Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Between Worlds

The night I left the human world behind, the air shimmered the same way it would the night I returned.

I liked the new coat Eric had given me. It fit right, warm and solid, like it belonged on my shoulders. What didn’t fit was the fact that he didn’t remember our nights together, or the massacre that had happened in my kitchen with Debbie Pelt. Those memories lived only in me, for now at least, and that felt unfair in a way I didn’t have words for yet.

Supes were everywhere I turned, vampires, shifters, weres and witches, each with their own rules, their own politics, their own agendas. And somehow I was always in the middle of it, useful but never really protected. My telepathy wasn’t mine so much as it was a convenience, a tool everyone felt entitled to reach for. I was tired of being the girl things happened to. Tired of being the bystander.

The only person I’d met who seemed to stand outside all of it, who didn’t need to posture or bargain, was Claudine.

So one cold January morning, I went looking for her.

We talked, and connected. I learned who she was to me, and why she’d been there that night in my car when I was exhausted and didn’t even know how close I’d come to breaking my neck. She told me about Faery, about blood and heritage and doors that had been opening around me my whole life without my noticing. She didn’t promise safety. She promised possibility, and choice.

Claudine was elegant in a way that felt effortless, like she carried a light inside her that would never dim. When she looked at me, there was no pressure in her eyes. No manipulation. Just a quiet certainty. She already knew what I was only beginning to understand: the human world wasn’t safe for me anymore. And Faery, while it had its own dangers, might be the only place where I could survive long enough to figure out what I truly was… and who I wanted to become.
I wish I could say I had the grit to stay, but at that point, I was running on empty.

I’d already lost too much. My heart. My trust. My sense of safety. Bill’s betrayal still rang through me like the last sharp twang of a snapped guitar string. And whatever I’d shared with Eric felt like a beautiful, half-remembered dream in a world that no longer felt right…familiar, but somehow spoiled. Even standing in my own kitchen in my own house, I felt like a ghost, trying to live the life of a girl who didn’t exist anymore.

So when Claudine suggested I go with her to Faery…

I did.

The crossing felt like being stretched between two truths at once: the one I was born to, and the one I’d never known I belonged in. Faery air filled my lungs with something sharp and sweet, a brightness that rattled inside my bones like bells chiming. I stumbled on arrival. Claudine steadied me, smiling as though she’d been waiting years for me to come home to myself.

Only later did I realize that was exactly what I had done.

Time worked differently. I learned that quickly. Four years slipped by like water beneath a bridge, shaping me in ways I hadn’t expected. But I didn’t age, in truth my body healed and strengthened from the very first day I popped into Faery. I trained under watchful eyes - Niall’s, Claudine’s, Nia’s, Sera’s, and others whose names shimmered with power and history. My spark awakened, then roared, eventually shimmering into something sharp and steady. I learned discipline, balance, and just how challenging it can be to wield a blade and faery light and how to keep it all from breaking me.

I also learned the parts of my heritage no one had warned me about; the power and emotion in my magic, the longevity I now had but couldn’t fully comprehend, and the fact that I was not merely different but becoming someone who could make things happen.

And every evening, when Faery’s twin moons crossed paths in the sky, I felt a faint, muted thread tug somewhere deep inside my chest. While I had severed the one with a painful finality, the other remained unbroken, left intact with intent.

Sometimes I hated the thread. Sometimes I clung to it without fully admitting I was doing so.

Sometimes, in the quiet between the days, I let myself remember the cool blue intensity of Eric Northman’s eyes and the way he had looked at me - not as something fragile, but as a gathering, a force in the making…Eventually I accepted it, embraced it, and let myself miss those glowing sapphires that could cut through the darkest of nights.

Once, after a particularly brutal mission with the others, Claudine found me sitting alone, blade in hand, staring up at the Faery sky. She lowered herself beside me, studying me like she could read every thought in my head.

“You are growing beautifully,” she whispered. “But you need to let yourself go, you're holding back. Trust your instincts and your heart.”

“I’m not holding back,” I lied.

Claudine only smiled. “Then why are you shaking?”

I told myself it was exhaustion. I told myself it was grief. I told myself it was anger.

But in truth, I was shaking because I could feel the thread again - faint but constant, like a whisper across my skin. Eric’s presence in the human world, steady and waiting. I didn’t know how it would shape what might lie ahead, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready.

And I stubbornly hated that I took comfort from it. And I loved that it remained.

Four years in Faery passed like a breath. My body changed, my powers sharpened, scars formed, skills grew. And slowly, the girl who had fled - broken, betrayed, and scared - became someone else.

Someone who could return. Someone who had become more, and whose light was still growing.

The day Niall told me it was time, the light in me stirred like wings stretching anew. The gate shimmered open, a ripple of brightness and possibility, and Faery wind lifted my braid from my back.

“Your world awaits,” Niall said, ageless eyes kind but unreadable. “And its challenges, among those of the other realms, await with it.” The glowing warmth of his gaze gave me strength. “Go and be well my great granddaughter, you will conquer all that you face and more, I have little doubt.”

He didn’t warn me about the changes to my home. He didn’t warn me who had kept it waiting, just that I wouldn’t be alone. He didn’t warn me that stepping back across the threshold would feel like waking up from a dream. Or what might follow me, seek me out from the shadows, the fog, and the dusk would be worse than the nightmares that I thought I had left behind.

I inhaled once, sunshine, fresh rain, honey, all the pieces of me I had learned were mine.

And I took the step.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Return

The air shimmered; a bright glimmer followed, and my feet touched down on grass. It was dark out, but the porch light cast some brightness around where I landed.

Looking around, the grass felt familiar and the surroundings felt the same - yet different - at the same time. The yard was mown, the driveway smooth. The gardens were tended, but roses greeted me where Gran’s irises once grew. The old oak still stood rooted in its place in the yard, but new lilies had been planted under it. As I turned to take in the farmhouse, more change greeted me there as well.

The porch was wider and longer, and the stairs were level with a new railing and roof. A new porch swing sat in the same spot as always, and everything looked freshly painted, with pots of herbs and fall flowers freshly watered and waiting for the sun to kiss their leaves and blooms. The window shapes looked familiar, but new frames and panes filled the openings, and the front door had been replaced. The roofline was different too, as it looked like another addition had been built onto the kitchen and the floor above.

My breath catches in my throat as I notice the changes, I become tense. Niall had told me that some time would have passed while I was gone, but - perhaps naively - I assumed weeks or months…not years. Gran’s house looked good, repaired, improved, and maybe even loved. However, it also didn’t look like it was mine any longer, and that realization started to drive my apprehension to a whole new level.

I looked down and placed the small box-like chest by my feet. It held a few important items I had returned with from Faery. The rucksack on my back contained some smaller personal items and a change of clothes. I was hardly in a position to walk into town to find accommodations for the night, yet returning to my family home seemed less likely than I had expected.

Letting out a sigh. “Fuck,” I mutter, pushing the end of my braid back over my shoulder. My blonde hair was long enough now that its full length would have reached my ass, but it was braided and secured with a leather clasp at the back of my neck.

I looked around some more, noticing a bright red hatchback parked around the side of the house. The driveway had been extended too, with a new garden appearing just beyond its edges toward the back of the house. The side door to the kitchen looked like it had been moved with the addition and now boasted a new foundation, a covered entryway, and a brighter porch light.

Strangely, as lived-in as the house seemed, it was quiet. The lights inside that I could see were all off. The only sounds were the crickets and the occasional strum of a frog off in the swamp further back on my property.

Perhaps someone was home elsewhere inside, and if I knocked, I would be able to phone for a cab. I have some money in my bag, thanks Claudine, I think. Niall had assured me that I would have access to my inheritance as a Brigant. Although he had also made it sound like my arrival would have been better looked after.

Just as I was mustering the courage to step onto the porch and knock, something shifted behind me. Pulling the short blade from its place near my hip, I whirl ready to face the dark mass that had appeared from nowhere - only to find myself face-to-face with a pair of blue eyes that had followed me for the entirety of the time I had been gone.

“Hello, Eric,” I say, realizing that the slight hissing I can hear is the silver tip of my blade coming into contact with his midsection. I glance down at the blade and quickly pull back the dagger, returning it to the sheath in my soft leather leggings.

“Sorry for that - you startled me,” I murmur softly, glancing away. The next thing I know, his nose was in my braid and behind my ear, taking in my scent. He stepped back, eyes scanning…I had arrived armed and ready.

“Sookie, you have returned,” he said cautiously, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe I was real. I nod slowly, unsure what questions to ask or where to start. Eventually, I take a deep breath, muster the courage to face my fears head-on, meeting his eyes once more, I ask,

“How long have I been gone?”

Slowly, I drew in her scent - sunshine, fresh rain and honey. An impossible combination, warm and bright and entirely hers. She stood before me, real and breathing, and for a moment I forgot how to look indifferent.

The dagger had been an entertaining surprise. Fae work, unmistakable in its elegance and edge. She had sheathed it again once the initial shock passed. Sensible. She’d changed, any fool could see that. The faint shimmer under her skin betrayed bloodlines she had once been ignorant of, but I had suspected. And now, after endless nights of waiting, watching, maneuvering… she was back. I had known she would return, for I know what is mine.

“It has been 20 months and nineteen days since I last saw you,” I said. Of course I knew. I could have counted the hours if she’d asked. “It’s October eighth. Just past ten.” I offered the information lightly, though I was very aware she was studying me as intently as I was studying her.

“We can head inside if you would like.” I offer. She needs to settle in. Something familiar will help her adjust. I will happily help her adjust as well, in any way she will let me.

“Inside?” she echoed. “Eric, this doesn’t even feel like my home anymore. Someone else must live here.”

The words landed sharp, but her eyes were already moving…tracking details, measuring space, cataloguing change in that way that was a part of her. I watched her understanding dawning across her face in real time. I hear her breath hitch.

“Tell me you didn’t!?!”

Ah. There it was.

“I might have,” I said, allowing the smirk. I made no effort to soften it; some truths deserved to arrive fully formed. “Before you begin scolding me for imagined crimes, we should go in.”

I stepped onto the porch, unlocked the door with a key she had not yet noticed in my hand, and held it open.

She brushed past me, graceful but bristling, and the moment she crossed the threshold I felt it, her agitation spiking, emotions bright and loud in a way she likely didn’t realize she was broadcasting. Her gaze swept the entryway first. The walls. The light.

The yellow was warmer than before, less faded. The floorboards no longer groaned underfoot, their repairs seamless enough to fool most humans, though not her. New wallpaper traced the hall, tasteful, restrained, chosen with care. Not flashy. Not modern. Respectful of what the house had been. Everything had been chosen with care.

She turned slowly, like someone afraid the room might rearrange itself if she moved too fast.

“This” she started, then stopped. Her hand hovered near the wall, fingers brushing the surface as if to confirm it was solid. “This isn’t… Eric, the floors...”

“Reinforced,” I replied calmly. “Quieted. The foundation had settled unevenly. I corrected it.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Corrected it,” she repeated faintly.

I retrieved the small wooden chest she’d left by the steps and carried it inside, setting it carefully on the table by the door. An offering, if you will. Not something I did often, and never without intent.

“You replaced the windows,” she said, more accusation than question now. “And the wiring. And” Her voice trailed off as realization finally finished assembling itself.

She turned to face me fully, blue hazel eyes sharp, searching. “You didn’t just… fix this.”

“No,” I agree. “I restored it.”

Silence stretched between us, thick with everything she wasn’t saying. I could feel the conflict churning, gratitude tangling with loss, relief brushing up against something dangerously close to grief. This was her home. Her Gran’s house. A place anchored in memory. And now it bore my mark.

“I bought it,” I said finally, because she deserved the truth without games. “When it became clear you were not returning. I kept it as it was meant to be kept. Safe. Standing.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You own my house.”

“For now,” I said evenly. “It was never meant to be taken from you. Only… held.”

She looked away, blinking rapidly, and for the first time since I’d seen her again, the fire in her softened into something unguarded. Vulnerable.

“I didn’t want it empty,” I added, quieter now. “Or broken. Not when it carries you in its walls.”

That did it. She turned back, emotions flaring bright enough that even I had to steady myself. Not anger. Not fear.

Recognition.

And something like being seen.

I glanced around the space, feeling at home and not at home all at once. The bones of the place were familiar, the way the light cast about space, the shape of the rooms, but everything else felt… steadier. Safer. Like the house had finally exhaled after holding its breath for years.

I slid the rucksack off my shoulder and set it at the foot of the table where Eric had placed the small chest. My gaze drifted instinctively toward the kitchen. Based on the roofline alone, I already knew that was where the biggest changes had happened.

“The whole house,” I said quietly as I crossed the threshold. “Eric, you more than restored it, you expanded it. Upgraded it.”

The remodeled kitchen opened up around me, and I stopped short despite myself.

“Eric,” I added, anxiety threading through my voice now, “what possessed you to do all this?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I needed to see it all.

I turned, half expecting him to be right behind me, and opened a doorway that definitely hadn’t existed before. A brand-new laundry room greeted me, bright, clean, and efficient. On-demand hot water. A new furnace. My stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

Adjacent to it was the side entrance I’d noticed earlier, and through the window I caught sight of a neat new woodshed standing where the old shed used to lean like it was perpetually on the verge of surrender.

I drifted back into the kitchen, trying to take it in, piece by piece, so I didn’t completely short-circuit. The coffee maker alone looked smarter than half the appliances I remembered owning. A dishwasher. New stove. Everything was set carefully into sage-green cabinets that somehow felt modern without erasing the house’s soul. It felt… intentional. Thoughtful.

Then I noticed the two new doors along the back wall, just past a small dining table tucked neatly into the corner.
Curiosity won.

The first door opened onto a guest bathroom, light blue walls, pinstriped wallpaper behind the toilet, a small window letting in afternoon sun from a wall that had never existed before. Clean. Cheerful. Not excessive.

The second door made my breath hitch. A walk-in pantry.

Shelves half-stocked with food and supplies. Staples. Practical things. A small chest freezer tucked neatly into the corner beneath the shelving. The kind of space Gran would’ve adored and Jason would’ve promptly filled with nothing but frozen pizza.

The tile floor, green and cream in a slightly kitschy pattern, ran through the pantry, bathroom, and kitchen, tying it all together. It shouldn’t have worked. Somehow, it did.

When I turned back, Eric was watching me.

His expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity beneath it, something patient and sharp and quietly pleased. Hunger flickered there too, though whether it was for me or for my reaction, I couldn’t quite tell.

I stepped closer, slower now, grounding myself before I spoke again.

“Eric,” I asked softly, “what possessed you to do this?”

His reply came just as measured. “Sookie, at best your home was a modest farmhouse. Loved - but failing. When you went missing, I knew you would return. And when you did, I wanted it repaired. Ready.”

“So you bought it?” I echoed, the word catching.

“Yes.” He paused, watching my face carefully. “Your brother didn’t have the means to maintain it. So I… persuaded him to sell it to me.” Then, quieter, “But I always intended for it to remain yours.”

The weight of that settled slowly, heavily.

“You bought my house,” I said faintly. “Fixed it. Furnished it. Kept it waiting for me.”

I grabbed the edge of the table without realizing I’d moved, my fingers curling tight as the room tilted just a fraction.

“And what,” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts, “exactly are you expecting from me in return for all this?”

The air shifted.

One moment he was across the room. The next, he was there, close enough that I could feel the cool pull of him against my warmth. His hands came up to cradle my face, steady and certain, thumbs brushing my cheeks until my chin tilted up whether I meant it to or not.

Those blue eyes held me completely.

“Sookie,” he said, low and smooth, “I only wanted you to come home. To be safe. For your home to still be here when you did.”

My knees went weak, traitorous things.

The faint curve of his mouth, half smirk, half promise, told me he knew exactly what this was doing to me. How close he stood. How fast my heart was racing.
And standing there, surrounded by my house. My corrected, restored, waiting, impossible house…I realized something else too.

This place didn’t just come with Eric in it.

It came with Eric planning to stay.

His thumbs traced the outline of my lower lip. I exhaled at the gentle touch, ignoring the frustration and the warning at the back of my mind, my instincts telling me this was a trap I was willingly walking into.

“Sookie,” he said, voice low, “your absence was… noticed.”

His eyes swept over me, hungry and assessing. “I prefer you where I can see you, and feel you more closely.”

He didn’t shift or fidget, he never did, but the air around him tightened with the want he was trying (and failing) to disguise.

“I’ll be here,” he continued, tone smooth and deliberate, “in whatever way you decide to have me.”

His eyes glowed blue with heat and intensity, then the flicker vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Always in control.

I pulled away from his hands, gently but firmly, letting the moment loosen its grip on me before it could tighten any further. If I didn’t breathe, if I didn’t move, I was going to get swept right back under. I headed for the living room, posture calm even as my pulse betrayed me. I didn’t need to look back to know he would follow. Eric always did.

I chose the high-backed leather armchair beside the fireplace, partly because it felt solid, anchoring, and partly because it put just enough distance between us to let me think. As I settled in, I took in the room properly for the first time. The floors had been refinished to a warm glow, the walls painted a soft, pale green trimmed in clean white that made the whole space feel lighter. A flat-screen TV hung neatly above the fireplace, modern but unobtrusive. The couch was new, deep brown, textured fabric that grounded the room without swallowing it whole. A second armchair sat opposite, angled toward the coffee table, an area rug tying everything together like it had always belonged.

Eric entered behind me and claimed the couch with an easy sprawl, long legs adjusting in tight black jeans like the space had been designed with him in mind. The sight of him there…relaxed, confident, entirely too comfortable, did things to my nerves I didn’t appreciate.

My eyes drifted back to the room, and that’s when it really hit me. One of Gran’s old afghans was folded neatly at the end of the couch, the familiar colors sending a sharp little ache through my chest. On the mantel, framed family pictures stood in careful balance, Gran smiling, Jason and me as kids, moments preserved like promises. He hadn’t erased us. He’d… curated us.

Something in me eased, just a fraction.

I drew in a slow, steadying breath and looked back at him. “Eric,” I said quietly, needing him to hear this part clearly, “before anything else, I need to tell you where I was… and why I didn’t come back right away.”

I let the words settle, then continued, “I didn’t just disappear. I went to Faery.”

His attention sharpened instantly, the room seeming to narrow around that single truth.

“While it seems I was gone from Bon Temps for a little more than a year and a half…” I went on, my fingers curling lightly against the arm of the chair, distracting myself, “in Faery, it was more than four years. Four years of learning who I am, where I come from, and what being part fae actually means.”

I held his gaze, steady now. “I didn’t come back the same.”

His gaze locked onto me instantly, focused, still, the way a predator listens when something matters.

“I learned a lot,” I continued. “About my heritage. About who my people are. And…” I hesitated, then lifted my chin, meeting his eyes fully, “a little more about vampires and other supes, too.”

The air between us shifted, heavy with attention. I held his gaze, letting him see that this wasn’t just small talk or catching up. Whatever I’d been when I left Bon Temps, I wasn’t that girl anymore.

“And the silver dagger you greeted me with?” he asked coolly.

“A gift from my cousin when I passed ‘basic training’… there’s a short sword and throwing knives to match,” I added. “Those I earned later after proving myself in a skirmish.” Unconsciously, my hand brushed my forearm where the blade had grazed me. Memories of the past four years swirled. “I’ve learned to control my light as well, though it’s still growing, changing.”

I thought back to my conversation with my great-grandfather Niall. My spark was stronger than typically expected for less than quarter fae, and my time in Faery had awakened it. If I continued to nurture it, train, and take care of myself, I had centuries ahead of me. I was only beginning to mature into my fae gifts too; they would grow for years yet. I let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the nerves and tension.

Swallowing, I continued. “I trained and studied relentlessly. I learned the ways of the fae court, the rules of the elements and how to channel them, or at least the ones that come naturally to me.” My powers had grown; I was capable of more than shooting sparks and reading minds. Sunlight and wind came easiest, though I had recently begun to tap into lightning. As a sky fae, it made sense. And perhaps explained why I had always loved thunderstorms.

“My telepathy and ability to shield are stronger now too, enough to keep the thoughts of others out and mine to myself when I want”. I add.

“I’ve grown. I’ve matured. I’m not the girl who left here bitter, broken, and betrayed by Bill. I found myself, my voice, while I was gone. I’ll own my choices, but I won’t repeat my mistakes.”

My voice trailed off a moment as I gathered what I needed to say next. “I removed the tie to Bill some time ago, once I learned how. It sucked and it hurt, but I knew there was no going back.”

Eric, who had remained perfectly still as only a vampire could, tilted his head. “Yet I can still feel you, Sookie. You did not break our connection.” His voice made it sound like a statement and a question both.

I drew a breath and nodded slowly. “I didn’t cut off our bond. I could have, but after our time together…it didn't seem…I couldn’t.” I couldn’t tell him yet what else I had realized while I was away. I was still annoyed about his owning the house, renovating it, binding me to him in ways I wasn't ready for.

Everything tonight felt unfamiliar. And even though I am unsettled I remain determined. This would happen on my terms…not because of his possessive vampire values.

He looked at me knowingly and sat up, elbows on his knees, but he didn’t push.

“I can see the fae in you now, but your scent hasn’t significantly changed, which is surprising.” His tone softened.

“I could feel you while you were gone. It was muted, fuzzy, but I knew you were safe. I also knew you would return eventually. I feel you more clearly tonight than I have in a long time.”

Then he added, surprising me, “And I knew something had changed with your connection to Bill. He changed suddenly some months back, quieter, a bit crueler toward others… perhaps showing more of his true self.” His jaw clenched. “He’s gone, by the way. He requested to leave my area a few months ago…for some errands with his computer.”

I nodded, my eyes drifting to the fireplace and its new iron grate. The grate looked delicate but was sturdy, perfect for cooler nights. The iron fireplace tools - Gran’s - still stood beside it.

One benefit of being earth-side fae: I didn’t share the fae weakness to iron or lemons. My scent was not as compelling and I now had a tattoo that would mute my essence when it became necessary anyway. “That’s a small relief I guess, his being gone. I also have a way to mute my scent and essence when my magic would bring it forward, so I’m not particularly concerned about those risks.” I share this with him in part to try to show that I can look after myself.

“What else has changed here?” I asked, forcing myself not to dwell on old decisions.

He told me about Shreveport and Bon Temps. Merlotte’s was still there and open; Tara still ran her clothing store.

“Your brother took your disappearance hard, Sookie. He’s with a new woman now. He quit the road crew and joined the sheriff’s department some time ago too.” He paused, considering his next words. My breath caught, worried.

“He may need time once he knows you’re back. He made poor decisions after you left… he took V for a while, he’s lucky to be here.”

“Eric - you didn’t…?” The question trailed off, fear prickling.

“Not as I should have, no,” he said calmly, though the threat lingered. “I used a glamour to reinforce that he was done with the habit, to avoid further… entanglement.”
His gaze sharpened on me.

“And that stays between us.”

The finality of it was unmistakable.

I nodded, reminding myself that patience, and probably a whole lot of deep breathing, was going to be necessary if I wanted to find my footing in this world again.

“What about you?” I asked. “Pam? Fangtasia?” My thoughts were still racing. “I can’t imagine you just… what… wallowed here for almost two years, Eric?”

He gave me that look - the one that said Really, Sookie? - and his lips curved.

“I’m a vampire, Sookie. I don’t wallow.”

“Fine,” I shot back. “Brooded, then. Pam would back me up I bet.”

He rolled his eyes skyward, the picture of aggrieved patience.

“Pamela will keep her opinions to herself if she knows what’s good for her.” His mouth firmed, but amusement tugged at one corner. “My child doesn’t care for most humans, but she’ll be pleased to see you.”

That pulled a reluctant smile out of me.

“She has taken on more responsibility at the bar. It suits her.” He shifted his long legs with that casual, predatory grace only a centuries-old vampire could manage. “Among other improvements, we bought the land next door and expanded Fangtasia. Built an entirely new space. You’ll see it soon.”

As if summoned, fatigue rolled over me. Eric caught the change instantly and rose in one fluid, elegant motion.

“Sookie,” he said, “your room upstairs is much the same… mostly. The windows were replaced; both the bathroom and the bedrooms were renovated. I avoided unnecessary changes, expanded a little, but the damage was significant. And the house was old.”

I pushed myself up and drifted with him toward the front door. We stopped there, caught in a quiet moment neither of us seemed willing to break.

“I thought of you,” I said softly. The words slipped out before I could decide if I wanted them to. “While I was there. I didn’t always want to… but I did.”

His face had haunted my dreams for four long fae years. I knew what I felt and that it meant something, but I wasn’t ready to say it - not to him, not yet.

Eric’s eyes flared, sharp and bright, though the rest of him didn’t so much as twitch.

“My thoughts were never far from you,” he said, simple, unembellished, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I lifted my gaze to him. He was still flawless, impossibly so, but there was something different beneath the surface. Something exposed, deliberate. I didn’t fully trust it. Not yet.

He exhaled slowly, a deliberate human gesture he didn’t need.

“I’ll leave you to rest and settle in. A new phone will arrive in the morning.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he lifted a finger.

“A welcome-home gift. Between old friends.”

I sighed, equal parts exhausted and exasperated with his determination to take care of every little thing.

“I’ll check in tomorrow night,” he said.

He was almost out the door when he added, his voice drifting back like smoke, “The car in the driveway is yours as well. The old one was a rust bucket that finally gave up. Keys are in the kitchen.”

And then he was gone, silent, absolute, like he’d never been there at all.

I let out a rough sigh. The house, the phone, the car. My great-grandfather had told me help would be waiting on my return. I had assumed he meant Claudette or Claude. Not Eric Northman outfitting my entire life like some Viking sized welcome wagon. I had planned to seek him out, but at my own pace and in my own way. Well clearly he had had his own ideas I'd have to navigate.

I locked up and glanced into Gran’s old bedroom and the adjacent spare room. The renovations had shifted the doorway locations in the front hall, made the rooms larger, but Gran’s room itself remained cozy and warm. Her quilt, repaired, lay across the bed. The walls were a soft cream, and photos of Gran, Jason, and me filled the space with comfort. I picked up a framed picture from the nightstand and carried it with me.

Honestly? I liked the changes more than I wanted to admit.

The stairs had been refinished too, no more uneven boards. Upstairs, the remodeled bathroom was bigger, brighter. A huge, deep claw-foot tub sat in one corner, a modern shower in the other, a large vanity in between. Cream tile with thin gray lines made everything feel clean and new. The second bedroom was mostly the same except for fresh paint, and a bigger closet. The attic had been cleaned and renovated too, mostly it was just extra available space now.

In my own room, I set Gran’s photo on the nightstand, and then spotted the door hanging open to my closet. It was bigger too, and was full of clothing. All of it was new. All of it in my size.

Another sigh.

I’d figure out what to do about all this later. Including the six-foot-four Viking who seemed to think providing for me was now his personal mission. I had learned in Faery to accept being looked after and to pay kindness forward in other ways, but all of this just felt like a lot. Like A LOT.

Too tired to care anymore, I slipped out of my leather tights and flowing top, pulled on a soft cotton tank and shorts, and crawled into the new bed. The old familiar squeaks were gone, replaced with a mattress so comfortable it swallowed me whole.

I sank into it, letting the warmth finally take me, and drifted straight into sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Conversation

She is back. Changed… but unmistakably herself; desirable, infuriating, stubborn to the bone. The difference only sharpens her appeal.

And her scent, gods, her scent…was near torture tonight. For me, at least. The faint curl of arousal threading through it was impossible to miss, but I’m not a fool. It was too soon for her, too fast. She was still figuring out her footing around me, around everything.

Fine. I can be patient when it benefits me. I would claim my lover in time. She would not slip free again. I would not allow it.

The scars interest me. The weapons even more. My fierce little one had been busy, real battles, not the clumsy flailings she once mistook for danger. She moved differently now, more graceful than any human should, and she’d hinted there was more she hadn’t shown me yet.

Good. I enjoy surprises when they’re mine.

As I flew back toward Shreveport, I considered how the next several nights would unfold. What she would reveal. What I would coax from her. What she thought she could hide.

I landed on the roof of the new Fangtasia, my Fangtasia, and dropped down to the employee access door. The bass from whatever noise the DJ favored tonight vibrated through the concrete. The remodel had been extensive, tailored to my needs and responsibilities.

In addition to the club, a private VIP room now handled official business; larger offices for Pam and I were included as part of the space in the back; and beneath everything lay a two-story basement equipped for security, enforcement, and any other necessities.

The space suited us.

I step out onto the club floor, studying the changes. White VIP booths now rose gradually from the dance floor in a wide curving V, my own white-and-black seating placed higher on a central middle dais, visible, elevated, appropriately dominant.

Purple walls wrapped the room, accented with white, red, and black. The bar had matured beyond its tacky beginnings, though the tourism remained profitable. A second-story terrace wrapped three sides of the club, overlooking the dance floor with seating and two smaller bars, one even had a slushy machine, for reasons Pam still refuses to explain.

Near the entrance, the expanded gift shop continues to rake in money. The Men of Fangtasia calendar remains inexplicably popular. Humans are strange but predictable.

It was a busy Wednesday night. My people were where they were supposed to be, doing what they were supposed to do, exactly as I expected. Pam tended bar with Felicia and several new human servers. The usual cluster of fangbangers loitered near the front, but the overall clientele had been shifting over the last six months.

Younger. Cleaner. More profitable.

Good. The expansion wasn’t cheap.

We’d begun offering Blood Moon - the latest innovation in synthetic blood. Superior to the True Blood swill humans think we tolerate, but not as costly as Royalty. A hybrid: high-grade synthetic blended with rare ‘organic’ human blood, unblemished from modern processed foods and medicines, from remote locations around the world. Smooth, rich, and nutritionally satisfying. The undead clientele approved, and given my stake in the business, their approval makes me money. So I approved as well.

I make my way to my booth, checking the messages that had accumulated on my phone while I’d been…otherwise occupied earlier. Pam appears moments later, setting a bottle of Blood Moon before me, and raises a brow in that silent way she has. I gesture to the seat beside me.

As I finished a text I was sending, I set the phone down, and finally look at my child.

Pam didn’t bother sitting before launching into her report.

“We’re above normal capacity for a Wednesday. Reports are on your desk. Three vampires are waiting to see you, their requests are also in your office, all seem reasonable.”

Efficient, as always. My child had handled the expansion better than most monarchs manage their kingdoms.
She exhales - long, dramatic, and pointed.

“Tell me you weren’t out chasing your little fantasy again. I know you cared for her, Eric, but this is absurd. She’s a human.”

I leveled a stare at her - cold, flat, the kind that would melt anyone else into flooring.

Pam, of course, only arches a perfectly sculpted brow.
“Oh, wonderful,” she said, folding her arms. “Is this actually about your dream ghost, or are you just screwing with me? Because I’m not playing twenty questions tonight.”

I lean back in the booth, scanning the dance floor rather than her face.

“She’s back.”

Pam doesn’t miss a beat, she rolls her eyes heavenward as if on cue.

“Obviously. You vanished for hours and left me to resolve a dispute between two members of the Springhill nest. I also had to appease the three visiting dignitaries from Texas who are still waiting to see you by the way. Oh we also had a shifter so high he tried to fly off the second floor.” Pam’s drawl broke no nonsense, she seemed almost pissed. “That’s a lot for a Wednesday Eric.”

My brow lifted. “It was seen to.”

“Of course it was seen to, I handled it,” she snapped lightly. “What I won’t handle is you brooding for the next century.”

That was the second time tonight I’d been accused of brooding. Irritating.

Pam slid into the booth at last, sweeping her gaze over the crowd.

“So. The wayward waitress fluttered home. You don’t seem keen.”

“I am,” I said, crossing my ankles. “I just don’t trust it.

I drank from the bottle of Blood Moon before continuing.

“It appears that she came back on her own. Says it’s been over four years in Faery…but less than half that here. And she’s different. More confident. More magical. Just More.”

I remembered, graceful, stronger, sharper than I had expected.

“She’s becoming what I knew she could be,” I said, low, precise. “The question is whether she’ll stand with me…”

No awe, no sentiment, just observation. And a faint edge of anticipation.

Pam snorted. “Perfect. As if you needed another reason to sulk dramatically about her.”

She tapped a nail against the table.

“Still, I’m curious. I want to see what she is now. And how many idiots she can break.”

I glanced at her.

“It's clear she's not someone to underestimate. And her talents might prove… very useful.”
A conclusion I’d reached hours ago.

Pam smirked. “Which makes her even more irresistible to you.”

I ignored that. I stood, straightening my jacket.

“I’ll handle the rest of the night’s business from my office, and send the dignitaries back in ten minutes.”

I head to the back rooms, through the door marked ‘employees only’.

I don’t like leaving things unfinished - not her, not ever. The pull to seek her out tugged at me like a hook under the ribs, and the harder I tried to turn away, the deeper it sank.

But responsibilities always win.

Business first. Desire… later.

