Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chpt 46 Dress Number Three
SPOV
Finally I was done.
Laced into my own personal torture device. I always wondered, what with my Gone with the Wind obsession, what they felt like and now I know. Vivien Leigh was not acting when she got laced into hers.
However it has had a startling effect on Dress Number Three and its nervous occupant. If I were waiting tables at Merlotte's tonight I could balance beer pitchers on these puppies.
The dress is blood red silk velvet. The shoulder straps about an inch wide, slightly ruched, and angled to cling precariously to the outer slope of my shoulders. Its low cut and form fitting and with the corset the fabric over my midriff and hips hugs me but moves fluidly. The skirt is also fitted, stopping just above the knee at the front but then flows away into a train at the back that pools on the floor, like an exotic tail feather. Pam insisted on silk stockings and suspenders so my legs shimmer every time they move, which, like a child, I keep doing in front of the mirror so I can marvel at the effect again.
She decided I could forgo any kind of jewellery but still made me sit here for an hour while a professional did my make-up. Which I don't really understand. An hour to make it look like I'm not wearing any? Not that I'm complaining, what with Eric's blood and this enhancement I don't think I've looked this good in my entire life. My hair is a little less miraculous although the lady managed to get a lustre to it that I've never managed. Pam insisted on a simple style, it's twisted into a chignon, with artfully escaping wisps and a feathery trail down my back. I so need to get it cut.
We both agreed on the shoes. What she called couture requirements and I know Tara would call 'fuck me' heels. Either way I will be forced to proceed in a regally subdued manner, otherwise I'm going to break an ankle.
Pam's gone to sort herself out, promising to see me downstairs later, I'm just waiting for Thalia and Alcide to escort me.
Thalia arrives first, wearing a simple black silk shift and what looks suspiciously like a pair of thirteen hole DMs, her long dark locks loose around her shoulders. She looks cute but I am not going to say so for obvious reasons, and not just because she has her sword strapped to her back.
"I am nuclear deterrent." She says, shrugging in response to my raised eyebrow." "Anyone will think twice about physically messing with you, or Eric, if Thalia is wearing sword."
Right, okay then. I guess a hug is out of the question?
Another knock at the door, which I answer, what is it with vampires and doors, even I can smell it's Alcide.
"Wow." He says with a smirk. "You look great."
I snigger and Thalia growls.
"And you too Thalia." Alcide adds quickly, jumping back as she sweeps out of the door.
"I guess we're ready to go." He says, rolling his eyes at me.
"Lets." I respond, closing the door behind me. "This time I'm actually going to make it as far as the Ball."
The foyer is a hive of activity as we descend the stairs and make our way to the Ballroom at the back of the Palace. Vladimir's weres are stationed everywhere, looking like Secret Service Agents, complete with ear pieces, but they aren't stopping anyone from roaming the ground floor. Human staff are scurrying everywhere, setting up the buffet for the humans, serving drinks and jumping to attention whenever Quinn or one of his staff ask for something. Its organised chaos which gradually thins out the closer we get to the Ballroom.
Unlike Rhodes the doors are spread wide open and without hesitating the three of us pass through, me somehow finding myself at the front as Thalia and Alcide slot in behind me.
I don't know if I am actually more observant than I used to be or just better able to function in situations like this. I'm not imaging that every eye in the place is on me. I know they are. I'm not assuming that there was a brief lull in conversation as those we didn't see me enter turned to find out what was happening. There was. I heard a few sets of fangs run down. I heard Thalia chuckle and Alcide groan. I read and filed the swirl of thoughts. And while all this was happening my eyes found Eric's as surely as if he'd been alone in the room.
He was staring straight at me, over the heads of the two vampires in front of him, his face expressionless.
And again I don't know if I'm more observant than I used to be, but for a brief flash of time, with all eyes turned away from him except mine, he smiled. All the way to his eyes.
Then everything pinged back into focus, his companions claimed his attention, Thalia chuckled and my Crazy Sookie Stackhouse smile morphed into a probably idiotic looking real one.
Really? A smile is all it takes?
Huh. Yeah. I guess so. This is Eric we're talking about. And that, coupled with the surge in our bond, was probably the equivalent of him crossing the room and telling me he was glad to see me. Okay, not quite, but he is Eric.
Jeez. And I haven't even had a drink yet.
Thalia chuckles again and prods me gently in the back.
"Move Princess." She whispers. "We are stopping traffic."
Sedately, because I don't have a choice in these shoes, we make our way over to the bar in the left hand corner.
Alcide orders me a gin and tonic and Thalia and I turn our attention to the room.
