A/N: Double update! Make sure to read chapter two first.
Everything seems a little less real in the daylight.
She sits alone in her kitchen, coffee mug cupped between her palms and a half-eaten slice of toast in front of her. She stares ahead, and thinks back to last night.
It feels like a dream.
Her words, and her body were not her own. It wasn't a conscious thought that led her to yield to him, but instead some dark impulse that overtook her.
The influence of his blood.
Even now, as he lies dead to the world miles away, she feels a pull towards him.
Sookie hates it.
No matter what she feels for him, he operates in a world she wants no part of, and if it meant never having to scrub blood from under her nails or bury a body under the cover of the moon; she would break ties with him if she could.
Not that she had time to explain that as he pressed his bloody wrist to her mouth, saving her life.
She can't stop thinking about him. He's in her veins and in her dreams-
With Bill she called it love, but now she knows better.
It's just the blood.
She repeats it.
It's just the blood.
She grips the receiver tight; the cheap plastic creaks in her hands. Her thumb hovers over the last digit of Eric's phone number.
It's been two weeks, and she hasn't heard from him. She wonders if that mean he's done with her. They've fucked, and that's all folks.
She feels pathetic. Pining after a man she only wants when he's not around. Just a couple months ago she would have been relieved if he never darkened her doorstep ever again. Now-
It's just the blood.
She hits end, and slams the phone back into the cradle.
Eric eventually shows up on a Monday, startling her at one-oh-one am, grinning through the glass of her bedroom window.
She glares, but lets him in anyway.
"Where have you been?" The question slips out.
"New Orleans." Is all he offers, then slyly, he asks, "Did you miss me?"
"No."
"I can tell when you're lying."
She rolls her eyes, "Don't remind me."
She steps forward, her toes brushing against the tips of his shoes, and she has to crane her neck up to look at him. He smells like the outside; cold air clings to his leather jacket, and his cheeks look almost pink-he must have just fed.
She resists the urge to touch him. "Is everything alright?" She asks, remembering how quiet and tense he was the last night they were together.
"Nothing I can't handle."
Then, he leans down and kisses her. In the back of her mind she thinks he's trying to distract her. It works. The kiss is slow and sweet; desire like honey, it pools in her belly and drips down between her thighs. The need to breathe forces her to pull away. His hands are in her hair, and she slipped her hands under his shirt; palms caressing his stomach.
"Why are you here?" She whispers.
He walks them backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed; the look he gives her is sinful. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Eric…" She trails off. She should tell him to leave, but the will and the words elude her.
He cocks an eyebrow, beginning to undo the buttons of her pajamas, "Yes?"
She takes a breath, "You're not allowed to bite me."
Her voice doesn't waver. Vampires are greedy things, and if you give an inch they'll take a mile. A lesson cruelly taught.
Another lesson she learned: Blood is their culture; they love it, worship it, and debase it. It is their currency and their law. As a human she cannot fully grasp their allegiance to it, but as a woman she understands the dynamics of power. Offering her blood to a creature such as Eric can only end in catastrophe.
He stops on the last button; he gazes down at her, his eyes eerily bright. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
He doesn't move. He doesn't blink. His chest doesn't rise and fall with the effort of his lungs. She hopes he'll leave. She wants him to stay. He undoes the last button, and pushes the top off her shoulders. There's a chill in the air, and her nipples tighten. His gaze is hungry upon her exposed skin, and she likes it.
"Alright."
He grazes his thumb over her nipple; teasing her. She breathes out, "Really?"
"I'm not the monster you think I am, Sookie, and I don't need to force you. One day you'll yield to me, and that is when your blood will taste the sweetest- when freely given."
She tries to speak, but he steals the words from her mouth with his own. He undresses her, and she him.
Then, they have no need for words at all.
They fuck in her childhood bed.
Pink sheets twist around their legs, and the virginal white headboard slams into the wall, the ancient springs screech in time with their movements.
He's too tall, with him on top she is level with his chest, but she finds doesn't mind. They've only had sex once before, but she can tell Eric is big on eye contact, and even though he's inside her it feels too intimate. Like this it's easy to dodge his gaze, she can just wrap herself around him; legs coiling around his hips, nails clawing at his back-losing herself to pleasure.
He stays as long as the sun allows. She doesn't speak of the hidey-hole in her closet; uncertain if she wants him to stay, and unwilling to feel the sting of rejection if he refuses. Instead, she watches silently from the bed as he dresses. She's content, more so than she's been in months; Sookie finds it a little strange that she has Eric to thank for it.
He leans down and presses his lips to hers. The kiss lingers long enough that she is rethinking not asking him to stay the day, but he pulls away before she fully gives in to the idea.
"Stay out of trouble, Sookie."
"I'll try," she responds wryly.
Eric leaves through the window, and she brings her fingers to her mouth; lips tingling.
He visits her the next night, and the next, and the next, and the-
She gets used to it- the two solid knocks on her door or the rap on her window announcing his presence. He always knocks -a façade of politeness, she knows. She'd rescind his invitation on principal if he didn't.