I closed the office door behind me, though it felt less like shutting out the world and more like locking myself in. Paperwork. Reports. Endless vampire politics. None of it demanded my attention, yet I handled it all with absolute efficiency.

Habit, discipline, necessity.

And still my thoughts circled back to her. Sookie. The strength in her shoulders. The certainty in her eyes. The wild, pulsing thrum of power I could still feel in the memory of her presence.

She’ll still be there tomorrow night.

And she’ll still be different.

I told myself the distance was wise - gave her space, gave me clarity. A convenient lie. The truth was far simpler and far more dangerous: I wanted her more now than ever. And that meant I needed control.

Jaw tight, I forced the pen across the page. Finished emails on the computer. One night. Just one.

Tomorrow, I will go to see her.

And I still wasn’t certain whether I was preparing for a conversation… or a collision.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - Safe Anchor

I woke like I was clawing my way out of a storm - heart racing, breath tight, palms sparking faint gold against sheets that weren’t mine. The ceiling above me was wrong. Too smooth. Too new.

The farmhouse smelled like home… but off. Fresh-cut wood. New paint.

Four and a half years in Faery.

A year and a half gone from this world.

And everything had the nerve to keep moving without me.

I pushed myself upright, muscles coiled before I was even fully awake. The warrior in me wanted to check the windows, map escape routes, test my abilities, and take stock of every threat.

But the woman, the part of me that was still soft, still warm, still human, tried to remember what it felt like to breathe in this house without flinching.
To feel safe here.

Right now nothing felt safe. Not my home. Not my memories. Not even my bed.

The missing time pressed hard against my ribs, heavier than I expected. What had I lost? What had shifted while I was gone?
And worse: Who was I to the people I left behind?

My hands curled into fists and light flared at my knuckles - bright, wild, untamed.

Eric.

He’d shown up the moment I returned. He always did have perfect timing.
But I wasn’t the woman he remembered. Truth was, I wasn’t the woman anyone remembered.

Several deep breaths later I swung my legs off the bed, feeling more sure of myself before my feet even touched the floor. The boards felt different - smoother, sturdier, newer. Renovated, reinforced.

My stomach gave a hollow twist. Coffee. I needed coffee before I started unraveling for the world to see.

I walked through the quiet farmhouse - the house felt like it remembered me better than I remembered it - until I reached the kitchen. Light filtered through the clean windows, catching dust motes that danced like tiny sparks. My senses picked up everything: the faint scent of varnish, the stillness of a house waiting for its owner to claim it.

I found the coffee maker right where it always was, except… newer. Shinier.
Eric’s handiwork. Naturally.

I frowned, filled the reservoir, found my favorite brand of coffee in the pantry, of course he’d stocked it, scooped, hit the button, and let the machine rumble to life. The familiar smell rolled through the kitchen, warm and rich, and my knees nearly went weak with the normalcy of it.

I wrapped my hands around the mug the moment it was poured. The heat grounded me. So did the taste.

Okay. Plan. You need a plan.

I took a slow breath and lifted the mug again, letting the warmth seep into my palms. I needed to know who had shown up for me. Who had missed me. Who had waited.

Not through magic. Not through telepathy. Not through storms of power I barely understood. No - I wanted to see. To look someone in the eyes and see the truth for myself.

I straightened, my resolve settling like a blade at my spine.

Step one: walk the property. See if anyone’s been coming by. Establish a perimeter.

Step two: head into town.

Step three: go to Merlotte’s.

If Sam was there - if he looked at me with the same warmth I remembered - then I’d know I still had one safe anchor in this changed world.

And if he wasn’t? Shaking my head. I'd check on Tara and Lafayette too…and Jason, I needed to see my brother if the conversation last night was any indication…

Only then would I really know who I could count on… and who had let the world forget I ever existed.
I finished the last swallow of coffee, set the mug down, and lifted my chin.
Time to find out who cared that I was home.

I decide to take a quick shower. The hot water hits my shoulders like a blessing. I close my eyes for a second, just breathing, letting the steam loosen muscles I didn’t know were clenched.

When I step out and towel off, the closet light flicks on automatically. And there they are - new jeans in my size, soft dark denim, and a flowy, pale tee that looks like it’d feel like a whisper against my skin. Definitely not something I bought. Eric’s touch is all over this… subtle but unmistakable. Mine. The declaration is as clear as a bell, as direct as he always is.

I run my hand over the clothes, feeling that little thump in my chest - part annoyance, part warmth I’d never admit out loud. Why does he do this? I already know the answer. Because he pays attention. Because he takes care of me in the ways he thinks he’s allowed to. Because he likes seeing me protected… and wearing things he decides suits me.

I slip into the jeans - perfect fit, of course - and pull the tee over my head. Light, airy, soft. Comfortable. And weirdly… comforting. Doing this on my terms was going to be difficult.

Dammit, Eric.

I catch my reflection in the mirror: tired, a little worn out, but standing. Alive. And wearing his idea of what would make me feel good.

And the truth is - it does.

I take a moment for myself, then head outside to check the property. Gran’s gardens bloom with impossible vibrancy - Eric or no Eric, someone has been tending with care. I add a few simple protection wards of my own, subtle enough to start. They will need reinforcement, yes, but for now, they’ll hold.

A knock at the front door interrupts my work. A delivery. My new cell phone. As promised. I thank the courier, bring the box inside, and slide the phone out. Fully charged, ready. Of course, Eric, Pam, and Fangtasia’s numbers are already programmed. Subtle. Efficient. Him.

I spend a few quiet minutes sorting the few things I brought back from Faery, carefully stashing the chest in my room and cloaking it with a spell I know will hold. Small, personal victories.

When I finally head downstairs, I grab a purse, slip my old wallet inside, and pick up the keys to my new hatchback from the kitchen counter.

Time to move. Time to go into town. Time to see Merlotte’s.

Time to start learning exactly who noticed I’d come home… and who forgot I ever existed.

My heart kicks up the moment I turn into Merlotte’s gravel lot. Not much has changed in town, but the familiar crunch under the tires hits harder than I expect - like an old song I’m not ready to hear. A year and a half. The place hasn’t really changed: the same yellowed siding, the same flickering neon beer signs humming in the windows, Sam’s old truck tucked in the shade like it hasn’t moved since the day I left. There was a new patio off the front entrance, but otherwise the same old Merlotte's.

And yet everything feels wrong.

Sideways. Tilted. Like I’ve slipped into a version of my life that kept going without me.

I kill the engine but don’t move, fingers tightening around the wheel until my knuckles pale. They think I’m dead. Or gone. Or something worse. How do you walk back into a town that already buried you? How do you face people whose grief had time to harden into something like acceptance?

I take one slow breath. Then another. The world out there is the same. I’m the one who isn’t.

Inside, the lunch crowd is thin. A few regulars at the bar, two construction guys in a booth, Jane Bodehouse nursing something she probably shouldn’t. The door swings shut behind me with that familiar jingle.

No one notices at first.

Then Arlene turns.

Her tray hits the counter with a clatter that makes my chest jolt, and she slaps both hands over her mouth.

“Sookie Stackhouse?”

The room freezes. Heads snap toward me. A fork clinks to the floor. Jane gasps, pale, like she’s seen a ghost.

Then Sam comes running from the back, rag in hand, wiping his arms without really looking at it.

“What’s going…” His words catch. His eyes widen in a way that’s half shock, half disbelief.

“Sookie?”

He steps forward slowly, like I might vanish if he moves too fast.

“Sookie… is that really you?”

I force a small, steady smile, though my throat is tight.

“Hey, Sam,” I manage, my voice just above a whisper.

That one word seems to undo him. He crosses the space in a few long strides and pulls me into a tight, stunned embrace. Warm. Solid. Desperate. Familiar.

I stiffen for a heartbeat, overwhelmed by the intensity and the sheer normalcy of it. Then I wrap my arms around him, letting myself be anchored, letting the world settle just enough for a moment.

“Where were you?” Sam’s voice is low, rough. “We looked. Everyone looked. We thought…”

He swallows hard, jaw working. “We thought we lost you.”

“I know.” I pull back enough to meet his eyes, mine shining but steady. “I’m sorry. I didn’t choose to disappear so completely. I didn’t mean to be gone this long. But I’m home now.”

Arlene approaches like she’s walking up on a ghost, eyes already rimmed red, one hand fluttering near her throat.

“Honey… you look… you look real. Are you sure you’re not some vampire trick?”

I snort, loud enough to make Jane jump.

“Not hardly,” I say, cracking a grin.

And that’s when Lafayette steps out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel that was maybe white in a past life. He stops dead the second he sees me.

“Well butter my ass and call me a biscuit…” he whispers. “If it ain’t Miss Sookie Stackhouse, resurrected and moisturized.”

Despite the lump in my throat, I laugh. “Hey, LaLa.”

But Lafayette isn’t joking, not really. He walks toward me slowly, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed like he’s reading invisible text floating around my head.

“Baby girl,” he says, voice dropping into something low and deadly serious,

“I felt your energy hit this place the second you walked in. You’re burnin’ hotter than a hex gone wrong. What in the supernatural hell happened to yous?”

I straighten reflexively. For once, I don’t flinch under the pressure of everyone staring. My shields hold with no real effort - tight, clean walls - blocking the thoughts flooding toward me.

“A lot,” I say. “More than I can explain right now.”

Lafayette arches a brow. “Try me.”

My gaze flicks toward the front door without me meaning it to. Because I feel it - someone, something - hovering nearby. Watching.

“Look,” I say, voice low, “I didn’t come back to stir up trouble, although I've seen a lot more of it.”

Arlene lets out a high, tiny squeak.

Sam goes rigid again, like I’ve just confirmed every fear he had since I vanished.

Lafayette folds his arms. “Girl, if trouble’s comin’, we need to know whether to light a candle, load a gun, or start prayin’.”

I take a slow breath.

And for a split second, the air around me crackles - barely visible, like heat rising off asphalt.

“First,” I say softly, “I need to tell you the truth about where I’ve been.”

The front door slams open behind me - hard, loud enough to rattle the windows.

Everyone spins.

Jason Stackhouse stumbles in, half in uniform, half in pure chaos, shirt untucked, hair wind‑whipped, eyes wide before they even find me.

“Sookie?”

His voice cracks like he’s thirteen again.

I turn, shoulders tensing on instinct, but the second I see him, the hardness melts clean off my face.

“Hey, big brother.”

Jason’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“No. No, no, no - this ain’t… this ain’t you. This is some kinda mirage or glamour or…”

He whips toward the room, panicked. “Sam, tell me you see her too!”

Sam gives one steady nod. “She’s real, Jason.”

Jason goes pale - bone white. His knees dip like he’s about to hit the floor.

Lafayette darts forward and snags him by the elbow.

“Oh hell no, Stackhouse, don’t you dare faint on me - I ain’t draggin’ your heavy behind nowhere.”

Jason jerks free, straightening enough to take two shaky steps toward me.

When he speaks again, it’s a whisper full of wonder and fear.

“I buried you in my head, Sook. I mourned you every night when the phones stayed quiet. I never could put up a grave though…I couldn’t do it…not even after I had to sell the house.” His voice quivering.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I swallow. Hard.

There’s love in my eyes - but something else too. Something old. Something bruised.

“I didn’t mean to go, Jase. Not for as long as I did. But I’m here now.”

Jason studies my face like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks. “You look… different,” he finally breathes. “Like you've been through a war. Or started one.”

The lights above us flicker - just once.

Enough to make the room hold its breath.

Lafayette mutters, “Mm-hmm. See? That right there is what I’m talkin’ about.”

Jason’s posture changes, the cop in him clicking back into place. “Sook… are you in trouble? ’Cause if someone hurt you…”

I place a hand on his chest, steady but gentle. “It’s not that simple.”

A low rumble rolls across the gravel lot outside.

Not thunder.

Footsteps. Heavy. Getting closer.

Jason’s hand drops to his gun.

My breath stalls. Not in fear, but recognition.

“Oh God,” I whisper. “They can reach here too.”

The rumble swells - closer, louder - the windows trembling like something massive is stalking just outside. Daylight dims through the blinds though the sky stays bright.

Lafayette whispers, “Uh-uh. No. Daytime ain’t supposed to dim like that.”

My stomach drops.

Jason looks at me sharply. “Sook? What is it?”

“It’s a graelghast,” I say, barely above a breath.

The name hits the room like a stone thrown in still water - ripples of confusion, fear.

Sam frowns. “A what now?”

I force the words out. “Dark‑fairy hunter breed. From the Noctis Vale. They walk in daylight, but they carry night with them. They don’t stop. Once they scent you, they keep coming till you’re dead… or they are.”

I grit my teeth. “I thought they couldn’t get here…couldn’t come through the portals, not on their own.”

Jason’s hand tightens on his gun. “Is it after you?”

Before I can answer,

The door cracks inward. Wood groans, splinters.

Then explodes off its hinges, slamming into the opposite wall.

The Graelghast stands in the ruins of the doorway.

Seven feet tall, maybe more.

Humanoid in the loose, awful way something mimics a shape it shouldn’t have.

Skin like coal and packed ash. eyes like twin embers, smoldering even in the sunlight.

Oily hair hanging in thick ropes.

Arms too long, legs hinged wrong, fingers tipped with hooked black talons.

Its nose flares, nostrils quivering as it scents the air.

And when its ember‑bright gaze locks on me, it releases a low, guttural snarl that rattles the glasses behind the bar.

Arlene screams.

Jason raises his gun, but I catch his wrist. “Bullets won’t do a damn thing.”

The Graelghast lunges to come through the remnants of the doorway, but I move first.

In one breath, I bolt out the door, twisting just enough to avoid the Graelghast’s clawed arms. Jason’s voice shouts my name behind me, but I can barely hear him over the creature’s pounding footsteps, and snarls that shake the building.

Sunlight hits my face as I leap out onto the gravel lot. I throw my hand back, palm open.

A shimmer of gold sparks across the air.

My short sword materializes in my grip - silvered steel etched with glowing glyphs that pulse against my palm. My other hand snaps down, and a dagger spins into existence, humming with the same ancient magic.

I pivot just as the Graelghast crashes through the patio railing, splinters flying.

It charges on two legs, but the gait is wrong - jerky, predatory, almost feral. Its scream rips through the air, a horrific mix of fairy song twisted into something far older, far crueler.

I charge straight back at it.

My first strike is clean as my dagger arcs across its forearm, slicing deep. Black, smoking blood sprays. The creature shrieks, its taloned hand swiping where I stood a heartbeat ago. I duck, roll, and drive the short sword under its ribs.

Light flares - bright, searing - burning across its shadowy form. The Graelghast staggers, its body flickering, glitching between solid and smoke.

I spin, dagger snapping into the base of its skull, whispering a spell under my breath. Magic dances from my hands, through the blade, into its corrupted form.

The creature freezes, a final shudder rattling the ground beneath it. Then it implodes - shadowy dust exploding outward, evaporating before it even touches the gravel.

Silence crashes down.

Just me, panting, holding two glowing blades, standing in the middle of Merlotte’s parking lot while the sunlight returns as if nothing happened.

The doorway behind me fills slowly. Jason. Lafayette. Sam. Arlene. Every pair of eyes frozen, stunned. And for a heartbeat, I realize - I’m back. I’m home.
But nothing - not even daylight - will make them forget what just tried to kill me.

Jason finally manages, “Sook… what the hell have you become?”

I wipe the blades on my jeans, my mind still half in another realm. “A fairy princess with a sword, a bad attitude, and a talent for ending trouble,” I say, letting the words roll out easily, like I’ve owned them forever. “And don’t worry, I bite first and ask questions later.

I lift my head, meeting Jason’s gaze with something sharp, haunted, steeled.

“And if a Graelghast found me here, there is something more happening. That thing was sent to find me.”

The creature’s dust hasn’t fully settled on the gravel when Jason touches my shoulder, gentle, grounding.

“Inside,” he says quietly. “Now.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - Gran

Sam herds us in through the shattered doorway, muttering under his breath. “I just fixed that damn door last month…” But his eyes keep flicking to me - full of questions, and something close to fear.

Lafayette hovers close, eyes darting everywhere. “If another one of those tall, angry charcoal briquettes shows up, I ain’t fightin’ it with a spatula, mmkay?”

We slip into Sam’s cramped office. The door shuts with a soft click. It feels too small for all four of us, the air thick with tension and leftover magic.

I stand with my back to the three of them for a moment, staring at the glow still lingering along my blades. I exhale and let the magic go, light skimming over my palms as the weapons dissolve into drifting sparks.

Jason’s eyes go huge. “Okay. That ain’t normal.”

“Sit,” I say softly.

They all do.

I stay standing. It’s easier to breathe that way.

“When I disappeared,” I began, “I wasn’t kidnapped. Part of me thought I was running… giving myself time to heal. But the truth is, I was also being drawn.”

Sam leans forward. “Drawn where?”

“Farey first, eventually other realms including the Noctis Vale,” I say. “Its a realm in‑between the others. A place even the fairies don’t like to talk about.”

Lafayette swallows. “Baby, that sounds like the kinda place that eats people.”

“It does.” My voice trembles at the edges. “It nearly ate me once. But I had help, friends who have been fighting the shadows for longer than I’ve been alive.”

Jason pushes his hands through his hair. “Why you? Why would they take you? What makes you so special?”

Jason’s question hangs there, heavy as a sack of wet cement.

“Special?” I give a short, humorless puff of air. “Jason, you know I never wanted any of this. I would've paid good money to be ordinary.”

I let my hand fall, the last of the sparks fading from my skin.

“The truth is… once I got to Faery, I learned I couldn’t just hide from what I am. Not anymore. Claudine helped me understand my potential. My magic was raw, yeah, but raw just means it hasn’t been shaped yet.”

Sam tilts his head. “So you learned how to shape it?”

“I had to,” I say softly. “Faery was in trouble. The barriers between it and the Noctis Vale were weakening, cracking open in places they shouldn’t. Things were spillin’ through in the shadows. Things made of hunger, pain and old grudges.”

Lafayette shivers dramatically. “Mmhmm, I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

“You wouldn’t,” I agree. “Nobody would.”

I cross my arms, because admitting the next part feels like standing naked in the cold.

“I didn’t get dragged into the Vale. I… volunteered.”

The room goes absolutely still.

“I’d learned enough magic to defend myself. To defend others. And they needed someone who could walk between realms without gettin’ eaten alive.” A beat. “Or at least not right away.”

Jason’s voice cracks. “Sook, why the hell would you do that?”

“Because somebody had to,” I say, sharp and simple. “Because those things were targeting my bloodline, my people. And because every time a portal cracked open, it pushed more of its monsters through. So I sealed them. One after another. I fought things with teeth like iron and shadows that could choke the light out of you. I drove them back so Faery could breathe.”

My throat goes tight, but I keep going.

“And for a while, it worked.”

“A while?” Sam echoes.

“Yeah.” I meet his eyes. “Because the monsters stopped trying to get into Faery.”

Lafayette nods slowly. “Well, that sound like a win to me, cher.”

“It isn’t.” My stomach knots. “They didn’t stop. They just… changed direction.”

Jason blinks. “Direction to where?”

I swallow.

“Here,” I whisper. “Earth-side. Something - or someone - is callin’ them. Pullin’ them out of the Vale and toward this world instead of Faery.”

Sam’s jaw tightens. “So you came home because…”

“Because if they’re comin’ after my kin, they’re sure as hell comin’ after my town, and anywhere else that has a portal connecting to Faery” I finish. “And I’m not lettin’ Bon Temps become the next battleground.”

Silence drops heavy and absolute.

Lafayette whistles low. “Girl, you basically a magical nuclear plant.”

I give a humorless smile. “Feels like it some days.”

I take a breath. Might as well rip the rest of the bandage off.

“Jason… there’s more.”

Jason throws up his hands. “How in the hell is there more, Sook? We got vampires, shadow monsters, you sealin’ fairy portals like some kinda Southern Gandalf, and you doin’ ninja- magic…what’s left?”

I swallow. My voice softens, steady but edged with dread.

“It’s about our family.”

Jason freezes. “What about it?”

Lafayette and Sam exchange a look- oh lord, here we go - but stay wisely, blessedly quiet.

I move a little closer to my brother. He’s still shaky, both hands flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and I know what I’m about to say might hit him harder than any Graelghast ever could.

“Jason,” I start gently, “there’s something you never knew about our bloodline.”

Jason snorts, wild and fraying at the edges. “Sook, unless you’re about to tell me Gran secretly ran a meth lab, I don’t think you can shock me anymore today.”

My smile is small and sad. “It’s about Gran, alright. And our real heritage.”

Jason’s face falls. “Gran? What about her?”

I breathe in slow, steady, the way the trainers in Faery taught me - center before speaking truth.

“We always thought my gift came from way, way back. Some old ancestor who danced with the wrong crowd, or a fairy great-great-great somebody gettin’ a little too friendly. But it wasn’t distant. And it wasn’t old.”

He stares at me, confusion warring with dread. “You’re makin’ it sound like it was… close to home.”

“It was,” I say softly. “It was Gran.”

Jason’s jaw drops. “What about Gran?”

My chest tightens. “She had an affair, Jason. With a fairy.”

Jason’s brain stalls like a truck on black ice. “You mean to tell me Gran - our Gran - was with a fairy man?”

“Yes.” I hold his gaze. “A half-blood royal fairy. He was our biological grandfather.”

Jason blinks hard. “But Grandpa Mitchell…”

“Wasn’t blood.” I say it gently, not to hurt, but there’s no soft way to deliver the truth. “She loved him. She made her life with him. But… she loved someone else too.

Someone who loved her back. Who could give her kids. He visited her for years.”

Jason sinks back into his chair like the floor’s gone soft. “Gran cheated on Grandpa… with an actual fairy prince.”

I wince. “Not the prince. But his son. Someone powerful. Someone who adored her.”

Jason’s eyes dart around like he’s trying to find something normal to anchor himself to. “So… our fairy part ain’t diluted or ancient. It’s… through Gran?”

I nod.

He drags both hands down his face. “I can’t believe this. Gran always told me to eat vegetables, be kind, and not get girls in trouble. She never said nothin’ about gettin’ herself in trouble.”

A laugh escapes me, thin and aching. “She kept it secret because she knew the fairy world was dangerous. She didn’t want us dragged into it.”

Lafayette hums low. “Smart woman. Didn’t work, but smart.”

“This is part of why I got invited into Faery,” I continue. “The fae knew exactly who I was. What blood ran in me. That's why they took interest.”

Jason looks at me with rare, sharp clarity. “But why you and not me?”

I reach for his arm, my voice softening. “Because the magic didn’t pass to you, Jase. Or not the same way. You got strength, beauty, instincts… but the fae spark? It went to me.”

Jason nods slowly, processing.

“You’re human,” I say, giving his arm a squeeze. “Through and through. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jason’s eyes glisten with something old, something fragile. “I ain’t ashamed. I just… I wish Gran had told us. She must’ve been lonely carryin’ a secret like that.”

My throat tightens. “She was protecting us. From the fae. From being dragged into a world she didn’t want touching us.”

Jason swallows. “And now you’re caught in it because of what she did.”

I shake my head fiercely. “No. I’m caught in it because of what I am. Who I am. Who I chose to become.”

Jason’s voice breaks. “I loved her, Sook.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I did too. And she loved us enough to keep the truth buried her whole life.”

Jason wipes his face, then nods, shock settling into a quieter acceptance.

I exhale, slow. “Look… I came to see y’all. Tell you I’m back. I didn’t realize the nightmares were already nippin’ at my heels.”

I pull Jason into a tight hug. His arms lock around me like he thinks I’ll disappear again.

Glancing toward Sam, as I let go of Jason. “Any chance I can get fried pickles, a burger, and fries?” I rub my temple. “Magic makes a girl hungry.”

“Hell, I got you,” Sam murmurs.

Lafayette rolls up imaginary sleeves. “Baby, sit your sparkly butt down. I’m cookin’.”

While Lafayette starts clattering in the kitchen, I move around the bar, placing quick wards, barely more than whispered shapes of light and intention, but strong enough to keep anything shadow-touched out.

Sam fills me in on town gossip and helps me program the new phone with everyone's numbers. Jason sits glued to my side, holding my hands like he’s making sure they’re solid flesh and not drifting sparks.

The food arrives, hot and glorious. And I eat.

God, I eat like I haven’t tasted real grease or salt or human comfort in a decade. Like the magic burned through every calorie I ever had. The first bite of fried pickle hits my tongue and I swear my knees are about to buckle. The burger disappears embarrassingly fast - juice running down my wrist, fries vanishing like I’m inhaling them.

Lafayette howls laughing, saying, “Look at you go, cher, like you fightin’ the food for dominance.”
And Lord help me, I kind of am.

It’s good. All of it. The eating, the laughter, the normalcy. I needed this in ways I didn’t realize until now.
My people are still here. Mine.

Surprised, sure. A little shell-shocked, maybe. But that’ll fade. They’ll adjust. I eat, and I catch up with Jason, and for the first time since I stepped back into the world, I feel… tethered.

Walking out of Merlotte’s, my belly warm, magic steady, heading back to my rebuilt farmhouse, one thing settling deep and certain in my chest; they didn’t forget me. They mourned me - but they didn’t forget.

It’s the anchor I’d been searching for. The one other thing I’d been hoping for was still waiting; but I knew it now. I’m home.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - Collision

By the time I get back to the house, I was on a mission.

The place was quiet, too quiet, but not in a dangerous way. No tracks, no signs of anything impending. Still, I needed to be sure. The faery portal in the woods would have to be checked, along with the rest of the property.

I put away the small haul of groceries I’d grabbed in town. It wasn’t much, not with how Eric had looked after everything and had the pantry setup for my return. Fully stocked, neat, careful in ways he’d never admit out loud.

The meal at Merlotte’s had settled something in me, and filled more than my stomach. It gave me purpose again. Strength. A reminder of who I missed.
The late afternoon light slants through the windows. I still had an hour or two before full dark.

Eric.

He had said he would check in tonight. I needed to tell him about the fight, the wards, the beasts from the shadows starting to creep Earth-side. No point dwelling on it now, I tell myself, as I head out toward the woods.

I slip silently from the house and make my way into the woods, moving quickly but stealthily. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the leaf-strewn ground. Walking for a few minutes, I keep my senses alert for any sign of movement - or of another graelghast.

Then I see it; a faint shimmer between two ancient oaks. The portal to Faery was open in my woods. It wasn’t large - but it was enough to allow something through - and that was all it would take. My stomach tightened at the thought of what else might have crossed.

I call to my magic, focusing and letting my energy flow through my fingers. I let my hands move in practiced gestures as I chant the circle’s binding, my voice low and steady. The air hummed with power as I traced the invisible lines around the portal.

By the time I finish, the portal glimmers faintly in the last rays of sunlight, sealed tight against the Noctis Vale; nothing else would be crossing here from that realm. I stand back, breathing steadily, listening for any hint that my work had not held. For now, the portal was sealed from permitting anything to cross from the Vale, and the woods felt just a little safer.

I also knew this may well be temporary. Something mostly likely had pushed the graelghast through, and that meant trouble - more than I could handle alone if they kept coming.

I make my way back towards my house, my steps heavy with the weight of the day. Stopping for a moment when I crossed into the backyard, and letting the cool early evening air wash over me. The strain of the magic I’d used, and the emotions I’d been holding tight since Merlotte’s coiled under my skin. I felt too tight.

Training would help. It always did.

I slip into motion, letting my body move the way it had been taught. A dance with no partner, only purpose. My feet shifted across the grass, arms slicing through the air in sharp, deliberate arcs. The movements warm me, loosen the tight places.

Soon, I was flowing faster - spinning, leaping, kicking, landing, rolling, rising again without pause. Muscle memory took over. Breath synced to rhythm.

A wooden training sword flickered into existence in my hand, light coalescing into familiar weight. I push harder, each strike and block blending seamlessly into the next. Wind gathering in my free palm, responding to my will, blasting outward to complement the swing of my sword.

The backyard became a small storm, movement and magic woven together.

Dusk fell around me without my noticing. Shadows stretched, deepened, merged into the soft black of night. I didn’t stop. I didn’t even slow. My mind was quiet, focused; my body knew the path.

And then… A shift.

A presence behind me, faint but unmistakable, closing in fast.

Instinct snaps through me.

I pivot hard, training sword cutting through the air as I unleash a sharp tunnel of wind from my free hand. The force roars forward, a whip of pressure and intent.

“Eric!” I gasp as recognition hits a heartbeat too late.

The wind strikes him, but he blocks it with effortless grace, being pushed slightly off course and landing lightly several feet away. I watch as he straightens, expression somewhere between amused and concerned.

“You really should warn me before you turn your backyard into a hurricane,” he says, voice maddeningly calm.

I lower my arms, chest still heaving, adrenaline thrumming through me.

“You startled me,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “I was focused but relaxed, I didn’t realize anyone was there until the last second.”

Eric steps closer, long strides silent on the grass. His eyes sweeping over the yard, the training sword in my hand, the faint shimmer of residual magic curling in the air. He pauses, fixing me with that slow, unreadable gaze of his.

“Well, well,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, a thread of amusement curling around the edge. “Looks like someone’s been very busy. You’re stronger than I thought, Sookie.”

I blink at him, heart still hammering.

He leans slightly closer, the shadow of a smirk on his lips. “Stronger than I like admitting. Dangerous. Efficient. Terrifying… and appealing.”

I swallow, half-expecting the air itself to shift at his words.

“Eric,” I say, my voice steady, “don’t flatter me while trying to intimidate me, it won’t get you anywhere.”

A slow, teasing laugh slips from him. He lets the tension linger, enough that I have to remind myself to breathe. “I’m not flattering, Sookie. I’m observing. Careful, focused observation. But yes… you are intimidating to some, infatuating to me. In the best possible way.”

A heat rises into my cheeks despite myself.

He rests a firm hand on my shoulder. “Let the night settle around you. Breathe. Give yourself a minute to settle the storm.”

I tilt my head, looking up at the still darkening sky. The wind softens my magic is ebbing, though my mind is still racing. Eric’s hand stays there, on my shoulder just a moment longer than strictly necessary, and I lean slightly into the touch, comforted by the steady weight and quiet strength he offers me.

“I… I needed that,” I admit, a faint smile brushing my lips.

He smirks softly, his thumb brushing lightly across my arm. “I thought you might.” My magic and skill still linger in the air, drawing his attention; his eyes calculate, intrigued.

I pull back, shaking off the last of the adrenaline. “We should head in. I need to fill you in on… things.”

Together, we walk back toward the farmhouse, the night settling around us like a calming blanket after the storm I’ve made. Eric stays close without hovering—near enough that I can feel his presence steadying me. When we step inside, the kitchen greets us with warmth and familiarity. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint scent of home ground me more than I expect.

I set the training sword on the table with a soft clack, then pour myself an iced tea, grab a sandwich, and pull a bottle of Blood Moon from the fridge to heat for Eric. The simple motions steady my hands. I sit at the table, dig into my meal, and tell him the highlights.

The graelghast’s attack.
The portal in the woods and how I’d sealed it from the Vale.
The protective circle of wards I’ve placed around the house.
And the unease lingering like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

Eric listens without interrupting. His expression stays serious, eyes sharp with that predator’s focus he uses when something matters, but beneath it is something else - admiration. Awareness. A quiet understanding of the weight I carry.

When I finish, he nods slowly. “You handled more today than most could in a week,” he says, his voice low and certain.

I exhale, some of the strength I’ve been holding up sagging under the weight of honesty. “I’m used to keeping busy and looking after my responsibilities.”
He leans in, elbows on his knees, his voice dropping to something meant only for me. “You never have to do it alone, Sookie. Not ever.”

I look up and meet his gaze. The reassurance there isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s steady, unyielding - the kind of promise he doesn’t make lightly. He’s here with me. I don’t fully trust the comfort of that yet, not after everything we’ve been through… but part of me knows I want him here. More than I want to admit.

I motion for him to move to the living room as I start to pick up, and Eric moves ahead of me with that effortless, predatory grace that always makes the space feel smaller. By the time I follow, he’s already crouched at the fireplace, stacking logs and coaxing a flame to life with practiced efficiency. The early-October chill has settled into the farmhouse, and the soft crackle of the fire warming the room feels grounding, intimate. Too intimate.

The idea of company - of him here with me, someone I trust… or am still learning how to again - settles into my chest with an unexpected sense of comfort.
When he finally straightens and crosses to the couch, the change in him is immediate. Eric doesn’t pace or loom. He doesn’t cloak the moment in humor or arrogance. He sits with his forearms on his thighs, hands loosely clasped, and when he looks at me, his attention is absolute.

“Sookie,” he said, my name sounds different now, weighted, deliberate. “I remember.”

The room seemed to tilt, just slightly.

“I remember all of it.” His emphasis on the word all makes me swallow in reaction. My breath catches, sharp and sudden, and I feet it, deep in my chest, like the faint echo of a bell that’s been struck too hard.

