bunnychica9 and auroraglider, thank you for your reviews! I've hit a bit of a slump in the writing of this, there's only so much you can enforce a point without it sounding repetitive, isn't there? I'll manage and get through though, I hope, lol!

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Tyra's POV

His hands grip my shoulders and pin me to the cold, damp floor. I feel my back scraping against it. I feel his stubble scratch my neck, and feel sick at the overpowering smell of him, the smell of sweat and beer. His hands grip me harder, and I feel the bile rising high in the back of my throat as I know what's going to happen. Then he begins to shake me, saying my name in my ear over and over…

"Tyra, Tyra wake up," I begin to hear clearly, the voice being that belonging to my husband, and not Brendan. I didn't suffer from nightmares before what happened to me down there, in the basement of that Mississippi mansion. Coming to totally I sit up with a big jolt, pushing Eric's hands off my shoulders but then throwing my arms around him, still haunted horribly by what my mind just conjured in sleep.

"I hate this," I lament, while Eric lays back down again holding me close to his chest.

"So do I, I can't bear to see you suffer," he tells me, stroking and kissing my forehead.

"I hate to say it, but since all this with the king flared up, they've got worse," I tell him, moving my head to look up at him.

"I know," he replies quietly, turning over and stroking a fingertip down my cheek and over my neck. "He can't get you, not now. I know it's easy for me to say don't worry, because having this new worry is probably the cause of your nightmares being increased, but you shouldn't worry, Tyra," he then adds.

"I know he can't do anything, but it's just the fact he's close to a vampire so ruthless who will do something regardless of our betrothal. Anything he likes by the sound of him. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't what I am," I reply, running two of my fingers up and down the centre of his chest.

"Sometimes, I do too," he replies in a sombre tone.

"If I wasn't though, there'd have been nothing about me that had initially interested you," I'm quick to point out.

"I'd have found something soon enough, believe me," he replies, moving so his face is level with mine and kissing me. He knows he doesn't have to affirm he's with me for me, and not my supernatural status, yet he continues to do so. I still feel so privileged to receive such affections, from a vampire who once had absolutely no room in his heart for what he has now with me.

"You go back to sleep now." Eric tells me after a while, at the precise moment I feel my eyelids growing heavy again. 6am is no time to be awake, especially when you only fell asleep two hours ago. When I wake up again it is at the more reasonable hour of 11.30am. I feel like I could sleep for another hour, but reluctantly untangle myself from the covers and Eric after a few hesitant moments and finally get up. I grab a fresh set of clothes and have to shimmy out from by bedroom very carefully through a small gap since I forgot to close all the blinds in the house last night. Not a lot of light gets to the hallway where my bedroom and bathroom are though, but enough to make blind closing my first job of the day before my usual ritual morning shower.

After showering I go about all my usual morning routine activities such as cat feeding, mail opening and morning paper reading before moving to my little office and beginning my work. I find an email there waiting from Esmeralda to inform me she will not be dropping in the finished accounts in an hour's time as planned, but instead telling me she got in an early start and dropped them all off herself. She's an angel. I begin at a steady pace, knowing I only have two files to do before I head off out to collect a few more after my drop off run, and have completed the both of them in just three hours. As a reward to myself, I close all my files and load my internet browser to call up eBay. I do need a new outfit for the king's party in eleven days from now. I have an arsenal of dresses at Eric's place, but I'm still unsure which of them to choose.

After looking through a couple of stores selling cut price designer dresses, and saving a few I've mentally noted as possible choices I switch off my computer and head quietly back into my bedroom to grab my running clothes. I didn't manage to jog much while on vacation. I used hotel gym treadmills, but they aren't quite the same thing as running through a beautiful forest. Since there's a chill in the April air I pull on a comfortable white hooded top before slipping my feet into my sneakers, and head out of my house to do some stretches on the porch before I set off. As I run, an activity that usually clears my head I cannot help but think about this party with the king. Eric told me I mustn't worry, but I cannot help it.

Few vampires are old enough to know the energy of a Wolverina on first touch and work out that is what we (just myself and Nina so far) are, this much is true. However, being now so close to one who will know for sure and one who will take me with no questions asked does stir up the dread and fear within me. That is only natural I suppose, the correct emotional response to my safety potentially being put into jeopardy again.

"Tyra, listen to your husband. You're not going to be near the new king on a regular basis at all, so stop worrying he's going to steal you away and gift you to his maker." I say to myself before neatly jumping over a fallen tree branch. I can't live my life in constant fear or worry, so I must try and rid my head of these thoughts. I must apply my usual practical logic to this situation as I always do. To be honest, the chances of Aiko finding out what I am are slim, unless he feels my energy. He isn't going to have a lot of chances to do that either, since he'll only be here one week out of four, and has a lot more to worry about than the wife of his Area 5 sheriff. After Eric introduced me as his wife you could see the king visibly lose interest in me. So there we have it. I'm worrying over something very, very small and should stop it immediately.