Pam is talking animatedly, for a vampire, with the other Louisiana Sheriffs, though she does take the time to wink at me when our eyes meet. Charles nods at me from the midst of his own knot of vampires. The square Doctor from Rhodes is here, raising her glass to me briefly in recognition. She's not human, which surprises me despite her odd appearance, in fact, there are a considerable number of people here who look like they should be but aren't and I wish I knew how I know. A whole new range of minds, most of which I can probably read once I've had a chance to work them out. Should I? What if any of them are dangerous to my friends, to Eric?
"If you are going to work your magic we should find a seat." Alcide murmurs, handing me a drink, recognising my semi vacant expression.
I smile at him, part thanks and part relief.
"I even have a little pad in my pocket." He chuckles. "And a pencil. For just such eventualities."
"Thanks. Just for a minute, there's new stuff here."
Thankfully he doesn't ask for a definition of 'stuff'.
Thalia frightens a couple of humans away from a table in the far corner, set well back from the dance floor, and hovers while Alcide and I take a seat.
Wow. Slouching really isn't an option. Not if you want to breathe.
Now that I'm concentrating there are only three new kinds of minds here. All alien to me but one type that feels warm and familiar, tugging at my memory. I'll start with those I think. There are two of them, a little different from each other in their flavour, male and female? They're elusive to say the least, like chasing butterflies with a net, I used to love that when I was little, and like butterflies every time my mind gets near theirs they slip away as if buffeted by moving air. So absorbing . . . .
"Ms Stackhouse." A smooth voice with a hint of European accent, interrupts my 'hunt'. "How lovely to finally meet you. I have heard so many wonderful things about you."
Crap! What use is being able to read vampire minds if you're not paying attention and Nevada sneaks up and catches you unawares?
I glance at Alcide who is watching the newcomer carefully, and Thalia, who looks like she'd love to lop his head off but knows she can't. She even backs up a reluctant step so he can get closer.
Fortunately I catch myself before I let on that I know who he is and settle for a polite, southern, 'who the hell are you' smile.
"I am Nevada." He informs me with a charming smile o his own. "Felipe de Castro."
"Your Majesty." I murmur politely, managing to get to my feet and incline my head respectfully without showing myself up.
He extends his hand, palm down like a Bishop or something, and smiles expectantly, apparently expecting me to kiss it. As if I would, or could bend down that far in this corset. I'm not a tall woman but de Castro is not much taller than Thalia. Small but perfectly formed is the term I believe. He's crazy handsome, with black hair and deep dark eyes surrounded my thick long lashes, but he looks like Rick Moranis has been at him with his ray gun gizmo. Honey I shrunk the vampire.
Instead of giggling I smile.
Oh dear. Now he thinks I'm suitably pleased to meet him and he's going to graciously overlook my refusal to kiss his hand.
He lowers himself into the empty chair beside me and indicates for me to sit, which I do, reluctantly.
"How are you enjoying life as Northman's asset?" He asks, fixing his dark eyes on me and going straight for the glamour.
"Very well thank you." I answer politely, pretending to look away in embarrassment.
Damn! I can feel panic rising, how am I supposed to handle this?
Alcide's thoughts are wary and Thalia's are murderous, though she's resolved to step in if he tries it too obviously, it's against the rules for a vampire to try glamour on another's human.
Okay. I can do demure. I fold my hands on the table in front of me and twist them together nervously.
"My dear." De Castro says quietly. "There is no need to be nervous around me, please, let me see those pretty eyes."
I whinny like a pony, glancing up briefly before looking down again, amazed I can make a noise like that.
He's heard a rumour I can't be glamoured and he's determined to test it. Right now he's wondering if I've cottoned on to what he's trying to do.
"Are you looking forward to the ceremony?" He asks solicitously.
I nod.
"Come now Ms Stackhouse." He teases. "I know quite a bit about you already. Nervous and shy you are not."
Fine.
I raise my head to find him regarding me steadily. Immediately he focuses on my eyes and I can feel his will pushing against my shields. It's much clearer than it's ever been before, it used to just feel like a gentle pressure. Now, however, I realise that I can visualise his will like an extending tentacle, it's solid enough to me that I wonder if I could take hold of it with my mind, bend it, use it. If I could will him to get up and walk away? But I don't dare, if he realises what I'm doing . . . .
After about the thirty seconds our staring contest is making my eyes water and I avert them to scan the room.
He chuckles lightly, sounding amused, but inside he's fuming, my being glamour resistant has put a slight kink in his preferred plan for the evening.
"So you cannot be glamoured." He observes.
"No."
"How very interesting, a side effect of your gift?"
"I would imagine so."
We're not exactly fighting but all pretence at charm has fled, only fake smiles remain.
"Everyone has a method of being controlled Ms Stackhouse."
I supress a shudder. One of my nightmares.
"It would give me great pleasure to find yours." He purrs, leaning into my personal space.