They're in the living room. A corny Christmas movie goes unwatched on the TV as she straddles him on the old floral chair; her hips caged between his palms. He only lets her move enough to drag the head of his dick across her slit.
She shudders.
He does it again.
When he finally slips inside her she draws blood. A dark sound claws its way out from the back of his throat, she feels his skin knit back together beneath her fingertips.
She doesn't tell anyone.
She doesn't have anyone to tell.
When she began dating Bill she felt it right to proclaim their relationship, to prove he wasn't a monster, that they can love like any human. It was a worthy fight she thought, despite the scorn she weathered from her friends.
But with Eric-
Gossip spreads faster than wildfire in a small town. It's common knowledge that Bill has left. Sookie hears all the cruel, speculating thoughts.
Unspoken, behind the faux-sympathy, she can hear them all say.
We told you so.
It's more than her pride can bear. She'll let them look down on her from their pedestal, but only this once. She won't give them another chance.
So she keeps her secret.
The bar is dead. The dinner rush is long over, and only a few stragglers remain. A group of rough looking bikers play pool, a few lonely hearts sit at the bar, and a young couple sit side by side in a booth, giggling.
Their thoughts are a low hum in the back of her head-almost easy to ignore. She sits at the corner of the bar, refilling the salt and pepper shakers when she senses the approaching void. She looks up, half expecting Eric. Instead, it's a stranger.
The vampire is tall, with a narrow face, and red hair. None of the any customers pay attention to him-the crowd that would have found this scandalous has gone home. He takes a seat at the bar, and Sam takes his order.
Sookie watches him from the corner of her eye as he drinks his bottle of blood, but when he does nothing but sit quietly, she feels silly at her paranoia.
He leaves when Sam calls last call, throwing a few bills on the bar; he exits as quietly as he entered.
By the time Sookie goes home she's forgotten about it.
There was an incident at Fangtasia, Pam tells her. Sookie can hear the muted bass through the phone, and what she thinks is the sound of someone screaming. She tells Sookie, her voice slithering through the receiver, that Eric requests her presence immediately.
Rejection on her lips, Sookie sighs, "Pam-"
"Eric will compensate you for your time."
She pauses; the new nature of her relationship with Eric makes her wary of accepting money from him, but she eyes the ruined floors and the blankets thrown over the couches to hide the damage made by Marianne. "…how much?"
"You can discuss it later. Just get over here."
The line goes dead.
It's only midnight when she pulls into the Fangtasia parking lot. The line wraps around the building, the December temperatures inconsequential to the club goers dressed in mesh and miniskirts.
She forgoes the line; walking straight towards the bouncer. It's a vamp. Sookie is sure she's seen him before, but can't place his name. She plasters a smile across her face, "Hi, I'm Sookie-"
He doesn't let her finish. Unhooking the velvet rope, he nods her through. "They're waiting for you in the basement."
Her mind conjures up a million gory (and pornographic) scenes she could be walking in on. She thanks him, and enters Fangtasia.
The bar is decorated for Christmas; blood red garlands are strung from the ceiling while the jukebox plays a heavy metal version of "Jingle Bell Rock." Loud, sweaty, drunk people crammed together. Sookie winces at the bombardment of thoughts. Shoving her way through the crowd, a headache begins to pulse between her eyes.
At the entrance of the basement she lets her hand hover over the doorknob. Maybe she should knock? The door flies open, relieving her of the decision, and is greeted by Pam's blood soaked scowl.
"About fucking time," she snarls. "Did you walk here?"
"What? No-"
"Whatever." Pam drags her into the basement, slamming the door shut behind them. "Go."
Her eyes try to adjust to the dark as she fumbles for the bannister. Below she hears the single hum of human thoughts surrounded by three vampire minds. Dread begins to take hold of her. When she reaches the bottom step the urge to run is stayed only by the knowledge that she wouldn't get far.
The tableau before her makes her gorge rise, her mouth slick with the salty before-taste of vomit; she swallows.
Eric towers over a human man chained to the floor, his voice low, she can't make out what he's saying. The man whimpers, a pathetic sound falling from his bloodied mouth. Sookie can see the sliver of bone poking out through his shoulder. By his feet is a dead body; throat ripped open, the face frozen in terror.
"Oh, my God," she whispers. "Eric…"
He doesn't turn towards her; fingers raised, he beckons her closer.
Her feet are heavy as she moves towards him. Her hands shake, and sweat gathers along her upper lip. The carnage comes into view more clearly. The man's face face is one big bruise, eyes swollen shut, cruel looking fang marks peek out through his torn collar. His thoughts are so frantic she can't get a solid read on him.
"Eric." She repeats; her tone full of reproach.
"I know what you're thinking, Sookie. Don't. This man doesn't deserve your pity."
"I think I can decide that on my own, Eric."
They glare at each other. The horror she feels is merging with annoyance.
He breaks first. "I need you to get an address out of him."
"Have you tried asking him?"
"Don't play dumb."
