"Mr. Northman, I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more than the other lawyers did." Desmond Cataliades' voice crackled slightly on the speaker phone, as if he were going through a tunnel. "Unless the queen releases you from the contract, there is simply no way around it."

Eric and Pam looked at each other. Pam wisely kept her expression neutral.

"There has to be a way. There is always a way," Eric insisted. His eyes fell on the letter he had opened and read not an hour ago – a letter from Freyda, listing the date she expected to have the paperwork made official, the date on which she intended to have the marriage ceremony performed, and the date by which she expected him to end "any and all prior commitments."

"No, my friend. Not always." Cataliades paused. "Is there anything else?"

"Anything else? You haven't done shit."

There was a chuckle, and then the lawyer said, "Always a pleasure, Eric. Good evening."

Eric pressed the button to end the call, and the room fell silent for several minutes. Between Victor and Freyda, Eric felt that his carefully maintained control of his life was not merely slipping from his grasp, but being wrenched away. And that was to say nothing of Fangtasia's steep decline in revenue since Victor had opened his own bar nearby. He felt utterly powerless, a sensation not only unfamiliar but infuriating. Frightening.

"Eric…" Pam said slowly, her eyes cautious, "you can't keep this from Sookie any longer."

"I will find a way."

She huffed in exasperation. "There is no way! Everyone seems to know that but you! Besides, don't you think that Sookie would be happier and better off with a real husband?"

He rose slowly from his chair, and Pam backed away a few steps, her eyes wide. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Pam?"

"I only meant-"

Eric stopped her with a raised finger. A powerful wave of fear had crashed through his blood suddenly. "Stay by the phone," he commanded, shoving his own phone into his pocket. He raced from the bar and flew straight up into the sky, heading for Bon Temps as fast as he was able.

Sookie's blood called him to the shifter's bar, where he landed amidst police cars and a firetruck. A large group of people milled around outside, and Eric heard the words "bomb" and "fire" as he shoved his way through the crowd. Ignoring everyone else in his path, he went to Sookie and leaned down to look at her. Her shoulders felt unusually fragile under his hands.

"Are you hurt?" The alarm in his own voice surprised him. They had been in far worse situations than this in the past. He was losing it. The thought did nothing to improve his state of mind.

"M-my apron caught fire, but I think my legs are okay," she said. Her valiant effort at a smile was belied by her shaky voice and the tear making its way down her cheek. "I only lost a little hair, so I didn't come out of it too bad." She swiped the tear away briskly as it neared the corner of her mouth. "Bud, Truman," she said with a sniffle, "I can't remember if you've met my boyfriend, Eric Northman from Shreveport."

There was simply no taking the polite Southern belle out of a woman. Not killing, not vampire bloodbaths, not fairy torture. Not bombs in the workplace.

"How'd you know there was trouble here, Mr. Northman?" asked one of the men to whom he had just been introduced. He neither recalled nor cared about the name.

"Sookie called me on her cell phone," he replied, his gaze still intent on her. He smelled burnt hair, and he walked around her to survey the damage. Her beautiful hair had been badly damaged. "I'm going to look at your legs," he told her, careful to keep his voice even. "Then we'll find a doctor and a beautician."

With everything else in his life spiraling out of control, the least he could do was manage this small situation… take care of his wife's needs, whether urgent or trifling. Who would do it once he was gone? Who would feel the call of her blood when she was in danger? Who would protect her? He banished those thoughts immediately.

Sookie was looking up at him with that desperate, forced smile of hers. "Honey, we have other things to think about. Dealing with a little hair damage can wait until tomorrow." She was trying to use the bond to calm them both, and it wasn't working on either side. "It's a lot more important to find out who did this and why."

I don't have other things to think about right now. I have you and only you. He spared a disdainful glance for the shifter and snapped, "Yes, his bar is far more important than your safety and well-being."

Sookie immediately rose to her friend's defense, but while her lips said one thing, he listened instead to her blood: she was tired and frightened.

He touched some of the disarrayed strands of her hair and said gently, "I'm taking you home."