“The witches,” he continues, his voice calm but edged with something that vibrates underneath. “The curse. What it did to me. What it took.” His eyes lift to mine, bright and unflinching. “And what you gave to me while I was under it.”

My fingers tighten on the arm of the chair.

“I remember you,” he says simply. “Every night. Every embrace. Every time you stood your ground with me like you were daring the world to try and move you.” A pause. “I remember what it felt like to have you give yourself to me. Unafraid. Openly.”

The words settle between us, heavy and intimate.

“I remember the moment you left,” he goes on, quieter now. “I remember standing outside this house, knowing you were gone and not being able to stop it.” His jaw flexes once.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You… you didn’t remember before.”

“No,” he says. “Something blocks it.” His gaze drops briefly - to my hands, my pulse, the space between us, and when it lifts again, it’s intent. “When you left, something pulsed through our blood connection… it was like being struck by lightning from the inside.”

A shiver traces my spine, unbidden.

“It shakes everything loose,” he says. “The memories come back all at once. Not gently.” A faint, wry curve touches his mouth. “You rarely do anything gently to me.”
I huff a breath…half laugh, half disbelief.

Eric leans back slightly, giving me space, intentionally, and somehow that makes the moment more intense, not less.

“I’m telling you this because you deserve to know,” he says. “Not because I expect anything. Not because I’m asking you to pick up where we left off.”

His eyes soften just enough to make my chest ache.

“But understand this,” he adds, his voice low and unmistakably Eric. “Nothing we shared was erased. Not for me. Not ever.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s charged. Alive. And somewhere deep beneath my ribs, our blood connection hums, like I’ve been waiting to hear those words, like it’s been waiting for him to finally say them out loud.

“Eric, I remember that time too. It’s part of the reason I didn’t cut our bond,” I say softly. “I don’t regret any of it. But memories don’t erase the present, and I need to move forward at my own pace.”

I let my fingers brush his hand, brief, but deliberate.

Later, the fire crackles low, casting warm gold across the room. I tug Gran’s afghan over my legs and shoot Eric a look from where he sprawls across my couch like he owns the place. Not that he hasn’t tried.

“Feet off the table,” I warn, not even looking up from my mug.

He pauses mid-stretch, one eyebrow lifting. “You invite a thousand-year-old vampire into your home, and this is the level of hospitality I receive?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make you wipe your boots on the mat,” I say, taking a sip of cocoa. “Some of us don’t float everywhere.”

Eric smirks and settles beside me, closer than strictly necessary. “I could float. I could use the mat. I choose not to. It is still technically my table.”

“Oh, right, we’re bringing that up again.” I set my mug down a little harder than necessary. “Buying my house behind my back doesn’t automatically earn you my gratitude,” I add, arching a brow. “Especially when I didn’t agree to be… handled without discussion.”

He doesn’t look ashamed. “Considering I paid for it, along with the renovations, you might consider showing a little gratitude. But don’t worry—I’ve never confused gratitude with consent,” he replies quietly. “But you’ve always reacted most strongly when I touch something you already consider yours.”

“I swear, you’re lucky I don’t decide to charge you rent. And interest.”

He gives the room a slow, smug sweep. “You make it sound so sinister. I improved it. I ensured your comfort. Actually, I’m already working on having it transferred back into your name. You’re welcome.”

The words shake something loose inside me, but I’m too irritated by his highhandedness to recognize it.

“Oh, thank you so much,” I drawl. “It really warms my heart that you installed a bathtub big enough to drown a Viking ego.”

He chuckles, low and pleased. “You’ve used it.”

“No! Not yet - that is not the point.” Exasperated, I let out a huff.

“It’s exactly the point.” His arm stretches along the back of the couch, fingers barely brushing my shoulder. “You’re enjoying the improvements. But admitting that would wound your pride.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “My pride is just fine. Yours is the one inflating like a hot-air balloon.”

He slides me a sideways look, all lazy confidence. “You missed me.”

I snort. “I missed not living in a place that screams, ‘Yes, a vampire with too much time and money renovated me.’”

He leans in, firelight catching the sharp line of his smile. “You’re welcome for that, too.”

I groan and drag the afghan over my face. “I swear, Eric Northman, you’re impossible.”

He gently tugs the afghan back down, his fingertips brushing my cheek before retreating. “And yet… here I am.” His voice softens. “With you. In this home I care for, because you live in it.”

My heart does a traitorous little flip. “Well,” I mutter, “don’t expect me to say thank you.”

He nudges my knee with his, leaning just slightly closer. “I don’t need you to. I already know.”

After a moment, Eric smiles, the weight of the night lifting slightly.

“Sookie,” he says, a crooked smile in his voice, “I want you to come to Fangtasia.”

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite myself. “You want to take me to Fangtasia… for a night out?”

He grins, that familiar spark in his eyes daring me to say no. “Why not? You’ve earned it.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, Eric,” I say. “Give me a couple more days?”

His gaze rakes over me, then settles on my eyes. “Rest tonight. Take tomorrow too. Take it easy. Then get ready for a little fun - night air, music… maybe a drink or two. You won’t regret it.” He grins again. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Pam would love to see you.”

“Well, if Pam’s expectin’ me, I guess I better accept and plan to look presentable.” I grin. “But if Pam starts trouble with me, I’m telling her you begged.”

Eric’s smile doesn’t falter, if anything, it sharpens. “Begged?” he echoes, savoring the word. “Sookie, if I ever begged, you’d never recover from it.”

He leans in close enough that I feel the cool whisper of his presence.

“But I appreciate your… generosity.” His eyes sweep over me in that slow, deliberate way that always makes my pulse misbehave. “I’ll be at your door at eight. Try not to pretend you’re doing me the favor, or Pam will laugh herself into a coma.”

Then he leans back, smug as sin. “And wear something that makes you impossible to ignore. I’ll enjoy the challenge of pretending not to stare.”

I stare at the ceiling and start counting backward from ten. I’d forgotten the way Eric’s certainty isn’t loud or sharp, just absolute, and how easily it undoes me.

Eric’s gaze drifts away as he slips a hand into his pocket. He checks his phone, just a quick glance and a text or two, but it’s enough to shift the air between us.

His expression softens, then sharpens into that familiar, composed calm. “It’s getting late,” he says quietly. “I should go.”

I blink, surprised he’s the one calling it. “Oh. Right.” I push the blanket off my legs and stand, brushing imaginary lint from my shirt. “Places to be, huh?”

“Always,” he says with a small, knowing smile. “Though some places are more difficult to leave than others.”

I roll my eyes, fooling no one. “Let’s get you out before you start making the furniture miss you.”

He rises effortlessly, towering but somehow gentle, and we walk together toward the door. Firelight follows us in a warm trail to the entryway.

At the doorway, he pauses, close enough that I feel the coolness radiating off him like a shadow. He rests a hand lightly on the doorframe, his eyes finding mine with unnerving precision.

“I’ll see you the night after next,” he says, soft but firm. “Eight p.m. sharp. I’m picking you up.”

I cross my arms, chin tilting. “You’re real sure of that.”

“I’m right,” he replies simply, like the universe has already confirmed it.

I huff, trying not to smile. “And what if I’m busy?”

He leans in just enough to be maddening. “You’re not.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already stepping back, the night curling around him like it’s been waiting.

“Goodnight, Sookie,” he says, his voice velvet wrapped around something dangerous.

“Goodnight, Eric,” I answer, a little too softly.

Eric leaves me with a kiss - barely there, just a brush of lips - but it stays, etched into me like a whisper I can’t shake. I lean against the doorframe after he leaves, my pulse still thudding, and let out a slow breath.

Later, I decide to try out the new tub. It really is big enough for a Viking. I slip in, warm water and bubbles curling around me as the tension of the day melts away. My muscles unclench, my mind quiets, though it keeps drifting back to Eric - the tilt of his head, that confident smirk, the faint brush of his lips that sends a shiver down my spine.

Eventually, I let the water drain and towel dry, my skin still warm from the bath. I crawl into bed, let the cool sheets press against me, curl up, and surrender to exhaustion. Sleep comes fast, heavy, and deep, with the memory of Eric lingering like a secret tucked behind my eyelids.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Catching Up

Morning comes, and I wake to the sunlight spilling through the curtains. My body aches slightly from yesterday’s chaos. I stretch, letting the warmth of the day seep into me, and for a moment I just lie there, thinking about him, about that kiss, about the way he’d been so close and yet… untouchable.

I drag myself from the bed, padding quietly to the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee. Pouring the dark liquid into my favorite mug, I cradle it in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. One slow sip, and the world feels a little sharper, a little more ready to face me.

I decide I have time on my side today, so I slip on a light coat and head into town. The air is crisp, carrying that early-morning smell of baked bread and coffee, and I let myself smile at the familiarity of it all.

Tara’s shop comes into view…bright, chaotic, full of clothes and the faint cloy of perfume that lingers everywhere. I push the door open and the bell jingles.

“Tara?” I call.

Her head snaps up from a blouse she’s folding, and her eyes go wide. “Sookie?” Her mouth drops open, and for a moment she just stares. “Is that really you?”

I grin. “It’s me. Been told it’s been… what… a year and a half?”

She’s on me in a heartbeat, hugging me tight. “Oh my God… you’re… different! Stronger, healthier, more… magical!” She laughs, pulling back to look me over like I just landed from another planet. “I can’t even - how?”

I shrug, smiling at her disbelief. “Yeah… changed a little. Life tends to do that. But I’m still me.”

Tara shakes her head, still staring. “No way… you… you look amazing. And” she gestures wildly, glancing at the shop like it suddenly matters - “you’ve got this… energy. Like you could punch the world in the face and it’d apologize.”

I laugh softly. “Something like that.”

We wander the aisles, catching up on all the tiny Bon Temps dramas. She’s talking fast, full of gossip and jokes, and I can’t help but grin. She fills me in on the new guy in her life, and the way her eyes sparkle when she talks about him makes me smile. He treats her like a queen and she’s loving every minute of it.

Then my gaze lands on a dress tucked on a lower rack. Deep burgundy, dark wine, black lace at the shoulders, plunging neckline. Bold. Elegant. Dangerous…in all the right ways.

“This one,” I murmur, holding it up against me. “Perfect for tomorrow night.”

Tara leans closer, inspecting it. “Oh… wow. That’s… Sookie, that’s gorgeous. And you… you’re really going to wear it for ‘him’?”

I grin. “I’m wearing it for me.” My eyes twinkle with mischief. “He’s just lucky enough to witness it.”

She shakes her head, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Girl… you’ve changed. Whole aura different. And that dress? He won’t know what hit him.”

I tuck the dress into a bag, thrill coursing through me. “Exactly.”

Tara hugs me again, tighter this time. “Don’t disappear that long again. Come see me - show off all that strength and magic you’ve got.”

“I will,” I promise, tucking the bag with the dress under my arm as I step back into the sunlight. The little detour had been exactly what I needed - just a taste of normalcy.

Walking through Bon Temps, the town hums peacefully under the midday sun, and I stop at the grocer. Grab a loaf of bread, some vegetables, a few staples… and, without hesitation, a four-pack of Blood Moon.

At the register, Mrs. Fortenberry eyes me like she’s two seconds from demanding a full report on where I’ve been and whether I’m “expectin’ company of the undead persuasion.” I flash a sweet smile. “Hi, Mrs. F. How’ve you been?”

Somehow, I make it out of there unscathed, groceries in hand, feeling lighter than I have in months. Tara’s laugh and energy linger in my mind, a reminder that some things…friendship, town gossip, the little slices of home…don’t vanish, even after everything else does.

I make my way back to my car, the sun warming my back, and decide to swing by Jason’s place. We hadn’t finished catching up at the bar yesterday, and honestly, it felt like we needed some quiet time, no monsters, no chaos, just us.

Pulling into his driveway, I notice the house looks a little crooked, a little messy, exactly like it always had. The familiar stubborn warmth radiates through the windows. I knock, and Jason opens the door barefoot, wearing yesterday’s shirt and that grin that somehow still makes me feel like I’m home.

“Well hey, Sook! You bring breakfast? Or are you just here to rescue me from my own poor life choices?”

“A little of both,” I say, dropping into a hug.

We sink into easy conversation, laughing and teasing, catching up on his work, my recent adventures, and the chaos of our childhood. Gran comes up, of course, and then his new girlfriend, Michelle…he’s practically bouncing with excitement at the thought of me meeting her. The strange quiet that’s settled over Bon Temps lately threads through our talk, too, subtle but undeniable.

When I finally rise to leave, Jason squeezes my hand.

“Come by again soon, okay? The house feels less… echo-y when you’re here.”

I kiss his cheek and promise I will.

By the time I pull back into my driveway, the house is cool and quiet. The renovations Eric had done give it a polished glow I’m still adjusting to, but it’s comfortable, familiar. I unpack the groceries, humming softly to myself, trying not to think too much about tall Vikings with infuriating smiles, and failing spectacularly.
But the quiet tug of restless energy wouldn’t leave me alone. I headed for the backyard, letting the door click shut behind me.

Training had become as necessary as breathing, a ritual that grounded me when the world felt unsteady. I drew in a deep, slow breath, letting it fill my lungs, and exhaled deliberately, trying to push everything else aside…the tension, the buzz of magic, the lingering thoughts of Eric’s visit.

I started moving. Strike. Pivot. Turn. Each motion flowed into the next, instinctive, precise. My arms carved arcs through the air, my feet shifted and twisted, drawing energy up from the earth, letting it surge through me and spill back out. Every motion was a conversation between my body and the magic thrumming just beneath my skin, subtle but insistent, pulsing in sync with my heartbeat.

I pushed harder. Faster. Sweat ran down my neck, clung to my braid, dripped onto my palms. Each strike demanded everything I had, each twist and turn sharpening my focus, carving clarity into my muscles, my mind, my soul. The backyard became a storm of movement, wind swirling with my sword, my senses tuned to the smallest shift in the air.

By the time I slowed, panting, trembling slightly, I felt… anchored. Solid. Like I’d shaken loose a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. My body ached in all the right ways, and my chest thrummed with energy that was entirely mine.

Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I let a small grin tug at my lips.

“Well,” I muttered to myself, breath still ragged, “that’s more like it.”

I was wiping the sweat from my arms, letting my heartbeat slow, when a ripple of light shimmered at the edge of the backyard. My eyes widened, and before I could even ask, she was there. Claudine, walking over like sunlight had just decided to stroll into my yard. Every movement she made had that effortless, fairy grace that I’d yet to master.

“Claudine!” I said, both startled and glad. “To what do I owe the ‘pop’ in?”

She laughed, that tinkling, musical sound that always eased the tension in my chest. “Oh, Sookie. I just wanted to check in. See how you’ve been settling in, and… well, give you an update on what we think we’ve figured out in Faery regarding the Vale.”

My stomach tightened. I’d been trying not to think about the Vale today. But Claudine’s expression was serious, the light in her eyes steady.

“The creatures in the Vale still seem to be multiplying faster than normal," she said, calm but firm. “Most of their entrances into our world have been sealed, yes, but it’s expected they will begin to show up more here. Especially where there are already portals. We can’t afford to ignore it.”

I nodded, tugging at my braid. “I know. I already dealt with a Graelghast here. Just one, but I sealed the portal in the woods off from the Vale to be safe. And Niall?” I asked cautiously. “Is he still looking to…”

“To find the source calling the beasts forward?” Claudine finished. “Yes. But it’s complicated. The power source connected to the Vale is definitely coming from this side, and only someone with fae magic could control a portal or create a tear to push them through.”

I swallowed, feeling that mix of awe and dread settle over me. “So… where do I start to help on this side?”

Claudine’s expression softened, and she let out a small, knowing sigh. “Sookie, the question isn’t where you start - it’s how you start. You already have what you need. Your magic, yes, but more than that… your courage, your instincts, and the life you’ve built here. That grounding, that connection to your people and your home, it’s as much a part of your strength as any spell or blade. Trust yourself, trust the bonds that tie you to this world, and you’ll know what to do when the time comes. You are not just a witness - you are part of the solution. And you will never face this alone. You will have help when you need them.”

“When will you not talk to me in riddles and possible futures, Cousin?” I laugh lightly as I say it. Claudine’s advice was always sound, but also reminded me of a fortune teller at the state fair.

Her eyes twinkled, leaning in slightly, voice softening. “By the smell of things… you’ve already reunited with your blue eyed viking, haven’t you?”

I froze for a second, heat creeping up my neck. “Eric?”

She smiled, mischievous and knowing. “I thought as much. You’ve got your eye on the Viking, Sookie, you always did…and you always go after what you know you want. Don’t let him forget it.”

I nodded, feeling the warmth and exasperation that Eric always stirred in me. “I’ll keep that in mind. We are planning to go out tomorrow night, actually.”

Claudine tilted her head, that ever-knowing look in her eyes. “Good. You seem well, all things considered. And while these past few days have had their challenges, remember, your strength comes from your magic and from being true to yourself. That’s what makes you unstoppable.”

I smiled faintly, thinking about Eric, Jason, and the tangled little world I was trying to settle back into. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

We settle together on the porch steps, the old wood warm beneath my hands as the afternoon sun drifts lazily toward the horizon. Golden light spilling across the yard, catching in Claudine’s hair and making her glow in that effortless, otherworldly way she always had. The air was soft and quiet, filled with the hum of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze moved through the trees. We slipped between laughter, shared memories, and comfortable silence. Every so often Claudine reached out, brushing my arm, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, little gestures that felt like home and reassurance all at once. Time seemed to slow around us, stretching into a peaceful stillness as the sun dipped lower, painting the porch in shades of amber and rose.

Claudine’s smile widened at me, leaning in to whisper, fairy-soft. “Remember where the viking is concerned, let your heart, instincts, and abilities guide you. And, if he ever thinks he can out-charm you, just remind him who’s really in charge.”

The light around us shifted as the sun dipped lower, starting to paint the yard in gold and orange. Claudine shimmered slightly in the fading sunlight. “I should go. I’ll check in again soon, but for now… rest, train, and focus on yourself for once.”

Then she was gone, leaving only a ripple of warmth in the air, like sunlight settling into the corners of the backyard.

I sat there for a long moment, hands on my hips, letting the quiet settle. Claudine had a way of leaving me both buzzing and exhausted at the same time.

I headed inside, letting the door click softly behind me. The kitchen was cool and familiar, a steadying presence after the chaos of the day. I pulled out the ingredients and started dinner, a simple meal of chicken, vegetables, potatoes, and cornbread. As I chopped and stirred, my mind kept wandering: Claudine’s words, Eric’s smirk, my magic and emotions curling in my chest like a living thing.

By the time the food was ready, darkness had fallen, and the yard outside was shadowed and quiet. I ate slowly, savoring the warmth, letting the rhythm of chewing and the steady heat of the meal ease me. Afterward, I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, and left the kitchen tidy.

When I finally climbed into bed, I felt the familiar ache from backyard training, the lingering buzz from Claudine’s visit, and the soft pull of thoughts about Eric. I tucked myself under the covers, propped up on pillows, letting the gentle hum of the house sink into me.

I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion and anticipation settle, and allowed myself to drift fully into sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - A Night Out

I wake with the sun streaming through the windows, the quiet of the house wrapping around me like a soft, familiar blanket. For a few seconds, I just lie there, letting the warmth settle into my bones, the steady hum of the morning filling the spaces where yesterday’s chaos still lingers. My muscles protest faintly from yesterday’s training, a reminder of the power coiled beneath my skin.

Eventually, I push the covers back and head for the shower. Hot water sluices over me, washing away the last remnants of sleep and sweat, leaving my skin tingling, alive. I linger a little longer than usual, letting the warmth and the steam clear my mind and steel me for what the day might bring.

Once downstairs, I start the coffee maker, and the rich, dark scent draws me in immediately. I set to making a full breakfast - eggs, toast, grits, and a bit of bacon - something hearty to anchor me in the ordinary, grounding me after days of the extraordinary. Each sip of coffee sharpens me, each bite a tiny comfort against the lingering tension of yesterday.

The day stretches quietly and deliberately. I stay close to home, tidying, taking careful notes in my notebook, revisiting Claudine’s words and reviewing my own research on the Vale. Reflecting on my journal, also got me thinking of my time in Faery. When I first crossed over, my magic was raw and untrained, something that flared instead of flowed. I’d thought awakening my fae power would feel like coming home, but it didn’t, not at first. Too many eyes weighed me, measured me, found me wanting.

I was less than half fae, too human for their tastes, too soft, too flawed. Some whispered that my blood diluted the crown I was meant to wear. Others looked at my humanity like it was a stain, something unnatural clinging to what should have been pure. I learned early that magic didn’t shield you from cruelty; sometimes it invited it.

Training was relentless. They pushed my magic until my bones ached and my head rang, until I learned the difference between control and survival. I studied histories that barely mentioned people like me and laws written by hands that had lived lifetimes I couldn’t comprehend. There were days I wanted to disappear into the sky itself, to become light and be done with it. But little by little, I learned that my human instincts; empathy, stubbornness, and the refusal to give up on people weren’t weaknesses at all. They were anchors. They kept my magic honest.

And somewhere between lessons and late nights, I found them, the ones who didn’t flinch at my humanity or sneer at my crown. Friends who laughed with me, trained beside me, defended me when I wasn’t in the room. I found where I fit, not because I erased half of myself, but because I finally refused to apologize for it. By the time I accepted the title of Princess, I understood something Faery had tried hard to teach me otherwise: I wasn’t worthy despite being human. I was worthy because I was whole.

Faery tested me in more ways than magic ever could, because as my own power grew, it also drew attention. My power - new, unguarded, tangled with human blood quickly became a kind of invitation. Some pursued me out of lust, drawn to what they saw as something exotic. Others circled out of curiosity, wanting to know how human desire tasted when wrapped in fae light. A few came simply because they could, because refusal was a novelty and conquest a sport. In Faery, temptation wore beautiful faces and spoke in voices designed to undo you.

Yet I turned them all away. Not because it was easy, and not because I didn’t feel the pull. There were moments when surrender would have been effortless, when letting myself drift into someone else’s arms would have dulled the sharp edges of being judged and watched. But each time, I felt the truth settle back into place. What I wanted wasn’t distraction or indulgence dressed up as desire.

In the quiet that followed those refusals, I understood my feelings for Eric with a clarity I couldn’t deny anymore. Not the blood bond, not my magic that tangled with my instincts - but the real thing, my feelings buried under all that I had been through. The feelings that had been there since the first time I walked into Fangtasia wearing that sundress and met his gaze. Distance didn’t erase it; temptation didn’t replace it. If anything, Faery stripped away the excuses I’d used to pretend it wasn’t real.

Through choosing restraint again and again, I learned something about myself. My humanity was a compass, pointing me back to the one truth I’d been avoiding: my heart had already chosen, long before crowns or magic or Faery ever tried to claim me.

By early evening, I make a simple dinner for myself, letting the familiar rhythm of chopping, stirring, and tasting satisfy me. Beneath it all hums that tiny bud of anticipation - the one I can’t ignore, the one that tightens my chest in the best possible way. Eight o’clock approaches, and I can feel it.

After dinner, I retreat to my bedroom, the lamplight bathing the room in soft gold. I stand in front of the mirror, fingers running through my long hair as it tumbles over my shoulders in warm waves, catching the light. I brush it slowly, deciding to leave it loosely secured at the nape of my neck, watching it cascade freely down my back.

I explore the treasure trove of lotions, makeup, and brushes in the bathroom. This must be Pam’s influence, evident in the organized chaos of it all. I keep it subtle, accentuating what I know he notices: a sweep of eyeliner to make the blue in my hazel eyes sharper, a hint of blush for warmth, lips glossed just enough to catch the light. Every stroke deliberate, every choice a small signal. The ritual of it all helping calm my nerves far more than a quick glamour could.

Finally, I slip into my undergarments - a black lace bra and matching panties, daring but private, a secret thrill beneath the burgundy dress Tara helped me pick. Sliding into the dress, the black lace cutouts brushing my shoulders, the neckline plunging boldly to showcase the curve and fullness of my chest without apology, I catch my reflection. The dress hugs my curves perfectly, and I can’t help the shiver of anticipation racing through me. I’m not hiding anything; I’m claiming it.

I glance at the clock: 7:45. I sit at the edge of the bed for a moment, steadying my breathing, letting excitement and calm settle together in a tense, delicious mix. My hands clasp loosely in my lap, pulse quickening, heart humming in my chest. Tonight is meant to be fun, thrilling, and maybe… a little dangerous.

I grab my purse, sliding my wallet, phone, and lip gloss inside, slipping a pair of black matte heels on my feet when I hear it - the faint crunch of gravel outside. My stomach twists, that delicious pull of anticipation, and I rise, smoothing my hair one last time, making sure the dress falls perfectly. Eight o’clock. Right on time.
I inhale, letting it fill me with energy, daring myself to smile. This is it. The night, the anticipation, the thrill of him waiting just beyond the door. My heart hammers, my pulse races, and I know, deep down, exactly what I want and that I’m ready to take it.

His knock on my door is sharp but insistent. My breath catches in my throat. One last deep inhale, steadying myself, grounding in the confidence I’ve cultivated, and I stride to the door.

I open it, and there he is. Eric. Tall. Commanding. Every inch predator and fire made of skin and muscle and wrapped in black. His eyes sweep over me, slow, deliberate, making my pulse hammer painfully against my ribs. He doesn’t speak at first; he doesn’t need to. He just looks.

Then the corner of his mouth twitches into that slow, teasing smirk, and for a heartbeat, I swear the air thickens with heat and danger. He’s actually looking at me like I’m… dangerous and desirable.

“You didn’t waste your efforts, Sookie,” he says, voice low, rough, a little amused. “Burgundy… black lace. Very… effective.” His gaze drifts over my curves, lingering on the plunge of the neckline, the black lace framing what I’m no longer shy about owning. I shiver, brushing my fingers over the lace, trying - and failing - not to flush under the heat of him.

“I thought you might like it,” I say, voice steadier than I feel, letting the mischief and challenge ripple through my tone.

His grin sharpens, teeth flashing just enough to make the blood in my veins stir. “Oh, I do,” he murmurs, voice heavy with promise and unspoken hunger. “Very much.”
He steps aside, hand held out, that predatory grace of his folding into every movement. “Let’s go,” he says, and my stomach flips. His corvette is in the driveway, gleaming in the light, engine low and throaty.

I nod, heart hammering, grabbing my coat, we slip out together. He slides into the driver’s seat, impossibly poised, long legs folding with effortless control, shoulders relaxed but every muscle alive, every motion deliberate. I climb in beside him, pulse thundering, hands clasped in my lap before daring to rest one near his. He starts the engine. The hum of the tires on asphalt becomes a drum, echoing in my chest.

Every so often, his eyes flick toward me, measuring, claiming, teasing. I steal glances at him too - jaw strong, hands precise, presence impossibly magnetic.

“Are you nervous?” His voice cuts through my thoughts, low, teasing, almost mischievous.

I swallow, nodding. “Maybe a little. It sounds like a lot has changed” That’s not what I’m nervous about at all, but it sounds as good to me as anything.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says, softening just enough to make me melt, but the undertone of danger never leaves his words. “You’re with me. Nothing’s going to touch you tonight. Not a soul…well…other than me.” His grin is all sass and sexy as hell.

The words wrap around me, heat and safety tangled together. My fingers brush against his arm, accidentally, but he doesn’t flinch. His hand rests over mine, a slow, deliberate claim, grip firm yet controlled. Electricity thrums between us, unspoken and undeniable. Every glance, every breath, every subtle shift of his body coaxes me forward, making the anticipation burn brighter.

The neon glow of Fangtasia appears, almost pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Eric slows the car, sliding into a perfect spot near the entrance, his spot. The lights catch in his eyes, sharpening them, making his gaze razor-edged. He kills the engine and lingers, that smoldering, predatory intensity of dazzling blue holding me in place.

“You ready, Sookie?” His voice drops lower, heavy, the question laced with challenge, promise, and something darker.

I nod, stomach twisting in delicious tension. “Ready,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.

He opens the door first, stepping out with that dangerous, fluid grace that always steals my breath. I follow, heels clicking against the pavement, Fangtasia’s warm, dangerous glow spilling over us. The air feels alive, electric, charged with anticipation. And in that moment, I know this night will be unforgettable.

Inside, the hum of conversation, music, and low laughter wraps around us. Eric’s presence beside me is a shield and a warning, and I feel simultaneously protected and exposed. Every eye in the room flicks toward us, but I don’t care. Not when I have him. Not when tonight, the danger, the thrill, and everything I’ve been wanting is here.

The lights are dim, crimson accents flickering along purple walls of the huge expanse, the air heavy with exotic spices and something darker, something dangerous. I glide through the bar with the kind of graceful menace I’ve been learning to carry.

I allow myself a quick telepathic scan…nothing beyond the usual chaos: sex, blood, music, jealousy. I can feel the vampire eyes follow me, curious, calculating; there were more of their voids here than I remember.

The main bar practically radiated, bathed in a deep, seductive red glow from custom lighting that traced the contours of the mirrored wall behind rows of gleaming bottles. The sign - “Fangtasia, the bar with bite” - seemed to pulse in rhythm with the low thrum of the music, casting a warm, dangerous light across the polished surfaces and catching the shimmer of bottles and glasses. Every reflection, every shadow, made the bar feel alive, like it was watching, waiting, daring you to step closer and play.

Pam emerges from behind the bar, sharp and gleaming. “Well, well, if it isn’t our favorite little telepath,” she says, eyes lighting up. “It’s been too long.”

I grin. “It has. And thanks for the makeup, lotions, and… wardrobe selection. Settling back in has been much easier. I could tell it had a women’s touch.”

“Of course, darling,” she says, a sly smirk tugging her lips. “Can’t have our little vixen looking anything less than…” her eyes run down me taking in every detail, “lethal”. Her smirk is all approval.

“Now, you two go have fun, I have things to see too and the bar won’t babysit itself.” Her heels click back towards the bar, leaving me with a mix of warmth, amusement, and that familiar prickling of Pam’s menace.

Eric’s eyes find mine. “Welcome to the new Fangtasia, Sookie,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, smirk teasing. “Bigger. Better. Exciting. Dangerous. With a certain appeal. Just the way I like it.”

His gaze sweeps the room, the booths, the neon glow, then slides to me, closer now letting me feel the power of his presence. “And now… it’s yours to see, and mine to enjoy with you.”

Taking my hand, he leads me past the thrumming crowd to the VIP section. The private booth above the main floor feels regal, isolated, intimate. Crimson light bathes us as Eric slides in beside me. The music pulses through the floor, slow, sultry, syncopating with my heartbeat.

Pam glides by, sliding two drinks toward us; one filled with a deep red liquid, the other an amber drink that catches the light like molten honey, rich with hints of caramel rising in slow, warm waves.

“On the house, Sookie, please make me regret it.” She winks before flaunting off back into the crush of the club.

I smiled, taking a sip of the drink, the sweetness and slight burn waking my senses as it rolled down my throat. My tastes in liquor had changed while I was away, which also extended to avoiding anything with citrus on principle. Bourbon and whiskey had become a new favorite. Eric watched me sip my drink, the tension humming between us, quiet and electric.

I scan the dance floor with my mind and notice a young girl in a blue glitter dress. “Eric,” I whisper, concern threading my words, “she’s seventeen. Fake ID.”

Before I blink, Pam is already handling it, the girl being discreetly escorted out. My eyes flick back to Eric, who watches me now like I’m a feast he’s savoring.

“Eric, don’t get any ideas,” I tease softly, though my pulse betrays my excitement.

The leather of Eric’s booth is cool beneath my legs, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling through me. Fangtasia hums all around us, bass thudding, human heartbeats fluttering like trapped birds. But none of it touches me.

Not with him sitting across from me like that.

Eric lounges the way only a thousand-year-old Viking can, like the whole world rearranged itself so he’d have a comfortable place to stretch out. His arm drapes over the back of the booth, long fingers tapping in lazy, predatory rhythm. His eyes, though?

Locked on me.

“Stop that,” I mutter, crossing one leg over the other. My dress slides just a bit, the slight shimmer of the fabric catching the low red lights.

“I am doing nothing,” he says, voice low, velvet-soft. “Simply appreciating what is mine to look at.”

I roll my eyes, but my pulse betrays me. Loud and obvious.

He hears every bit of it.

Eric leans in, elbows on the table, gaze sweeping slowly - slowly - from my shoes to my lips. The kind of look that feels like a touch. The kind of look that knows exactly what it does to me.

“You look…” he begins.

“Don’t say ravishing,” I cut in.

His smile curves, sharp and dangerous. “Then I will say devastating.”

My breath catches. Lord help me. “Eric…”

He slides closer along the booth, the leather whispering under him, until he’s beside me instead of across. The air shifts…cool from him, warm from me…colliding in a little electric storm.

“You came here tonight burning,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice brushing my skin. “You know I can feel it. Every inch of you is humming.”

