Eric came to with his body feeling like it had been slow roasted on a rotisserie. He became vaguely aware of a limp weight flung across his body, and his eyes snapped open.
Pamela was sprawled out on top of him, her back to his front. Though it was well past nightfall, her eyes were shut and there no indication that she was alive other than the feeling Eric had in the pit of his stomach. He felt, rather than knew, that somewhere in there his Pam remained, even though she was slipping fast.
He carefully sat up, groaning as his charcoaled muscles resisted the movement. Eric stared in horror at his progeny cradled in his arms. Luckily for her (and for him; he couldn't imagine life without his insubordinate other half), the impact had propelled them into the snow bank and in essence saved their undead hides. That being said, while she hadn't been in the direct sun when she landed on him, she'd been exposed to partial sunlight through the thin sheen of snow and it showed.
She looked worse than Russell Edgington after Eric silvered them together outside of Fangtasia in broad daylight. Her hair was matted to her skull, and her normally alabaster skin was black and thick, flaking and peeling like a grotesque sunburn. Her clothes were all but tattered rags clinging to a gaunt frame. She was shriveled into a semi-fetal position, and looked so positively weak and vulnerable that Eric felt crimson tears well behind his eyes.
He gingerly rose to his feet, the pain not as bad as before and limped his way to the Swedish cabin he'd been staying at with Pam tucked safely in his arms.
Eric gently laid her out on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom, then grabbed one of the many bottles of True Blood he'd filched for his trip. He eased her mouth open and poured the thick, red liquid down her throat. She saved my life…again. Now, it's my turn, he thought as he tossed aside the empty bottle and grabbed another.