"Not until I talk to her," said one of the humans.

Eric turned on him, fangs already extended. "Honey…" Sookie said shakily. She stood up and slipped her arm around his waist, her fingers curled tightly into him. "Honey," she said again, and he looked down at her. "Bud and Truman are in charge here, and they have their rules to follow. I'm okay." She made another effort at a smile.

"You were frightened," he said. You still are.

"How'd you get here so quick?" the human police officer asked him.

Eric didn't even look at him. "I flew."

Sookie was now gritting her teeth more than smiling. "The sooner we get all this settled, the sooner we can leave." Eric could see the pleading in her eyes, and that – only that – made him relent.

He retracted his fangs. "Of course, my darling. You're absolutely right."

Eric guided her back into her seat and took her hand as the police officer flipped back some pages of his notepad and clicked open his ballpoint pen.

"Now, Sookie, you just tell me what you saw," the officer said.

Eric listened carefully as Sookie answered each question, describing what little she could of the incident. To his relief, the attack seemed like a personal one against the shifter. He sent a quick text message to Pam: "Sookie's hair damaged in fire. Meet us at her house with someone who can fix it."

At long last, the officer seemed to decide that he had gotten enough out of Sookie. "You take care of yourself, now, Sookie," he said, touching his forehead in lieu of having a hat to tip.

"Thanks, Bud, and y'all let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

Eric put one arm around her and guided her outside to her car. The crowd had thinned a great deal. Humans generally lost interest as soon as they learned that no one was dead. Sookie put the key in her car door, and the other keys on the ring rattled as her hand shook. She met his eyes and held the keys out to him. He took them without a word. As she walked around to the other side of the car, he found the mechanism to move her seat back far enough to accommodate his long legs.

Neither one of them spoke during the short drive to her house. Sookie seemed to be relishing the welcome quiet, and his own mind was too full of things he couldn't say. As he pulled up to Sookie's house, he noticed with satisfaction that Pam was already there. She and her passenger had parked in front, but he drove to the back, where he knew that Sookie always left her car.

She unlocked the back door to let herself and him inside, then made her way quickly to the front door. He walked more slowly behind her, looking into one or two of the rooms to assure himself that the house was empty. The scent of fairy lingered, but he could tell that both of her fae kin were away from home tonight. Good. Later in the evening, he and Sookie could put this wretched night behind them by making love.

"Come in!" he heard Sookie call from the porch.

He reached the door just as Pam and their guest did. The guest – a young human who seemed fitter for shaping topiary than a woman's hair – was not at all what he'd had in mind. He shot a furious look at Pam.

"Hello," Sookie said, and Eric could tell that she was as uncertain as he was.

The human was too preoccupied with looking around to answer Sookie, and Pam gave him a knock on the head. "Speak when you're spoken to, Immanuel."

He cleared his throat. "Hello, ma'am."

They were all inside now, and Sookie closed the front door. Pam regarded Sookie with a wrinkled nose. "You smell, Sookie," she observed, and Eric shot her a look which she either missed or ignored.

"It was the fire," Sookie said.

"You can tell me about it in a moment. Sookie, this man is Immanuel Earnest. He cuts hair at Death by Fashion in Shreveport. He's brother to my lover, Miriam."

"This is the one you brought to correct Sookie's hair?" Eric asked Pam. He made no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice.

"Miriam says he is the best. I haven't had a haircut in a hundred fifty years. How would I know?"

Eric narrowed his eyes at her. "Look at him!"

Immanuel looked back and forth between them awkwardly until Sookie said, "I like his tattoos. The colors are real pretty." She smiled. "So… you're going to cut off the bad parts?"

"Of your hair," Immanuel said, and Eric wondered what in hell might have been meant other than hair. "Do you have a high stool?"

Sookie confirmed that she did, and she led them all into her kitchen. She pulled out a stool and perched herself on it as Pam and Eric sat down at the table, facing her. The room seemed suddenly tense as Immanuel released her ponytail and walked behind her to see what he was dealing with. Fortunately, Sookie couldn't see the expressions on the young man's face.

