Chapter 70: Tell Me So

Her gown fell on the floor the second the bedroom lock closed. She wanted him desperately. More than money, more than power, more than oxygen itself. Olivia didn't kiss him, she devoured him. In the dark, the bass vibrated through the floor as they stumbled over each other toward the bed. His tongue drew poetry down her neck and she relished every word.

I love you.

There was no denying it was all she wanted to hear. It was all she wanted for as long as she remembered, to be truly loved. Eric knew what she was, who she was down to her bones. He loved her beauty and her darkness, her magic and her humanity. He loved her wholly.

And just for tonight, she would let him.

Her hands sloppily removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. His pants fell to the floor too. The room was dark, but the garden's light shone through the open curtains. Eric's body was a vision as always. Lean and muscular, with the perfect Adonis belt. His skin was covered with faint scars of battles fought millennia ago. All the scars Eric accrued since had been marked in his soul. The deepest one was made by the crown he bore.

Power had a price, and love did too. It was one he was willing to pay, she understood that now.

I love you.

Eric pulled her to the large soft bed and she fell on top of him, straddling his hips on her knees, towering over him only a little. Even sitting he was tall. His hands eagerly travelled all over her body, from grabbing her ass, to her breasts, to a handful of her hair as they kissed.

She could feel the sharpness of his teeth on her lips. She caressed his fangs with her tongue, sending shivers up his spine and a muffled moan was stuck in his throat. Without being able to be apart for much longer, his masterful hands tripped her balance and made her sit tight on his lap. She writhed her hips against him, and she could feel how hard he was for her. The wanting was unbearable.

Desire coursed through her veins, taking over any type of restraint or sanity. When he entered her it was full bliss. His left arm snaked around her back clamping her at the waist while his right thumb massaged firm circles in her most sensitive parts. He gently rocked her back and forth ever so slightly, balancing her delicately but fucking her thoroughly. Pleasure built up quickly, coiling deep inside her. His sapphire blue eyes watched her every move, and her every breath as if trying to memorize her every detail. The curve of her neck, the way her chest quickly rose and fell, how her body tensed up slowly. Olivia loved how Eric watched her. How he devoured her with eyes as much as he did with his mouth. But she much preferred it when he did it like this, up close, not from across some ballroom.

I love you.

Slowly, Eric tilted her body back, his thumb moving faster against her wetness. He lowered his chin and covered the tip of her breast with his mouth, his tongue massaging it gently. Olivia grabbed his shoulders, writhing her hips against him with a desperate need, pressure building inside her like a forest fire out of control. When she looked down his eyes gazed up at her, The vampire King watched her intently with a smirk on the corner of his lips, like a predator enjoying biding his time for the perfect time to strike.

When the blissful release came, exploding out of her, his fangs pierced her breast delicately and he drank from her. Her whole body trembled again at his bite, becoming undone all over again. It was so maddening she forgot to breathe for almost too long. When Olivia came back down Eric still held her tightly in place, taking her blood sip after sip, savouring each drop as if she were the finest meal he had in a thousand years.

He was completely lost on her.

She caressed his hair, feeling his tongue lick every drop of her. She hoped and prayed that he could taste how she felt. That he could feel everything her heart wanted to say. Putting one of her hands on his knee for leverage, she moved her hips again in slow circles. Eric squeezed her tighter, letting a guttural moan escape him. She loved him in ways words would never suffice. She loved his beauty, and his darkness, his humanity and monstrousness.

Olivia wished they could both stay here in this dark room forever, away from all the troubles that awaited on the other side of these walls. Olivia never wanted them to be found. She wanted the whole world to forget they existed. For all the crimes, the blood, the responsibility, vampires and werewolves, all her problems and all the money - every single cent of it - to simply vanish. Olivia wanted all of it to go away, so they could be just this. So she could say it back. Those final words would finally bind their fates forever.

I love you

too.

Eric regretted coming back downstairs the moment he stepped outside of her bedroom. It was addictive - being with her. Her smell, her taste, her blood. The warmth of her skin, the way she moaned his name softly but desperately between breaths. How her body quivered with each orgasm, as it melted against him once they were done. How her hair felt between his fingers made Nirvana seem like a joke.

Although she did not say I love you back with words, he felt it in her body. He heard it in her heartbeat, coming alive with the sound of his confession. He felt her love through her eager hands grasping him desperately, never wanting to let him go. She loved him as her body clung to him until she fell completely asleep. He saw it in her eyes and tasted it in her deep, demanding kisses. He felt in it on their undeniable bond, the strongest magic he had ever known.