He's watching to see how I react and though I know I should show the appropriate level of fear and back away I can't bring myself to do it. Which amuses and angers him, he's looking forward to breaking me in, he thinks Eric's been far too lenient with me, humans should not show any display of backbone as far as he is concerned.
"Perhaps you should consult my Master?" I suggest innocently. "He may be inclined to tell you."
De Castro's eyes flick to Eric who is deep in conversation on the other side of the room. He's wary of him but not afraid, however my reminder is enough to make him decide to take his leave for the time being, he sees no further benefit in pretending to be polite to me, he'll save his charm offensive for his negotiations with Eric.
"That was probably a mistake Princess." Thalia says quietly, leaning over my shoulder. "Nevertheless it was masterfully done."
Lovely. Ten minutes into the night and I've managed to piss off the powerful vampire who wants to turn me into a quivering submissive wreck and take Eric's kingdom away from him. I don't know how Eric can refer to me as an asset, I'm a complete liability . . . .
Flustered I can no longer concentrate on the new minds I can feel around me and instead I find myself focussing on the only other thing here that really interests me. The conundrum that is Eric. He confuses me, infuriates me and constantly has my emotions riding the roller coaster, sometimes waving their arms in the air, sometimes screaming in terror.
Oh well, at least I have an excuse to talk to him now. Turning my attention to the Eric light inside me I give it a little tug and immediately his eyes snap up to mine.
It takes a few minutes for him to extract himself from his conversation and cross the room, since everyone wants a moment with the new King.
"What happened?" He asks, dropping casually into de Castro's vacated chair like a lion settling down on a sun warmed rock.
"Not here Your Majesty." I answer quietly.
"Very well." He stands again, offering me his hand. "I have time for a little refreshment break before the ceremony."
Rolling my eyes at him I let him help me to my feet and wrap a long arm around my waist so he can lead me out of the Ballroom. Keeping a tight hold he escorts me down to my office, smiling, nodding and exchanging comments with everyone we pass. Inside he closes the door and releases me, raising his eyebrow questioningly.
"Nevada is after your Kingdom and wants to turn me into his drooling sex slave."
Silent, immobile, no fang. In short, mad as hell.
I know he's not angry with me but I step back anyway.
His hand lashes out, closing round my wrist and though I should attempt to pull away from and the wildness in his eyes I don't. After what feels like minutes I sense him finally calm down, marvelling that so much turmoil can be contained in such a still exterior, if I'd felt even a tenth of what he was I would have been climbing the walls.
"Did he say anything?" He asks finally, edging closer.
"No. I read his mind."
"Is there anything I need to know about his plans now?" He asks, stepping toward me.
"Not that I could see." I answer craning my neck to keep my eyes on his face. "He doesn't seem to have a solid one, he's looking for an angle."
He falls silent, staring down at me and later I know I'm going to think myself out of this 'moment', but for now I can only accept what I can see in his face. This is the real Eric, making no effort to hide behind coldness, anger or innuendo.
He takes my other wrist gently, closing the rest of the distance between us as his thumbs brush the thin skin on the inside of my forearms.
"I do not like that you have to listen to such things in people's heads." He murmurs, traces of anger still showing in his eyes.
"You pay me to be able to hear these things." I point out.
"I did not mean Nevada's plotting, I meant his disrespect of you."
Oh.
"I will meet my true death before I allow him to touch you."
The air around us is fairly crackling with electricity.
"Eric . . . ."
"Sookie, I regret that there has not been time for us to talk again these past few nights but I would like us to, and soon."
I nod, the look in his eyes robbing me of my voice as he leans down.
He's going to kiss me, I shouldn't let him, we need to talk, we at least need to talk first . . . .
His lips meet mine and I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling, allowing them control. Warmth steals through me, joining forces with the Eric light, synchronising us, the movement of our lips, the beating of my heart, my body undulating shamelessly against his. The electricity in the air has been attracted to something on my skin, clinging to it, shocking it, his thumbs on my arms the lightening conductors. Gasping I open my mouth and his tongue plunges inside, stroking, exploring, stimulating, claiming, duelling almost negligently with mine, teasing it, leading it on . . . . making my stomach turn over, my knees tremble . . . . my mouth opens wider, admitting him deeper, something inside me desperate to draw him in, my hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket at the waist, his sliding up my arms until they are able to splay out on my shoulder blades, pulling our chests together . . . . he inhales roughly, dragging the breath from my body, attacking my mouth with renewed vigour . . . . pressing into me so hard I stagger back against the door with an echoing thud.
Jesus Christ Shepherd of Judea.
I can't breathe . . . .
He pulls away, eyes shining with intensity.
"That wasn't talking." I object in a raspy, wanton, almost moan.
"Yes it was." He corrects hoarsely, lowering his mouth to mine again. "Listen . . . ."