"Is it very bad?" she asked finally.

Immanuel tilted his head to one side, using his thumb and forefinger as a rough ruler. "I'm going to have to take off about three inches."

This didn't seem bad to Eric at all, especially since Sookie would be stunning even if her head were shaved, but she was obviously fighting back tears. As Immanuel laid out the tools of his trade, Eric realized that by the time Sookie's hair grew back out, he would be Freyda's consort of several months.

They had so little time.

"It's damaged beyond repair," Immanuel said as he combed. "I'll cut, then you wash, then I cut again."

"You must quit this job." Eric was hardly aware that he had spoken the thought aloud until Sookie stiffened and Immanuel froze, apparently thinking that Eric meant him.

Sookie sighed. "We'll talk later."

"What will happen next?" he persisted. "You're too vulnerable!" And I won't be here.

She shot him a look. "We'll talk later," she said.

Now that her hair was falling loose around her shoulders, Eric could clearly see the damage. He glared at Immanuel. "Doesn't she need something around her, covering her clothes?"

"Eric, since I'm all smelly and smoky and covered with fire extinguisher stuff, I don't think keeping my clothes free of burned hair is a big deal."

Even if he hadn't heard the exasperation in her voice, he would have felt it pounding through his blood. He forced himself to relax. Taking his unspoken frustrations out on Sookie would accomplish nothing.

They let Immanuel work in silence, the snip snip of his scissors the only sound in the room. After a while, he stepped back to regard his work.

"You need to go shower now and come back with clean, wet hair," he instructed Sookie. "After that, I'll even it up." She hopped off the stool, and clippings slid from her shoulders and arms to join the hair on the floor. "Where's your broom, your dustpan?"

"That closet over there," she said, pointing. "Be right back."

After she left them, Immanuel swept up what he'd cut so far, Pam busied herself texting, and Eric drummed the pads of his fingertips on the table, lost in thought.

The trouble at the shifter's bar had been a distraction, but he certainly had not forgotten what Pam had said earlier about Sookie needing a "real" husband. Would it really be better for her if he went to Freyda and left Sookie to live a "normal" life, the kind of life she often claimed to want? He could not think so, but what if he were blinded by his own desire for her?

Immanuel had been keeping himself entertained by grooming Pam until she set down her phone and went to the refrigerator.

"Who else wants something?" she asked. "Sookie's got blood and soda."

"I'll take a Coke," Immanuel said.

"Eric?"

He waved his hand. "I'll have something later."

Pam disregarded what he said and put two bottles of blood in the microwave. "You need something to do," she said when she handed it to him. "You're driving me crazy."

Sookie returned ten minutes later in pajamas. Now that the burnt odor was nearly gone, her natural, sweet smell – along with the scents of her shampoo and soap – wafted in with her. Eric traced his tongue along the ridge of his teeth, wishing Pam and Immanuel miles away.

"I'm ready now," she said. Her voice was tired and resigned.

As Immanuel prepared to finish Sookie's hair, Pam nudged Eric's arm and showed him the screen of her phone.

Final appeal in matter of Pamela Ravenscroft vs. Victor Madden rejected. Parties to receive written confirmation within 48 hours.

Their eyes met. He felt her pain distinctly through their blood connection, but her eyes were as hard and cold as ever. Whatever part of Pam had been warmed by Miriam, it had died. He looked away from her and back at Sookie, who was trying to smile at him. Her gaze shifted to Pam, and she frowned.

"What's up, Pam? Someone sending you a nasty text?"

Pam closed her phone with a loud snap and slid it away from herself angrily. "Nothing's up. Absolutely nothing is happening. Victor is still our leader. Our position doesn't improve. Our requests go unanswered. Where is Felipe? We need him."

"Enough," Eric breathed so that only she could hear.

"Chill out, guys," Sookie said. There was a tinge of anger, but he felt mostly concern from her.

"And what is it with all the crap sitting out in your driveway, to say nothing of your living room and your porch?" Pam demanded. "Are you having a garage sale?"

Immanuel looked as if he wanted to run away from all three of them and never look back. "Almost… finished…" he mumbled.

