Absolute silence, save for the roar of the wind in Eric's ears. It should have been pure bliss after the past few hours spent in the company of a bunch of people he'd rather not be with. Instead, it gave him plenty of time to worry about Lucifer and what had happened.

For instance—why had Lucifer suddenly become vulnerable, after the rest of the humans in Bill's mansion had passed out? What was Betty's plan with him? Was she tasting his blood now, while the devil was still incapacitated, or was she waiting until he woke up so she could enjoy his fear, as well? Why the hell was Bill there—and why had the Queen made Bill call Eric on Lucifer's phone? There were multiple layers of power plays in just that one action alone, and it was messing with Eric's mind.

On a good day, he usually hated Bill—but the usual amount of hate. There were many reasons he couldn't stand Bill—how Bill acted when he was with his maker, Lorena; the fact that Bill had claimed Sookie as his own; the even more despicable fact that Bill had hunted her on purpose without telling Eric what she was, keeping information from his Sheriff when Bill was still just a lowly commoner. Not to mention that he was now the damn King. There were so many reasons to detest the man.

But they were normal reasons, forgivable things.

But if Bill was in cahoots with Betty White?

That was more than unforgivable. Even if nothing happened to Lucifer, if he got there and could get the devil out of the Queen's nest no worse for wear, Bill still would have willingly put the devil at risk. And for what? Eric couldn't figure that part out. What did Bill have to gain, trying to take Lucifer away from Eric?

Nothing, as far as Eric could tell. Unless there would be some kind of mutual benefit between the two vampire kingdoms. But Eric didn't think that was likely. It hadn't gone well last time they tried it.

If it were, though . . .

As soon as he had Lucifer safely tucked away, Eric would have absolutely no issue tearing the entire vampire world apart to gain his revenge upon those who would try to hurt the devil. And he would.

He'd start with Betty fucking White and he'd end with Bill goddamned Compton.

Maybe he would die trying, but at least he'd be dying for a worthy reason—not because he just ignored some batty old lady's wishes. He'd be protecting Lucifer; protecting him from the blood-thirsty predators that would kill to drink a single drop of his burning, delicious blood. Eric couldn't have that; he couldn't have other vampires tasting Lucifer, passing him around like a bottle of hooch. He was special, a cool glass of wine at dinner with your soulmate.

So again—why was Lucifer kidnapped? And how? Back to the beginning, his thoughts like windmills, forever turning, over and over.

So the silence wasn't exactly as peaceful as he thought it would be—not with all of those thoughts pissing him off. Hell, being annoyed by Sookie might have been better than this. Instead, he was flying through space, worried out of his fucking mind about Lucifer.

All of that changed though when raw, white-hot emotions seemed to light up inside him, burning in his chest and battling to get out of his mind. They weren't his own, but they paired well with how he was feeling. And they were so strong. Lucifer, it seemed, had woken up. And he'd woken up livid. It had been one thing feeling Lucifer's emotions with just one tiny drop of Eric's blood in the man. It was another thing entirely after having properly established that blond bond.

Just like when he had been taking blood from the man, Eric was almost living the devils emotions. A kaleidoscope of surprise, embarrassment, anger, worry, and blind rage seemed to spiral through him, urging him to reach top vampire speed as he flew through the night toward Los Angeles. He suddenly found himself thinking in shades of red—no longer wracked with worry, he was consumed by someone else's rage.

That foreign anger continued to fuel his own and as the lights of Los Angeles finally appeared, he tuned into those raging emotions, dividing them from his own to head directly toward them. Lucifer, a man who felt everything to the fullest, was like a bright beacon of sunlight in the middle of a dark sea—impossible to miss.

It was hardly surprising when Eric found his way to Betty White's shining white mansion in the Hollywood Hills neighbourhood. It made sense that the Queen would keep her home and her prison under the same roof—Bill did it too. Hell, even Eric was living in the same place he used to keep his prisoners. What better way to feed on your captives than simply rolling out of bed and walking down to your dungeon, after all?

What was surprising though was the fact that there were no guards waiting for Eric as he dropped down to the perfectly manicured lawn. He would have thought Betty would be expecting him. Especially since Bill had had the audacity to call him, no doubt in the presence of his fellow royal vampire. Eric had had a few hours in the air to think about Bill's words and he'd decided that while Bill hadn't outright said where he was, he had given away the location on purpose, with his subtle wording. Whether Bill was secretly giving the information away with Betty's blessing or not, the Queen should have been waiting for Eric. She'd stolen Lucifer after all, and despite her telling him he was off limits, Eric considered the man his. And she fucking knew that.

And yet there was no one outside.