I swallow hard. “I’m not humming.”

“You are,” he says, leaning just close enough that I feel his lips but not quite touching. “And you’re trying very hard not to crawl into my lap.”

I smack his arm. Lightly. “I am not.”

He doesn’t even pretend to be chastised.

He just looks pleased.

Eric’s fingers drift toward a loose tendril near my face, tucking it behind my ear with a tenderness so at odds with the rest of him that it steals my breath.

“You survived your adventures," he murmurs. “You carry power now. It glows on you.” His eyes drop to my throat, then lower. “And when you walk into my bar looking like this… Sookie, I can be a patient man, but I am not a saint.”

“Never thought you were,” I say, voice a little shaky.

He smirks. “Good. I would hate to disappoint you.”

He looks back towards the dance floor, then locks eyes again with me.

“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question, not really.

A mischievous smile spreads across my face. “Fine,” I say, daring him with a look.

He rises, pulling me to my feet with a fluid, commanding grace. Our bodies align as he leads me onto the dance floor. The music shifts into something dark, slow, seductive. Eric presses close, hips sliding against mine, hands tracing my waist. I melt against him, every nerve alive.

Our movements start slow, teasing, deliberate. Eric’s hands glide along my back, down to my hips, coaxing me closer. My fingers thread through his hair as he dips me, spins me, every movement a challenge and a promise. His body presses against mine, heat against cool, strength against softness.

The pulse of the music and the thrum of my heartbeat beneath my skin synchronize. Each dip, each turn, each whispered brush of skin against skin sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand slides along my thigh, teasing the edge of the dress, daring, possessive. I gasp, heat pooling between us, the world shrinking until it’s just him, me, and the rhythm that binds us.

When he finally leans back, just enough for me to breathe, our faces are somehow only inches apart, and I’m trembling, breathless. His smirk is slow, deliberate, predatory. He leans close, lips brushing my ear. “I think this calls for another drink,” he murmurs, voice low and silk-wrapped in promise, and I feel the pulse of desire, the pull of danger, and the undeniable, intoxicating draw of him.

Eric’s hand slid around my waist, firm and unyielding, pulling me with that effortless, possessive grace that always made my breath catch. “Come with me,” he murmured, low, smooth, intimate enough to curl heat low in my stomach. The words were a command dressed as a whisper.

Before I could form anything resembling a response, he was already moving, guiding me through the bar with vampire speed. The world blurred…faces, lights, the thrum of music…and then sharpened again as we slipped past the lingering patrons and the ever-watchful Pam. Her eyes narrowed knowingly as we passed, but Eric didn’t pause. He led me down the private hallway, deeper into the pulse of Fangtasia, toward the one place no one entered without purpose.

The door swung open, and the moment I stepped inside, the air changed. The room wrapped around me like a living thing, thick with amber light, warm shadows, and that unmistakable scent of him, leather, sea salt, old wood polished to a dark shine, and something uniquely Eric that always made my pulse stutter.
His tall leather chair dominated the space behind the massive desk, the kind of chair that didn’t just imply power, it declared it outright. It radiated quiet authority, turning the room into something alive, something watching. The smaller leather chair opposite the desk was sleek, inviting, but I felt it immediately, sitting there would be stepping into a game he controlled, a deliberate choice with consequences I couldn’t yet see.

Along the back wall, the leather couch looked comfortable enough, but even that carried an unspoken warning. This was his domain. Every piece of furniture, every shadowed corner, every flicker of light existed because he willed it.

I drew a slow breath, letting it settle in my chest, feeling the way the room seemed to press in around me, not suffocating, but intimate, charged. The honeyed glow from the lamps making the room feel like the space between danger and temptation.

And then, he was suddenly beside me. No sound, no warning. Just a shift in the air, and Eric Northman was impossibly close. He held out a drink, the amber liquid catching the light like warm gold. His fingers brushed mine as I took it, slow, intentional, a touch meant to linger long after it ended.

“For you,” he said, voice low, velvet-dark, his gaze locking with mine.

There was hunger in his eyes.

And something that felt like a promise he wasn’t saying out loud yet, but wanted me to understand all the same.

I take a sip, lips brushing the rim, the warm amber sliding over my tongue. My pulse thuds hard enough I’m sure he hears it. Eric watches me like he’s tracking every little movement. How I breathe, how I swallow, how I blush. There’s a tautness in his stance now, barely leashed, the kind of stillness a predator holds right before it decides whether to pounce.

He sets my drink aside with slow, deliberate precision, never breaking eye contact. Then his fingers slip around mine, cool and certain, guiding me a step closer. Close enough that I feel the faint brush of his chest rising and falling, the electric prickle of the space between us disappearing completely.

His gaze warms like he’s letting me see a piece of him he rarely shares. His hand glides up my arm, a smooth claiming trail, until it curves over my shoulder. Then he draws me in, my body fitting against him with an ease that feels inevitable.

“You’ve had a long couple of days,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. The whisper of his breath sends a shiver straight through me. “You deserve… a little personal attention.”

A soft sound escapes me before I can help it. My fingers find his chest, cool and firm beneath the fabric, anchoring me. “That…sounds like it could work,” I whisper, breath catching.

Eric’s smirk is slow, sinful. He tilts his head, brushing his lips against mine in a teasing ghost of a kiss that sets every nerve alight. The faint hum of Fangtasia beyond the door makes the moment feel suspended, private, as if the whole club is holding its breath.

When the kiss deepens, I lean into it, my mouth meeting his with hungry certainty. I feel the subtle scrape of his fangs just there, and instead of pulling back, I melt into the delicious edge of it. For the first time in days, I stop thinking, stop worrying, and just feel, letting the heat and the pull between us sweep through me.
Eric groans, a low, rough sound, hands tightening around my waist as he lifts me like I weigh nothing. The sudden movement pulls a breathless laugh from me, but I place my hands against his shoulders, halting him.

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, my own sparked with mischief and something steadier, claiming.

“Not so fast,” I say, voice firm but warm. “Tonight… I’m in charge.”

One blond eyebrow rises, slow and amused, but there’s a flicker of genuine interest - or maybe delight - in his eyes. His lips curve into a wicked smirk. “Oh?” he murmurs, voice dropping. “And how do you plan to do that?”

I close the small space between us again, sliding my hands down his chest with feather-light intention. I hold his gaze, letting the confidence settle over me like a second skin.

“By leading,” I say softly, a smile tugging at my lips. “So let me.”

Eric didn’t resist. He didn’t even pretend to. Instead, he tipped his head, letting me take the lead, his entire focus locked on me like I was the only source of light in the room.

I guided him back toward his desk, my steps slow and intentional, the click of my heels sounding like a promise. My confidence wasn’t a performance. It was a pulse, something hot and electric thrumming under my skin. He felt it. He fed on it.

I circled him with a teasing deliberateness, fingertips skating across his shoulder, down his arm, grazing his waist, little touches that barely counted as touches but still made him twitch. His eyes followed every move, darkening, sharpening, devouring.

“I like this side of you,” he murmured, voice deep enough to vibrate through me. “A lot.”

I let my fingers drift up his chest, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt with slow, wicked precision. He twitched again, just enough for me to notice, and that alone sent a bolt of triumph through me.

My hands slide up, threading into his hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging him closer and kissing him hard. Our mouths collide, tongues twisting, tasting, teasing. He answers with a low growl, grabbing my hips and pulling me flush against him.

He kisses me like a storm, like he’d been waiting too damn long. One hand traces fire up my spine; the other tangling in my hair, pulling me into him, taking, wanting. I feel like I’m losing control by degrees.

I slip between his legs as he leans against the desk, his knees bracketing me, trapping me exactly where he wanted me, and exactly where I wanted to be. Our bodies fit together like some inevitable truth, hunger matching hunger, timing impossibly perfect.

I laugh softly against his lips, drunk on the power threading through me. I press closer, letting my breasts brush along his chest, feeling the way he tenses, how even a thousand-year-old predator could still be driven by want.

His hands roamed, greedy and reverent all at once. Sliding over my thighs, my waist, the curve of my back…mapping me, memorizing me. I was drowning in him: his scent, his strength, that strange fierce tenderness hidden under his ruthless control.

He caught the zipper at the back of my dress, fingers curling around it, just about to pull -

I broke the kiss. I was breathless, I could feel that my lips were swollen, and my hands were still knotted in his shirt.

I lean back just enough to meet his gaze head-on.

“Eric,” I say, my voice a low, steady warning. “If we’re doing this, it’s not happening in your damn office.”

His brows lifted a fraction, intrigued by the conviction in my tone.

“I am not,” I continue, slow and deliberate, “going to be another fangbanger bent over your desk for a feed and a fuck.”

I let the words hang between us, daring him to argue.

He doesn’t.

But the way his eyes burn?

Lord help me, he liked it.

He fixes his eyes on me slowly. It feels like Eric drags his gaze over every inch he’s just touched, every inch he wants to touch again. His eyes glow faintly, pupils blown wide with desire he isn’t bothering to hide. His entire body winds tight, a predator held back by the thinnest thread of restraint.

He exhales, sharp and pained, like he has to force the breath out of himself.

He steps back just far enough to make the loss of him feel like sudden cold against my skin.

“Fine,” he says, his voice low and scraped raw. “Give me a minute, and I’ll drive you home.”

The words are controlled. The tone is not.

I inhale slowly, reminding myself that my lungs exist, that air is necessary, that I’m not supposed to feel this dizzy just because he steps five damn feet away.

Eric watches me, of course he does, his attention flicking back and forth between me and whatever he’s doing on the laptop, pretending to be composed. Pretending he hasn’t just had me pinned between his thighs. Pretending he isn’t still practically humming with that self-satisfied, ancient, smug Viking heat that makes it real hard not to stare directly at his mouth.

“I said wait… not no,” I remind him, though my voice betrays my intent, coming out softer, warmer, more affected than I mean it to.

One of his eyebrows lifts, a gesture so precise it might as well be carved from stone, the picture of a patience he does not possess.

I smooth my hair. Pointless. I try to look less like I’ve just been thoroughly kissed by a thousand-year-old vampire. My cheeks burn, I flush thinking about the feeling of his hands on me.

“There,” he says finally, closing the laptop with a soft click. “We can go now.”

He pushes off the desk with a control and ease that defies reason and crosses the distance between us at a pace that feels both unhurried and predatory. When he reaches me, he lets one fingertip trail along the inside of my wrist - barely touching me, but just enough to draw a shiver he definitely notices.
Traitorous. The electric shock travels up my arm and through me.

“I am taking you home,” he murmurs, and something in the way he says it—quiet, final—slides straight down my spine.
I swallow and nod. “Please do…”

His smile spreads slowly across his mouth, wicked and knowing, promising trouble wrapped in silk and steel. He extends his hand.

And of course I take it.

What else was I ever going to do?

Eric doesn’t say much during the drive. He just holds the wheel with that effortless, predatory calm of his, eyes fixed on the road… except for the moments he doesn’t even pretend not to look at me. If vampires could breathe, he’d be counting each one like a lifeline.

I feel him focused on me the entire time, a steady, silent pressure forming between my shoulder blades, sliding down my spine, coiling low in my stomach.
By the time we roll into my driveway, my nerves are bright—humming, alive, trembling at the edges. As the engine goes quiet, something else stirs. Tiny, unwelcome little ghosts at the back of my mind.

Not about him.
About me.

Eric had told me he remembers everything, every look, every touch, every moment we shared before my life split cleanly in two. I sit in his car, the quiet thrum of the engine beneath me, the night wrapped close around us, still trying to understand what that means for the woman I am now.

Four years is a long time to go untouched. Unheld. Unchosen.

Long enough for longing to settle into your bones and teach you patience, whether you want it or not.

What startles me isn’t fear or old ghosts stirring. It’s how incredible our time before had been. How what we shared didn’t fit logic or caution or anything sensible at all. It was without restraint - consuming in a way that rewrote the rules I thought I lived by. It didn’t creep up slowly or ask permission. It took hold and claimed me, body and mind, as if the world narrowed to one undeniable truth.

And that’s the terrifying part.

Because it felt right. Not safe. Not careful. Right in a way that defies reason.

Eric Northman is many things - dangerous among them - but sitting beside him now, knowing he remembers it all, I’m not shaken by doubt.

I’m shaken by certainty. By the realization that wanting him this much, after everything, after all this time, isn’t reckless or foolish or a mistake waiting to happen.
It’s instinctive.

And my heart - traitorous and steady all at once - seems determined to follow it.

He parks smoothly, gets out in a blur of vampire efficiency, and reaches my door before my seatbelt finishes retracting. He offers his hand - old-world gallant, annoyingly charming - and I take it, even though it makes my stomach flip just a little too hard.

We walk up the porch steps without a word.

I reach for the doorknob, keys in hand, ready to say something responsible like Good night or Drive safe or Let’s both pretend we didn’t spend that whole ride thinking about this next moment and every moment after.

But the second my fingers touch the metal, he’s there behind me - not touching, but close enough that the cold of him wraps around my heat like a promise. Or a warning.

“Sookie,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to vibrate along the back of my neck.

My eyes close. “You said you’d take me home.”

“I did.”

A beat.

“But we didn’t say what happens next.”

I turn slowly, because turning fast would feel like falling straight into him, and meet his gaze. He watches me the way only a vampire can - unblinking, face unreadable, emotions bright beneath the surface: hunger, anticipation, and something steadier he’d never acknowledge out loud.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, because one of us has to pretend to be the adult, and apparently that job falls squarely on my trembling shoulders.

“We already did.” He steps closer, the porch light catching the sharp line of his jaw, turning his hair into molten gold and shadow. “And you said you stopped only because we were in my office.”

A bolt of realization hits me - something I pushed aside as we parked, something I didn’t want to examine too closely. Apparently, it isn’t done with me.

“Eric, I don’t - ”

The words tangle in my throat. I let out a shaky breath, heat rippling through me despite how cool and close he stands.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “I haven’t been… while I was gone… there hasn’t been… not since before… with you.”

The confession feels enormous, like it doesn’t want to leave my mouth but has to.

Eric goes very still. Especially for a vampire, that means something.

“Sookie,” he says finally, his voice softer than I expect, stripped of its usual edge. “Four years in Faery… a year and a half here… and there wasn’t anyone?”
Something flickers in his gaze, so quick I might miss it if I don’t know him as well as I do. Not doubt, disbelief, threaded with something deeper and far more personal.

I lift my chin and close the last inches between us. The air tightens instantly, charged, humming like it recognizes what’s happening before I do.

“A few drunk kisses among fae friends during the revels, sure,” I say quietly. “…but nothing intimate.”

My hand rises before I fully decide to let it, trembling just enough to tell the truth, and comes to rest against his cheek. His skin is cool beneath my palm, a steady contrast to the heat blooming under my ribs.

“Well, I,” he says, tilting his head slightly into my touch, his eyes locking onto mine, “happen to be very good at intimate. Convenient, really.”

A startled, breathy laugh slips out of me - soft, genuine. I shake my head.

“Convenient for who, exactly?”

The spark of sass in my smile is deliberate, a shield and an invitation all at once. I let my eyes linger on his. I don’t hide the nerves beneath the confidence, don’t mask the passion I’ve been dodging for far too long. Another small, throaty laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

His gaze sharpens the instant that sound leaves my lips, like it strikes something deep and instinctive. His eyes dip to my mouth, then lift back to mine, hunger flaring openly now, unapologetic and bright enough to captivate me.

“Convenient for who?” he repeats, his voice a low, velvet drawl. “For both of us, I think.”

He leans in just enough for me to feel his presence everywhere like a promise, coiled tight beneath his control.

“And perhaps,” he adds softly, dangerously, “long overdue.”

He steps closer, a slow glide of his body into the space I don’t realize is there. Our silhouettes nearly merge. I feel him now, along every inch, a cool burn against my heat.

“Now maybe you think you’d prefer it if we took this slowly.” His smile deepens, slow and wicked enough to make my knees soften. “But Sookie… if I take less time, you accuse me of rushing you. If I take more, you accuse me of teasing you.”

He leans in, just slightly, his lips brushing my temple, his voice dropping into something that slides right under my skin.

“I’m simply trying to find a pace your heart can survive.”

My breath stutters. My pulse, my traitorous pulse, jumps so loud I swear it echoes.

He sees it. Of course he sees it. He nuzzles my cheek, his gaze locking onto mine.

“But if what you’re trying to say,” Eric murmurs, “is that you’re done waiting…”

That dangerous smirk curves his mouth again.

“I can accommodate that.”

His mouth crashes against mine.

Just fire and cold and heat and everything I’ve been trying not to want so badly.

My heart hammers so violently I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t laugh at the sound of it.

I don’t answer him. Not with words.

I reach up and grab the front of his shirt in my fist, yanking him closer.

His eyes flash, sharp with heat and dark triumph, but he doesn’t move until I tug. And then,

Then he’s there, like we never left the office at all. Like the whole car ride is one stretched-out breath we finally exhale.

Then we aren’t on the porch anymore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 - Letting Go

The moment her hand tightens in my shirt and tugs, something inside me snaps free. I don’t pause to think. I don’t hesitate. I move.

In a blur of motion and a rush of cold air, I sweep her against me and carry us through the house. Her breath hitches, caught somewhere between surprise and anticipation. Her fingers grip my collar as I take the stairs - faster than any human could follow -my senses flooding with the sharp, earthy scent of her.

We reach her room, and the world narrows to the beat of her pulse, to the defiance and want shimmering in her eyes. She tries to mask the tremor in her body, tries to hold herself still, but I feel the fire under her skin.

I close the bedroom door behind us with a firm click. She barely has a chance to exhale before I press her gently, but with undeniable weight, against it. I place one hand at her waist, the other braced beside her head—not a cage, not a trap, only the certainty of my presence.

“Sookie…” Her name slips past my lips like a confession I don’t mean to make, raw and unfiltered.

I hold her close, close enough to feel her heat soaking into me, to feel her heartbeat hammering under my palm. Her breath brushes smooth against my jaw, teasing me, demanding attention. Centuries of control, discipline honed through the ages, waver dangerously.

“I told you I would bring you home,” I say, my voice low, smooth, tight with restraint. “I did not say I would behave once we arrived.”

Her lips part in silent surrender. I lower my head slowly, giving her every chance to stop me. “Say the word, and I will let you go.”

She doesn’t. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, daring me. And I give in, relenting entirely to the pull of her.

Her lips meet mine with fierce, intoxicating warmth, a challenge and an offering all at once. My hands move instinctively, tracing the lines of her body, memorizing the curve of her waist, the heat of her skin beneath my fingers.

“Don’t stop,” she murmurs, her voice soft yet commanding, the smallest edge of mischief in it.
My fangs snap down in response.

Her words are a promise and a dare, and I hold her there, letting the moment stretch, letting it burn between us.

I could take her in an instant, push harder, claim her fully now…but instead I slow, savoring the tension, letting it build, letting her savor the moment as much as I do.

I steady her against the door and let her ease the shirt off my shoulders. Her hands roam freely across me, feeling every ripple of muscle, every subtle motion beneath my skin. She explores, playful and daring, and I let myself get lost in it, in her, in the quiet storm of desire and control swirling within me.

Every brush of her fingers, every tilt of her chin, every breath she draws against me sparks. And I let myself feel each one fully, savoring the slow burn of anticipation before anything else happens.

I unzip the back of her dress, pulling it down, tossing it away. I turn and place her gently on the bed. My gaze goes hazy with lust at the sight of the tiny black lace bra barely containing Sookie's luscious breasts. My gaze slides down, unhurried, drinking in the way her underwear follows the line of her hips and the smooth, sun-warmed skin of her torso. It hits me like a blow, how easily I could grip her there, lift her, plunge into her.

I lay myself beside her on the bed. With a kiss, I glide my fingers along her ribs, a feather-light touch that circles and drifts, testing the way she shivers beneath it.

Her small huff of laughter shakes against my chest, and I lean into it trailing my fingers more, savoring the sound like a man starved.

“Ticklish are we?” My grin spreads wide, I’ll remember this for later.
I brush my nose against hers, an almost-kiss that makes her whimper for more. I nuzzle behind her ear and trail kisses down her neck, alternating open-mouthed kisses with playful nibbles, my fangs scraping gently.

I hear her giggle as my mouth passes over a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. I look up and grin at her briefly before allowing my eyes to travel back down her body.

She takes a deep breath. “Eric…I want all of you,” she says, voice steady despite the heat between us. “So I’m telling you this now…I’m yours.”

I feel myself pulse inside my pants at her words. I am rock hard and ravenous for her. I’ve wanted her since the instant her presence slammed back into my world, I’ve been patient, given her space and time, but no more.

I remove the black bra with a yank, lowering my mouth to capture her breast, swirling the taunt nipple with my cold tongue. Her fingers dig into the muscles in my back, while I tease with gentle suction tugging at her nipples. Sookie bucks her hips, instinctively seeking more of me.

I slip a hand between her legs, and with a quick tug her underwear are gone. I gently nudge her legs, opening them for me, my fingers exploring her wet slippery folds finding the throbbing nub waiting for me. My thumb glides over it with gentle pressure, and I manage only a few flicks before she moans my name.

I use a finger to slip into her folds, thrusting into her, quickly adding a second. She is slick tight and so ready. I pick up speed, curling my fingers to hit her most sensitive spot.

Her body stiffens and arches against me, every inch reacting to the pressure I apply, helpless against the pull of what I am doing to her.

“Relax… let go. Sookie, I’ve got you.” I say it soothingly, slowing the pace of my movements slightly.

I feel her relax again and resume my ministrations with my fingers. Her soft moan fills the room. “Mmm… Eric… bite me.”

I trail my nose down her abdomen, placing kisses as I go, while continuing to move my hand within her, my thumb pulsing on her swollen nub. I nuzzle her inner thigh and softly exhale a cool breath onto her clit between flicks with my thumb.

She tightens beneath my touch, every muscle drawn taut with the force building inside her. That raw, shimmering energy calls to me, pulls at me. I increase the pace of my strokes in response.

I feel the heat of her pulse with a nuzzle against her thigh trailing my fangs along her silky smooth skin… and I sink my fangs in with a low groan. Her blood floods my senses, sweet, potent, unmistakably hers. Her honey-sweet blood rushes into my mouth as I take several pulls.

“ERIC!” her scream echo’s in the room, her body writhing, tightening against my hand, as her apex crashes over her, I feel myself twitch in anticipation.

I take only a few draws, controlled but aching for more, letting her magic roll through me in waves that rattle something deep and ancient inside my chest. Her energy surges at the contact. The sensations feel electric, wrapping around me like a live current.

She trembles. I force myself to pull back before I lose the thin thread of restraint I hold. My fangs slip free with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, and I seal the twin marks with my mouth, letting my tongue soothe the sting, drinking in the soft sound she makes.

Her hand slides into my hair, shaky, but wanting, and I lift my head.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and luminous, pupils blown, magic flickering around her like faint embers. She looks undone and powerful all at once, caught between the woman I’ve always wanted and the fae force she’s become.

“Sookie,” I murmur, my voice low, rough, too close to losing control. “You taste… stronger.”

A faint, breathless laugh escapes her. “I warned you I wasn’t the same.”

“You warned me,” I echo, brushing my thumb along her hip, “and you are exquisite, I may never be able to get enough of you."

Her pulse races. I hear every frantic beat like a drum against my ribs. I rest my forehead lightly against her thigh, trailing my fingers along her side, letting the moment settle, grounding both of us.

I feel the shiver run through her at my touch, the catch in her breath, and I can’t help the faint smirk tugging at my lips. Her hand finds my shoulder, curling almost instinctively, and I note it with… approval.

“Eric…” she murmurs, the sound soft, wary, and entirely too delicious for my self-control.

I keep my fingers tracing her ribs, slow, deliberate, teasing…watching her pulse jump beneath my touch.

“You… you can’t just do that and expect me to remember how to function,” she says, voice shaky but defiant.

I tilt my head, studying her expression, the way her eyes dart from my face to everywhere else, betraying both frustration and… anticipation.

“I swear, you’re trying to make me forget every bit of common sense I ever had,” she adds.

I smirk. “And I’m doing a damn fine job,” I reply, my voice low, confident, letting her know I’ve noticed every tremor, every reaction.

Her body, the smell of her desire, the way she responds to me, it all tightens the pull I’ve felt since the moment I saw her again. I’ve wanted her, all of her, and every subtle sign she gives me only confirms exactly how much she has been wanting this too. I watch her every subtle movement, the way her fingers flex, the rise and fall of her chest, the faint tremor in her jaw. Each little reaction is like a pulse that sets my own blood singing.

Her hand moves, almost instinctively toward mine, then falters. I let her hesitate. Let her feel the pull between us. I can taste her tension, smell the desire she doesn’t voice, and I draw it out, slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the hunt that’s a delicate dance.

“I’ve waited,” I murmur, voice softer than she expects, carrying a weight I know she can feel in her chest, not just hear. “For this. For you.”

Her breath catches again, eyes widening, and she bites her lip. The subtle shiver running through her is more than enough to confirm what I already know: she wants this as much as I do.

I slide my hand slightly higher, just to her side, letting my fingers ghost along her hip. Her pulse flutters under my touch, quick and erratic. I wait to let her control the next move.

“Eric. I’ve been waiting for this too.” Her eyes met mine, a sense of certainty in them that wasn’t there moments ago.

My pants are gone, and I am beside Sookie once more on the bed. I slide in next to her with careful precision, letting her settle back first. I move over her, my movements slow and measured.

She looks up at me, eyes glinting with that stubborn fire I’ve always adored, swollen lips slightly parted, a faint flush warming her cheeks. I kiss her deeply, as I bathe in the heat radiating from her, close enough to hear the quickened beat of her pulse under my hand.

My fingers brush a stray lock of hair from her face, and she tilts her head into the touch. I tilt my head just enough that the tip of my nose brushes hers. Her breath catches, soft, uneven. I let the moment stretch, letting her anticipation build as much as my own.

I take her mouth in another kiss that is firm, demanding, yet careful. She responds immediately, hands tangling in my hair, tugging me closer, and the friction sends a coil of fire low in my chest.

The kiss deepens, deliberately. My hand moves from her waist to her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling her curve up into me. I part her legs, making room for me. My rock hard member sitting at the apex of her thighs. Gazing at her face, eyes closed, a smile of contentment and joy on her face.
“Sookie” I rumble.

Her eyes open, locking with mine. I trail a hand down between her legs and use it to rub the tip of my cock at her opening.
“Say it.”

The words leave me low and commanding, but underneath the authority there’s something rawer, something I have not allowed myself to feel in centuries.
A need. A plea I can’t voice any other way.

I watch her through half‑lidded eyes, every sense sharpened, every instinct braced for the sound of her answer. I want it. I need it. More than I should.
Sookie gives me that dazed, adoring smirk - sweet and wicked all at once - and lifts her hand to my face. Her palm is warm against my cheek, her thumb stroking lightly, and the simple touch nearly unmakes me.

“I am yours,” she whispers, sure and unguarded.

The words hit harder than any blow. They crash into the ice I’ve worn like armor for a millennium and melt straight through it, unstoppable, terrifying, perfect.
Her words only stoked my ferocious desire, and I cannot not deny her. Slowly, resisting my urges to fuck her brains out, I allow myself to gradually sink into her body’s captivating embrace. Succulent, scorching heat welcomes me, and we moan together as our bodies settle around each other.

Finally I am finally fully seated, and I still for a moment, to allow her body to adjust. Her body squeezes me so tightly I fear I could finish with a single stroke. Somehow, I hold myself in check, moving within her with deliberate, unhurried strokes. Every motion tests restraint, every shift draws a responsive tremor from her, and I savor it. With every glorious slow thrust, I tenderly stroke her from the inside out.

Mine.

Sookie moans as she angles her pelvis to welcome my advances and arches into every one of my touches. The pleasure in her voice was clear, and as we continue, so is our growing passion for one another.

“More,” she commands, thrusting herself up to meet each of my movements.

Finally I giving in to my urge to drive into her with abandon, I intensify my thrusts into her glorious hot wet sheath. I don’t give her a moment to breathe. My hands cupping her face, pulling her closer. Her lips are there, warm, tempting, and I take them, not gently, but with a force that leaves no room for thought, no time for hesitation.

The world tilts and collapses. I can feel the pulse of her heart, the quick hitch of her breath, the subtle tension of her body melting against mine. My own senses flare; every nerve screams for this, for her, for the perfection of this impossible moment.

The kiss deepens, claiming, unrelenting, erasing logic, patience, and reason. It is not about desire. It is about dominance and surrender, about fire meeting fire and the knowledge that neither of us will survive the intensity without giving in entirely.

I grip her shoulder with one hand, using my index finger on the other to find her clit again and resume flicking the swollen nub, plunging into her now at near vampire speed.

Her voice cracks, part groan, part yell. “God, Eric… mmmmfmmm… ERIC.”
My name tears from her lips as she comes again. Her hands clutch at my chest, nails catching, as if trying to tether herself to the only thing real in a world I just shattered for her.

I feel my own release hit and roar at the unbearable pleasure, letting go completely, exploding deep inside her. I stay buried in her. A grumbled endearment slips from me in a language long dead, lost in each crashing wave as her pulsing heat draws every last drop from me.

After a few moments, the storm in my mind begins to settle. The haze of unrelenting need slowly lifts, and I feel the sharp edges of thought returning, consciousness threading back through the haze of pleasure.

We lie tangled together on the bed, her body warm against mine. I realize I’ve been crushing her slightly, though she does not complain - her trust, or perhaps her own stubbornness, allowing it. I roll to my side, easing her into my arms, turning her to face me, chest pressed against chest.

For a long, suspended moment, I do nothing but hold her. Let her warmth seep into me. Let her heartbeat slow under my hand. She feels small in my arms, yet no longer fragile. Sookie Stackhouse is many things, but easily breakable is not one of them.

My fingers trace her curves unconsciously, noting the subtle strength in her frame, the quiet power coiled beneath her skin. The evidence of her battles, her training, the way she wields herself, her magic. Everything about her speaks of being sharpened by time and danger. And yet, there is still this softness here, this intimacy, this trust. It makes the fire in me flare all over again, but I push it aside. Not tonight. Not now.

We have other matters to navigate, words to speak, plans to make. Much as I want to pin her beneath me again and claim every inch of what is now, unmistakably, mine. I settle my hand over hers, holding her still against me, and breathe in the intoxicating scent of her, letting it anchor me before I forget every intention that isn’t simply taking her again.

I brush my other hand slowly down her back, feeling the way her breath hitched, the way she leaned into my touch like she’s finally let herself completely relax.
“Sookie,” I said quietly.

She hummed a soft response, too content to lift her head just yet. That made what I needed to say harder, and more necessary.

“There is something we must speak about.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 - Contemplation

I stiffen just the slightest bit, sensing the shift in Eric’s tone even through the bliss-heavy fog still wrapped around me. My body was relaxed, still humming from everything we’d just shared… but something in him had turned serious. Intent.

I ease back enough to see his face clearly, searching.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says immediately, and I feel the truth in it. “Not wrong. But it is important.”

Curiosity tugs at the edges of my calm, threading with a faint concern. I sigh softly. “Okay. Tell me.”

He gently takes my hands, almost reverently, turning my palms upward in his cool ones. His thumbs graze the thin bones of my wrists in slow, soothing strokes.
He begins, voice low and deliberate, “You know vampires, do not give our blood lightly.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And you know that you and I… we have exchanged blood twice already.” His voice dips, softening into that intimate velvet tone that always makes me listen closely. “Two steps on a path most humans never touch.”

I felt myself go still, breath caught. Processing. Knowing.

“Eric… you also drank from me tonight.” My voice felt small, suspended. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

His look grows serious, stern. “I have taken some of yours again, yes,” he said. “It will strengthen our connection that remains after all this time. But that is not the matter I’m referring to.”

He lifted a hand to my cheek, the cool of his palm soothing the warmth there. His touch was grounding, almost tender.

“Sookie,” he murmured, “I am speaking of a third mutual exchange. A true bond. A permanent connection between us.”

My lips parted on instinct. “A permanent bind,” I echo, barely more than a breath. My heart stuttered, not in fear, but in recognition. I had known this moment might come. Part of me had even prepared, hoped.

“Yes,” he said, voice dipping into something low and undeniably old. “A tie deeper than anything you sense now. Stronger. Absolute. Unbreakable except by your death… or my final one.”

His thumb traced slowly along my jaw, his gaze sharpening with an intensity that felt like it pinned my soul in place.
“If we were to make a third exchange, you would feel me more clearly than you feel your own heartbeat. My emotions will echo in you. And yours will strike through me with equal force.”

He leans closer, lips a breath from my cheek. “It is not merely a connection, Sookie. It is immersion.”

I drew in a steadying breath, fingers curling around his arms. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because,” he said, and for a moment he sounded almost… vulnerable, “you have agreed to be mine. And if you are to be mine… truly mine… you deserve honesty, not seduction.”