He just hoped that one day she could break free from whatever was holding her back from saying the words. That one day she would let him in her heart fully, and accept him as hers.

As Olivia slept nuzzled against his chest, her breath smelled like boozy cherry and almond cream. He could feel the alcohol from her blood now coursing through his own veins, making him feel heavy and loose, and everything sat more still and more quiet in the dark room. It made the world outside more distant. He enjoyed every second of it, even though it was brief. Duty called.

Being a little drunk was perhaps the only way he could stomach the rest of the night. After healing his bite wounds on her naked breast, Eric gently got up trying not to disturb her slumber. He dressed quietly in the dark, not caring about the faint wrinkles on his expensive suit. Before returning to the goddamn hellscape downstairs Eric took one last look at his Olivia, trying to memorize this moment. Her hair fanned out over the silk pillow, and she snored lightly in the middle of the sheets tousled all over her. The noise of the party below did not bother her at all, the champagne and the sex had lulled her into a sweet, sweet dream. Her relaxed expression was the most beautiful he had seen her. He wondered if she was dreaming of him giving her the sword. He hoped that one day, if some insane circumstance brought by divine intervention made this dream true, that she would accept it.

Eric held his head high as he emerged from the dark hallways into the red light.

Being on top of the world, as he had learned, was usually unjustly brief. And Eric knew, the second he stepped out of the threshold of her room, that he was making his way down. The question was: how deep was he about to go?

As he skirted around the dancefloor, he ignored the rumouring whispers and glances from nosy guests, hypothesizing where he had been and with whom. But her paid no mind.

It was time to face the music. Eric caught his silver eyes across the room. His ancient, two-thousand-year-old eyes. They were the last thing Eric remembered seeing while alive. With their gazes locked, they had entire conversations across the room. Three hundred years' worth of unspoken rage, hurt, love and devotion over a matter they had yet to settle.

Godric saw greatness in Eric from the moment he laid eyes on him in the middle of a Viking siege in a village somewhere in Britannia. The boy loved nothing but blood, death and the horrific glories of battle. Godric had left society entirely after killing his own Maker in Rome. He spend decades living freely in the forest as a mystical, but feral animal. Eric didn't quite know - and probably never would - if it was entirely by choice. His Maker had destroyed everything trace of humanity within him. He was tortured, broken, assaulted and experimented on. Treated less than the lowest servant, or a toy to play with. He was a sadistic experiment, done by the most twisted mind that had crossed the Earth. So when Godric turned to the forest, it wouldn't surprise him if it was because he believed himself to be an animal. A curious predator, enthralled by his prey.

Godric inconspicuously followed Viking invaders from the moment he could see their ships on the horizon until the last of them stood, watching them overtake the country from the trees, then feasting on the trails of fresh kills his ancestors left behind. Maybe he liked the violence. He liked watching humans behaving like animals such as himself.

Godric followed Eric's expedition, ransacking and rummaging village after village until Eric took an axe to his ribs. His fellow Vikings brothers were dragging his wounded body across the woods back to their camp when Eric, starved and running a fever, accepted his fate of death.

It was only then that Godric had made himself known. The inhuman ancient beast followed the trail of his blood splatters in mud. Godric delivered him a different type of death entirely. From that night forward, his Maker always told him of the remarkable greatness he saw in Eric. How his body moved, how he could see his brain anticipate his enemies' moves before they even thought of it. How he climbed like a panther, stalked soldiers like a wolf, and retaliated blows like a vicious bear. Of how his ocean-blue eyes instilled fear in men as if Eric were an eminent being. He saw an animal, much like himself.

Godric knew Eric was meant for the divine, for the holy immortality. And not once Eric regretted giving himself to his Maker. He received a father, a brother, a son, all the things he had lost plus so much more than he could imagine. Unimaginable strength, speed, and stamina. He could see all the stars in the sky, and taste the divinity of life in the sweetest of bloods.

Creating Eric fundamentally changed Godric. It was only a few years after that, once Eric was no longer a newborn, that Godric installed himself back into society and left behind the life of wildness. He had found a new purpose for himself, in his divine childe. And for seven hundred years, they were great. They manipulated Kings, Queens and the elite society like chess pieces on a board. They toyed with armies, ended wars and started revolutions. Together they spilled so much blood it could fill the Caspian Sea. But just like the wilderness, Eric could watch Godric growing bored. Living in supreme luxury, drinking freely, fucking plenty, breaking hearts, and manipulating the humans around them like pawns on a board, and everything Godric so-called to be Eric's grand fate became lacklustre. Or worse - that Godric became to grow bored of the creature he made.

