go of one of my arms and slid his hand up under my skirt, inside of my leg, as if to show me that there were any number of ways to broach my defenses, and that if I couldn't stand his touch on my breasts anymore, that there were still other places for him to touch and kiss. Or torture, as it seemed like.

And that assault on my upper legs, extremely close to my … hoo-hah place was also too much, and it took the whole thing to another level, and again I tried to fight to free my arms. But it was a strangely tense and silent struggle. I could only hear my labored panting and struggling for breath and occasional groan of sexual frustration; the soft creak and rustle of my coat on the couch; the lewd suck of his mouth on my flesh; and his hot animal growl of lust that gave me a weird, lewd thrill, as if I was watching myself be devoured.

And my struggling to get my arms free, obviously, got me nowhere.

But suddenly, Eric stopped and straightened up.

He was on his knees next to the couch where my legs couldn't get at him, and he had one hand still holding the back of my coat, but lightly then; and as he straightened up his face disappeared into the shadows again.

And I lay there nervously, confused and mad at my feeling of anticlimax. I looked down at myself, and I saw that my clothes were a mess, with my blouse open and bra down, my breasts red and chaffed and my skirt up around my thighs.

But suddenly, Eric's face moved again, and the hall's lamp's light allowed me to see his eyes again, and my confusion disappeared. Eric wasn't stopping. Not at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. And he had only paused, temporarily, to admire me.

"You are perfect," he whispered.

I smiled at him. And I was about to tell him that I also thought that he was perfect too, when Eric's hand reached out and slid up my leg under my skirt and he touched the soft skin next to my… girl parts again. And that was when I cried out with a sudden and renewed sense of excitement and sexiness.

And suddenly, I realized that Eric had taken his hand from my coat, and so I was able to take the damn thing, which had been preventing me to touch him back. And as soon as I freed my arms, I hugged him with all my strength.

But as soon as I touched him, Eric took his hand from my legs and he laid his weight back on top of me, while he reached behind my head with his left hand, caught my right wrist and held it easily, leaving me defenseless to his kisses all over again. He then grabbed my other wrist and pinned it as well in his left hand. He still had one hand free to plunder my body and his mouth returned to my naked breasts as if his previous work hadn't been finished yet.

"Relax now," he said, "just relax..."

With his weight upon me, I could feel the rock-hard stalk of his… well, his cock stabbing against my hip like a cold chisel. "Taken" was the word that flashed into my mind. I was going to be "taken" by Eric; just I had wanted from the beginning.

"Eric…" I cried out. And I just didn't know if I was begging him to stop or to never stop at all. Nevertheless, it didn't matter. Because "Eric" was really the only word that I could whisper, because it was the only word that my brain could muster.

However, I still tried to writhe away from him again. I wanted to be free to touch Eric back. But he had me so securely pinned with his one arm that he took his other hand from beneath my skirt and casually finished unbuttoning my blouse down to my waist, taking his time, confident that I wouldn't want it any other way.

And that was when Eric began to sensually caress my bare stomach, dragging his fingers over the sensitive flesh and making my muscles clench. He then slid his hands down over my hips; he found the button on the side of my skirt, opened it and pulled the zipper down. He pulled the skirt open and pushed it down till it was below my panties. And then, his hand began to graze teasingly over the bare skin of my thighs and my panty-covered mound. Over, and over again, he kept caressing me. Tickling me. Coaxing me into arousal, as if he had all the time in the world.

And Jesus Christ!

The feel of his fingers on me, the ease with which he touched me and the casual way his hand toyed at the juncture between fabric and flesh made me start to throb with physical desire. And that was when I pushed and heaved and bucked my hips. And you can bet that my gyrations were as sexual and suggestive as they could be. And meanwhile, his kissing and sucking of my breasts had never stopped, but my attention had shifted to the area between my legs where I was even hungrier and needier and the feelings ran deeper and harder to control.