My expression softened, warmth unfurling in my chest despite the weight of the conversation.

“You’re saying you want this,” I whispered. “Us. A permanent bond.”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt. “But I will never take the choice from you. Not with something that binds you to me for as long as your heart beats.”

My breath shivered but I didn’t want to interrupt him further as it seems he had more to explain..

“You should understand Sookie, that a new permanent bond is… consuming. It demands attention. It draws us to each other and pulls us together when we stray too far away. You will feel it physically, as will I. A need to be near, to touch, to anchor the link so it grows stable instead of wild.”

His hand slid to the back of my neck, not claiming - reverent.

“We would be compelled toward each other - toward closeness, toward blood, toward union of body and will. That is how a bond strengthens. How it teaches you about the other.”

He pauses then, lowering his forehead to mine.

“Bonds must be nurtured,” he murmured. “If neglected in their early days, they fray, strain… and hurt. For both of us.”

His fingers tightened slightly, as if the very idea displeased him.

“So understand this, lover; once a permanent bond is formed, we cannot pull away. Not for anything, not for anyone. It will mature and ease over time but a bond is a promise and a vow. And I will not ask it of you unless you want all of it.”

A sharp, startled thump shook my chest, but it wasn’t dread, it was realization, clarity hitting like a bell rang close to my ear.

My breath shook. “That’s… a lot, Eric. But—” a glimmer of excitement filling me, cautious but hopeful.

“I know.” He cupped my cheek again, thumb brushing tenderly. “That is exactly why you must choose with a clear mind. Not because you're overwhelmed or still lost in what we have shared.”

I held his gaze for a long, stretching moment, watching the emotions ripple behind his eyes, too fast, too layered for me to name.

Finally, I say, “Eric… I already knew this. Part of me had hoped for this.”

He blinked, a subtle shift, confusion flickering across his features. “Sookie, how? I have never discussed this with you.”

I let out a soft, uncertain breath and nodded.

“Eric, I wasn’t just in Faery this whole time, and I didn’t just train with the fae. There were… other realms, other beings. That included a trio of vampires. They fought beside me and taught me things, told me stories. They explained vampire bonds and customs in ways no human could ever know.”

He presses a slow kiss to my forehead, and though the gesture stays gentle, it feels his mind racing behind it - sharp and bright.

“You seem to know your mind so much better now,” he muses. “And you will tell me more of these vampires. I wasn’t aware there were others of my kind roaming between dimensions.” I know he isn’t really making a request of me.

I nod. “Vampires in the other realms aren’t common, but they’ve been traveling for a long time. I started researching vampire culture in the Faery archives, and then I learned much more directly from them about bonds, including how to break them. About what you and I already share as a connection, and about what being bonded to a vampire can mean, what it can represent, and the expectations that can come with it.”

My jaw tightens slightly. I don’t agree with, or accept, everything I’ve learned. “But Eric… I want to hear your perspective too. How do you see this working? Because I am not a pet to be led around, and I won’t heel to your will simply because you expect it.”

Eric goes vampire-still at the word pet. His fingers travel down, flexing lightly at my waist, as if restraining a reflex that belongs to a more dangerous century.
“Sookie,” he says, his voice low enough to vibrate through my bones, “if you were a pet, I would not ask you for a bond. I would simply take - and you would obey. That is what vampires do with pets.”

His eyes lock on mine, blue fire surrounded by shadows.

“But that is not what I want.”

He lifted my chin with one cool knuckle, making sure I couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

“I want you at my side. Not at my feet.” His voice deepened, threaded with something ancient and hungry.

“I want you as my equal where it matters, in my home, in my bed, in my decisions.” His voice took on a colder edge.

“But you must understand the world I live in,” he continued, tone turning serious but not unkind. “When we stand before other vampires in my territory, visiting monarchs, those who would test us - you cannot challenge me in front of them. You cannot contradict vampire law. You cannot show weakness that others would exploit.”

I bristled slightly, but he cupped the back of my neck, steadying, soothing.

“I do not consider this to be submission,” he murmured. “It is survival.”

His thumb swept across my throat, barely brushing my pulse.

“In the eyes of other vampires, if you bond with me, you become part of my power. My territory. My responsibility. And that means there will be times you must dress a certain way, act a certain way, not because I wish to control you…”

His voice dropped to a possessive rumble, “but because I will not allow anyone to disrespect what is mine.”

He brushed his lips against my temple, soft but devastating.

“Behind closed doors,” he whispered, “you may tell me exactly what you think. You may argue. You may challenge me until dawn breaks.”

Another kiss, this time to my cheek.

“But in public? Among vampires? I will have you stand with me. Not behind me. Not beneath me. With me.”

His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer, not to dominate, but to claim.

“I do not want a pet, Sookie.” He breathed against my skin.

“I want a partner. A mate. A woman fierce enough to face the worlds you’ve already survived and those we may discover together.”

“The others you speak of, will they accept me beside you?” I have to ask this as it is key to many of my hesitations.

“Sookie,” he says, his voice hardening, the certainty in it unmistakable, “I am choosing this bond, and I intend to make it work. I do not enter into arrangements I cannot sustain, and I do not fail at what I claim. What we are, what we become - it will be shaped by my will as much as yours, and I will see that it is so.”

His grip at my waist firms briefly, not to restrain me, but to underscore the promise beneath the words. Then his voice lowers, the edge easing without disappearing, honesty threading through the iron beneath it.

“It is true that it is rare to see such an arrangement,” he admits softly, “but it has happened before.”

Eric’s hand stays at my waist, steady and cool, but there is new gravity in his expression, an almost painful sincerity beneath the predator’s confidence.
“Sookie,” he says quietly, “you think you know your mind now.”

His thumb traces a slow circle over my hip, affection disguised as restraint. “And perhaps you do,” he allows. “You are stronger than when you left. More certain. More… formed.” His gaze softens with genuine admiration. “But even so, I want you to take time to consider this.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he lifts a gentle finger to my lips.

“Not to dissuade you,” he murmurs. “I am not noble enough for that.” A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “If you asked for the bond tonight, with certainty, I would give it. Gladly.”

The smile faded into something far more serious.

“But this is not a choice you make because you feel close to me now. Or because your body remembers me. Or because tonight has blurred the edges of reason.”

He leans his forehead to mine, cool and grounding, anchoring us both.

“This choice shapes the rest of your life,” he continues. “It binds us for as long as you breathe, and perhaps beyond. And that is a long time for me to hold you.”
His voice drops into a low rumble, layered with intent.

“Take a day. Take a week. Take whatever time you believe you need. Consider the bond when your pulse is calm and your judgment is yours alone, untouched by my presence.”

His thumb traces my jaw in a slow, intimate stroke that contradicts his restraint even as it proves it.

“Even if you believe your mind is already made,” he says softly, “I want you to choose me with clarity. With certainty. Not merely with heat.”
His lips brush my temple, barely a kiss, more a promise withheld.

“And when you choose,” he whispers, “I want it to be forever.”

That stops me cold. The permanence settles in, heavy and undeniable. His expectations. His words. My own wants, all of it demands more than impulse.
“So until we figure this out?” I ask quietly.

“Until then,” he says, drawing me fully into his arms, “I stay.”

I blinked up at him. “Stay here?”

His expression softened, but there was a secret tucked in it, something he’d been waiting for me to catch.
And then I did.

“Sweet mercy,” I breathe. “You built a light‑tight room in the house.” The surprise hit me so hard it shot out of me like fireworks.

“It’s in the kitchen somewhere, isn’t it?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

His lips brush the top of my head, soft, warm, and entirely too pleased with himself. “It might be somewhere in that part of the house,” he murmurs, smug as sin. “Yes.”

“Then show me.” I practically launch myself off the bed, excitement sparking through me like static.

I grab a robe, toss Eric his pants, and trail him down the stairs. His hand closes around mine as we go. The kitchen lights flick on, and everything looks painfully normal for how jittery and electric I feel. Gran’s old rooster clock ticks away like nothing extraordinary is happening.
Eric doesn’t say a word.

He walks straight into the walk‑in pantry, and I follow, brushing past the freezer. He reaches toward the highest shelf and presses something I’ve never noticed, hidden along the wall. A soft, modern click sounds, and the panel beside us slides open, revealing some kind of secret spy door.

My jaw drops. “Well, that’s spiffy.”

Before I can even inhale, Eric leans forward just enough for a hidden scanner to flicker to life. It reads his eye, hums quietly, and the door unlocks with a soft sigh.
A whisper of cool, underground air drifts up.

He steps aside and gives me that look, equal parts wicked and fond.
“After you, lover.”

I step onto the narrow staircase, my fingers brushing the smooth railing. It isn’t creepy, exactly, but it feels wildly out of place in the old farmhouse I grew up exploring inch by inch.

The air warms as I reach the bottom step, and a soft amber glow spills across the room.

I blink. Then blink again.

I’m not sure what I expect, something cold, sparse, vampire‑chic maybe. But this?

This is… cozy. Downright welcoming.

The walls are painted in a warm earth tone, somewhere between soft light brown and muted gold. It feels like a hug made out of paint. A big, indulgent bed sits against one wall, smothered in thick blankets that look like they’d swallow me whole. There’s a long couch facing a simple coffee table, a tidy wardrobe tucked neatly to the side, everything calm and intentional. Soft. Peaceful in a way I didn’t think Eric knew how to pull off.

The walnut floor gleams faintly, and my toes disappear into a ridiculously plush dark indigo rug that feels a little sinful underfoot.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” I murmur, turning in a slow circle. “And… nice. Really nice.”

Behind me, Eric’s voice rolls out low and pleased. “I desired a space here, where you would feel comfortable. Protected. Where I could keep you close.”

My heart gives an undignified little flip. Completely uninvited.

“So this is your secret basement bedroom,” I say, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel.

He steps close, close enough that his presence slides warm along my back, even with the coolness of his skin.

“Our space,” he corrects softly, his voice brushing down my spine. “As time permits.”
I swallow.

It’s still strange, standing in a room Eric built for… us. A room meant to hold him during the day. A room meant to let me be with him. I’m used to luxury coming with expectations, intimidation or ulterior motives tagging along with it. But this room? This secret, quiet space? It wraps around me with a warmth that sneaks right past my shields.

Eric moves by me, brushing my arm on purpose, and sits on the edge of the bed. The blankets shift under him, the whole mattress dipping in a way that feels like an invitation. To sit beside him. Or on him. Hard to tell which.

He pats the space next to him. It’s half command, half invitation, and fully Eric.

His gaze drifts downward, lingering way too long on the gap of my robe. I can definitely tell where his thoughts are drifting; his pants aren’t doing a great job of hiding anything either.

I sit, because resisting Eric when he’s in this mood is like trying to tell gravity to take the night off. The bed is even softer than it looks, and I have to choke down a surprised sound, though judging by the flicker of heat in his eyes, I don’t succeed.

For a moment we sit there, shoulders barely touching, warmth humming between us.

I clear my throat. “So… this cozy little nest is really nice. And it means you can stay. And I appreciate that, I do. I just…” I glance at him. “Well, how much time do you actually have? Sheriff duties usually keep you pretty busy most nights.”

His smile curves, slow and wicked. “Do they?”

That is not an answer.

I narrow my eyes. “Eric Northman, are you being obviously evasive on purpose?”

His eyes gleam with that impossible blue heat as he leans in, just an inch, barely anything, but it’s enough to send a sharp, electric buzz racing over every nerve I have. My breath stalls. My spine tingles. My good sense takes one look at him and promptly leaves the building.

“When it serves a purpose,” he murmurs, voice thick with velvet and trouble, “yes… and I suppose there is more I have not shared with you yet.”

I cross my arms, trying for unimpressed even though my heartbeat is galloping like it wants to jump into his hands. “And what would that be?”

Eric leans back on his palms, posture relaxed. His eyes glow softly in the amber light, mischief, danger, affection… all of it braided together in that maddeningly effortless way only he can manage.

“I have responsibilities, yes,” he says slowly. “But they are… different now.”

“Different how?” I drawl, stretching the suspicion across each word. Trying for sarcasm to keep from getting frustrated I add, “Eric, if you're telling me you’re moonlighting as a male model for another one of your vampire calendars, I’m gonna need photographic proof.”

A low, thrilled laugh breaks from him, rich enough to settle in my stomach.

“We actually have a new one coming out next month for next year. But no… Though I’ll be sure to get you a…special edition."

Oh, he is loving this. And annoyingly, so am I.

He shifts toward me fully, and something in the air changes. His expression smooths, still proud, yes, still pleased with himself, but layered with something deeper, steadier.

“I am not merely a sheriff anymore,” he says softly. “That title became… inadequate.”

My brain hiccups.
“What do you mean ‘inadequate’? Eric, what exactly are you saying?”

He takes my hand gently, turning it palm-up, and runs one cool fingertip along the center line. Goosebumps erupt all the way up my arm so fast I’m surprised the lights don’t flicker.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. Lord save me.

“I am king, Sookie.”

For a second, everything in my head just… shorts out. Like someone unplugged me from the universe.

“King,” I echo, because my mouth is moving without permission. “As in… the king? A whole state full of vampires bowing and scraping and calling you ‘Your Majesty’?”
His grin turns decadent, sinful enough to start a fire.

“It does have a certain charm.”

“Eric!” I swat his arm, even though touching him only makes things worse. “You didn’t think to mention this a teensy bit earlier?”

“I wished to see your face,” he says simply, stroking his thumb along my palm in slow circles that should be illegal. “And I wished to wait to tell you once I knew you were fully mine.”

My heart flips so hard it might vault out of my chest.

“How did you end up being king!?”

Eric’s grin widens, slow and dangerous, like a blade sliding free.

“Titles shift,” he murmurs. “Power consolidates. And most news does not travel to those not around to hear it.”

There’s an edge to that last part, pointed straight at me.

“That is not an answer, and you still could’ve mentioned it, sooner” I mutter.

He smirks, pure trouble. “Where is the fun in that?”

“Well,” I say, voice wobbling like a newborn deer, “if you’re king now, doesn’t that mean you have even less time? More politics? More headaches? More…”

He cuts me off gently, but with that iron undertone that always hooks straight into my spine.

“It means I choose where I spend my nights. And with whom.”

His gaze locks onto mine, hot, steady, unbearably sincere.

“And I choose you.”

My stomach swoops like I’ve just stepped off the edge of something high and thrilling and maybe doomed.

“You sure know how to complicate a girl’s life,” I whisper.

Eric’s smile softens, surprisingly warm. He lifts a hand to my cheek, brushing a stray tendril behind my ear.

“Lover,” he murmurs, tugging me a fraction closer, “I prefer to think I make it more interesting.”

His voice dips, low and serious, the warmth deepening into something older, something weighty.

“And it is also why I want you to consider the bond carefully. If you stand beside me, you will stand with influence. With power. Your voice will matter.”
My breath catches.

He continues, softer; “but that choice… it must be yours.”

And Lord help me…because he’s right.
And because part of me already knows my answer, and that I haven’t been entirely forthcoming either when it comes to the details.

The minutes slip by sweeter than they have any right to. Sweeter than they should be, considering the man stretched out beside me is a viking king with responsibilities stacked higher than his private booth at his club.

Down here, though, below the world, in the dim, light-tight hush of the basement bedroom, none of that exists. The air is soft and cool, but it thrums with that familiar charge that always sparks between us the instant we’re close. It’s in the brush of his fingertips along my back, in the way my breath catches when his mouth grazes my temple, in how the silence around us warms instead of chills.

Every touch lingers. Every slow glide of his hand over my skin says something he doesn’t speak out loud, something I feel more than hear. We move unhurriedly against each other, learning and relearning the shape of us, the way we fit…heat to coolness, softness to strength, pulse to stillness. The world outside dissolves like sugar in hot tea until there’s nothing left but the two of us wrapped in this cocoon of blankets, half-whispers, and unspoken wanting.

And when it all settles… When passion eases into something quieter, deeper, more rooted than anything I ever expected with him again… Eric just holds me. Like he’s decided the world upstairs can wait, fangs and all.

But then the air shifts, just the slightest prickle against my skin, and my heart sinks. Dawn is stretching her fingers over the horizon.

Eric feels it too. His movements slow, not from reluctance but from reverence, as if he’s trying to drink in every last part of this moment before the day pulls him under. He gathers me closer, sliding his arm around my waist with a firm, protective certainty that makes my chest ache in strange, delicious ways. I fit against him easily, sinking into the blankets that smell faintly of soap and something cool, clean, unmistakably him.

His body is still powerful, but there’s a softness here…a quiet vulnerability he never lets the world see. Only me. My fingers trace a slow line down his chest, feeling the faint stir of energy beneath his skin.

“You’re fading.”

“Mmm.” The sound vibrates low and thick in his throat, heavy with the oncoming day. “Stay with me.”

“I’m right here,” I whisper.

He makes a soft, pleased rumble and buries his face in my hair. It’s a small gesture, barely even a movement, but it knocks something loose in my chest. Tender, unguarded, intimate in a way he’d absolutely deny later, but I feel it.

The day keeps pulling, and he sinks toward it. His body stills in stages, slowing, quieting like a fire settling into embers. His hand relaxes on my hip, fingers softening their hold. The false rise and fall of his chest evens out into nothing at all.

Then he’s gone to the day. Just like that, peaceful, still, carved from marble but somehow gentler than stone ever could be.

I press closer anyway, resting my forehead against his shoulder. “Sleep well, your majesty,” I murmur. He can’t hear me. Or maybe he can. With Eric, the line between what’s impossible and what’s just improbable has never been all that firm.

The room is warm and quiet, the blankets wrapping around us like a nest. My body feels loose, unknotted, floating in the bubble of calm he left behind. Safe. Lying next to him like this… it settles something in me. Something I didn’t even know was restless.

My eyes drift shut, my breath going soft and easy. The last thing I’m aware of is his steady stillness beside me and the gentle rhythm of my own breathing against his unmoving chest.

Sleep takes me deep, warm, and dreamless.

And for once, morning can take its sweet damn time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 - Sharp Pointy Things

I blinked awake to dim, amber-tinged darkness, the kind you only get when you’re buried a good ten feet under the earth, wrapped in blackout protection, and sharing a bed with a vampire who is very, very undead behind you.

For one bleary second, I forgot where I was. The sheets around me were cool, cocooning me in faint traces of cedar, clean air, and the warm ghost of last night’s passion. Then memory flickered back, Eric pulling me close after we’d made love for the second time beneath my farmhouse, his big, cold body curling around mine in a way that still surprised me no matter how many times he did it.

But now the space behind me was cold in a different way.

Day-death cold.

Eric lay on his side, perfectly still. Peaceful. Regal, even now.
“Figures,” I mutter as I stretch, sigh and stretch some more.

Roughly five hours until Eric rises. Plenty of time to eat, think, overthink, and maybe get ahead of whatever nonsense the universe throws next.

I push myself upright, toes sinking into the thick rug. The lights come on with my movement as I cross the dim room, sliding my robe around me. My fingers brush the smooth wood railing as I climb the narrow staircase. At the top, I press my palm against the concealed panel seamlessly blended into the pantry wall.

A soft click, and it releases. I step into the pantry, close the hidden door behind me, and press the button to lock it - my own little secret, kept for him.

By the time I make it into the kitchen and start the coffee, my hunger sharpens into a low, relentless ache. I quickly put together a lunch Gran would have fussed over proudly: leftover roast chicken, half a skillet of cornbread, a quick garden salad, and an irresponsible mountain of mashed potatoes. I eat barefoot at the table, sunlight pouring warm and golden through the windows, the tile cool beneath my toes.

With the last bite of chicken and cornbread settling comfortably in my stomach, I set my fork down and sigh. Simple things, sunlight, food, and decent coffee, feel like luxuries.

Dishes cleaned and stacked, I head upstairs for a shower. The hot water hits like heaven, steam curling around me, unraveling knots I didn’t realize I’ve been carrying. I linger under the spray longer than necessary, letting it beat down on my shoulders.

When I finally step out, I wrap myself in the softest towel within reach and pad back to my room. Clothes needed to be cozy, not cute…this was a thinking day, not an impressing-anyone kind of day. I pull on yoga pants, a loose sweatshirt, and thick socks that let me glide across the wooden floor like a kid in a sock commercial.
Feeling marginally more put-together, I go to find my small Faery chest by the window. The lid lifts soundlessly, and I pull out my notebook-meets-journal, thick with taped-in scraps, scribbled symbols, and question marks wandering through margins like confused ants.

Downstairs again, I curled up on the couch and pulled Gran’s old afghan up over my legs. The yarn was faded in places and soft in others, and it smelled faintly like memories, exactly what I needed.

Flipping through my clumsy sketches, fragments of overheard lore, and the jumble of thoughts I’d been gathering since Niall first explained the deeper history of Faery, and the shape of the shadows and beasts creeping from the Noctis Vale. The afternoon sunlight slanted across the pages in a soft gold wash. Tilting my face toward the window, I soak in the warmth. For October the outside air is cool, but the afternoon sun is still warm and revitalizing.

Then turning the page, I wince.

My attempt to sketch the flow of energy between realms looked like a kindergartner had gotten into the crayons and gone rogue. Honestly, a five-year-old could probably have diagrammed interdimensional magic better than I had.

The notes underneath, though? Those made sense.

Faery had three main ‘close places’ points where the eternal magic pooled thick and strong. The greatest of them was the Starbloom Cascades at the heart of the Great Palace where my great-grandfather Niall ruled. These places weren’t just beautiful, they were downright breathtaking. They are also the source of Faery’s power and acted as the main junctions that linked Faery to the other realms, including Earth.

Each ‘close place’ connected outward, threading energy through Earth, Faery, the Britlingen Dimension, the Ancient Lands and at least a dozen others I’ve been told of. The flow kept all the connections stable…Except where it didn’t.

The Noctis Vale was one of those exceptions, a realm-between-realms where magic wasn’t supposed to go at all. Over millennia, magic had gradually pooled there when it got lost. It started growing, twisting on its own… and now someone seemed to be using it.

Now the creatures slipped through portals or were seemingly ripping their way through with help. The forces in Faery had the means to defend themselves, even with their dwindling numbers. Here though…humans didn’t stand a chance.

The connections and portals weren't just a symbolic reference - it was functional. Magic flowed along these connections carrying energy from realm to realm. That same flow also allowed beings to move between the realms through dimensions. It was how Britlingens could be brought earthside, and how the fae could travel via the portals for those who couldn’t move between the realms by their own powers.

I understood what I knew, but sitting here watching portals was like waiting for paint to dry, and Eric, ancient, well-connected, nosy in all the right ways, might know something, or someone old enough who might know something about the Noctis Vale.

I started to close my notebook, and every hair on my arms lifted. A prickle slides down my spine, sharp and cold.

I froze.

It wasn’t a thought brushing mine. No human mind. No shifter. This was something else. Older. Wilder. The wards outside stirred, tall grass under a sudden wind, humming at the edge of my awareness.

Something was in the woods.

The sun was kissing the horizon now. Eric would wake any second, probably already half-conscious downstairs, hovering just beneath the surface of day-sleep.
I set my notebook down silently. Every sense stretched outward.

There. A presence. It was moving just beyond the treeline, and it seemed to be testing the edges of my wards.

“Great,” I whisper. “Just what I need today.”

The wards shiver again, sharper this time.

Something, or someone, was pushing against them.

The sound of movement behind me makes my heart lurch. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath. One second the house was still; the next, the familiar shift of vampire speed vibrated through the air.

Eric appears in the living room before I even manage to turn my head. His blond hair was still tousled from sleep, scanning me, the open notebook on the table, and the faint crackling in the air from my wards, eyes narrowing.

His voice was low, edged with something sharp. “Something threatens.”

Not a question. A statement.

I swallow. “Something’s out there, testing the wards. It showed up a few minutes ago. I know it’s not human, or shifter. It doesn’t seem like a void either and appeared before the sun was fully down so I'd also say not a vampire.” My fingers twitch. “Something else.”

Eric didn’t waste words. He nods once, tight, precise, and strides toward the front door with lethal purpose.

I follow, summoning a glamour, it’s familiar tingle along my skin feels like changing clothes. My clothes melted away in a soft shimmer, replaced by earth toned fae leather armour that fits like it was made for me, because, well, it was. Flexible. Quiet. Deadly. My short sword snaps into place at my hip, the dagger appearing in its sheath just above my boot.

Raising my hands, palms up I breathe an incantation, calling power to me. The air thickens, silver and warm. A steel broadsword materializes in my palms, runed, humming, glowing faintly with fairy light.

I offer it to Eric. The runes flare brighter at his touch, as if recognizing the predator holding them. His smirk is wicked, ancient, and entirely too pleased.
He likes sharp pointy things.

And he definitely knows how to use them.

Together, we step onto the porch. Dusk was swallowing the last trace of sunlight, and tension clung to the air like static during a storm. The woods felt wrong, too still, too deep, as if the shadows were breathing.

The wards whisper restlessly across my skin. Straining.

“Ready?” I ask quietly, pulse singing with adrenaline and magic.

Eric doesn’t answer with words. He steps beside me, sword low, gaze slicing through the treeline like he can see the currents of magic I feel.

We step into the grass. Every footfall crosses a threshold into someplace thinner, darker. A ripple of movement stirs in the woods.

Moving carefully, we head into the woods, close enough to brush shoulders, every sense stretched taut. Every rustle makes my heart thud. I reach out with my telepathy, stretching along the lines where magic vibrates strongest.

I sense something moving ahead, closer to the swamp.

It feels large but not massive. Hungry but not starved. Something not from this world.

My fingers wrap around the hilt of my short sword. “Eric,” I breathe.

“I feel it.” He shifts, predatory, the faint glow of fairy light glinting along his blade.

The trees thin as we step into a clearing, and I freeze.

A tear in the weave of reality hangs open in the air. Ragged. Black as burnt paper. Edged with leaking, frantic light. The air pulses around it, cold, heavy, wrong.
Before I even blink, three shapes step through. Different from what I sensed before but a problem all the same.

My breath catches, more graelghasts. Misshapen hunters I’d be happy to never see again. Taller than any human, bodies thick with shadow, faces carved from nightmare, ember eyes burning with hunger.

One locks onto me immediately. Its snarl grinds like iron and smoke, rattling my teeth.

Eric moves in front of me, broadsword raised, fairy light pulsing in sync with my heartbeat.

“Get ready,” he murmurs, voice calm as iron, while the first graelghast coils to strike.
I draw my blade and whisper an incantation. Magic skates over the sword in a shimmer, tracing the runes along the blade like living fire. The tear pulses harder, light writhing like something alive.

The first graelghast lunges.

Eric meets it head-on. His broadsword arcs through the air, runes igniting. The blade slams into the creature’s shoulder, and the impact bursts in a crackle of light and shadow. The monster shrieks, staggering back - just long enough for Eric to follow through with a brutal sweep that cuts deep, then spins, severing its head. The creature collapses, dissolving into dust and oily mist.

I don’t have time to admire the kill. The second graelghast sprints toward me.

I bolt sideways, letting it commit to its strike. At the last moment, I pivot off a tree trunk, launching upward. My sword arcs down, slicing through its shoulder and chest. Fairy light sizzles across its skin. I roll under its arms and drive the sword up into its skull. The creature howls, metal scraping stone, then collapses, smoldering.

The third one hesitates.

Eric and I don’t. He catches my eyes, no words needed.

I dart left, drawing the creature toward me. It lunges, and Eric sweeps under its arm, slashing through its arm in one fluid motion. It staggers, enrages, and swings again - turning right into me.

I block the blow and pop to its far side, avoiding its talons. Eric appears in front of me in an instant, scanning for injuries. I give him a single, firm nod, and I see acceptance in his eyes.

We move together, seamless. He strikes low, I strike high, magic flaring with every blow. It swipes alternating from the teeth in its muzzle and its one remaining arm. The creature convulses, screams, and dissolves into dust.

Silence crashes down.

Eric wavers, just for a second. I spin in time to see blood darkening his side. My stomach flips. “Eric!”

I reach him, but he brushes my hands aside with a crooked smile.

“Just a scratch,” he says, amused despite the blood. “It’s already healed.”

I scowl. “It had better be. I’m not dragging your six-foot-four stubborn Viking self through the woods.”

His smirk widens. “Your kindness is noted.”

But the clearing still feels wrong. The air throbs with strain. The tear pulses, angry and unstable.

“We’re not done,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I need to seal it.”

Eric settles his hand on my shoulder, steady, grounding. “Then do it.”

I lift my hand, calling the flow of fae magic. Silver threads spiral between my fingers. My sword in my other hand hums in resonance.

The tear fights me, pulling, pushing, clawing against the weave.

Eric’s presence anchors me, his strength a solid pillar beside mine.

“Almost… there…” I whisper.

One final sweep of my sword sends a wave of fairy light rippling along the tear. The gash shudders, then tightens, knitting itself shut. It winks out of existence.
The air lightens instantly. The pressure eases. Moonlight dapples the forest floor through the treetops.

I collapse to my knees, panting, sweat dripping into my eyes, focusing on steadying my breathing for a long moment.
Eric’s hand remains on my shoulder. Steady. Proud. “You did it,” he murmurs, voice hushed.

“We did it,” I whisper back.

The walk back to the farmhouse moves slowly. Eric stays close, watching me with quiet intensity. My magic feels drained, and my limbs feel leadend.
Reaching the porch, we drop onto the swing together. The boards creak under our weight. I lean back, chest rising and falling. Eric sits beside me, every movement controlled, but his eyes never leave me.

He rises suddenly and returns before I even finish a breathe, walking with that deceptively lazy grace he wears like a second skin. He holds out a cool glass of water.
“Hydrate,” he says, but his tone is low, intimate.

And I swear, only Eric Northman could make water sound like a promise of more.

I take the glass, sipping as he watches with an expression somewhere between hunger and satisfaction. He was studying me, taking in every shift of my breath like he wanted to memorize it.

“You did too much,” he murmurs. “You pushed yourself further than you should have.”

“Well,” I say quietly, “I didn’t think I really had a choice, we needed that tear sealed.”

A quiet and unnecessary exhale escapes him, and it seems he is faintly amused. However the set of his shoulders and the way his gaze never leaves me made the truth unmistakable, while his possession and protection were understood, the worry underneath was fierce, meant only for me, and was sharp enough to make my pulse hitch.

“Sealing a portal is a lot easier and more straightforward than fixing a tear. They pack more of a punch and that one resisted.” I exhale, feeling weary down to my bones.

I finish the water, he brushes a stray curl away from my cheek, thumb lingering longer than necessary. “Let me see it,” he says gently, referring to the strain he knew I’d taken against the graelghast, from sealing the tear.

He didn’t need me to point to anything. He just…felt it. The intensity of his tender care felt like it bordered on worship.

A cool palm sliding along my temple, easing the faint ache there. His other hand found the small of my back, drawing the tension out thread by stubborn thread. Power hummed through his touch, subtle but somehow warm, like an invisible balm smoothing itself through my bones.

“Better?” he asks.

I swallow. “Yeah. Better.”

Something tugs inside me, not out of obligation, but just because. Something deep, instinctive, and mutual.

I reach up slowly, tilting my wrist toward him. My pulse throbs under my skin, warm and insistent. “Here,” I say, letting the words hang between us. “You haven’t fed…”
Locking his gaze with mine, that impossible blue heat swirling with hunger, desire, and something deeper…ownership. A faint smirk brushes his lips, but the protective edge never leaves his gaze.

He leans in, taking my hand in his, inhaling my scent. His fangs brush my pulse point, then sink in gently. The rush of my blood hits dizzying, sweet, and hot.

I gasp softly, closing my eyes, letting the warmth spread through me, feeling the pull of his power as he draws strength from my body. Every heartbeat I give him ripples between us, tethering us tighter.

His hands stay steady on mine, fingers curling lightly around my wrist. I feel him drinking deliberately, savoring but taking only what he needs.

His gaze half-lidded, he finally draws himself back. A low and satisfied purr rumbles from his chest. “Better,” he murmurs, voice smooth, dark, and intimate. “Thank you, lover. I watch him lick the last drops from his fangs and lips.

The porch swing creaks softly beneath us, rocking in the quiet evening. I lean against him, feeling the solid reassurance of Eric’s body behind me now, his arm draped possessively around my shoulders. The air smelled faintly of fall and the lingering traces of the fight…burned earth, magic, and him.

He shifts just enough for his fingers to graze my arm, deliberate, grounding. “Lover,” he asks quietly, “Did you notice anything different with this tear?”
I exhale, letting the tension drain from my shoulders as I lean into his strength.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I admit. “What I was sensing earlier - it wasn’t the graelghasts. And it wasn’t fae or vampire either, though it seemed close enough to both to be confusing.”

I frown, sorting through the memory, chasing the feeling. “It felt like a void,” I say slowly, “but not empty. Like something masking itself. My magic could sense it, almost the way it senses fae… but twisted. Wrong.”