So when it came time for his release, Eric could not help but feel betrayed. He followed every rule, obeyed every command and for all accounts became everything his Maker dreamed of, but yet, his silver eyes lacked joy. Eric recalled the catastrophic argument they had in his office the last time he saw him in Dallas, after his mysterious disappearance. His words were still a wound that bled.

I am sorry for not loving you better. I am sorry for only nurturing the darker veins in you, and for cutting off the softer ones. I am sorry for selfishly making you think that I was all there was to be loved. I'm sorry for grooming you for power, for moulding you into ruthlessness and deceitfulness. I'm sorry for teaching you to find comfort in vengeance, blood and tears. I'm sorry if I made you think I was a role model to be followed.

I am sorry that I made you think being a child of death was something to be joyful of.

Every word. Eric painfully remembered every fucking word.

As if they were still connected, they both moved in the same direction from across the room. They ambled between the crowd of vicious guests toward the West Wing. A guard opened the library door and closed it once both of them were inside and alone.

Out of all the rooms in the palace, Eric was not particularly fond of this one. The library's newest book was printed in 1958, so its collection was ridiculously out of date. It seemed that the previous regent was frozen in a time capsule of her own making, still living in the golden age of capitalism - which made sense considering how exorbitant she lived.

Although at least aesthetically, the library was still warm and inviting. French-inspired furniture, bookshelves lining all three walls, and a hand-carved stone mantel adorned the lit fireplace which flooded the room with flickering warm light.

Godric stood by the grand windows on the south wall, facing the rose garden. The grounds were meticulously landscaped in ornamental straight lines, in classic 17th-century French design. Sophie-Anne had good taste for some things.

"Is this room secure?" Godric asked, finally looking back at him.

"I've had three different companies sweep the entire palace place for bugs, which I now realize I'll have to do it all over again after the coronation. But no one passed through these doors without my presence. That, I am sure of."

Godric nodded, his face showing only a hint of satisfaction. He had always been anal about security, a trait Eric thankfully picked up. It wasn't luck that Godric made it in this world for so long. It was a carefully calculated measure.

"I've seen you've been busy," he said unceremoniously.

The fact that Godric could have meant a thousand different things was precisely why they needed to have this conversation. "Never a dull moment around here," Eric replied, hearing the library door shut behind him.

"Miss Carson seems to be quite involved in these… Moments," Godric took a seat on an antique settee.

Eric did not care for his question, whatever the intent was behind it. His guard went up on the defensive. "She has never asked for my blood, not once, if that's what you are implying."

Godric flashed his eyebrows. "You are a thousand years old, and you are… You."

"I am painfully aware. But she is not mine for superficial reasons. It's not how our bond works," Eric said it confidently as if he were sure how this ancient magic worked.

He didn't.

"Indeed," Godric turned to look at him with his beautiful silver eyes and held his gaze for a very long time. The faintest smirk grew on the corner of his mouth. "Soulwalking is unlike any vampiric bond I've ever heard."

Soulwalking. Sharing dreams, and glimpses of your soul to your soulmate. Your biggest dreams and desires, what your soul most deeply craved. It was old arcane magic, found in some sort of legend or another in almost all cultures. From Vikings, and ancient Romans, to Masaais, Persians, Egyptians, Xia Dynasties and native tribes across the Americas - it was a myth as real as the existence of vampires.

Pieces fell together, his thoughts swirling rapidly in his brain. That was why Olivia wanted to know what her dreams meant - because her dreams weren't hers, they were his.

Which begged the question: what did Olivia dream of? What did she so deeply want?

Eric's eyes fled to the fire crackling. The question he wanted the most was inside his conscience all along. If only he slept during the day like he ought to, instead of playing human in sunlight.

He imagined what she would most want. Part of him was scared of what he would find. "Something like that," Eric murmured.

"It almost eclipses the fact that you, Eric Northman, blood of my blood, is King." Godric's smile grew wide in pride.

There were so many devastatingly lonely nights, not that long ago, when Eric yearned for Godric's approval. But now that he seemingly had it, he was hesitant to accept it. There was far too much that Godric did not yet know. The secrets mulled over in his mouth, twisted and ugly, bursting to come out. Vile secrets that could enrage and disappoint him… Or, bring the Godric that he once knew, the Godric who loved him, back.