Sookie attempted another smile. "Pam, that all came out of my attic. Claude and Dermot are helping me clean it out. I'm going to see an antiques dealer with Sam in the morning." She paused. "Well… we were going to go. I don't know if Sam'll be able to make it now."

As if she had barely been listening to Sookie, Pam whirled on Eric. "There, see! She lives with other men. She goes shopping with other men. What kind of husband are you?"

His body reacted before his mind caught up with it. In a matter of seconds, he and Pam were a snarling, ripping tangle on Sookie's kitchen floor. Some small corner of his brain processed the fact that Sookie and Immanuel had quickly escaped the room.

He didn't know how long they bit and tore and clawed at each other, but he did know that it felt good – more empowering and cathartic than anything had felt in a very long time. Pam was as tired of feeling helpless as he was, and her eyes flashed with pleasure at every drop of blood she drew. No doubt she saw the same pleasure in his eyes with each snap of his fangs. She punched him until he could taste his own blood in his mouth, and then he rolled on top of her to return her punches with his own.

Suddenly, they were both doused with cold water, torn out of their violent trance by Sookie, who stood over them with a pitcher. She scowled at them before she stormed out of the kitchen.

They sat in a quiet daze for a minute, and then Eric stood and offered his hand to Pam, who stumbled slightly on a broken heel. He winced as they both surveyed the damage to Sookie's formerly clean and tidy kitchen.

Pam used the back of her hand to wipe away some blood from around her mouth. "Oops."

"I will pay to fix it all," he said. "Any broken bones?"

She flexed her fingers and her neck. "No. But I see that I broke your nose." She moved to fix it, but he did it himself with a quick twist of his fingers. "I really needed that," she said.

"We both did."

They walked around the room to gather up the bits and pieces of their clothing and jewelry that had been strewn about. He took Pam's wrist as she reached for the broom.

"Leave it," Eric said. "I'll take care of it once Sookie goes to sleep."

She nodded. "Eric… I didn't mean to say that you are a bad husband."

"I know what you meant."

"Do you?"

"Yes. And I am sorry – truly sorry – about Miriam."

"I think I'm going to side with you on this," she said, shaking back her tangled hair. "There is always a way out. We just have to find it." They started forward to leave the kitchen. "I still think you need to tell Sookie, though," she threw in.

They found Immanuel and Sookie sitting in the living room. Eric didn't need the blood bond to tell him that she was furious; it was written all over her face. She ran her eyes over the two of them with disgust, and he couldn't really blame her. He started to assure her that he would take care of the damage, but she spoke first.

"I don't know what that was about, but I'm too tired to care. You two are liable for anything you broke, and I want you to leave this house right now." She stood up and walked towards them. "I'll rescind your invitation if I have to." Eric could hear and smell that her fairy cousins had returned, and he knew there was no use arguing with her after what he and Pam had done, but still he didn't move. She walked past them into the hallway. "Out the front door. Shoo! Thanks for the haircut, Immanuel," she said. "Eric, I appreciate your thinking about my hair care needs. It would have been nice if you had thought a little longer before you trashed my kitchen."

All three of them were well and truly dismissed, then. Immanuel and Pam followed her to the door and went outside as she held it open. Eric stopped in front of her and laid his hand on her arm.

"I would hold you while you sleep," he said gently. "Were you hurt? I'm sorry."

She was unmoved. "You need to go home now, Eric. We'll talk when you can control yourself."

Control himself? He had spent the past miserable months controlling himself as Victor, Appius, and now Freyda took their turns having him at their beck and call. Not that that was an acceptable excuse for himself and Pam to beat each other in her kitchen after she had already had a terrible night. Yes, he would control himself right now by doing as she asked and leaving.

He stepped out onto the porch and turned back to her. "I'll talk to you soon, my wife," he said. My wife, no matter what anyone else says.

She responded by shrugging one shoulder and closing the door.

If you're interested, I've already started my new story, "Back from the Dead," which begins immediately where book 11 left off. Hope you enjoy it, too. -DeeDee =)