"Ouch, motherfuck it!" I exclaim to myself after not concentrating properly and falling over a small tree stump. Example one why I should stop worrying, distracted attention leads you to fall over and graze your elbow, forearm and hand. Picking myself up and dusting off the forest floor debris from my attire I continue my run, and push all the thoughts of the king and his evil maker right to the back of my head. Shutting my mental doors on all of those thoughts and concentrating on what I'm doing, I push on and manage to do a lap of the forest and then another on top of that too. I don't think of the king again throughout the day, not until I'm back at Eric's place with him in the evening and am looking through my dresses in preparation of what to wear for the party. Then after that, the days between then and now just evaporate before my eyes, and before I know it the evening of said party has arrived.

The dress I finally decided on is a beautiful Lanvin creation brought for me by Eric as an extra birthday present last year. It is a strapless satin gown in a very deep shade of turquoise, and sweeps the floor even when I put my heels on. I then spend twenty minutes cursing and tutting as I try and pin all my hair up save a few free sections framing my face. The longer it gets the harder it is to pin up. We're dealing with a thick curtain of waist length hair here after all.

"Have we finished swearing at our hair yet?" Eric asks me from the bathroom door.

"We have." I reply, turning around and winking at him as I fasten my small gold hoop earrings into my ears. I turn to look at him properly and as ever am gratified by such a gorgeous sight. I swear Armani suits fit Eric so well they look like they've been cut specifically with him in mind. Tonight he's wearing a black one with an iron grey shirt, and he looks devastating as usual. After heading upstairs to find Pam waiting for us, resplendent in a pink crystal adorned dress we are all ready to leave, and take Pam's more spacious Porsche Cayenne since three of us cannot fit a sports car. Oddly enough, the king doesn't live in the state capital of Baton Rouge, or the more glitzy city of New Orleans. His Louisiana residence is in Alexandria, just over a hundred miles and two hours from Shreveport. Pam drives, with Eric and me sitting in the back amusing ourselves.

"Stop, give me my finger back," I protest, after stroking it down his cheek and over his lips, and him biting it between his front teeth.

"You shouldn't tease me with it then, should you?" he asks me, moving closer and pulling me onto his lap.

"Oh I could have been more teasing. I could have tickled you here, or here or here as well," I reply, staring him right in the eye as I run my finger across his neck, down his chest and then in a circle around his right nipple through his shirt.

"Now it's your turn to stop, before I fuck you right here on the back seat," he whispers, an aroused sounding rumble of laughter echoing from his throat as he kisses my neck.

"You fuck in my car, you buy it." Pam states dryly from the driver's seat, casting us both an 'I mean it' look in the rear view mirror. We disentangle shortly after that. If sex means crumpling my dress and having to buy a Porsche Cayenne, I think I'd rather wait. When we arrive, there's a hell of a lot of drive to cover before we pull up outside a large grey and white stone mansion. A man in a suit holds out his hand indicating to Pam she should stop, and she duly does just by the many stone steps that lead up to the front door. The smartly dressed valet takes the car, and we ascend the stairs to enter a party holding a few surprise guests within. To my eyes they are, at least.

"Wow, full house," Pam comments as we enter, and we immediately greeted by the king.

"Eric, Mrs Northman, Pamela. Welcome to my home, and I hope you enjoy your evening. As you will note there are refreshments all around, and Mrs Northman there is an extensive buffet table provided for my human guests. I am told the chocolate truffles are to die for." Aiko tells us, a huge grin plastered across his face. He's either both extremely nice and hospitable, or extremely slimy. I haven't worked it out yet, but I will.

"I thank you for a welcome most warm, my king." Eric replies with a little nod of his head, before the king excuses himself to greet more guests. As we enter through the welcome hall and head further into the house, my eyes are everywhere. I have to admit it, the king has exquisite taste. Though the welcome hall the walls are littered with trinkets and art hailing from his homeland, and some of the tapestries look to be double the age of the king. We walk across a solid black marble floor (while I shudder to imagine the price tag of such flooring) and enter the large, well I suppose you'd call it a lounge even though it is the size of a small football pitch, and once within its walls my eyes are drawn to even more beautiful artwork and decoration.

"Champagne, madam?" an immaculately turned Japanese vampire who is dressed as a Geisha asks me, carrying a serving tray neatly balanced upon her fingertips.