I was throbbing with shameful and painful need.

I wanted Eric as I had never wanted anyone or anything in my entire life.

I wasn't thinking about Pam just outside the door. I wasn't thinking about my destroyed living-room. I wasn't even thinking about Liz waking up without her mother at Jason's. No. There was nothing else in the world at that moment. Nothing but Eric. Just Eric. His lust for me. And my lust for him.

And that was when he bit his wrist again and he put it next to my mouth for me to drink. And I did it without a second doubt about what I was doing. And as always, Eric's blood tasted metallic, and sweet, and old, and sensual, and… And I didn't know what else. He tasted like everything else, and like anything else, at the same time.

When his wrist wound closed, Eric's head moved towards mine and he laid the mother and father of all kisses on me. Wow. Just: wow!

"I want you," I whispered when he moved his god-like lips away from me again, "right now."

But he seemed to be in no hurry to fuck me though. And disregarding my words, he kept playing with my belly and hips, until he slid his fingers under the waist of my panties and reached down. He was teasing me, playing in my pubic hair. And he was teasing me until my pussy couldn't stand the need for his touch; until I was sure that I would die if I didn't feel his hand there against my empty hunger. I groaned, and then I closed my eyes in frustration and anger. And that was when his hand left my panties, pushed my skirt all the way down, made me open my legs. And he then touched my panties again, but that time, from below.

"Look at me, lover," he said. And, of course, I opened my eyes again, and I looked at him. "You really are perfect," he added one second later.

His fingers then pressed the moist crotch of my panties up against my sensitive flesh and I bit my lip to stifle a cry of fulfillment. My body arched and quivered in response. And just like if it was our first time, his fingers seemed curious and fascinated with me. But it was obvious that he already knew me and my body because the places Eric touched were so right… The pressure. The strokes. It was perfect.

And in spite of all the furious passion of his mouth on my breasts, his fingers on me were like those of a fearful boy — curious, worshipful, and yet quick to learn which spots made me respond with a quick jerk of my hips or a little moan, a sharp intake of breath or subtle shiver — a soft massage of my labia, a teasing finger sliding up and down my slit or probing into my opening, gliding in circles over my clit or pressing firmly and rhythmically against it, or occasionally taking my entire pussy in his hand and squeezing in an act of mannish possession that touched something deep and primitive inside me and made me want to cling to him.

God! How I wanted him!

I was aching of pure sexual tension, a delicious sexual tightening that both relaxed me and made me tenser, at the same time.

And suddenly, I finally, finally, felt him moving the crotch of my panties to the side and I spread my legs even more for him. I was hungering for a kiss, and as if he had heard my mind, Eric did move towards my face again, and he kissed me again, while I felt his fingers still teasing me. But suddenly, without moving his left hand from my pinned wrists, and his right one from the middle of my legs, he did move his lips from my mouth to my breasts again.

Jesus Christ!

Was Eric trying to torture me?

I wanted him so much. But despite my whispering of his name, and my begging that he'd let me touch him, he just kept kissing and teasing me while I could only lay in the couch like a half-naked rag doll.

And with my panties out of the way, the intimacy of his touch was even more intense. Flesh on flesh. All our secrets revealed. And I knew that I was in the hands of a relentless master who played me like a fine violin, bringing forth high trills of thrilling pleasure and low, rich tones of soul-shuddering desire. That old, shadowy vampire was the maestro and I was the instrument, and I had no more control or responsibility than a violin has in the hands of a virtuoso. He played me. And I soared with sexual music, and meanwhile the somehow hot, despite its coldness, animal throbbing of his hard cock against my hip was like wild obscene metronome, setting the tempo, urging me on, higher and higher.

And he insisted. He kept going. And I was almost there. And during that whole time, my hips kept moving, while I panted and gasped through my teeth.