Eric walked off the lawn and up the circular drive toward the front door. All the lights were on in the snow white mansion, just like before. There was a slew of cars in the drive, including the ones he'd seen before—although Lucifer's Corvette was missing. But that made sense; they couldn't possibly have driven it all the way to Los Angeles in time and who the hell would think to fly the car over? That car was somewhere between Bon Temps and Los Angeles, and Eric hoped he'd be able to get Lucifer safe enough that the devil could worry about his wheels.

Eric found the door to the house to be locked and not bothering with niceties, he broke the damn thing down with a swift and vampiric kick. He was prepared to walk into the house with guns blazing, so to speak. He was strung tight, expecting guns pointed at him and humans and vampires alike to be yelling at him to stand the fuck down. Yet again he was met with—nothing. No guards in the hall waiting for him. No alarm sounding. No . . . nothing.

It was oddly unnerving. Was Betty so cocksure that she didn't think she needed to prepare for him? Surely she should have some respect for the danger Eric could pose—he was only a lowly Sheriff when it came to the political side of things, but he was over a thousand years old, with Viking experience to boot. You'd think she'd want some protection, at the very least so she wouldn't have to deal with him herself.

But no, there was absolutely no one.

Lucifer's rage was still settled beneath his breastbone and Eric stepped over the broken door and into the house, searching the grand foyer for any signs of where the man might be in the expansive house. While there were no guards to greet him, it became apparent very quickly why. The beautiful chandelier that had hung over the white grand piano had fallen, crystal teardrops everywhere and the piano sadly its casualty, a mess of white gloss and splinters in the centre of the room. Paintings along the walls were ripped to shreds and there was a shockingly large amount of blood sprayed against one of the grand stairways, telling Eric at least one vampire had succumbed to the raging devil that they'd been keeping hostage.

Eric looked up the stairs, wondering what had happened and where Lucifer was now. Wherever he was, he was still pissed. Had they simply moved him—with a few victims to his anger as they went—or was he wandering the mansion, killing as he found people? Eric knew the feeling of blinding white rage quite well and his chest tightened, realizing they had yet another thing in common—a short fuse when it came to controlling their tempers.

Eric slowly walked around the wreckage of the piano and chandelier, crystal shards crunching beneath his boot heels as he went. He looked up at the ceiling, seeing the hole where the chandelier had once been, exposed wires dangling as if reaching out for the light they had once been connected to. How the hell had the light fallen? What on earth had gone on here?

When he crossed the threshold into the hall that led deeper into the house, Eric found the first human guards. They sure weren't guarding anything, though. Both were slumped against the wall in a sitting position, leaning against each other, unconscious. It almost looked as though someone had grabbed them both by the head and slammed them together. Eric didn't bother checking them, he could hear their heartbeats just fine—perhaps they were concussed but they weren't about to die. Perhaps Lucifer could control the rage just enough to avoid killing everyone he touched. Better self control than Eric's, that was for sure.

He could hear sobbing from the kitchen. He paused in the doorway to see the place a complete mess. Blood and flour and clementines everywhere. Eric frowned, seeing the chef sitting in a corner, crying. He couldn't decide if the blood belonged to someone freshly dead or had been donated for a vampiric meal. The chef didn't seem injured despite her previously white clothes being completely drenched in red, but she was crying like her world was ending. Perhaps she was mourning the state of her professional kitchen, though. It really was trashed beyond all recognition. Not caring either way, he moved on, looking into rooms as he headed toward the back den where they'd met with Betty just a few weeks previous.

He stopped at the large double doors into the ballroom, staring at yet another chandelier crashed to the floor. There were people hurt in there as well, and seeing them huddled together made him think this was where everyone was congregating after being beaten into submission—which begged the question—where the fuck was Lucifer? It seemed he'd gone on a rampage, but aside from the sobbing cook, the house was dead quiet. Rather than going into the lavish room with its wall of windows and its group of hurt humans and vampires alike, Eric kept going, heading for the den with its view of the pool.

He was disappointed when he got there—no Betty White, no Bill Compton, and certainly no Lucifer Morningstar. Eric growled low in his throat, looking at the wall where Betty's awards had been. Instead, they littered the floor, the wall-to-wall shelving destroyed by an incredible feat of strength. Eric crossed the room to see most of the awards were still in one piece, but a few of the more fragile ones were like dust upon the floor, glass glittering in the plush carpet. Eric had a sneaking suspicion that it was Betty's body that had hit the wall, the strength behind the throw angelic. He knelt down to pick up one of the awards, knowing he should hate the woman who had won the hearts of America—and who had stolen his lover from him. But it was hard to when everyone, everyone, was conditioned to love the woman like their grandmother.