"Have you chosen what they'll call you yet? Who will proceed Sophie-Anne 'The Lucky'? A lot of eager minds out there are waiting to see what you do next."

Eric was thankful he would dodge this existential question for a little longer.

"As much as I'd love to tell you all about my extremely well-thought-out leadership philosophies, there are more pressing matters you must know," Eric stiffened on his antique seat.

Godric's silver eyes lazered focused solely on Eric. It had been almost three hundred years since that boy looked at him like this. Slowly, his Maker sat on the settee across from him, his shoulders lit by the pale moonlight shining through the garden windows. For centuries Eric wished to be seen again by those very eyes, and now their glimmer was more than he could bear.

Words came out pouring out of his mouth as if he had opened the floodgates of a dam. Secrets, murders, crimes, blood, feuds, plots and schemes cascaded off his lips so intensely Eric wasn't even sure if he could stop, or if he could ever stop.

He explained how the Queen's financial predicaments (along with her incompetency) had led them to distribute V. He told him how her never ending greed coerced them to become this unstoppable force. From the backdoor deals with the Governor to shake the DEA off their backs, to the birth of the Casino, to the series of toppling dominos that proceeded it.

Despite anticipating Godric's full-blown disapproval, Eric couldn't help but feel pride in every tale he told. No enemy was too grand for his bloodline. Pamela, Olivia and Eric were an Empire in itself, and not one to be fucked with. Even if it would disappoint his Maker, Eric did not care. He realized he didn't seek his approval any longer. He had her. He had his own bloodline, in his own right. That was his greatness, and the reason he was telling Godric any of this was to help him keep Pamela and Olivia protected. Their safety was all that mattered.

Godric stood perfectly still, processing every infraction, each bigger than the previous one. His loyalty wavering between Maker and Chancellor at each crime. Then, it became time to tell how Eric decimated Steven Newlin and his cult, and how he hunted Patrick Furnan's collaborators down during the daytime - turning predators into prey. But the words suddenly died on his lips. Eric took a breath, then, carefully crafted a narrative that wasn't necessarily a lie - he just omitted a lot of the truth.

See, Eric was ready to confess all his sins but one. The fact that he was no longer what his Maker had made a thousand years ago with his own blood and life.

Perhaps it was the lack of courage, or that he couldn't predict the consequences of telling him that Olivia made him more than just hers. That they could do more than just soul walk. She had turned Eric into something else entirely. Something that could touch sunlight and not burn. Not quite vampire, but still inhuman. An abomination that angered Gods and broke the skies, something that not even forgotten myths had quite a word for. Eric was no longer forged in death but in love.

Eric couldn't pinpoint exactly why he couldn't tell Godric just yet, but he knew in his bones this wasn't the right occasion. For a fleeting moment, he feared what the right circumstances would be. So, Eric skimmed over the details. He just killed the Newlins and his followers, along with Patrick and his wolves. Which then, in turn, gave birth to his new current problem: Alcide Hervaux being the new Longtooth pack leader with more than just a chip on his shoulder.

Call it luck (and it most definitely wasn't), but his white lies didn't even make a ripple in this shitstorm. Because having the Magister snoop around the V business, and Eric and Olivia subsequently killing off Sophie-Anne was a tsunami wave that made the previous murders look like pebbles thrown in a puddle. Once Eric was done confessing, Godric remained unmoving, unblinking, and unbreathing.

Three eternities later, Godric's brows finally pinched together, giving his final opinion. "Why in the world… Would you tell me all of this?"

Eric was both relieved and confused that Godric didn't snap his head clean off his body. Hopefully, he wasn't just delaying the inevitable. "The Authority and the Magister are holding a hearing tomorrow night. An inquiry about the vampire blood and Sophie-Anne's death-"

"Yes, I am aware. But why would you compromise me? You know the position I hold."

"With all due respect Godric," Eric leaned forward on his seat. "Not telling you would compromise you. I couldn't just let you walk into the inquiry tomorrow without knowing the whole truth."

"And now you expect me to get you out of this," the air almost tickled with static as his ancient revibrated through the room. But his wrath scared him no longer.

"For centuries you wanted me to find greatness. Turns out, it comes at a cost."

And Eric was not going to pay for it alone.

"What you are asking me is just shy of treason."

"Just shy of treason is politics," Eric raised his brows, defiantly. "And I am King."