All of a sudden, my orgasm rumbled down upon me, like a big, fiery, incandescent, blinding wave, something selfish and glorious and all for me. And that was when I half screamed, half moaned "ohh's" after "ohh's" because that was the only sound that I could muster. I immediate arched my back, thrusting myself up and opening my legs obscenely. Yes, that was completely un-Sookie-like, but I just didn't care. I brought my knees up. My toes were curling up in my boots, as pleasure gushed inside me.

And during that whole time, Eric never stopped his touches. He stayed with me, right through my orgasm, somehow knowing when to ease up, when to back off and slow down so that the insistent stimulation became the soothing caresses of comfort. And when I had calmed down sufficiently, when my shuddering and spasming had stopped and I had, at last, opened my eyes again, I saw Eric on his knees, his face bisected by a sharp diagonal shadow, smiling at me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, whispering.

And when I moved my head, in an obvious "yes" sign, he then took off his t-shirt and started pulling down the zipper of his jeans. He quickly took the trousers off too and then Eric reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his white boxer shorts and peeled them down till his cock and balls spilled over the top and hung there. He was impressive and, obviously, erect, and it made me shamefully proud to see how hard he was for me. He had a thin triangle of hair that led up to his navel, like a symbol of a beast turning into man.

I still couldn't see his face easily, with only the dim light from the hall. But with him on his knees and with me half laying on the couch, half off the couch, he was at the perfect height, and I just knew that his lips would be with his trademark smirk and grin.

Eric then helped me out of my opened shirt and he clasped open my bra, so I could take it off, while I pushed my tangled hair back from my face.

I then raised my knees, while he grabbed my right ankle. His hand was like a steel clamp. I could even feel Eric's fingers through the leather of my boot, unmovable. And suddenly, he was between my thighs, and I felt him slowly entering me, while Eric's other hand pushed my knee almost against my shoulder, totally opening me to him.

And he was so deep…

It felt so right…

Eric's big, heavy dick kept on bumping against me, as if battering against it. And somehow, I suddenly felt Eric's hand on the back of my panties, tugging so hard my hips jerked into the air, and then pulling again until the panties ripped and then tore completely, part of them sliding down below my right knee and the rest hanging like a useless, shredded garter on my left thigh.

And I don't know why, but the ripping of my panties excited me even more. Those were my good panties, my favorite pair, and Eric had torn them to pieces as if that meant nothing. As if they were his. And if I was his.

Eric's mouth moved again from my breasts to my face, and he kissed me again, though never stopping moving in and out of me. And suddenly, his left hand released my wrists. My right hand immediately grabbed his hair, and my left one clung to his shoulder like he was my floating device and I was in the middle of an ocean.

Eric then started kissing my neck. And that position put his neck at my mercy as well. And I bit him again, even though I didn't draw blood that time – his neck's skin was way thicker than his lips. But I knew that Eric had enjoyed it nonetheless, because I immediately felt the hand on the ankle of my boot push it even harder. And with his other hand, he hold onto my shoulder, right before he rocked forward and the naked crown of his dick touched the bare lips of my pussy, while his forehead touched mine.

And then he stopped.

But why would he?

My right hand left Eric's hair, and I enveloped his upper body with both my arms. His muscles were like marble. And I quickly arched my back as much as I could, opening myself to him. And that was when he slithered into me again, with the immutability of fate itself, a power stronger than what we had wanted or hadn't wanted.

We were one. And we would always be one.

And I wanted him so much…

I then felt Eric slid into me again, and again, and again. And Eric was right there. He was deep. He was merciless. He was perfect. And I was filled with him, entirely with him, completed by him.

Eric then pushed into me and left it there, stopping again, but that time inside of me, making me almost choke on his fullness. And then he hung over me, breathing deep and gasping with pleasure for a long, long, moment. A few seconds later, I felt him throbbing inside me. But he was still holding still. And then the strangest thing happened. Because I swear that I felt the beat of his heart inside my body, hot and excited.

Until he relented.