"Thank you." I reply, taking a glass from the gold tray she carries. Of course, silver would not do. Smouldering Geisha waitresses are not what the king was aiming for I should imagine. To my right Eric and Pam are being served blood in the same style of champagne flute I am currently clutching, but with a twist. The king has hired blood donors for the evening, all smartly dressed humans with their wrists exposed and a little IV line sticking out of them that is being opened and closed to supply fresh blood right from the source. I can't help but notice Eric pulls a slightly sour face after his first sip of blood, after we've walked away from the donor and Geisha girl.

"Not to your taste?" I enquire, gesturing to his glass.

"I've grown very used to and fond of your blood. Anything else tastes almost alien to me now. It would be like comparing a supermarket chain's own brand of scotch to the finest single malt money could buy," he replies, taking my free hand and kissing it to affirm his point. He continues to drink it though, hiding his displeasure well as he nods at various vampire acquaintances while we continue to walk through the room.

"Oh just so you aren't surprised, there might be a few faces you recognise in attendance tonight," Eric tells me as we come to a stop by a large statue of a Samurai slaying a big golden dragon.

"Well I haven't seen Fabien yet and he's meant to be here. Who else that I know are coming tonight then?" I ask him curiously.

"Ahh, I didn't mean people you know personally, darling. I meant people you will recognise from popular culture who were made vampire. The queen of France for one thing, who is a strong ally of Matsukata, and thus explains why she is here tonight, she has a very famous progeny. I believe he is here with her too. Yes, there he is," Eric replies, gesturing with his glass over to where I see a tall man with his back to us, standing next to an even taller woman with bottom length black hair.

"Who is he, or rather who was...," is as far as my word trail gets as the male vampire suddenly turns around, and I see who he is instantly. Eric stifles a throaty laugh when he sees the look of total shock on my face.

"Do you know him?" I question, just about able to pick my jaw up off the floor.

"I do not, but Pam does if you'd like an introduction? Oh, he's coming over anyway it seems," Eric replies, taking a step back and pushing me closer to Pam. I think this is the first time I've ever been rendered speechless as I watch him, the former singer so sexy he made a generation of women want to light his fire. Never in my life did I expect to be standing here now, face to face with who I thought up until now was the late Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors.

"Pamela, sweetheart," he gushes, embracing her and kissing her cheek several times. "It's been twenty five or more years, much, much too long. You must visit Paris again soon." He then adds, his grey eyes twinkling at her.

"Jim, it's so good to see you and yes, I must come back to Paris. I miss the fashion," she tells him, making him laugh softly.

"I see you still have such a keen eye for clothes, you do look magnificent tonight. Excuse me, sorry hello I'm Jim. Wonderful to meet a friend of Pam," he then tells me, greeting me in much the same way he did Pam, while I feel like my head is about to blow off. Jim Morrison just kissed my cheek three times and hugged me. What?

"H-hello, I'm Tyra, it's nice to meet you," I reply, giggling a little nervously and shaking his hand.

"Tyra, such a beautiful name," he says, smiling at me and making me truly realise why no woman could ever resist him. The charisma just flows from every pore, but still he has that stillness about him that can only be found in vampires. "If you will excuse me, beautiful ladies, but I have a few more acquaintances to catch up with." Jim tells us before walking away. My mind right now equals blown, utterly blown.

"Why didn't you tell me Jim Morrison was a vampire?" I ask Eric as soon as we turn away, Pam being pulled into conversation with another vampire she knows shortly after Jim's departure.

"I didn't tell you because it simply is not my place to reveal the identity of any vampire without their say so. Lest of all the famous people who faked their own deaths when they joined us," he replies, while I nod, feeling myself calming down a bit after the initial shock. I can wager I probably look a little less like a startled fawn now.

"It's certainly made me wonder about any other people who died in mysterious circumstances, or had such surrounding them thereafter. I remember reading somewhere people were suspicious if it was really Jim in the grave at Pierre Lachaise, because it looked too small for a man of his height. I suppose those people were right," I reply as I slide my arm around Eric and feel him return the gesture.

"Is Elvis about to pop up anywhere?" I ask when we've walked through the room a little more, after a few silent seconds.

"No, I think the king most definitely left the building on that night of August 16th 1977. As far as I know, Mr Morrison is the only vampire in attendance who was once a human celebrity. The other I expected to be here isn't, she'd be holding centre stage if she was. I shall not reveal her or any other identities to you for reasons stated earlier though," Eric tells me while I nod understandingly.

"Oh I wouldn't expect you to. On reflection it was wrong of me to demand why you didn't tell me. Everyone has their right to privacy, vampires included," I reply, feeling a little embarrassed that I did demand why I was not told. That was somewhat immature of me, to expect my husband to indulge me in vampire gossip.

"Wrong is too strong a word. You were curious, which is only natural when presented with vampires you assumed were people dead and gone. I don't want you to feel embarrassed, you were excited and I saw that," he tells me, tightening his arm around me. How well our bond allows him to read my inner feelings. It'd be scary if I hadn't come to think of it so sweet. Pam joins us again when we finally stake out a space over by a couple of huge gold vases, talking to each other and keeping a low profile. Eric is here begrudgingly after all, since he isn't very sociable.