The two locked eyes as if neither were capable of looking away. The deep bass of the party revibrated through the floorboards, pulsing like a living heart. Voices and laughter of every powerful vampire in the continent echoed through the hallways. They came to celebrate Eric's reign just as much as Sophie-Anne's death. It would serve him well to remember that alliances are easily washable, like spilled blood off polished floors.

"You told me one story tonight. What will I hear tomorrow?" Godric asked finally.

Excitement danced in Eric's chest, but he tried to still it. He didn't know how or even if Godric would help him at all. He took a gamble he had confessed his sins to Godric, his Maker - not Godric the Chancellor. It was too late to turn back now.

"Bill Compton and Sophie-Anne collaborated on the sale and distribution of V through Silk Road."

"Silk Road?"

"Dark web Ebay."

"And the money?"

"Mostly Bit Coin. Untraceable to the untrained eye."

He raised his brow. "And I suppose Miss Carson is the trained eye?"

"Like a fucking sniper."

Godric stood up and started pacing back and forth on the Moroccan rug as he asked another hundred questions. He was in. For a moment, he felt like the clock had turned back five hundred years, and the world was theirs again.

"And the regicide?"

"Honour killing. I could not let her live another moment having committed such an abhorrent blasphemy."

He waved his hand. "Okay, lay off the preaching. If I don't buy it, they won't either."

"She threatened to kill Olivia if I stopped selling."

Godric stopped walking. That detail had caught his attention. It wasn't that far off the truth either. "No. They'll make her testify."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Eric said with his chest full of pride. He was excited for Godric to see what she could do. Like, really do.

"You're-"

"Olivia already knows. She'll be there."

"And she agreed to come to a Vampire court willingly?" The shadows on Godric's face deepened.

"Yes," he nodded, the excitement in his chest slowing to a halt.

The Vampire court was led by Magister, but an Inquiry was more like a Grand Jury, and overseen by the Vampire Authority. Although, he knew Alonso would be present, which certainly upped the degree of seriousness of the charges brought forth. But the Vampire justice system did not work much like the human one. It was the same amount of bullshit, just in a different flavour. Having a human present was rare, and it usually did not end very well for them.

His Maker stood, buttoning his suit. "If she's agreed to attend, it is only because you lied to her about her fate. Alonso is going to eat her fucking alive if he gets to question her."

"Olivia can handle him," Eric said, his words turning the blood in his stomach into ice. He knew he would keep her safe, no matter the cost.

His Maker shook his head, and his disappointment tasted familiarly bitter. "Even if I help you out of this maze you've lost yourself in, I'm afraid you've signed her death sentence, my Childe."

Eric stood at once, towering over the ancient boy. "You are wrong."

Godric's silver eyes stung. "The Magister will torture the truth out of her and have fun doing it. And if she doesn't die, you'll wish that she did."

"You have no idea what she's capable of - of what we are capable of," Eric raved.

Godric make his way to the door, knowing that this conversation was over and final. The ancient vampire had the power of writing fate with his words, but Eric did not believe them to be true - not this time. Eric and Olivia had made it too far to only make this far. Inches away from touching the door, Eric spoke the words as if they could freeze time. As if they could undo 300 years of hurt.

"I love her, Godric."

He stopped, hand hovering over the door handle.

"If you really believe that, then I know what they'll call the Louisiana King after all," the firelight flickered and made his shadow tremble. Godric's head turned, and his expression was the same as it was three hundred years ago. "Eric, the Cruel."

"I had a dream last night," Eric spoke as soon as she woke up.

Eric had gone to bed not too long after his private conversation with Godric. His words had instilled self-doubt and fear in a way only a Maker could. He wanted to bury and forget those silver eyes, so he closed his own and buried himself in a sparkling fantasy: her.

He rejoined Olivia, embraced her warm body and hid under the silk sheets as if they were powerful enough to keep him safe from the horrors awaiting them. Her sweet champagne-filled breathing and calm beating heart pulled in into a strange and deep sleep for a few hours. When he reopened his eyes, the morning light was bright white. Her hand caressed his arm, she looked happy and so lost in thought she didn't even notice that he had woken up.

Her big brown eyes shot up at his words, sparkling in curiosity. Not wanting to disappoint her, he tried to hold onto the quickly fading memories, details melting away as he tried to recall them.

She rolled over, naked on her belly, and propped herself up on her elbows. Olivia hesitated for a second before asking. "So?"

"I dreamed of Christmas, I think."

Olivia laughed a beautiful, soft laugh. "If I'm wearing Santa lingerie I don't want to hear it."