I shake my head, unsettled. “The graelghast felt staged. A distraction. Like they were sent in loud and violent so whatever made the tear could slip through unnoticed and get away.”

My jaw tightens as the realization settles heavier in my chest. “And the tear itself, Eric, it resisted me. Harder than any I’ve sealed before. That kind of resistance doesn’t come from something random. Whatever did this was powerful. And I would suspect deliberate.”

I fall quiet, the implication hanging between us, cold and undeniable.

He hums softly, almost absentmindedly, angling his head close to mine.

“There is likely a residue near where the tear was and in your woods,” he said. “Power always leaves a trace, a scent.” A pause, just long enough to matter.
“I will send a tracker, who will be quiet and precise. They will observe, perhaps uncover something more.” His voice stays even, but something colder threads beneath it. “What they find may help confirm your suspicions.”

His gaze drifts, unfocused for a heartbeat, already several moves ahead.

“And if we are correct,” he adds calmly, “this did not happen by accident.”

Before I can respond, he pulls out his phone with practiced ease, thumbs flying over the screen as messages go out with silent authority.
“That will take care of learning more of this unknown,” he says without looking up, his voice calm but edged with intent. “But we’ll need more than that to understand what is happening.”

I lean back into him and let out a long sigh. His chest feels solid beneath my cheek, the steady sway of the porch swing grounding me even as my thoughts spin.
“We need help,” I admit quietly. “ Someone who has knowledge of the Vale.”

His brows lift, curiosity and concern flickering across his face. “What do you mean, Sookie?”

“I need information,” I say, turning slightly so I could meet his eyes, letting the faint glow of twilight catch in them. “About the Noctis Vale. Whatever I sensed tonight is older.

Dangerous.

There has to be someone who knows something, who remembers something.” I look directly at him now. “Maybe you know someone who can help?”
Eric studied me carefully, gaze sweeping the yard and the darkening forest beyond, before returning to me. “Well,” he said slowly. “I’ve never encountered this Vale or its creatures myself before now.”

“But,” he continues, voice dropping too low, leaning towards me just enough that his breath tickles my ear, “I know someone who might.”
My heart caught in my chest. “Who?”

His gaze flicks towards the woods. “She is far older than I am. Old enough that memory and myth blur. And dangerous enough that most who seek… don’t.”
I drew in a shallow breath. “And you think she knows more about the Vale?”

“If there are records or prophecies," he murmured, voice brushing against my skin like a cool whisper, “she would remember. Or at least know where to find them.”

The swing rocked gently under us. I felt the pull of our connection, the tether of shared strength, the intimacy left over from the fight we’d survived. His closeness, the residual power radiating from him, made my pulse stutter and my chest tighten in that delicious way that was all Eric.

As we sit, I can sense him studying me with that ancient stillness that always makes my heartbeat feel too loud in my ears.

Eric tilts his head, pale gold hair falling like a curtain over his eyes, the intensity in his gaze makes my chest tighten. His eyes weren’t just studying me, they were penetrating, as if he could strip every thought and fear bare with a single glance. “For me to bring you to someone… that old,” he says, his voice low, rumbling with quiet authority, “someone who does not generally tolerate mortals, or half-breeds, or… inconvenient attachments… I need to know, Sookie.” He pauses. “I need to know where you stand. Where we stand.”

My chest tightens. I knew that look. That tone. He could see past the surface, past the careful explanations, I’ve been giving him.

“Eric, I’ve been truthful with you…,” I say quickly, trying to keep my voice steady, though it probably sounds weaker than I intend.

His gaze sharpens, patient but unyielding. “No, Sookie,” he murmurs, “I can feel it. The hesitation. The questions you won’t speak. The details you aren’t sharing. If I am to help you navigate this. If I am to stand beside you as we face what comes, I need to know who you truly are, what you are willing to risk, and what you are afraid to show.”

I swallow hard, feeling the pull between us tighten. Every heartbeat of mine is echoing like a drum.

“You want me to… what? Tell you everything?” I whisper.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “More than you’ve shared, because I know you’re keeping things from me. I can feel it,” he says softly, steel threaded through the gentleness. “I need to know enough to protect you, to trust you fully, and to guide you. Because, Sookie… if I’m to seek out someone older than me, someone whose patience is as sharp as their teeth, I need absolute certainty that you and I are aligned.”

Eric’s expression softens—just barely—but the weight of it hits me like gravity. Our existing blood connection of course he can feel my emotions more clearly than the whispers I get of him. I knew this, but I hadn't realized that my hesitation, my desire to control how much I revealed and when, must have been broadcasting this to him the whole time...damn.

“I told you last night I would give you time,” he adds. “Time to think. Time to breathe. And I still mean that.”

His cool fingers brush beneath my chin, lifting it with a command so gentle it feels like silk wrapped around steel. I hold my breath.

“But time,” he continues, “does not erase what I feel for you, or what I want from you.”

My pulse stumbles.

His thumb sweeps up, tilting my face fully toward his until there’s nowhere to look but into those impossibly blue eyes. “I want your honesty.”

I blink. “My… what?”

“Not your blood,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across my mouth. “I already have that.”

He traces his thumb along my lower lip, slow and deliberate. “Not your body, though it pleases me more than you realize.”

My pulse thuds hard enough to rattle my ribs.

His voice sinks darker, deeper “I want,” he continues,, “the truth you keep locked behind that pretty mouth.” His eyes sharpen, hungry in a way that makes my knees weaken instantly.

“All of it. No more simple answers. No more convenient omissions. No more protecting yourself from what you imagine I’ll do, or think, or understand.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Eric leans closer - not touching, but close enough that I feel the vibration of his power in the air between us.

“I want the truth about what you want," he says softly. “Why you came back and who you were with this whole time you were gone.”

His gaze flicks to my mouth, devastating. “And what else you’re hiding.”

I open my mouth to answer, but his breath brushes my cheek, close enough to steal the thought from me. “And I want it freely.”

I feel dizzy. “Why?”

His smile shifts - slow, wicked, unbearably sure of itself.

“Because if I’m going to risk my throne, my people, and my life to help you chase fairy myths… if I’m going to face creatures that should not exist and follow you into the dark places between worlds…”

He cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek, tender and possessive all at once.

“I require something of equal value.”

The air thickens with everything unspoken between us.

Then, quietly - devastatingly - he says, “Sookie, you are mine, and I will have all of you. No holding back.”

My breath shudders in my chest.

This isn’t how I ever envisioned it. Not even close. When I imagined conceding anything to Eric Northman, it wasn’t like this sitting too close on the porch swing, shadows folding around us like they’re listening, his voice curling around my resolve like smoke: soft, cold, impossible to escape.

But deep down, deeper than I like to admit I’ve known it since the night I came back from Faery.

I am his.
He is mine.

I want to stop running and let everything between us finally, mercifully, become real. Permanent.

And if surrendering myself, giving him all the answers, everything I haven’t said, is the cost? That’s a reasonable price for claiming him in return.

I lift my eyes to his, steady despite the frantic, painful beat of my heart. “I accept,” I say. The words feel too large for my mouth.

Eric doesn’t blink. For a moment, he doesn’t even breathe. His gaze darkens, not with lust. With something far more dangerous.
Recognition.

“You accept,” he repeats softly, iron ringing beneath the words.

I nod, my pulse still hammering. “No more half-truths. You’re right. I’ve been holding back.” My throat tightens. “I’ll give you the truth. All of it.”
Eric leans in, slow and deliberate, until his forehead nearly touches mine.

“Do you understand what that means, Sookie? Honesty binds. It exposes. It gives me power over you.”

I manage a trembling smile. “Maybe I’m not afraid of you having some power over me.” A breath slips free, soft as confession. “And maybe I end up with some power over you, too.”

His breath brushes my cheek - cool, electric. Surprise flickers across his face, sharp and unmistakable.

I’ve shaken him. That almost never happens. “Careful,” he murmurs, velvet stretched over steel. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

“Maybe I do,” I whisper back. “And maybe you don’t know what you’re getting in return. Not fully.”

He doesn’t. He thinks he does, but not yet. Not even close
.
For the first time since I said I accepted, he leans back not withdrawing, just far enough to see me fully. Slowly, a dark, devastating smile curves his mouth.
“Then so be it,” he says. “Honesty for answers.”

He extends his hand, the gesture formal and ancient, older than kingdoms.

“Your truth,” he says, “in exchange for my help and protection.”

My fingers slide into his. The instant our skin touches, something stirs, energy, heat, old magic humming at the edges of reality, recognizing a pact older than my bloodline.

Eric’s eyes widen just a fraction.

“Interesting,” he breathes. “You carry more power than you realize, or than you’re telling me.”

I swallow hard. “Then we’re agreed?”

“Oh, yes.” His grin sharpens. “We are very much agreed.”

Silence swells between our joined hands, heavy, intimate, full of everything unsaid.

Then Eric releases me. Decisively. Like sealing a contract.

His gaze drifts across the yard. When he looks back, the shift is unmistakable, king, vampire, Viking sliding into place with the smooth inevitability of a blade being sheathed.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he says quietly.

I blink. “What? But you just…” Frustration pricks. “Eric…”

He rises in one fluid motion, tall and unshakably sure of himself.

“You’re tired,” he says. “Tonight has been more than enough. You need time to think. Seriously. No distractions.”

“I’m not…”

“You are.”

That maddening certainty. That tone he uses when he knows he’s right, because he usually is.

He offers his hand and helps me up from the swing. His fingers linger, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist, an apology and a promise all at once.

“Sookie,” he says softly, “you need rest. What comes next requires clarity. Control. Strength.”
Something in his eyes tells me he means it.

“I can handle this,” I say.

“I know you can.” His lips curve, not into a grin but something quieter. Deadlier. “And that’s exactly why I won’t rush you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he steps closer, his aura sliding over my skin, cool, addictive.

“Go inside,” he murmurs. “Get some sleep.”

His fingers brush my jaw, tilting my face up.

“And in two nights, you’ll come to me.”

His eyes lock onto mine, the bargain sparking between us like flint on bone.

“You’ll meet the full extent of what you agreed to… and we’ll see about other decisions, and where they lead.” There is no teasing now, just absolute certainty.
“And I,” he adds softly, “will uphold my end.”

Something sharp and sweet flutters low in my belly.

He steps back, inhaling once—controlled, composed. “Very well. I’ll see you in two nights. Be ready for my driver at seven. Sharp.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then I nod.

And he’s gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 - Reflection

I had barely stepped into my office when Pam materialized. No knock, no courtesy, not even the pretense of either. The door hadn’t fully shut before she was inside, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Naturally.

I didn’t look up right away. I stood behind my desk, pretending to study the computer screen while the last thin ribbon of Sookie’s scent lingered on my skin, warm, electric, threaded with something no longer quite human. Something older.

Pam exhales loudly. “Well. I see what you mean.”

My jaw tightens a fraction. “You felt it the moment she entered the bar last night. Power… wrapped in softness, pretending not to be dangerous.” I turn toward her fully. “She wasn’t like this before.”

Pam lifts a perfectly arched brow. “I noticed. And I saw the lights shift around her too. That wasn’t glamour, Eric. That was magic purring under her skin. High voltage. Enough to make every vampire in the room sit up straighter.”

“She’s stronger now,” I say, voice low, animal. “More sure of herself. And undeniably more enticing.”

Pam laughs. “Strong? Eric, she walked past three vampires who usually salivate at the scent of her blood. They stepped aside like obedient pets. I even felt it.”

I give her a dry look. “You? Yielding? That would be a first.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I said I felt it.” Pam perches on the edge of my desk, legs crossed, eyes gleaming with interest. “But she carries herself like someone who’s figured out she could level a room if she wanted, and knows we noticed.”

My gaze narrows, remembering the woods, the way she moved like wind and shone like sunshine, the way the darkness listens when she commands. “She looked at me tonight without fear,” I add. “As if she’s finally claimed the part of her that always wanted to be wild.”

Pam scoffs. “Just admit it. She looked like sin dipped in moonlight and you’re two seconds from writing sonnets.”

I ignore her. “She fights like a vampire who’s survived a dozen wars.”

“Eric.” Pam gives me a look. “Do not romanticize this. She’s barely tapped into whatever’s waking up inside her. But…” Her lips quirked. “She also looked like someone ready to rewrite the supernatural rulebook, with glitter and wearing heels.”

My mouth curves. Slightly. “There’s something else. It’s not just power, or confidence.” I hesitate, tasting the air, remembering the way her energy brushed against mine. “Her allure has changed. She feels…claimed by something old.”

Pam grins. “Just say she’s hot. She practically set the bar on fire in that dress.”

“You didn’t see her in the woods,” I say quietly. My jaw tightens at the memory. That subtle hum. The way my hand tingled when I touched hers, like magic recognizing magic. Like a pact waiting to be spoken aloud.

“She’s stronger,” I say again, slower this time. “And she will be mine, completely. I just need her to decide it's what she wants.”

Pam’s smile sharpened to that of a razor. “Oh, Eric. I already know what she wants.”

I look at her. “Then enlighten me.”

“She wants to be seen,” Pam says simply. “Truly seen. Not as the human girl. Not the telepath. Not the breakable thing you protect. She wants you to recognize what she’s becoming.”

She pauses.

“And she also wants your cock.”

A low breath slips from me, dark with certainty. “Oh, she does,” I say, mouth curving. “And I’ve already tested that truth… thoroughly.”

My eyes darken, heat rising under my skin. “She could distract me for a century if I let her.”

Pam grins like a cat who’d caught the king of lions blushing. “Oh, it's like that is it? Congratulations…you’re officially smitten. Maybe now you’ll stop brooding like a tragic widower.”

I arch a brow. “You aren’t intrigued?”

Pam presses a hand over her unbeating chest dramatically. “Please. I’m always intrigued by something beautiful and dangerous. But I also know when something beautiful and dangerous is about to change everything.”
Her gaze flicks back towards me, eyes locking.
“And she is.”

Pam moves around the desk. Without ceremony, she produces a dark, ornate envelope, heavy parchment, gilded edging, an old-world wax seal pressed deep with twin tall feathers bordering a rams head.

She slides it across the desk with one elegant fingertip.

“By the way, your majesty,” she says, tone dripping with insolence, “this arrived while you were busy playing porch-swing confessions with your telepath.”

My eyes narrowed just enough to make her smirk widen.

Picking up the envelope, I already know what it is inside. The weight alone told me what it was, even before I saw the sigil.

Official correspondence from the Amun Clan leaders. Politics brewing, irritating but not unexpected.

I break the seal cleanly.

Pam leans forward, pretending to read over my shoulder as I unfold the heavy parchment. “Do tell. Is it a death threat? A marriage proposal? Another tedious request to support interstate trade?”

I scan the contents. The script is elegant, the message is not.

“A request for a gathering,” I said. “soon.”

Pam’s smile vanishes. “Oh… that kind of gathering.”

I nod once. “Date and location to be announced.”

She whistles low. “They’re calling one this soon? Something has rattled your fellow wearers of crowns. They don't ‘gather’ unless they think the sky’s about to fall, on someone else, preferably.”

I fold the letter carefully, thoughtful. “They would not propose a gathering now without reason. Something has changed or disturbed them enough to stir.”

Pam arches her perfectly sculpted brow, pink lips curving. “Let me guess,” she drawled. “Fae trouble?”

“Perhaps.” I set the letter down with deliberate care, the parchment whispering against polished wood as I steeple my fingers in thought. “It would be the most logical explanation, unless you’ve heard something I haven’t.”

Pam’s brows lift higher, genuine interest sparking, but she shakes her head. “Nothing concrete. Tennessee has a new vampire entertainment center in Nashville. A few rumors are drifting down from the north, something possibly stirring west of Michigan. As that state may be weak for the taking...but nothing tearing holes in reality. And certainly nothing that smells like whatever your telepathic tinkerbell - turned war goddess dragged you into tonight.”

Pam’s nose wrinkles delicately while she waves a hand in front of her face. “You smell like oil and ash had a very bad threesome with swamp water. I assume this is connected to your woodland heroics and not a new cologne?”

My jaw tightens, nostrils flaring just slightly. “Sookie’s… ‘Vale beasts’ are not random,” I say, voice low and sharp. “They seem like scouts, or distractions. Testing and measuring resistance. Looking for something. I’ve seen them now firsthand, felt their strength, their power. That gives us an advantage. Smell aside, I know more about what we’re dealing with, how they move, and what provokes them.”

Pam grimaces, her polished brow arching. “Charming.”

“Based on the reports these disturbances seem to be increasing,” I continue, voice low, “and it is drawing attention. Not just from the creatures desperate enough to claw their way through, or whoever is sending them, but also from those who watch such movements carefully.”

Her eyes narrow. “Like the rest of the Amun Clan.”

“Yes.” I tap the letter once. “Find out who called for this gathering. Quietly. If it is one of the elder royals with interests beyond politics, or those whom we don’t hold favour, I want to know.”

Pam leans her hip against the desk, folding her arms. “Well. Isn’t this a delightful knot you’ve tied for yourself. A complication with shadow monsters, a magically enhanced ex-lover who now radiates ‘ancient power,’ and a summit of clan royals who’d sell their own progeny for leverage.”

Her gaze slides back to me, sharp and knowing. “You really do collect disasters, Eric.”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “But for once… I do not believe they are separate.”

Pam straightens, the humor fading as calculation took its place. “You think that Sookie is tied to this,” she said.

“I think,” I reply, voice turning cold and certain, “that when realms shift, those with power notice. And the Amun Clan does not choose to convene without cause. They move only when something threatens to upset the balance, or offers an opportunity to seize it.”

I lift the parchment again, reading it once more with a predator’s calm, then set it down with a deliberate tap of my finger against my desk.

“Respond to the other Leaders,” I say.

Pam blinks. “Oh? And what shall we tell the rest of the ancient, humorless overlords of the Midwest?”

“That Louisiana will host,” I answer.

Pam stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Host what.”

“The gathering.” I lean back in my chair. “Four weeks from now. Mid-November. Two nights.”

Pam’s mouth drops open in a very un-Pam-like lapse. “Here? Here?”

“Yes.”

“At Fangtasia?”

“Yes.”

Pam straightens, pink lips pursed. “You want to invite your fellow vampire royalty; high-ranking leaders, at least three of which we barely tolerate, into a bar decorated with chrome poles, leather booths, and drunk tourists?”

I give her a flat look. “The poles were removed when we upgraded. The VIP room will suffice with some adjustments, and we will close the bar for an…exclusive event”

She rolls her eyes so dramatically I feel the breeze from her eyelashes. “Fine. But Eric, hosting means oversight, politics, protocol, security…”

“and control,” I cut in. “If it happens here, then we control the stage, the information, and the flow of power.”

Pam stills.

Ah. There it was, understanding.

“Ah,” she murmurs. “You want home advantage.”

“Exactly.”

Her lips curve “And, of course, the delightful ability to crush anyone who tries something stupid in your domain.”

“Also that.”

Pam folds her arms. “Well. In that case, I’m already designing the seating arrangements in my head. But before I send the invitations, there’s one question.”

Her eyes sharpen.

“What about Sookie?”

A long silence follows.

“She is not ready to be… displayed,” Pam says gently…well, as gently as she was capable of.

“They will smell her power from across the room. They will know she is not human, not vampire, not anything they can classify. And if she’s not formally bonded to you, they will assume she’s unclaimed.”

My jaw tightens. “She is not unclaimed.”

Pam lifts a brow. “But she is not bonded. Not permanently. And you know what they do with powerful, unaligned creatures, especially ones who smell like ancient magic.”

I say nothing.

She leans forward. “If you intend to use her, and deal with whatever unfolded tonight; which I know you do, then she needs training, Eric. Real training. How to bow. How to stand. How to recognize a threat before someone older than a civilization decides she’s worth kidnapping, experimenting on, turning, drinking, or bargaining for.”

I give a low growl at the very idea.

Pam held up both hands. “I’m agreeing with you that it would be unpleasant...for her.”

I look down at my hands. Hands that had felt Sookie’s pulse earlier, hands that had touched her power, felt the way they curled around mine like recognition.

“She will not be taken,” I said.

“No. Not if she’s bonded.” Pam shrugs. “But that’s her choice, isn’t it?”

My jaw set. “I gave her two nights.”

Pam blinks. “Two nights until what?”

“Until she comes to me,” I say slowly, meaning every syllable. “Until she gives me her truth. All of it. Until she decides what she wants. Where she stands. Who she stands with. I will have the knowledge I need.”

A slow smirk curves Pam’s mouth. “So either she chooses you, and gains your protection before the gathering, with time to prepare her.”

“Or,” I continue, “I withdraw her from all vampire dealings until she is ready.”

“Which she will hate,” Pam drawls.

I don’t disagree.

I watch Pam tap a manicured nail against her lips. “Well then. If she chooses you - chooses the bond - then yes, we can reveal her.”

“We only reveal what we need to,” I say carefully pondering the implications. “Nothing more than what is necessary.”

Pam snorts. “I’m not suicidal, Eric. Half a whisper of what I suspect she is capable of would have every ancient in the hemisphere traveling to inspect her in person.”

I allow myself the barest ghost of a smile. “Then we mask her strength. Lean on her telepathy since that’s already known. Train her in etiquette, and present her as mine.”

Pam’s eyes gleam with wicked delight. “Mine as well, by extension. I’ve always wanted a powerful sister-in-blood.”

I shot her a look. "You have Karin”.

She shrugs innocently. “Karin does blood, death, and lethal theatrics, preferably all at once, and usually on someone else’s carpet. Karin doesn't do fashion or personality. Sookie is pretty. She sparkles. She kills things. She fits with me.”

I exhale once. “Send the reply, and reach out to those we know. See if we can learn more about who instigated this.”

Pam pushes off the desk, heels clicking against the wood as she heads toward the door, already tapping at her phone.

“I’ll inform the other Amun Clan representatives you agree with their proposal,” she calls over her shoulder, voice clipped but efficient. “Louisiana as host. Mid-November. Two nights, let's say Tuesday and Wednesday the second week as it impacts revenue less.”

I incline my head once.

“Oh, and Pam,” I add, voice low, measured, “I instructed Gregory earlier to scout the area where Sookie and I were attacked. There was another scent there… something unfamiliar but seemingly vampire. Given his experience and age, I expect he may be able to assist.”

Pam’s brows lift, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Any report that comes in, you’ll be the first to know.”

With that, she disappears into the hallway, leaving nothing but the soft echo of her heels and the faint trace of her perfume.

I remain alone with the letter in my hands, the weight of it suddenly heavier. And beneath that, an ever-growing awareness that everything…alliances, threats, Sookie, the Vale, was moving far faster than I had anticipated.

I turn back to the computer, fingers hovering over the keys, the letter still lingering in my peripheral vision. Time to move. I needed to reach out, swiftly, decisively.
Stan, the king in Texas, would be first. We have been on good terms for centuries, Godrich having been one of his sheriffs being one reason. Despite the loss of my maker, Stan's pragmatism made him predictable and often useful. Insights on anything happening in Zeus may also confirm my suspicions. A few keystrokes, a brief note, and that is taken care of.

Russel, in Mississippi, came next. Since my ascension, he has shown a surprising alignment of vision, a mind keen on order and leverage, not petty squabbles. It was reassuring and not surprising given his age. Having him in agreement could tip the balance if this Amun gathering turned… complicated. His recent wedding to the King of Indiana may also prove useful.

I paused, fingers resting lightly on the keys, considering the Queens in Alabama and Iowa… each with her own streak of stubbornness, pride, and flair. Reaching out to them required tact, but could be useful. Particularly given that Iowa’s support would presumably bring Minnesota as well - the pair have been agreeably married for some time. Timing, phrasing, subtle nudges of power necessary. A misstep could sour an agreement before it even began.

Still, I would need them informed. Better prepared than blindsided. I quickly draft a note for each of them, and plan to follow up with a call the next night.

I should have Pam check up on the dealings in Arkansas, the new Queen was power hungry and had been eager for an alliance or take over almost from the second the crown was placed on her head. Amun needed stability and an alliance could achieve this but I had little interest in that territory and even less now with Sookie’s return.

Leaning back slightly in the chair, I allow myself a measured pause. The pieces were moving. Everything, and everyone was shifting in ways that demanded careful orchestration. And I would orchestrate it, every subtle thread under my control.

The house felt different the moment I stepped back into it.

Not physically, everything was where I had left it, the same hum of the refrigerator, the same faint ticking of the kitchen clock, but the air held the weight of the night I’d just been through.

I lean back against the door and let out a long, shaky breath.

Honesty. That was the price. My truth for his.

It wasn’t the way I ever imagined getting Eric Northman. Especially after everything we had already done last night. This wasn’t flirtation, wasn’t lust, it wasn’t even that familiar magnetic pull that I had felt for so long. We had made a pact.

And yet… part of me had wanted it, the freedom to fill him in on the details, to have a confidant, someone I could share my thoughts, plans, dreams with. I also wanted him. All of him. Not just the fire, not just the thrill, not just the endless pull that hollowed and filled my chest at the same time.

But if I was going to hand him my truth. My honesty. My self. Then in doing so, I would offer him a tether, a thread of influence that ran deeper than mere desire. He could hold a power over me that wasn’t just physical. It would be eternal. He would be able to sense my fear, my will, my heartbeat, and if he wanted, he could shape me in ways that went far beyond this life. He could decide, if it ever came to it, whether to turn me, tether me fully, bind me to him beyond mortal limits.
Not that I wanted that. Not that I ever thought he would, without me agreeing to it first. I knew the respect that lay buried beneath his hunger, the careful honor in his possession. But the mere possibility of giving him that power, the weight of that choice resting in his hands, made my pulse quicken and my stomach tighten.

And still… still, I wanted it. Still, I wanted him to have that measure of power, to see me completely, to claim me in a way that was both frightening and thrilling. To trust him with that, and to trust myself to let him. Because he was the only one who could carry that power, wield that control responsibly, and still be who my heart desired, who I craved, who I would follow into hell and back if it came to it.

Even as the thought pressed down on me, sharp and impossible, it felt right. It felt inevitable. And beneath the fear and the awe, a quiet, dangerous certainty lived in my chest: I wanted him, fully.

I felt exhausted, but wired beyond sleep. I trudge upstairs, shedding my clothes in a trail across the floor. The bathroom lights were bright, too bright, so I dim them to a warm glow. I turn on the shower until steam fills the room and step under the spray.

The smell of vanilla coconut body wash, my favorite, fills the air, sweet and soft, and familiar. The heat melts the tension from my shoulders, washing away the last traces of monsters and Eric’s too-intent gaze.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, the exhaustion is catching up with me fully… heavy and warm, like a blanket waiting to pull me down. I slip into my cotton pajamas, soft blue ones that offer comfort more than anything else.

My bed welcomes me like I hadn’t slept in days.

I don’t even remember closing my eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 - Dusklings

I wake up feeling like someone had unplugged me and plugged me back in crooked. My whole body throbs with that heavy ache you only get after a night that demanded more from you than you remembered agreeing to. For once though, no dreams chased me through the dark, no restless visions. Just a deep, blank, velvet sleep that swallowed me whole.

As I pry my eyes open, sunlight is already pushing through the curtains, warm and nosy. I stretch, wincing a little, but it feels good. The house was quiet, and I let myself lay in the warmth of the sun's rays for a little while.

Later, as I pad into the kitchen, hair a mess, shirt askew, I flick on the coffee maker. The scent hits me almost immediately: rich, dark, heaven. I cup my hands around the mug as soon as it was full, letting the heat sink into my fingers. First sip? Otherworldly. Like someone turned the world from grayscale to color.

By the time the caffeine starts making promises to my nervous system, my stomach growls loud enough to startle me. “All right, all right,” I mutter. “I hear you.”

I get to work.

Bacon in the cast-iron skillet, popping and hissing like it had something to say. Eggs, scrambled fluffy with a little cream. Biscuits that I should’ve made last night but didn’t, so I settled for the quick-mix kind, and they puff up golden anyway. I slice up peaches that were just on the right side of too ripe, letting their juice drip down my wrist. And because exhaustion apparently turns me into a bottomless pit, I throw on a pot of grits, too.

By the time I sit down, the table looks like it belongs to someone feeding a family of six instead of one tired fae fighter and telepath.

I didn’t care. I dig in with the kind of enthusiasm that would’ve embarrassed me if anyone else had been around.

As the room fills with the warmth of good food and stronger coffee, the fog in my head finally starts to lift. Whatever last night had taken out of me, this morning was determined to give back. One delicious bite at a time.

Still sitting at the kitchen table, finally feeling my hunger settle into something manageable, I cradle another cup of coffee between my hands and stare into it like it might offer answers. Steam curls upward in lazy ribbons. On impulse, I lift one finger and trace a slow circle in the air above the mug.

The steam responds instantly.

It tightens, spiraling inward, forming a tiny, obedient vortex, neat as a miniature tornado hovering just above the rim. I watch it spin, controlled and calm, and feel something inside me loosen. The air never would have answered me like this before, but now it feels… natural. Like the world is listening more closely, like my magic and I are reaching a new level of contentment together.

I let the steam unravel and fade.

Tomorrow night could wait. Eric, the bond, the truth I was going to give him, all of that could wait. Today, I needed to know if last night had been the beginning of something else.

The tear had been sealed, yes, but I was almost certain something else had slipped through before we closed it. The thought sat heavy in my chest. And if something had come through there, then chances were good it might have found, or been drawn to, the portal in my woods too. Tears didn’t just happen by accident either, they were made, but by who? And why?

I push back from the table and head upstairs.

I find the other pair of fae leather leggings lay folded at the bottom of my rusksack, soft and worn-in, the color of rich, muddy earth. Practical. Forgiving. Perfect for tearing through brush without a second thought. I pulled them on, with a matching shirt, brush my hair back and braided it tight, wash my face, and didn’t bother with makeup.

Downstairs again, I tug on my boots and slip a small dagger into the sheath just above my ankle. Comforting weight. Familiar. Ready.

Outside, the day was bright but subdued, the late-morning sun filtering through the trees in broken shafts of gold. The woods smelled alive damp earth, green growth, old water. I set off toward the back of the property, angling first toward where the tear had been.

As I draw closer, I open my senses.

No minds. No thoughts. But there it was, that faint, wrong note in the air. Foggy. Dank. Other. Like rot layered over magic. The residue clung low and stubborn, whispering of something that did not belong here.

Something had come through. And it had lingered.

Great. Sometimes it would be nice to be wrong about these things.

Tracking has never been my strongest skill, even with training. I’d always relied on others. Friends who could read ground signs, scent, energy trails with unnerving ease. Thinking of them made the back of my right shoulder itch. I rubbed it absently, aware of the invisible brand resting just beneath the skin. The Adra. Guardians. Intermediaries. The ones who stood between realms to help keep the balance, to keep it from tearing itself apart.

I owe Eric honesty about that too. About a lot of things.

Soon.

For now, I force my attention back to the task at hand.

I draw on my magic, coaxing it gently to the surface. Light blooms at my fingertip, soft, concentrated, alive, and I push it outward, letting it resonate with the lingering traces in the air.

“Show me,” I say quietly, the word carrying weight.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then the light flares and the air answers.

A thin, glowing thread emerged, curling delicately through space like smoke caught in moonlight. It drifts forward, hesitant at first, then steading, pulling away and heads deeper into the trees… towards the swamp.

I sighed. Of course it was in the swamp. Still, I followed.

The sun wasn’t doing me any favors. It has hidden behind thick, darkening clouds, sending only brief, fractured fingers of gold through the trees. Shadows dance like restless spirits across the forest floor. That is when I see it, a cave tucked between the roots of a massive cypress. Mouth barely wide or high enough for me to squeeze into. And huddled at its threshold were four of the strangest little beings I’d ever laid eyes on.

Knee-high, goblin-shaped, but nothing like any storybook creature meant to be cute. Their skin shimmered dusky purple and smoky gray, like twilight trapped under their flesh. Limbs too long for their bodies, eyes huge and reflective, mouths full of sparkling, needle-sharp teeth. Every time one of them grins, I can feel my pulse spike and have to resist stepping back.

Dusklings. The word whispered into my mind unbidden, as though they were offering it up. I’d read of them, heard rumors, but never faced them.

“Well,” I mutter, “aren’t y’all a new kind of trouble.”

They froze, tiny torsos stiffening, then jittered back into their circling, almost ritualistic dance around the cave entrance. One darts forward so fast I caught only a blur.

It stops inches from my boot, pale gold eyes locking on mine, its thoughts flickering like sparks: Cold… dark… danger behind… danger inside… Not sentences, just raw, emotional snapshots. Then it jerks back, merging seamlessly with the others.

I crouch slowly. “You hiding from something? Or hiding something?”

All four snap toward me at once. Their ears twitching violently, as if they were deciphering meaning rather than sound. They couldn’t jump far, but they scramble over one another with inhuman speed, forming a nervous semicircle that separates me from the cave.