"Pam, I have to ask. How did you end up meeting Jim Morrison?" I question her when she's next to me.

"I visited Paris about twenty five years ago, visiting a vampire friend of mine who worked at the court of the queen of France. I attended a ball while I was there, and at that ball I met Jim. He keeps an extremely low profile outside of the vampire world. As far as he's concerned, he's dead in every sense of the world. He didn't want the life he left behind any longer, so if you speak to him again tonight do not mention his music or former life unless he instigates the topic." She explains to me. I can certainly understand that, and I'm glad she told me too. To be honest, very few vampires like to talk about their life as a human. Of course, I know all about Eric's, but Pam for instance I am hazy on the details. I know she was working as a prostitute in Tallahassee when Eric saved her from being murdered by two assailants who robbed and raped her. Much more than that is beyond my knowledge though, and not something I'd pry into.

After about fifteen minutes we are approached by a couple of vampires wanting to talk with Eric, and Pam makes her excuses while I also excuse myself to visit the bathroom. A bathroom I suddenly realize the king might not have, as far as toilets themselves go. No, he must have one surely for any human staff he has. Russell Edgington did after all. There's one way to find out.

"Excuse me, could you point me in the direction of the bathroom please?" I ask one of the elegantly dressed Geisha waitresses. I notice this one is human. I can tell a vampire on sight now.

"Take the hallway to the right of the stairs, it's the eighth door on the left." She replies, pointing back at the large archway we entered the room through. I thank her and set off back across the room, receiving various looks of unveiled disgust along the way. As you know, some vampires are not human friendly at all and even less to humans in relationships with their kind. After exiting the sea of scowls (and the odd admiring look I happily noted too) I head out of the room and across the welcoming hall, down to the hallway where I've been told the bathroom is located. When I enter, I see it is decorated in the same grand splendour that the rest of the mansion I've seen so far is. The floor is still marble but white and grey opposed to black, and it is laid out in a similar fashion to a bathroom you'd expect to find in a bar or club, but smaller.

A line of three sinks face a line of three stalls, and there is a large wall at the opposing end entirely covered with a huge mirror filling out the space to every corner. I think I just got an idea for how I'd like my new and improved bathroom to look once we begin making firm plans. Upon entering the end toilet stall I turn and lock the door, but before going about my business of relieving my bladder I cannot help but be distracted by the sound of voices coming into the bathroom quite clearly. I turn around, and when I look up I notice a metal grate covering an air vent above the toilet itself. This is where the voices are coming from, the sound being carried through the vent from wherever they are above me.

Just before I return to my intended business and figure it is nosey to listen in on conversations I am no part of, I cannot help but feel my ears prick at a name I hear mentioned. Mailloux is not a common name, but it was amongst certain more northern Native American tribes a few hundred years ago. It also happens to be the surname of one dark haired Mohawk descendant I know called Fabien. Shutting the lid first I climb on top of the toilet and put my ear against the grate so I can hear more clearly.

"...yes, Mailloux recovered the information for me. Turns out they are newly married, he uncovered the marriage certificate from the Queensland office they registered at, and by his own admission he married them in a vampire ceremony when they arrived home. He is qualified to do so, I checked that myself. I would try to tap him for more information, but my other sources do tell me he is close to Northman. Whether or not he is in on all of this, I do not know."

That is the first part of the conversation I catch, those words spoken by Aiko the king himself. It is now that I take my cell phone from my small clutch style bag and quickly search it for the voice recording feature on there. I locate it, quietly and gently lift the grate and then slide my phone inside it and press record to capture the next part of the conversation.

"Northman is close to few, so I would imagine Mailloux is in the know. I take it you are dropping him from your investigation team because of this association with Northman?" I hear a second voice, one I do not recognise asking the king.

"Yes, he is too close to Northman. He could hide information from me too easily to protect him. Have you seen Mrs Northman yet this evening? Have you had a chance to assess her, Rothman? How does she seem to you, in herself?" Aiko then asks. Rothman, that's the name of his Louisiana associate. Quentin Rothman.

"I have, and to be honest she looks perfectly content. He could have her bewitched though...," is as far as Quentin gets before there is a knock at the door.

"My king, it is time for your speech and toast to your audience." A female voice says softly after Aiko has called 'come' in reply to her knock. That is where the conversation ends, leaving me standing here on top of a toilet, retracting my arm from the vent and wondering to myself.

"What on earth was that all about?" I question quietly after I've stopped recording the conversation coming through the vent, and have gotten off the top of the toilet to use it for its originally intended function. What was all of that about indeed?