His strength pulled back like an ebbing wave and he slid it slowly out so I could breathe again, and then as if acting with deliberate cruelty, he pushed it back into me again. Incredibly slowly. And Eric did that several times, until finally, when that worshipping but savage, slow spearing had taken all the fight and resistance out of me, he began to fuck me. I don't know what else to call it, but… fuck me. And I could do was to hold unto his shoulders while I felt his long, sure, fulfilling strokes, as if savoring every millimeter of me.

And I don't know how much longer after he had started, I suddenly felt his tensing. And Eric actually trembled and he shivered, right before I heard his open-mouthed groan.

My arms suddenly left his upper back, and I threw my hands back over my head, exposing my breasts to him. And I didn't need him to pin my wrists that time. I was the one who wanted to be on display for him. And Eric, as expected, fell again upon my breasts like a slavering dog in an orgy of bestial carnality, sucking, squeezing, and biting.

Holy Mary, Joseph and Jesus! Holy God! Holy… whatever!

Eric's manhood was right where I craved for it, and he was kissing my breasts again. It was like he was famished, starving for me. And I felt that bone deep, subhuman primitive masculinity ravishing my flesh. Taking without asking because he knew I wanted it. I needed it. And Eric kept fucking me. Filling me. And that was when I felt again Eric's animal ferocity, his vampiriness, just as he bit into my neck and my second orgasm started.

I couldn't scream. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't make a sound as I felt him shove deep, mashing my butt against the couch and grinding his pubic bone against my clit, while he bit me and drank from me. And then, as soon as his lips left my neck, I grabbed his head, I moved it towards my mouth, and I kissed his mouth again. And right when I bit him, and I start drinking again from his wound on his lips, Eric then made a strangled and almost hurtful sound in his throat as I felt him jerk inside me, as he orgasmed as well.

He was hugging me, while I hugged him back. And we just lay there, floating for a long, eternal instant before returning once again to the reality. Eric then moved out of me, and hesat on the couch before pulling me to his lap.

"I'm so sorry for everything, Sookie," he whispered, before he added, "and I'm incredibly grateful that I have you in my life. I love you."

I smiled.

It would take me almost three months to tell him that I loved him back, though I had never stopped loving him. But just as I had given him some time when I had come back to Shreveport, he would also give me those three months until I was ready to tell him those words back.

I saw his eyes becoming red, and I knew that even though Eric would never cry, he was trying his best to prevent the tears from falling.

I smiled again.

And then I didn't kiss my "kind of husband". I did kiss, however, my husband.

And in that moment, during his amazing kiss, I could only think that if he had managed to overcome his most basic instincts earlier that night, and if I had managed to forgive his unthinkable reaction, and on top of everything else that we had overcome together, then it only meant one thing: we did belong together.

And I wanted him. I didn't care if he was a vampire. I didn't care about his past. I wanted him, dead or alive. And right then and there, I was absolutely sure that I'd stay with Eric until I died.

And maybe, even after that.

So, after more than 200.000 words and six months later, this story is almost-almost at its end. And I swear: never, not even in my wildest dreams, I would have thought that I'd write this much for this long (and in English!). But, at any rate, I thank you for reading this far. And I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, and the sex scene! It was my first time trying to write something a little more explicit… and now I'm soooooo embarrassed because of all the sexy smut… ^_^ and sooooooo anxious to hear your thoughts about it...!

Team Jane suggested it once, and she was right. I had to use "Wanted, Dead or Alive" as a title here because it really is an awesome song. The song's title pays homage to Jon Bon Jovi's admiration for Old West heroes, and how he identifies with them as being hated. During an interview on Inside the Actors Studio, Jon said he got the inspiration for the song early one morning when he couldn't sleep while riding in a tour bus. The "lifestyle of every rock band" was similar to that of outlaws in that each was, "a young band of thieves, riding into town, stealing the money, the girls, and the booze before the sun came up."