What do you dream of? She had asked him so ardently. With a tinge not of necessity, but borderline desperation. And the more he replayed the oddly mundane images in his head, the more confused he became. He didn't want to disappoint her, but he also knew there was something strangely too vivid about what he had witnessed. Soulwaking, he remembered.

"You weren't, unfortunately," he sighed.

Eric tried to think of every detail, trying to capture the essence and the feeling of it, still so real as if it were a memory. "I had cut down a fir tree. Then later you and I started decorating it, hanging pieces of silver tinsel on it."

She looked at him with undivided attention. Her head tilted slightly. "How retro."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I've never actually done it. But you were bossing me around. Apparently, there are a million wrong ways to decorate a tree."

A small smile slipped out of the corner of her mouth.

"And this wasn't your house, or mine. It was a tiny Tudor-looking house in the suburbs. It had a small living room, with a lot of Sears-looking furniture, nothing fancy. And we weren't alone."

Her brows knitted together. "We weren't?"

"No. There was a hockey game playing on TV, and there was an older man on the couch watching it. Stalky, shaved head. He was not happy, I think his team was losing. He yelled at the TV in a weird Irish accent I could barely understand."

Her smile subdued, and her pupils grew wider. "What else?"

"There was also an older woman with blonde graying hair. She kept bringing boxes upon boxes up from the basement with more Christmas decorations, and I kept telling her it couldn't possibly all fit on the tree, and the two of you were laughing at me because apparently, the laws of physics didn't apply to fir trees."

"What else?" Olivia asked again.

"We weren't listening to Christmas songs, which I thought was weird since humans have this unexplainable obsession with the same 20 songs for, but it was Bruce Springsteen-"

"Then what?" She wanted more.

Eric started to fish for more details. "The walls were covered with pictures. Some were of you and me, but it was mostly people I didn't know. There were a lot of trophies in the China cabinet, yours I think."

Her expression was frozen, her brown eyes looked at him deeply, and she didn't move an inch. She didn't even breathe.

"Then more people showed up. Another woman, who looked a lot like the other one. Maybe they were sisters? And a guy around your age. You two seemed close since you roasted each other a lot. We had dinner. I obviously didn't eat anything, but there was so much food I think we could have fed my entire Viking village. Everyone talked loudly, drank a lot, cursed a lot, fought and laughed and ate far too much. I felt like a part of that tribe, whoever they were. It was nice, in a weird way. You seemed really, really happy."

Her breathing was full and slow, but her heart was beating out of control, like war drums. Suddenly, she shot out of bed, planting her feet floor. "Well, that sounds nice."

Olivia crossed the room and put on a silk white robe, covering her beautiful bare body as if in a hurry to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To the kitchens, to get some water," and her small body quietly slid out of the room before he could say another word.

The room was quiet once again. He stretched, contemplating maybe sleeping a little more. But his heart whispered that something was wrong. It felt as if something had been ripped away from him.

He heard a noise come from outside, doors bursting open. Footsteps on the patio bricks, bare feet running. Then thumps on the grass. Eric got up and approached the bedroom windows, peeking between the curtains down at the back gardens.

The white swan was outside, not in the kitchens. He could see her on the carpet of luscious grass, the edges of the robe draping her body soaking the morning dew. Olivia had buckled to the ground, falling to her knees, hunched over and hands holding her chest as if her heart had fallen out of it. A painful sob escaped her throat, but only once. She covered her mouth with her hands, and her body rocked back and forth, trembling to contain all the sorrow inside.

His heart broke at her pain. He wished he had lied earlier, about the dream. He wished he could take it back, and kept her joy for himself.

Soulwalking. Her deepest desires - Eric witnessed it, but knew he didn't quite fully grasp its meaning or importance, or why she wanted to know it so badly. In fact, sometimes it felt as if he knew nothing about her at all. But whatever it was, it meant everything to her, it was something that brought her a different kind of pain.

Whatever it was Olivia wanted the most, whatever she wished the hardest - it didn't matter how many enemies they defeated, how many sins they hid, much money they made, or how much power they accrued… Olivia would never get what she dreamed of.

There were no winners in this Wicked Game.

AN

Hey I'm alive lol sorry for the lack of updates, grad school is just NEXT LEVEL that's all haha I hope everyone is having a good summer!

Here's an ENTIRE ERIC CHAPTER to make up for it! Next on the docket: MORE TROUBLE!

xoxo

Spice