Just then a low, rumbling growl rolls out from the darkness inside.
“Oh, that’s just great,” I whisper. “Y’all pick a cave with a soundtrack.”

The Dusklings stiffen, wide-eyed and trembling. Their fear crackling across my senses like static electricity. I step closer, and the air snaps sharply around me, like an invisible whip of tension.

Their thoughts shift instantly. Fear gives way to hunger. A cold, predatory intelligence whispers to my mind.
Hers. Take her. Take the light.

The nearest one lungs.
“Alright,” I grumble, “so we’re doing this.”

My short sword blooms in my hand, heat flaring down my arm as fae light traces along the edge. The first Duskling hit it like a shadow striking stone. Needle teeth snapped, inches from my face. I slash sideways, catching it across the torso. It hisses, a puff of dusky smoke curling and dissolving into the mossy earth.

Three left.

They skitter, circling with jagged, unpredictable movements, coordinated like a single chaotic mind. One darts low for my ankles while another lungs for my face, claws out. I call my dagger into my other hand, the familiar weight settling perfectly.

“Bad choice,” I tell them.

I kick the low one into a gnarled root, pivot under the second’s leap, and jab with the dagger mid-air. It fizzles into smoke like burnt paper.

Two left.

They hesitate, just a fraction, and that is my opening. I surge forward, sword arcing in a clean diagonal sweep. One shimmers and vanishes under the blow.

The last tries to flee.

I let it get a few feet, then fling the dagger. It spins through the air, fae light tracing its path like fire caught in moonlight. The blade strikes true, and the final Duskling evaporates into the swampy air, leaving nothing behind.

The woods are silent again.

I exhale slowly, brushing dust from my arm as I pluck the dagger from the moss.

“Well,” I mutter, voice low, “that was rude.”

I turn, and the cave mouth looms ahead, dark and silent, but still breathing that low, resonant rumble. If the Dusklings weren’t the whole threat, then whatever had been behind them was still inside. Waiting. Watching.

I tighten my grip on my sword, letting the faint hum of fae energy pulse along the edge.

“Fine,” I whisper to the darkness. “Your turn.”

The rumble came again, deeper now, like the earth itself was clearing its throat.

I squeeze through the narrow opening. I can see the space in the cave gets larger once I am inside, as I let my light drift lazily along my blade creating a soft glow. The shadows recede in wavering pulses, revealing the source of the Dusklings’ interest.

A Shademaul. Big, wrong, and pulsing with a malign sentience. Its sinewy limbs are coiled muscle, rippling beneath dark, hardened skin. Molten-orange eyes glowed from the back of the cave, fixed on me with an intelligence and hunger that set my teeth on edge.

“Well,” I declare, my voice tight, “if you’re the parent, I have bad news about your kids.”

The beast unfolds itself from the darkness, claws clicking together in a rhythm that makes the cave walls vibrate. It wasn’t afraid, it was calculating, patient, and absolutely hungry.

It lunges.

I roll, feeling the tips of its talons rake stone where my head had been a heartbeat before. I came up swinging, the sword tracing a line of crackling fae light across its flank. The creature shrieks, a metallic, reverberating sound that rattles my bones, but it stays upright, snarling.

“Alright, then,” I pant. “Round two.”

It charges again. This time I hold my ground.

I call fire into my free hand, summoning my dagger blazing and combining the two to create pure fae luminance. It feels alive in my palm, burning and humming in rhythm with my heartbeat. I drive it toward the Shademaul’s chest, aiming for something vital, something it couldn’t shrug off.

It flinches, recoiling just enough, but it doesn’t fall. Not fully. Not yet. Its molten eyes snap back to me, sharper, angrier now.

With a sudden, explosive surge, it sweeps a massive paw toward me. I leap sideways, twisting, barely clearing the claws, they scrape my shoulder like a live wire. Pain shoots up my arm, sharp and immediate, but I press on, rolling to my feet.

The creature resets, muscles coiled, claws flexing against the cave floor. Its growl vibrates through my chest, furious and impatient, like I’ve insulted it by still breathing.

I force myself upright, dagger pulsing, sword humming. One careful step at a time, I edge backward out through the cave mouth, baiting it, drawing it out.

Then instinct, a common sharp message flashes through my mind.

Move.

Sam. His voice sounds rough and urgent, surging through my thoughts.

Before I can argue, a tawny blur launches past me. The puma slams into the shademaul as it exits the cave, claws raking at its throat, teeth snapping. Hope surges, wild and reckless.

The shademaul roars, an ear-splitting, cave-shaking half rumble-scream, and flings Sam aside as though he weighs nothing at all. He hits a tree with a grunt, skidding along the bark, he’s alive and given me a distraction.

“Stay down!” I shout, more to myself than him. No more hesitation. No more fear.

The dagger in my hand pulses hotter, burning with raw fae energy. The light feels alive, almost sentient, ready to obey my will. I step forward, directly into the beast’s momentum.

At the last instant, I pivot, driving the shimmering blade beneath its jaw, past sinew and bone, into something ancient and vital. The fae energy flares, searing through its skull, bright enough to blind.

The shademaul shrieks, metallic and furious, claws thrashing. Then suddenly, its massive frame shudders, trembles, and collapses forward. Smoke hisses from its skin as it is flaking away, leaving nothing but the faintest shimmer in the air.

My chest is heaving in the silence. Sweat and tension coat every inch of me. Behind me, I hear a low, pained growl…Sam.

He was limping, the puma shifting back into his human form, bruised and battered, muscles tense. Purple blotches are already blooming across his ribs.

I reach for him before he can wave me off.

“I’m fine,” he says, gritting his teeth, but the wince when he straightens speaks louder than words. He presses a hand to his side, steadying against a tree.

“That thing threw you like a football,” Snapping at him. “You are not fine.”

A tired half-smile curves his lips. Reassuring, but also admitting he knew I was right. I slide my arm under his, bracing him as we make our way out.
This time, he didn’t argue.

The woods are quiet now, almost peaceful, like they’re pretending nothing tried to eat us less than ten minutes ago. Sam leans into me more than he wants to admit, and I slow my pace so he doesn’t have to push himself.

We stop where he left his clothes, tucked behind an old fallen log. I help him get steady on his feet while he dresses, politely looking anywhere but directly at him, though I catch enough glimpses to see the bruises forming like storm clouds.

“What brought you out to the woods, Sam?” I ask while he's getting dressed.

“Actually, I came by your house to check on you, I wanted to see how you were settling in. I followed your scent from there…and heard well you know.” He slides a half grin. “I figured the puma might pack enough strength to be useful.” He lets out a shaky breath that catches in his ribs.

When he’s finally buttoned and zipped, I loop his arm over my shoulders again and guide him the rest of the way to my house. Inside, he sits on my couch with a sigh, gingerly touching his ribs.

“You need rest,” I tell him. “And ice. Maybe a doctor. Or a witch. Or..”

“Sookie.” He lifts a hand, still managing that maddeningly calm expression. “I swear, I’m all right. Shifter, remember? Takes’ more than a cave monster to keep me down.” He shoots me a tight smile.

“You lost a whole fight to gravity a few minutes ago,” I reply tersely.

“That’s different. Gravity’s undefeated.” He grins.

Despite myself, a laugh slips out. A small one, but he catches it and his smile softens.

He pushes himself up slowly, each movement deliberate, careful, like he’s testing his own strength. “Look,” he says, voice low but steady, “I’ll go home, ice up, and be good as new by tomorrow. But you…” He tilts his head, amber eyes locking onto mine, warm and faintly amused, but edged with concern. “

You look like you’re about to collapse. Let me feed you. Just a quiet meal at the bar.”

I open my mouth to protest, reflexively, but the tremor in my hands and the ache threading through my shoulder argue louder than my stubbornness.

“You don’t have to be social if you don’t want to,” he adds, voice gentle, the kind of kindness that makes it impossible to argue. “Just show up.”

I sigh, letting the weight of exhaustion and common sense win. “Fine. But if you pass out behind the bar, I’m telling everyone you slipped on a pickle.”

He chuckles, a low, genuine sound that rolls warmth into the cool evening air. “Deal.”

He limps toward his car, the faint crunch of gravel under his boots echoing in the quiet lane. I watch him for a moment, chest tightening in appreciation of the gratitude and trust between us.

“I’ll be there in an hour or so,” I say to him, already planning to clean up and wash the last traces of battle from my skin, before stepping into the warmth of the bar.

He glances back once, eyes meeting mine with a tired smile. Then he disappears into the car, leaving me standing in the soft hum of evening, the forest behind me whispering, still alive with traces of what had passed.

My shoulder was singing its miserable little song, as I trudge upstairs, peel off my shirt, and face the mirror. Three neat claw marks span across my left shoulder, more dramatic looking than dangerous. I’d had worse on a slow Tuesday.

“Flesh wound,” I mutter to myself. Nothing a little fae healing balm couldn’t fix. Mentally thanking Claudine for the chest of otherworldly goodies I’d hauled back from Faery. It wasn’t exactly TSA-approved, but it sure did come in handy.

The hot shower felt like forgiveness. Steam curls around me, loosening muscles I didn’t know I’d clenched. I let the water drum against my shoulder until the sting dulls, then wash my hair and scrub away the last traces of blood and adrenaline.

Once I’m out of the shower, I dab the balm onto the wounds. It tingles, then cools, seeping into me with a whisper of fae magic. I throw on a quick touch of eye makeup, just enough to look awake, and add a hint of blush so I don’t look like I’d crawled out of a crypt. The jeans were low-rise and sinfully flattering, and the tee and leather jacket that I’m sure Pam had picked out for me practically winked at me in the mirror. For a vampire, she sure knew how to make a girl feel alive.

Ready for something resembling normal life, I hop into my red hatchback and head to Merlotte’s.

Dinner tasted extra good, probably because I didn’t have to cook it, and the easy chatter buzzing around the bar smoothed out parts of me that had been rough for days. Sam already seemed to be on the mend, and being around friends - real ones, warm ones, lifted my spirits more than any magic salve.

I make it home just before dark, the sky still smudged with the last gold of sunset. Tonight, I decide, absolutely nothing supernatural is getting through my front door. No fangs, no fur, no fairies dropping cryptic prophecies on my porch.

Tonight was about me, my couch, and a movie I’d missed in the year and a half I was gone.

I lock the door, exhale, and for the first time all day, let myself feel almost human.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14 - Anticipation

I woke to the sunlight. It was warm, flooding my room in its light. I blink awake, squinting as gold spilled across the sheets like liquid fire. Late morning. Much later than I normally allowed myself to sleep. My body felt heavy in that luxurious, grounded way, muscles finally uncoiling, tension seeping out like smoke.

Sleep like this didn’t come often. Apparently, I’d needed it more than I realized.

I stretch, fingers dragging across the cool sheets, then rub my eyes, wincing at the brightness. My feet hit the hardwood floor, cool and solid beneath me, anchoring me to the morning.

The kitchen smells like the sun, warm, dry, faintly sweet. Vanilla soap lingers on my skin, a reminder of last night, while the faint dust of the house curls in the shafts of light streaming through the windows. I flip on the coffee maker, listening to the comforting whir and drip, a small ritual that steadies me.

I sit at the table with my mug cupped between my hands. Steam curls upward, warm against my face, and for a moment the silence settles around me like a soft blanket, thick, contemplative, expectant.

The weight of the answers I’m seeking presses lightly against my chest, teasing at my ribs. Yesterday’s fight still hums through me, a lingering charge in my muscles and nerves. And now, with that lingering hum, comes the awareness that there is even more to unravel, more to explain… more to face.

I take a slow sip of coffee, letting the bitter warmth anchor me. The day stretches ahead, full of questions, possibilities, and dangers. And for the first time in a long time, I feel… ready.

Tonight.

Tonight I would return to Eric.
Tonight I would give him the truth. Seal the bond.
Tonight everything between us would shift and settle into a new shape I didn’t yet fully understand.

I stared into my coffee, letting the warmth seep into my palms, but it did little to quiet the tremor in my chest. The mug felt heavy, like it carried all the weight of what was coming.

“Lord help me,” I whispered into the quiet house, my voice low and ragged, “I hope I know what I’m doing. I hope I can say it all. I hope… I hope I can be brave enough to lay it out, every secret, every thought, every fear, every desire, and not flinch. Not hide. Not pull back.”

I set the mug down, tracing the rim with my finger. Thoughts running through my mind... 'Because once I say it… once he knows… there’s no turning back. There’s no half-measures. There’s no safe place to retreat to. Not for me. Not for us'.

My throat tightens, a coil of fear and anticipation wrapping around my ribs. 'What if I give him everything I am, and it still isn’t enough for him? Or worse… What if it’s too much?'

I shake my head, trying to push the doubt away. "I agreed to this. I chose it. I will give it. I will. Because there is a chance for something real, unshakable. The kind of love that binds us beyond reason… and I already spent four years debating this. I can’t run from it. I can’t hide from it. I have to face it. Every part of it. Every part of him. Every part of me" My voice hanging in the air of the quiet house, I feel better having said it allowed.

I sigh.

I spend the next part of the day reinforcing the wards around the house, weaving them tighter, layering old charms with new threads of fae magic.

By late afternoon, sunlight slants through the windows, gold and lazy, catching on the open closet door where half a dozen outfits hung in quiet defeat. Too casual. Too formal. Too obviously chosen with him in mind. I have never spent so long deliberating over clothes in my life, and yet here I am, paralyzed by the impossible task of trying to capture myself in fabric. One snap of the fingers for a glamour should have been enough.

“Get a grip, Stackhouse,” I mutter to my reflection, voice low, rough-edged with nerves.

Still, my fingers tremble as they smooth over the dress I’ve finally chosen. Something comfortable. Something that said ‘me’, Sookie, not someone trying to impress a thousand-year-old vampire who saw through everything anyway.

The dress was deceptively simple, but it hummed with quiet intention. Deep teal silk, soft and flowing, catching the fading light and flattering my warm undertones.

My hair seemed brighter, my skin alive beneath the golden rays. The dress fell just past my knees, moving with me, teasing the air with every motion.
The neckline was modest but deliberately flattering, just scooped enough to hint at elegance without demanding notice. Sleeves ended at the elbows, giving me freedom to move without restraint. A subtle seam at the waist gave shape without shouting, giving me the confidence that mattered more than anyone’s approval. Along the hem, tiny embroidered motifs curl like whispers of fae magic, delicate swirls that felt like me, soft but deliberate. Effortless-looking but carefully chosen.

It also hides the fading bruises on my shoulder. The balm had done its work, and the wounds looked almost ordinary now, except for some bruising. I will explain that part when we get to it, but that wasn’t where I wanted to begin tonight.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, letting the tension coil in my chest. I know my mind and what I want, but wanting wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was stepping into the night with nothing between us, no armor, no lies, no shields.

Total honesty.

He wants it. Expects it. That subtle demand, the unspoken weight of it, made my stomach twist with both fear and longing.

And yet… there is freedom in it too.

I stand, shaking out my hair, letting the strands fall around my shoulders like a silent cloak of courage. I slip into my jacket, the cool fabric soothing me as dusk settles over the yard, painting the world in smoky purples and deepening golds.

No more stalling.

No more running from what I knew, deep down, what I had already claimed.

Tonight, I would meet Eric with my heart and soul fully unguarded. The house’s wards would hold outside threats at bay, but inside… nothing but me.

Nothing but the truth.

And maybe, if I was brave enough, everything I had ever held back…

The car rumbles softly over the gravel, tires crunching underfoot, as it passes through the wrought-iron gate and the guard house that gleamed faintly in the pale moonlight. The driveway curves upward, winding beneath ancient oaks and magnolias whose leaves whispered secrets in the night breeze. Shadows pool along the ground, stretching long and thin, and the air carried the faint musk of damp earth and fallen leaves, cool and crisp with the bite of mid-October.

As the trees part, the mansion emerges, a sprawling, two-story beauty, where modern elegance met with a hint of southern tradition. Stately columns rose along the wraparound porch, lanterns casting amber pools of light over pale brick and intricate but modern roofline. The home feels alive, familiar yet commanding, as if it had been waiting for this very moment.

Out front, the pond mirrors the moon, disturbed only by the gentle arc of the fountain at its center, each droplet catching the light like liquid silver. Stone paths wind through the gardens, the air carrying the scent of wet leaves and cool, earthy musk. The gardens feel alive, guiding the car forward, whispering toward the mansion as though the night itself knows who is arriving. This is a place built for secrets beneath the stars, for hearts bared in the hush of trees and the chill of autumn air.
The car slows to a gentle stop. The engine’s hum fades, leaving only the rustle of leaves, the splash of the fountain, and my own uneven breath. My hands rest lightly in my lap, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of my teal dress, silk catching every stray shaft of lantern light. My pulse thuds in time with the soft rhythm of the night.
With a slow, steadying breath, I open the door. Cool air kisses my skin, carrying the crisp scent of fall, damp leaves and distant pine. Gravel crunches beneath my heels, each step sharp in the stillness, my dress swaying softly with every movement.

I pause, taking it all in - the columns, the glowing modern windows, the gardens pulsing with life beneath the moonlight. And then I see him.

Eric stands at the edge of the porch, tall, impossibly poised, framed by golden lamplight that makes him seem both eternal and immediate. His gaze finds mine instantly, sharp and knowing, and beneath it flickers something subtler - a quiet command that tightens my chest.

My breath hitches, but I square my shoulders. The night, the mansion, the crisp autumn air wrap around me like a shield. No wards. No masks. No pretense. Just the two of us, and an oath of honesty between us.

As I draw closer, his expression remains near-perfect, calm, inscrutable. Then I catch it - a spark, a nuance in his amber eyes. Curiosity. Interest. Perhaps anticipation.
And for the first time all day, I feel entirely, undeniably ready.

When she stepped from the car and walked toward the mansion, I felt the shift before I fully saw it.

She moved like someone who had learned her own worth - not the instinctive, wide-eyed bravery she once wore like borrowed armor, but something earned.

Deliberate. Controlled. Each step carried the quiet authority of a woman who had stopped apologizing for surviving and had started choosing how she would live.

This was not innocence anymore.
This was intent.

My phone had been in my hand only moments earlier. Stan in Texas. His message still lingered in my mind. Unusual creatures intercepted near one of their older fairy portals. Contained, for now. But the rumors were already stirring, the kind that spread through vampire networks faster than truth ever could. Mississippi echoed it, similar disturbances, different terrain.

Patterns were forming.

Responses from Ohio, Missouri, and Kentucky had already come in. Cautious agreement. Quiet relief. Support for Louisiana as host for a clan gathering. To get answers, for control.

The situation was delicate. Easily blamed on the Fae, as such things always were. Old grievances made convenient explanations. But blame without understanding was how wars began.

And none of that, none of it, felt as volatile as the woman now crossing my driveway.

I had always known there was fire in her. I had tasted it, felt it burn through my blood, spark against my fangs. But this was something else entirely. The fire had been shaped, disciplined, honed into a weapon. No longer a flare in the dark, but a blade that knew its own edge.

Beautiful, I thought. And no longer fragile.

Her power did not leak or flicker. It curled close to her body, a living thing, humming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. Armor, not ornament. Confidence, not arrogance. She had finally allowed herself to inhabit it fully, and the restraint that required told me more than raw force ever could. It stirred something ancient and inconvenient in me. Respect, first. Then desire. And beneath both, a quiet ache I rarely acknowledged, in recognition of an equal ache rising into her.

She was not a woman who needed saving.
She was a woman who could stand beside a king and not diminish him.

The world was shifting and the old rules might not be enough to weather this storm.

And yet all of it, the looming summit, the whispers of inter-realm fracture, the careful diplomacy I would soon have to wield…faded beneath one undeniable truth as she drew closer, moonlight catching the silk of her dress, her gaze steady, her soul unguarded.

If this crisis had a center, it was walking toward me now.

I would not cage her.

I would not dull her edge.

But I would claim her…if she chose it…if she agreed.

All of her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 - Confession

Eric steps down from the porch as I approach, the lantern light catching the sharp planes of his face and throwing them into warm relief. His hair drifts long and loose glowing gold. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t reach for me. He simply is - and the space around him bent accordingly. His presence presses against my senses, magnetic and inescapable, settling deep in my chest where that familiar pull lived. The one I’d never been able to deny, no matter how fiercely I tried to rein it in.

“Good evening, Sookie,” he says, his voice low and smooth, brushed with faint amusement. “You’ve arrived right on time.”

I offer a small, smile, fingers smoothing my dress out of instinct more than need. “Evening, Eric. You look… well.”

It’s a weak word for the way he fills the night, for the way his attention settles on me like a living thing. But it’s all I have.

His gaze doesn’t waver. Steady. Assessing. “I assume,” he says calmly, “that you’ve come prepared to honor your word.”

My pulse kicks harder, loud in my ears. I nod once, letting the weight of it settle before I trust myself to speak. “I am,” I say softly, and mean every syllable.

A subtle tilt of his head is the only acknowledgment before he steps aside and gestures toward the house. “Then come inside. I’d like to show you around.”

The front door opens with smooth control, revealing a warm interior washed in amber light. Polished wood and aged stone greet me, layered with the faint chill of October night drifting through cracked windows. After he takes my jacket and hangs it in the front closet, Eric moves ahead, his stride unhurried, his grace effortless in that predatory way that never quite lets my nerves settle.

The kitchen comes first - spacious, modern, understated. Modern lights hang over a massive island, the pendants sleek and suspended in a precise line, their glass warm and luminous, casting a soft, intentional glow across stone counters. The island itself anchors the room, broad and commanding, its surface polished to a subtle sheen, edges clean and contemporary, inviting both gathering and stillness. The air carries a trace of herbs and clean metal, and tucked along the counter I spot an absurdly expensive coffee maker. My mouth twitches. Of course he has one.

Eric only gestures, acknowledging the space without comment, and continues on.

Next is the dining room. A long, dark oak table anchors the space, flanked by high-backed chairs upholstered in deep burgundy. Soft sconces line the walls, casting an even, restrained light that lends the room a quiet gravity. This is a place designed for deliberate meals and conversations that carry weight. I can picture it easily - low voices, measured words, moments that linger. When I look back at him, the expression on his face tells me he’s imagining something else entirely, and it sends a shiver through me as it has very little to do with place settings or polite conversation.

He motions next towards the sweeping staircase. “Several bedrooms and baths are on the second floor. All light-tight. Fully modern.” There’s a faint edge of boredom in his tone. “I will show them to you later, if you wish.”

I nod, silent, taking it in as we move on.

The living room strikes a careful balance between grandeur and comfort. Deep sofas clustered around a massive fireplace, a large flat-screen mounted unobtrusively along one wall. Tapestries and select pieces of art filled the space, curated but not cold. Lived-in, but intentional, like everything about him.

We descend a short flight of stairs into the entertainment level. A sleek bar anchors one side of the room. A pool table and plush seating sit arranged for ease rather than excess. Screens and sound equipment line the far wall - high-end, restrained. Nothing is flashy for its own sake. It’s indulgence with purpose.

Eric stops in front of a large, ornate door, just outside the entertainment area.

“And this,” he says, his voice dropping into something richer, “is my private study.” There’s a subtle shift in his tone. Anticipation. A note of pride.

The moment we step inside, the air changes.

It feels heavier. Older. The scent of aged leather and polished wood fills my lungs, layered with something briny and elemental - seasalt, iron, smoke. Power lives here. History. The room is vast, almost cathedral-like, its walls rising high and solid.

One wall is lined with shelves of books to the ceiling, their spines worn, pages thick with age. The others display weapons - swords, axes, shields, and things I can’t name. Each piece is mounted with careful precision. Nothing feels decorative. These have been used, and they could be again.

My eyes widen as I take it in. “It’s… it’s incredible,” I breathe.

Eric’s mouth curves into a small smile. “Fit for a Viking, wouldn’t you say?”

He gestures toward a wide leather sofa. “Sit.”

I do. The leather feels firm but yielding beneath me. I straighten without thinking, smoothing my dress over my knees, suddenly aware of myself in his space.

The room goes quiet, broken only by the faint creak of leather as he takes the chair opposite me. I can smell him now - cool, musky, layered with salt and leather, something forest-deep beneath it.

His gaze stays on mine. “Comfortable?” he asks, though he already knows.

I nod, my voice slow to follow.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The words slide over me, his voice quickening my nerves.

I manage to say “No, thank you, I’m good for now.” I can feel the tension creeping up my back.

He sits in his chair, studying me. His chair is close enough that our knees can almost touch. The proximity feels deliberate. I draw in a steadying breath.

This is it.

There’s no turning back now.

Eric doesn’t rush the silence. Instead, he leans back, loosening his posture in a way that feels deliberate. One arm drapes along the back of the chair, his hand open, relaxed - as if to say I’m not trapped here, free to leave if I want. It’s technically true, I’m here of my own choosing, but I’m not going anywhere.

“Sookie,” he says quietly. Hearing my name steadies me more than I expect. “You are safe. Whatever you wish to tell me, you will tell me in your time. There is no judgment waiting for you in this room.”

Something in my chest eases. Just a little.

His gaze softens, just a fraction, without losing its edge. “Say what you will,” he says quietly. “You have my word, I am here to listen.”

I swallow and nod, clasping my hands in my lap, fingers twisting in the silk of my dress.

“There’s… a lot I need to tell you,” I begin. My voice stays low, careful, steadier than I feel. “Some things I’ve only recently understood about myself. And others…” I exhale. “Others I’m still trying to figure out.”

Eric doesn’t interrupt. He only inclines his head, blue eyes steady on mine. I draw in a deeper breath. I’ll need it.

“You already know I’m part fae,” I say. “But what I didn’t tell you is that I’m descended from the royal house of Faery.” The words feel strange - too large. I pause, then continue before I lose my nerve.

“My grandfather wasn’t the man I thought he was,” My voice thinning just a touch despite my efforts. “My great-grandfather is Niall Brigant. The Great Fae Prince. And through his son, Fintan, that line passed down to me.”

The room stays silent. Heavy - but not oppressive.

“And while I was in Faery…” I hesitate, then lift my chin. “I claimed my title, my crown.”

There. It’s out.

“I’m a princess of the House of Brigant and I chose to accept what that entails. Although even that is complicated.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, grounding myself, keeping my nerves from spilling over. Another breath. Lord knew I needed it.

Eric tilts his head slightly, that familiar flicker of lazy, predatory amusement crossing his features.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “Seems I’m not the only one who neglected to mention acquiring a crown.” His eyes glint. “How… intriguing.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself.

“There’s more,” I press on, the break in tension helping me catch my courage. “The spark I carry? My magic. It’s stronger than anyone expected, along with my abilities. Because of that, I was given actual responsibility. I wanted it, the purpose.”

Eric’s focus sharpens, attention narrowing like a blade drawn.

“I’m meant to help expose, and eliminate, whatever’s feeding the power coming out of the Noctis Vale,” I say steadily. “And I’ve been tasked with helping stabilize relations with the Fae here on Earth. We’ve been absent too long, and Niall has finally acknowledged this.”

That gets his attention. I see it in the minute shift of his expression - interest sharpening into calculation, like a blade finding its edge.

“No one truly understands why the Vale is strengthening now,” I continue. “But I can seal the portals tied to it. I can close the tears between realms.” I pause, letting that land. “With the Fae dwindling, there aren’t many left who can do that. Fewer still who are willing to cross worlds to protect others.”

I draw a breath. This part always feels heavier.

“You’ve seen what’s coming through,” I say quietly. “They’re powerful. They’re gathering, multiplying, bleeding into places they don’t belong. Faery has defenses. Other realms do too. But here…” My voice falters just enough to be honest, and I straighten my shoulders. “Here, the protections aren’t enough, and vampires won't protect humans, not really.”

I meet his eyes again, refusing to look away.

“Anything I learn about the Noctis Vale, I’m obligated to report back to Faery. I can also share what I’m able from what they know - patterns, movements, weaknesses. And everything I’ve learned so far points to the answers being here, Earthside.”

The words hang between us, solid and unavoidable.

Eric watches me with an intensity that makes the air feel tighter, like the room has drawn in on itself. His gaze isn’t judgmental, it’s evaluative. The look he gives weapons, or opportunities worth seizing.

After a long, deliberate pause, he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped. Leather creaks softly in the quiet.

“I see,” he says finally, voice calm, precise, every syllable deliberate. “The great-granddaughter of Niall Brigant.” His eyes search my face, not for weakness, but for confirmation of what he’s already begun to suspect. “Princess of the House of Brigant.”

The word princess doesn’t sound ornamental when he says it. It lands with weight, utility. Less a title than a declaration of power meant to be used.

“Your power is awakening at an accelerated pace,” he continues, thoughtful, analytical. “Not flaring wildly, not consuming you… but sharpening. Maturing.” A faint curve touches his mouth. “That alone tells me much.”

His gaze holds mine, unwavering. “You possess lineage, yes, but also discipline. Curiosity. An instinct to understand what you are rather than fear it.” His eyes darken slightly, something ancient stirring. “That hunger for knowledge is rare. It marks those who survive long enough to matter.”

I nod, lacing my fingers together to keep them from betraying me. The breath I release feels like it’s been trapped for weeks. “I’ve wanted to tell you all of this,” I admit. “Finding the right words… that’s been the hardest part.”

Eric’s eyes linger, long enough that the air between us hums. Every small movement, the tilt of my head, the curl of my fingers, the slide of hair along my shoulder feels amplified under his attention.

Then his head tilts again, curiosity threading his tone.

“So,” he says softly, “where do the weapons and the fighting come in? Who taught you?”

My stomach dips slightly. Of course he’d ask.

I cross my arms, not defensively, just to steady myself, and lean back against the sofa, tension refusing to fully leave my shoulders.

“Well,” I say, meeting his gaze because avoiding it never works with Eric Northman, “turns out having fae blood comes with more than light and glitter. When I was in Faery… my cousin Claudine decided I needed to learn to defend myself.”

His brows lift in amusement.

“She wasn’t the only one,” I add, “It started with a few other cousins. Some eventual friends who are part of an elite order, folks who’d been fighting longer than I’ve been breathing. They figured if the realms were going to keep throwing danger at me, and if I was going to be sent straight into it anyway, I might as well be able to throw something back.”

I shrug lightly. “So I learned. Weapons. Hand-to-hand. Everything they’d teach me. Then we layered magic into it. Wind, light - they come easiest to me.” I pause, deliberately slowing. “Turns out caring about people is a good reason to get better at staying alive.”

A small smirk tugs at my mouth. I don’t need to say that part of me enjoys it; Eric reads it between the lines.

His gaze sharpens, head tilting slightly, like a predator catching a familiar rhythm in unfamiliar terrain.

“Sookie,” he says slowly, thoughtfully, “you fight with fae power - light, elemental force. But the way you move, your timing, your economy of motion, the way you close distance…You don’t merely wield power. You hunt.”

Something dark and intrigued flickers behind his eyes. “That,” he finishes, “is not how the Fae fight. That is how vampires fight.” The words land heavy.

I clench my hands in my lap, fingers tightening until the silk creases beneath them. Sera had told me it would be alright to share their story when the time came. It mattered that he know about them. Still… the ache hits sharp and sudden, like a bruise pressed too hard.

I swallow. “Because,” I say softly, “I didn’t train with fae alone.”

Eric doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t move. He waits, patient in the way only something immortal can be.

“Among those I trained and fought alongside,” I continue, voice steady, “were a Britlingen warrior, a demon and three vampires...I mentioned the vampires the other night.”

His brow lifts a fraction. Interest deepens. “Can you tell me more about them?”

“Their leader is Valerius,” I say. “He’s the maker of the other two, and I believe has been a vampire for well over three thousand years, easily as old as Russel Edgington, maybe older.” I huffed out a breath that was half awe, half lingering intimidation. “A battle master. Powerful in a way that doesn’t need to announce itself. Even when he’s standing still, you can feel him. He’s… not someone you disappoint lightly.”

Eric’s mouth curves, sharp and knowing. “A true ancient then.”

“Exactly,” I say, grateful he understands without explanation. “He pushes harder than anyone I’ve ever known. Precision. Control. No wasted movement. No mercy for sloppiness.” I shift slightly as the memory tightens my chest.

“Cassian is his progeny. About fifteen hundred years as a vampire, maybe more. Quiet. Observant.” My voice drops without my intention. “He is a master of stealth. Shadows and silence form his language. He has moved at Valerius’s side for centuries, crossing Earth and the other realms. You never see him coming, and by the time you realize he’s there, it’s already too late.”

Eric’s eyes gleam faintly with approval, respect.

“And the third?” he asks.

My fingers flex once before I answer.

“Sera,” I say, softer now. “Seraphina.”

Something in my tone shifts, and Eric notices immediately.

“She’s… different,” I continue. “Raven-haired and dangerously beautiful. Clever. She stays three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.” I swallow. “She’s a fae-vamp, roughly nine hundred years old. Her abilities…changed after she was turned” That earns me a sharper look.