It hurt—knowing that she had been the one to kidnap Lucifer.

Yes, he'd known from the moment he met her that she was as ruthless as any vampire he'd met, perhaps more so. And she held the sort of power that Eric loathed—the kind that could pin him down and make him squirm. She hadn't been like Bill; she was formidable. A real Queen, in the real sense of the word. Not just a title slapped on by a council of self-appointed leaders. The sort of person who relished controlling her subjects—especially if she could do it with a smile on her face and the person none the wiser.

But it hadn't worked on Eric—when had he ever willingly agreed to do something he was told to do? And it sure as hell hadn't worked on Lucifer.

Still, he had to admire the balls she had on her. He might actually regret killing her.

There was a scuff at the doorway to the den and Eric whirled on the spot to find . . . Bill.

"You!" he sneered, deciding he would love killing Bill. It would be the sort of satisfaction one felt after holding off on something for an entire fucking century.

He fully expected Bill to defend himself, try to explain away the reason he seemed to be in cahoots with the Queen of California. But Bill's reaction to seeing Eric was surprising. "Thank God you're here," he said, hands reaching out, almost as if he wanted to grab Eric. "We need you. He's out of control."

There was terror in Bill's eyes, Eric realized. And as he crossed back through the torn up room, he noticed that the man was also in a bad state. His clothes were covered in blood, ripped in multiple places. Hair mussed up, frown lines etched into his forehead. Bill had seen some shit and it had left him shaken.

"Where the fuck is he?" Eric asked, more concerned about Lucifer's welfare than Bill's. If the King of Louisiana was regretting his involvement in all this, then good. Fuck him and his vampiric hierarchy. Eric needed to see Lucifer with his own two eyes, needed to make sure he was okay. Because the rage was still there, buried deep in Eric's chest, and that was not the Lucifer Eric had come to know.

Lucifer had been set off and the King of Hell was walking the earth, taking out his vengeance upon the living and the unliving alike.

"Follow me," Bill said, turning out of the den and hurrying back along the hallway. Eric followed, staring daggers into the other vampire's back. If he learned that Bill had so much as agreed to help Betty at any point in all of this, he was going to rip the insufferable vampire's head clean off, and he would bathe in the blood shower that would result. Perhaps channelling Lucifer's emotions wasn't helping his own anger, but God he couldn't fucking stand Bill. Killing him would feel so fucking good.

He was surprised to find an open door in the hallway where there hadn't been one when he'd come through heading for the den. Caught between the kitchen and the ballroom, it had opened inward, revealing a stairway downward. A hidden doorway that led to a dungeon? If Eric weren't so caught up in finding Lucifer, he probably would have appreciated it. If his own dungeon had been anywhere other than beneath his night club, he might have considered something like that himself.

However, Eric didn't have time for curiosity and intrigue. The sound of gunshots and then a high-pitched voice begging had him zipping past Bill to fly down the stairs to find a stark white hallway that reminded him of Bill's. He looked one way and then the other, listening for the gunshots but knowing all he had to do was follow the red hot pull from Lucifer. Before he could dart down the hall, Bill's hand hit his shoulder, grip tightening. "Eric, you have to know . . . I had no idea she was going to do this. The only reason she didn't put me in the locked room next to his was because I willingly agreed to go with them. I had to once I saw them subdue your friend."

Eric grew still at Bill's touch and then turned to glare at him. "The only reason you're not dead yet is because Lucifer himself hasn't killed you," Eric seethed at him. "If I find out you're lying, I'll end you myself."

"You have to understand," Bill continued, trying to keep up as Eric began to head down the hall. "I didn't expect anything to come of your association with Morningstar. What could Betty do, really? He's the devil, for Christ's sake. He's more immortal than we are!" There was a short pause and then Bill was suddenly in front of Eric, blocking his way. The pleading voice—Betty White's, Eric was certain—was closer now and Eric snarled at Bill, flashing his fangs in warning to the other vampire.

"He was fine until he wasn't fine," Bill kept talking. "I don't know what happened. I thought for sure I was the one in trouble!" Bill looked imploringly up at Eric. "What happened, Eric? What made him weak? Can we do it again? He's not listening to reason; he's downed everyone. Killed at least three vampires that tried to subdue him. I can't even figure out why he holds himself back for the humans, but he's hurting them too. And he keeps asking for you." Bill frowned. "And she keeps telling him no."

Eric pushed Bill aside, striding down the hall toward the open door at the end. That was where Lucifer was—and that was where Eric needed to be. He didn't have time to explain things or talk things through. Lucifer needed him, and he needed him now.