A bark of laughter comes from the shadows, "Is your human always so insubordinate, Northman? It's a wonder why you want her around at all."
"It's endearing most of the time." He answers the darkness, something strange flickering in his eyes when he looks at her something like pleading.
It's an expression she's never seen on his face.
The ground she has found herself on is more dangerous than she realized. Making a split second decision; she agrees to help; choking on her pride.
Later, she stands shivering in his office. Hair damp from washing it in the employee bathroom and the sensation of hot blood lashing across her face replaying in her head. Pam joked she was smart for leaving her church dress at home this time.
Sookie didn't laugh. Instead, she fled towards the basement door, her hands scrubbing wildly at her face; no one stopped her.
"What the hell was that?" She demands twenty minutes later as he strolls into his office, freshly showered (he took the brunt of the blood spray) and stoic.
He sits behind the desk and she sees him pull out a checkbook. "How much do I owe you?"
"It's on the house." She snaps. Taking a deep breath, again, she asks, "Eric, seriously, what was that about?"
He leans back in his chair, eyes focused on her intensely; deciding on whether to tell her the truth or a lie.
Finally, he says, "Those men were a threat to vampires as well as humans. As Sheriff, it's my job to eliminate such threats."
She thinks back to the basement, the half dead man's voice in her head, and the vampires that lurked in the shadows. "That man…his accent; he wasn't from around here. And those vamps…"
Eric doesn't react, but Sookie continues. "Does this have something to do with those vampires at your house that night? And why you were in New Orleans?"
He blinks once, his mouth twitching into a smile. He stands up and walks over to her; cupping her face between his palms. "As someone who says often they want nothing to do with vampire business, you sure make a habit of sticking your nose in it." His words are teasing, but Sookie detected an edge in his words.
She's not ready to back down just yet. She doesn't lean into his hands. "You made it my business when you made me an accessory to murder."
"Don't be dramatic." He loosens his grip on her. "This isn't the first time I've killed in front of you."
His causal disregard pisses her off, pulling away, she says. "It's just that easy is it?" She's still on edge, and it makes her want to pick a fight. "Killing? Deciding whether someone lives or dies?"
The open, playful look on his face is gone, and replaced by that thousand year stare; studying her with an intensity that makes her uncomfortable. When he speaks, instead of indulging her with a fight he says, "I know Bill filled your head with his ideas about me, made you think the only good vampire is a self-loathing vampire."
She opens her mouth to protest, but he raises a finger to silence her.
"But I do what is necessary to secure my survival, and the survival of those under my protection." The last part is softer. "You don't get to be my age by being kind."
Not pleased with feeling like a child who just got scolded, she leaves, saying, "Jason will be at the house tomorrow night, so don't bother coming over."
She slams the door behind her.
Sookie woke to the sound of incessant pounding on the door. Glancing at the clock she groaned when she saw she'd overslept. The events of the night before weighted heavily on her conscience, and she found herself tossing and turning all night. Around five am she caved and crawled out of bed, swallowing some of the sleeping pills she'd gotten off of Lafayette.
She rolls out of bed and throws on a robe, padding down the steps to answer the door.
It's Jason.
"Don't you have a key?" She asks as he walks in.
"I lost it. Oh, here's your mail."
He hands her a stack of mostly bills, but in between the electric and water is a Christmas card from Tara, which lightens her mood. Something slips from the stack and flutters to the floor. It's a postcard. The picture on the front is the inside of a church, the bottom text identifying it as Saint Stephen's Basilica in Budapest. Someone had written "Thinking of you." on the back. It wasn't signed, but Sookie easily recognizes the elegant scrawl.
She rips it up, and tosses it in the trash.
She spends Christmas Eve with Jason. He helps her around the house, repairing what he can, but the damage from the Maenad is still obvious. They spend the rest of the day laughing at old home movies, and later Sookie attempts to recreate Gran's gingerbread cookie recipe while Jason sneaked gumdrops.
They attended midnight mass. Jason has wheedled his way out of it the past few years, but she knew he was going this year because of Gran.
Since Gran passed, and taking up with Bill she hadn't gone to church as much as she of, but Sunday mornings she was normally too tired, and hearing all the nasty thoughts about her weren't a positive incentive.
But like Jason she's doing it for Gran.
They sit near the back. She stares at the cross on the wall and thinks of the man Eric killed last night. She prays extra hard for forgiveness, even though she's not sure she deserves it.
Eric doesn't bother her, and she's relieved. Her fury solidified into something that sat cold and hard in her gut. The blood bond is weakening; the only time she can feel him is the slight rush of awareness when he awakens, and she doesn't dream about him anymore. She still thinks about him more than she likes, and not just in bed with her fingers between her thighs. She'll stare out the window as the morning sun makes the dew glisten, and wonders fleetingly how he would looked bathed in such light. Or, when a shift is dragging, and she imagines him stalking in, whisking her away.
Sookie dismisses the thoughts as fast as they come, but she's unsettled at the similarity; she often fantasized about Bill the same way.
She can't tell if it's a blood thing, or something else.