“She comes from a high-born fae lineage,” I explain. “Water clan. She is also bound and pledged to Valerius. They remained together nearly two hundred years before...she became a vampire.”

Eric leans back slightly, expression unreadable, but his attention never wavers.

“Sera helped me more than she probably realizes,” I say quietly. “She taught me how vampires think. How they feel. How they love. How they endure.” My throat tightens, but I push through. “She helped me understand my own thoughts, my instincts… what it means to carry power without letting it hollow you out.”
I directly meet Eric’s gaze again, steady now.

“Between the three of them,” I finish, “I learn how to fight without hesitation. How to move faster. Smarter. How to anticipate instead of react, how to survive...”
A faint smile curves my mouth. “And how to come to terms with my feelings for you.”

The silence that follows is dense, weighted with memory.

Eric holds my gaze. Something shifts behind his eyes, layered and dangerous: respect sharpened by calculation, threaded through with something darker that doesn’t bother to hide.

Eric doesn’t answer right away.

“Feelings are not a weakness,” he says at last, voice low and deliberate. “They are leverage, motivation, risk.” A pause, his gaze holding mine without flinching. “I would not expect you to have come to terms with them quickly. Or gently. Not with me.”

His thumb lifts, not quite touching my jaw, a ghost of a caress that still sends heat through me.

“But understand this,” he continues, quieter now, and somehow more dangerous. “I do not accept half-measures. If you choose me, truly choose me, I will not look away from what that means. For either of us.”

His eyes darken, steady and unyielding.

“And if your feelings for me burn,” he adds softly, “then learn to wield them. For I intend to.”

Eric stays quiet a moment longer, his eyes tracing every breath, every flicker of thought I don’t voice. Then he shifts, just enough to change the room’s pressure.
“Sookie… I have always known your feelings were there.” His gaze sharpens, heat flickering beneath the calm. “You denied them. You fought them…yourself as much as me.”

His eyes burn now, open and unguarded in a way that makes my pulse stumble.

“This clarity you carry,” he continues quietly, “this acceptance… It is captivating.”

A pause. A subtle shift, like a predator scenting something new.

“But,” he adds, just as softly, “there is still something about you I am curious to understand.”

I lift a brow, my mouth quirking despite myself.

“What?”

“This tutelage,” he says calmly, “these vampires you trained with, befriended…” His eyes lift fully to mine, sharp and knowing.

“Is this also where you learn about bonds?”

My breath catches, just enough for him to notice.

“About what they mean,” he continues, smooth and deliberate. “What they cost. What they grant.” He pauses. “And what it truly means to complete one.”

I don’t answer immediately. I can’t. The truth weighs heavy, warm and frightening, in my chest.

“Yes,” I say finally, quiet but solid.

Eric keeps his expression, but the air around him tightens, charged.

“So,” he says, measured, controlled, “you don’t return to me naïve.”

I shake my head slowly. “No. I return… informed.”

His jaw flexes once. Not anger. Containment.

“And your thoughts,” he asks, low and almost gentle, “on completing our bond?”

There it stands. Not a demand. Not a command.

An opening.

I lace my fingers together, pulling my certainty into my center. “They taught me that a bond doesn’t have to be about ownership, possession,” I say carefully. “It’s consent made permanent. A shared current. Trust, power, and emotions flow in both directions.”

I hold his gaze. I don’t look away.

“They also taught me that once it’s complete, there’s no pretending it doesn’t change you. I’d feel you. Your moods. Your pull.” My voice is softening. “And I know that you’d carry a measure of influence over me that could have me extend my being beyond this life. Yet with a healthy bond, that too is a choice between partners.”

Eric is watching me now with an intensity that makes my pulse thrum.

“They taught me the truth,” I continue. “They explained the risks. They explained the power imbalance that can happen. They explained how if a bond goes wrong, it can destroy both parties.”

I pause.

“They also showed me what happens when it goes right.”

His lips curve faintly, he seems dangerously intrigued.

“And?” he prompts.

I exhale slowly, deliberately.

“I’ve decided,” I say quietly, the certainty in me settling instead of shaking, “that fear alone can’t keep me from embracing something that could be… extraordinary. I won’t run from how I feel for you. Even knowing it will be complicated, more so now, with you a king, and me being…” I trail off.

Silence stretches, thick and electric.

“A royal fairy princess with a crown and a blade of her own,” he finishes evenly.

His eyes hold mine, no softness blurred by denial, no hunger unchecked. Just truth.

“You should understand what you are choosing,” he says. “Not comfort. Not safety. Me.” A pause. “My enemies. My court. My wars. My expectations.”

Then his thumb brushes my knuckles at last, barely there, sending a shock through me all the same.

“But know this,” he continues, voice lowering, steady as iron set in stone. “I do not take lightly what you offer. If you stand at my side, it will not be as ornament or shelter.”

His gaze sharpens, pride and something fierce threading through it.

“You would be my equal where it matters. My partner in the dark. And I would defend that choice with everything I am.”

Everything in me tightens…warm, fierce, unmistakably real.

“And Sookie,” he adds softly, “once I claim what is given freely, I will not let it go.”

I shift forward slightly on the sofa, closing the last inch of space between us. I don’t touch him yet, but I make sure nothing in my posture, my voice, or my eyes leaves doubt.

“I did not come here uncertain, Eric. I did not come here to test the water or flirt with the edge and run.” I uncurl my fingers in my lap, then curl them again, letting my hands occupy themselves while my words stay deliberate and honest. “I come here because I am ready.”

Eric stills completely.

“This moment matters,” I continue. “I want to look you in the eye and tell you the truth before anything else binds us. I want you to know that I am choosing to step into this with my whole self, eyes open, heart engaged, power intact.”

My pulse hammers, but I keep going.

“I have seen what bonds can be. I have seen what they cost, and what they give. I know they do not erase choice; they crystallize it.” I swallow, then lift my chin a fraction. “And I choose to be here. With you. Now.”

Then his mouth curves into a slow, lethal smile, pride threading it like steel.

“Good,” Eric says quietly. His eyes darken, not with hunger alone, but with something far more dangerous. “Because I will not accept anything less.”

Eric’s mouth curves into that slow, knowing smile, the one that makes me want to kiss him… or smack him… or maybe both.

“There’s more,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft and twice as dangerous. “You’re not finished yet, lover.”

I cross my arms. I uncross them. I do it again, letting my hands move so they do not betray the tension, the desire, the pull toward him.

“I did not say I was done,” I reply.

His brow lifts slightly, pleased. “Sookie,” he says quietly, almost gently, “I have lived over a thousand years. I know when someone speaks the truth… and when they stand at the edge of a deeper one.”

Heat crawls up my neck, my cheeks warm despite myself. His smile widens, slow and satisfied.

“Go on,” he coaxes, voice brushing over me like fingers along bare skin. “Say the rest. Tell me what you have not yet said.”

The air tightens, humming, charged with everything I have held just below the surface.

“Eric…”

“Tell me,” he commands, soft but unmistakable, settling low in my spine. “Unless you suddenly are afraid.”

That did it.

I straighten, spine locking into place, every bit of stubborn Southern backbone snapping to attention.

“Afraid?” I scoff. “Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

I inhale sharply. Fine. He wanted honesty…he was about to drown in it.

“You want the truth?” I say, my voice sharper now, edged with something raw. “Here it is.”

He is still. Completely. Waiting in that quiet, predatory way that tells me he will miss nothing.

“I feel too damn much when it comes to you,” I start. “More than I ever meant to. More than I ever thought I could feel. You make me furious. You make me reckless. You make me feel alive in ways that scare the hell out of me. And you always have.”

Something shifts in his expression, attention narrowing, smile fading into something deeper.

“I hate it,” Letting my emotions carry me now. “I hate how easily you get under my skin. How one look from you can knock all my good sense clean out of me.” I swallow, but I don’t stop.

“How despite spending four years in Faery… yours was the face that followed me into my dreams. Yours was the voice I heard when the nights were quiet. Yours was the one I knew I would come back to. Wanted to come back to.”

“I don’t trust you the way I want to be able to,” I admit. “Not yet. And I don’t trust my instincts around you either, only you can distract me silly.”

My voice wavers, but I keep going.

“I can fight monsters. I can walk through fire. I can banish things that shouldn’t exist. But one thought of you and all my carefully built control goes straight out the nearest window.”

A breath. A heartbeat. Truth laid bare.

“I want you,” I say quietly. “God help me, I want you in a way that feels like a flaw in my character. And the worst part is, I don’t regret it. You got under my skin a long time ago. And it never faded. It never stopped.”

I lift my eyes to his.

“I feel you everywhere. On the wind. In the dark. In my bed. There’s a part of me, that stubborn, stupid, honest part…that still lights up every time you walk into a room, just like I did in my home when you couldn’t remember who you were; back in Jackson when you helped pull a stake from my torso; when you saved me in Dallas; back that very first night when I walked into Fangtasia.”

My voice softens, my throat starting to ache.

“And the worst part?” I say. “You know it. You’ve always known it.”

For once, Eric has no clever reply.

He simply looks at me while the silence stretches, heavy enough to feel like it could swallow the room whole. My pulse races. My stomach flutters. I take a shallow breath, bracing myself.

Eric leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him everywhere. His scent. His presence. His intent. His gaze is locked onto mine, unyielding.

“I will not accept fragments of you, Sookie,” he says, each word deliberate, unyielding. “Not what is convenient. Not what feels safe. I will have all of you.”

His gaze pins me in place, not demanding, but certain. “Not because I command it,” he continues, voice lowering, sharpened with intent, “but because you choose me.”
He steps closer, presence overwhelming, inescapable.

“To be mine,” he says quietly. “Not as ornament. Not as possession.”

A beat. Then, absolute.

“As my equal. My fairy princess…” his mouth curves, fierce and knowing, “and in time, my queen.”

Heat surges through me…fear, desire, exhilaration tangled together so tightly I couldn’t separate them.

I meet his gaze fully, unflinching. “Eric this also means you become mine,” I say. “You don’t stand above me. We walk this together. I carry duties. Responsibilities. Power of my own.”

Something fierce sparks in my chest.

“For this to work,” I finish, “we choose each other. Every step.”

Eric’s lips curve into a faint, predatory smile as he leans a fraction closer. The air between us hums.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “You are far more ready for this than you are giving yourself credit for.” His gaze pins me in place, dark with intent.

A shiver races down my spine. His words, his nearness, the pull of him make it hard to breathe. Every instinct urges me forward, but something deeper anchors me in place. I want structure. Certainty. Control. So I stay poised and wait.

“And now,” he continues softly, “you stand at the edge of something you cannot undo. Something that will mark you as wholly mine… because you choose it.”
For a heartbeat, the world holds still.

Then his lips meet mine.

The kiss was hunger held tightly on a leash, fire and restraint braided together. Gentle enough not to overwhelm, urgent enough to make my knees go weak. It spoke of longing, of possession waiting to be claimed, of a pull neither of us had ever escaped.

My hands lift to his chest, resting there as if they belong, feeling the steady, controlled strength beneath. My breath catches as his hand slides into my hair, fingers curling just enough to deepen the kiss, drawing me closer without breaking his careful control.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads nearly touching, I am gasping, my heart racing, my thoughts are scattered. Eric’s dark eyes hold mine, slow approval burning there as his mouth curves into a satisfied, dangerous smile.

“Sookie,” he says softly, the words heavy with promise, “you are mine.”

The fire between us flared…undeniable, magnetic, only just beginning.

Before I can even think to react, he moves. One fluid, effortless motion and I am being scooped up, my breath catching against the raw power of him as I find myself held against his chest. The room blurs as he carries me across the study, the lights brushing past in soft gold streaks.

“Eric…” I start, but I am silenced with a single calm and commanding glance.

He stops at a section of wall I haven’t noticed before. A hidden panel slides open beneath his touch, revealing a narrow corridor beyond, stone and earth-scented and secret.

“Trust me,” he murmurs.

And I do.

At the end of the corridor stands a sleek metal door, smooth and unmarked, its surface catching the low light like liquid steel. Eric doesn’t slow. He keys in a code with practiced ease, then presses his thumb to a scanner. The panel glows softly beneath his skin, recognizing him, and the door slides open with a quiet, obedient hum.
Eric steps through without hesitation, still holding me securely in his arms, as if he never considered setting me down. The door seals behind us with a soft, final click that echoes through my chest.

We descend a short, winding staircase. With every step, his scent deepens…leather, polished wood, sea salt and smoke. At the bottom of the stairs, the space opens, and I suck in a breath.

The room stretches massive before me, far larger than the mansion above ever suggests, cavernous yet impossibly intimate. Shadowed alcoves and rich, dark tapestries line the walls, swallowing sound and light, their textures steeped in age and intent. This is not just a room. It is a sanctuary. A stronghold. A place built to hold power without apology.

And at its center - the bed.

It dominates the space, vast and commanding, a sea of pillows and heavy linens gleaming in the low amber light. Layered sheets and rich fabrics in warm hues invite touch, not display. Nothing here feels ostentatious. Everything serves a purpose.

Entirely his.

My pulse kicks hard, heat curling low in my belly, not in fear or doubt, but anticipation sharp enough to leave me dizzy.

Eric finally sets me down, gently, my feet meeting the floor beside the bed. His hands linger a fraction longer than necessary, steadying me, grounding me. The air between us thickens, charged with everything we have not said and everything that waits ahead.

His gaze sweeps over me, slow and unblinking, not stripping, but assessing. Measuring. Claiming with his eyes alone. Promise lives there. Intention. Possession waiting to be sealed.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent, as though this place demanded it. “To the place where I rest. Where I plan. Where the world above cannot reach.”
His eyes locked onto mine.

“And now,” he finished softly, deliberately, “so are you.”

The words settled over me like a vow.

And I knew, without question, that I had crossed a threshold I could never walk back from.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 - Eyes Open

He let me wander, slow and unhurried, through the cavernous expanse of his personal sanctuary. Every shadowed corner, every gleam of metal or soft wash of the wall sconces felt like a step deeper into him, his secrets, his history, the parts of Eric Northman the world wasn’t allowed to see.

My chest rose and fell with nervous excitement, breath catching as the reality settled in. I was here. He brought me here. The thrill of being carried into his private domain, into a place no one entered without invitation, left me warm and unsteady, dizzy with the kind of anticipation that curled low and deep, tight and bright all at once.

From behind me, his voice drifted through the stillness, smooth as cool silk.

“Sookie.”

I turn.

He is watching me, leaning against one of the bedposts like a king surveying his chosen consort. The soft gold light caught in his hair and eyes, sharpening them into something ancient and intent. Patient. Possessive without effort.

I swallow.

“You’re looking at me like…” he began, then paused, eyes narrowing just slightly, “…like you already belong here.”

Heat rushed through me, fast and undeniable.

Something flickered across his face…want, triumph, and something darker, more reverent, all woven together. As if my being here confirmed something he’d known all along. The space between us tightened instantly, charged and humming, thick with promise.

I barely had time to inhale.

One heartbeat I was standing there alone, the next he was in front of me, moving with that impossible vampire speed, gathering me into his arms as though the distance between us had never truly existed. The world narrowed to the cool strength of his body, the certainty of his presence, the way everything else simply… fell away.

His hand settled at the small of my back, firm and sure, not demanding but unmistakably claiming. The touch sent a shiver straight through me, like my body had been waiting for that exact contact, that exact place, for far longer than my mind could account for.

And then his mouth was on mine.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deep and deliberate, as though he was savoring the truth of me being there, of choosing him. It felt achingly right, reassuring and intoxicating all at once, the kind of kiss that didn’t just steal breath, but rewrote intention.

My hands curl into the fabric of his shirt without conscious thought, anchoring myself as the heat between us surges, steady and overwhelming.

Eric’s tongue sweeps into my mouth with a forceful confidence that steals what little breath I have left. I push back with my own tongue, exploring his taste, running my tongue along his fangs, and savouring the dizzy rush of everything crackling between us; so much so, that I barely registered the shift in space.
One moment my feet were on solid ground. The next, the soft, yielding give beneath me told me I was on the bed, its massive frame cradling us both.

I didn’t know how we’d gotten there. I don’t care.

All I can feel is him, Eric, his presence envelopes me like a cool, steady storm. His body hovers over mine, close but controlled, surrounding me with a certainty that makes my breath catch and my pulse stutter.

His strength, his focus, the deliberate restraint in the way he holds himself, it wraps around me completely. The room blurs. The bed fades. Even my thoughts slip away, leaving only the awareness of his weight, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his shirt under my hands, the measured cadence of his unnecessary breathing against my skin.

I shift instinctively, bending my knees just enough to draw him closer, to feel that solid line of him against me. My arms slid up around his neck, fingers curling into his hair as I pull him back down, chasing the heat and urgency humming between us, craving the connection, the closeness, the more of him.
The kiss deepens until my vision swims, dark spots flickering at the edges. Finally I have to break away, gasping for air, my chest rising sharply as I fight to steady myself.

Eric doesn’t pull back.

His mouth traces slowly along my jaw, behind my ear, his lips defyingly warm against my skin. A low growl rumbles from his chest as his breath drifts over my throat, sending shivers cascading through me. His fangs graze me, not biting, not claiming, just enough to remind me of exactly what he was, and how easily he could undo me.

Every nerve in my body lights up.

His arm slides around my back, deftly tugging down the zipper of my dress. With a teasing graze of his fangs and the wet coolness of his tongue, he drags it off my shoulders, unveiling the delicate pink lace of my push-up bra that strains to contain the fullness of my chest.

“You chose pink,” Eric says with a faint smirk. “Like roses, soft and bright. Meant to be admired and savored…before they are plucked.” His voice snapping caught somewhere between wrath and reverence.

I feel his fingers trail along my shoulders, behind my back, slipping beneath my bra, teasing it open before winding into my hair and yanking my head back, leaving my throat exposed. His other hand pulls the bra away in a sharp, deliberate tug, baring me completely to him. His mouth immediately seeks my breast, teeth teasing the sensitive tip before his tongue dances and swirls around it. I gasp as his cold fingers travel along my spine, my nakedness a mere afterthought.

He starts to trail his mouth and fangs from my breasts back toward my neck, the cool of his tongue melding with the tingle of the scrape. My entire body goes rigid as he nuzzles the hollow of my neck. His nostrils flare as he inhales my full earth-fae scent, my shields down, my focus scattered by the passion screaming through me.

I watch as his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of aquamarine remains. A growl rumbles in his chest. The pad of his thumb pressing against my pulse, its frantic beats setting the tempo of my need and desire.

Eric's fingers suddenly grab my wrists into one hand pulling my arms above my head, while the other brush against my nipples, rock hard in the cool air of the room. I let out a soft moan, closing my eyes, my skin glowing from within as the sensations race through me.

It comes out mostly as a snarl, "Moan for me, my little fairy." Racing his tongue along my throat, to my breasts and back, marking me with his hunger.
I moan again, louder this time, my voice trembling with need. I open my eyes, to find his shirt gone, his bare torso exposed. Every line and curve of him demands my attention. My hands, still pinned, ache to trace the smooth plane of his chest, fingertips tingling with anticipation.

His gaze meets mine again, dark eyes locking onto my own, a controlled fire simmering beneath their depths. “Tell me what you want,” he growls, voice low, deliberate.

I draw in a slow, steady breath, stretching as far as my pinned pose would allow. “You...all of you” I breathe.

Suddenly my breasts are cupped by both his hands, thumbs dancing with my sensitive peaks. My nipples feel like they could cut glass, they are so tight. I seize the moment, my fingers finally free to roam across the sculpted curves of his chest, tracing the light trail of golden fuzz, savoring the broad expanse, and lingering over the taut peaks of his nipples.

His palm drifts lower along my torso, deliberate and teasing, every movement igniting sparks across my skin. My breath catches, ragged and uneven, as his fingers slide between my thighs, gliding over the slick warmth waiting for him. A shiver races through me, curling low and deep, my body arching instinctively toward him, caught between anticipation and the delicious ache between my legs.

He crushes my mouth to his in a deep consuming kiss, and a low, startled growl rumbles from my chest, my lips parting against his. His fingers now brushing over my sensitive nub, sending a shock straight through me, making me arch instinctively into him, caught between the heat of his mouth and the delicious ache of his touch.
Fingers begin to flick and grind hard against me, and then I feel one slick finger slip inside me, parting me, stretching me. Tension building now, as he matches a rhythm between his strokes and flicks.

A second finger slips inside, the pressure building again. His strokes are conducting a crescendo, that my body is eager to play for him. I feel my juices flooding through the folds of my sheath, my breath hitches as each precise stroke drives me closer to the edge.

Eric shifts without warning and my body jolts. Every nerve screaming with the delicious ache of release. He drags me to the edge of the bed, knees braced over his shoulders, and my breath hitches uncontrollably. Eric leans in, his tongue finding my folds with deliberate, tantalizing precision, flicking, teasing, sucking…each stroke sending sparks of heat spiraling through my core. I quiver, hips arching, thighs trembling, as every glide of his tongue drives a shudder from deep inside me. My heart pounds, my breath comes in ragged gasps, and it feels as if time has slowed. I feel every flick, every press, every soft, wet trail of him against me magnified, stretched, until I am suspended entirely in the exquisite torment and delicious pull he creates.

I throw my head back, my eyes closed, and I arch my spine upward, groaning as new, searing sensations shoot through my veins, electrifying every fiber of my body.
The low satisfied rasp of Eric’s voice pierces through my pleasure and sends another shiver through me. “Look at me, Sookie,” the edge of hunger in his tone is unmistakable.

“Open your eyes. Look at me while I make you come.”

I force my eyes open, spine sliding back against the bed, pelvis tipping instinctively toward his wicked, knowing grin…an unspoken invitation for more. His gaze seizes mine, dark, intense, commanding, and I feel myself unraveling beneath it.

His mouth returns to my folds, tongue darting, flicking, and sucking at my nub with a precision and speed that only a vampire could sustain. Each stroke, each press, drives a friction so intense it pulses through me, waves of heat building faster and faster, spiraling into a crescendo that makes my entire body tremble and quake under him.

I’m suspended in it…the sharp, electric pleasure, the relentless, hypnotic rhythm of his mouth, and I can’t think, can’t do anything but respond, arching and shivering, lost entirely in the exquisite torment and the consuming, heart-stopping ecstasy he drags out of me.

“MMMmmmfph…Eric” A guttural moan rips from my throat as I finally surrender, letting the sensations wash over me and dissolve the last shred of resistance I might have clung to. My body trembles, quaking under the relentless onslaught of pleasure.

I rest my head back against the bed, tilting downward just enough to keep his dark, commanding gaze locked onto mine. My fingers are clutching the bedcovers so tightly I fear they’ll tear under the pressure of my grip, each heartbeat thrumming through me like a drum.

Without breaking eye contact, I watch him shift, changing the angle, and two fingers thrust in again, stealing my breath. At the same time, his mouth devours me, sucking my juices while vibrating my core in a perfect, maddening rhythm. Every nerve in my body ignites, the friction and sensation building faster and faster until I feel like I might combust.

A primal, raw sound tears from my mouth, shaking the room and vibrating through my very bones. Waves of ecstasy roll through me, hot and relentless, pushing me to the edge of reality. My fae powers flare, tingling violently in my palms, a spark of otherworldly energy feeding the intensity coursing through me.
Yet still, the pleasure climbs higher, spiraling beyond anything I’ve ever known.

A cry shatters from my throat “Eric… God, Eric… Don’t STOP!!! PLEASE…mmmm…NOW!” My scream is raw, ragged, every syllable steeped in need, want, and utter surrender.

Then, I feel the brush of his fangs, sliding in gently on either side of my clit. The combination of pain and pleasure hits me like a lightning strike, a surge so sharp and exquisite I cannot hold back. My body arches, shudders, and shatters under the force of it, every nerve ending ablaze, my voice breaking in the most delicious surrender.

The rush explodes through me, a tidal wave of heat and sensation, and I am utterly undone, lost in the raw, untamed power of him, inescapably, irrevocably his.

I linger between her legs, savoring every exquisite drop of her, drinking her juices with deliberate, unhurried precision. My tongue traces and seals my marks, sliding over her with a leisurely, possessive grace. She quivers beneath me, body twitching in the lingering aftershocks of her climax, every shudder and tremor a testament to the power I’ve claimed.

My feisty fairy, I murmur to myself with a wicked grin. With a single, effortless display of my skill, I have marked her, claimed her - an organism that would scorch her skies for an eternity.

My body is taut, hard as steel, unyielding and resolute. Nothing could sway me from the path I have chosen, no temptation, no resistance, no hesitation. And yet… the way she moves beneath me, the fire she sparks, the way she dares to challenge me - this will drive me to heights I have yet to imagine tonight, and for nights to come.

Every twitch, every gasp, every sigh is a promise of the storm we will unleash together.

My pants are gone in a blink, and my manhood twitches eagerly, thick, full, damp with anticipation. I scoop Sookie up with effortless strength and settle her back in the center of the bed, our gazes locking instantly, the connection between us snapping tight and unbreakable. I can see her eyes run down my length and pause fixated on my rigid member. Her tongue peaks out from between her lips as her gaze moves back up to lock with mine.

“Say it,” I rumble, my voice low, wild, vibrating with restrained power.

She draws in a slow breath, her voice still trembling from the echoes of her release. “Tonight I will bear your mark, your scent, and your blood,” she says softly, reverently. “I am yours.”

The words strike me like a warhammer I never knew I craved. Each syllable hangs heavy in the air, intoxicating, undeniable. Mine. My blood surges, roaring through my veins, urging me forward with a heady mix of reverence, hunger, and awe.

The air between us crackles with tension. Her breath still quivers, her pulse drums so loudly I can hear it in my bones, my fangs ache and the sound of it thrills me beyond reason.

I slip a finger back into her, sliding through her soft, silky folds, luxuriating in the heat waiting there. “So wet,” I growl, possessive and pleased, “so perfectly primed for me, lover.”

I move over her, positioning myself, and I can feel the storm in her mind...anticipation, desire, surrender, all swirling together. Her eyes flick down briefly, then return to mine, a silent question burning in their depths.

My gaze follows the length of her luscious, golden body as I guide myself to her apex. With a primal growl torn from deep in my chest, I ease into her slowly, deliberately, holding her hips steady as I push inch by inch until I am seated fully within her, claimed and claiming, buried to the hilt.

She fits me so perfectly.

She arches beneath me, every curve pressed into mine, every shiver and tremor a reflection of the control I wield and the surrender she gives so willingly. My hands grip her hips firmly, kneading, guiding, holding her in place as I begin a slow, deliberate rhythm, sinking in and pulling back, feeling every inch of her warmth envelop me.

Her gasp, half plea, half surrender, vibrates through me, fueling the hunger coiling in my chest. The scent of her, drives me harder, deeper. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my hands, matching mine, matching the beat of desire that echoes in my veins.

“Mine,” I growl against her lips, voice rough, low, a promise and a claim. She arches, pressing closer, grinding into me, offering herself fully, and I answer with the power of a predator, each thrust deliberate, unrelenting, savoring the exquisite friction, the friction that sets every nerve in my body alight.

Her hands dig into my shoulders, then my back, nails grazing my skin as if trying to anchor herself in me, but there is no escaping…nor would she want to. Every shudder, every gasp, every small tremor of her body sends a thrill spiraling through me, and I push further, harder, knowing the power I hold, the fire I ignite.

I can feel the storm building within her, the tight coil of pleasure, and I match it, my own desire screaming through me. I lean down, fangs brushing her ear, growl vibrating through my chest, and whisper, “Mine. All of you is mine.”

Her moan is sharp, broken, and it sets me over the edge of restraint. My rhythm deepens, relentless now, powerful, precise, every motion calculated to drive her higher, to pull her over the brink again and again.

And as I feel her body tighten, quiver, shatter beneath me, I am filled with a scorching, undeniable reverence for the gift she gives me…her surrender, her trust, her fire…and I know, without question, she will always be mine.

Her body tightens beneath me, drawing me in, locking me there, and something ancient roars awake inside my chest. My rhythm falters…not from weakness, but from the sheer force of what threatens to consume me. My control fractures, splintering under the weight of sensation, connection, need.

I feel my release and hers nearing…violent and inevitable.

At the same moment, my fangs pierce my own wrist, and I guide her mouth to it, giving without restraint, without dominance…only choice. She grasps my wrist in her hands, draws on my blood and arches, baring her neck to me without hesitation.

Her pulse pounds against my senses, thunderous and intoxicating, and I lower my mouth to her throat, fangs grazing her skin as a warning I barely manage to give. “Sookie…” Her name is a growl, a prayer, a breaking point.

I bite, fangs fully extended into her neck. Not in frenzy, but with reverence.

Her blood floods my senses, hot and electric, igniting every nerve, every instinct, every vow I didn’t know I had already made.

The bond slams into place.

Power surges through me as her blood intertwines with mine, a violent, exquisite fusion that tears a roar from my chest. The release that follows is blinding - raw, shattering - my body locking, my mind fracturing into light and fire as I spill into the moment, into her, into us.

“Blóð kallar blóð. Þú ert mín um alla tíð. Þú ert mitt ljós í myrkri. Drottning mín.¹ I growl.

I feel her through the bond, her pleasure, her awe, her fire…mirroring mine, amplifying it until there is nothing else. Our connection sings with our combined ecstasy

When it passes, I remain over her, trembling, breath harsh, forehead pressed to hers as the bond settles, deep and irrevocable.

Mine.

Chosen.

I brush my thumb along her cheek, wonder and reverence flooding me as strongly as the hunger still humming in my veins. “Bound,” I murmur softly. “Forever, if you will it.”

And for the first time ever in my long life, I know…I would burn worlds to keep her safe.

As we settle together in the quiet afterward, I feel the bond take hold with slow, deliberate certainty, threading between us like a living thing. Her emotions brush against mine; soft, insistent, warm, bright, lingering where our skin meets. The sensation dizzies me, intoxicating and irrevocable.

I shift with care, drawing her fully against me and letting my body relax into the tangle of limbs. Her heartbeat, her shallow breaths, read like whispered confessions meant only for me. Her scent, sunshine, fresh rain, honey, so unmistakably hers, wraps around me and sinks into places I rarely allow anyone to reach.

A slow, smoldering satisfaction curls through me. Beneath it, something deeper unfurls: a calm that feels dangerously close to indulgence. I press a fraction closer, claiming that stillness even as my thoughts turn to the words I will say later. She has earned them, the truth of the bond, its weight and its promise, paid for with every measure of trust she gave tonight.

She shifts, draping her leg over mine with a casual, possessive ease that anchors me. Her fingers trace idle patterns across my chest, thoughtless, trusting, and heat rises where she touches, a possessive edge tightening around the steady pulse beneath her hand.

Then my eyes caught it, something on her shoulder. A subtle mark, almost hidden in the fading shadow, and my body tensed instinctively.

Three deep purple, talon-shaped bruises. They had not been there two nights ago.

Her eyes met mine, open, unguarded, and the bond surged between us, sudden and vivid, a living thing that flared with instinct and claim. Every breath she took echoed in me. Every flicker of thought brushed against my own.

Mine.

“Your attentions are flattering, lover,” I murmured, keeping my voice smooth as I shifted, easing back against the pillows and headboard. I drew her with me, guiding her easily until she rested at my side, her body fitting against mine as though it had always belonged there.

She smiled, soft, satisfied, loose with trust. Completely unaware, for the moment, of the blade-edge tension tightening behind my calm.

My hand slid over her shoulder, unhurried, possessive. My thumb traced the outer edge of one bruise, slow and deliberate, committing its shape to memory. Power stirred beneath my skin, not flaring, but gathering.

“But I think,” I continued, voice low and perfectly controlled, “you have something more to tell me about these.”

My thumb paused, resting there…gentle, but unyielding. A promise and a warning wrapped into one touch. And I would have answers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 - Possession or Partnership

I groan inwardly.

Of course he’d notice now, when my whole body feels like warm Jell‑O and my mind is drifting somewhere between bliss and sleepy contentment, wrapped in that boneless, well‑earned calm that follows complete surrender.

I force myself to focus and roll onto my side so I can look up at him. His thumb is still brushing the marks on my shoulder, slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing me by touch alone. And then, there it is again.

A ripple of emotion that isn’t mine.

Controlled irritation, tightly leashed, braided around something sharper beneath it.

Oh.

Whoa. Wholly crap on a cracker…

I can feel Eric.

Not just where he is or a subtle sense of mood, I could pick up hints of that before, but him. His presence hums at the edges of my awareness, a constant low vibration, like standing too close to a live wire that knows my name, are code and blood type. His concern presses in first, heavy and instinctive, followed by a possessive edge so fierce it almost steals my breath. Beneath it all, a thread of anger - not aimed at me, but at whatever dared put me in danger.

I recognize the emotions as they roll through me, tasting them the way I might magic - sharp, distinct, powerful - but I try to push them aside, summoning my own mental controls. I dull them a bit. Finding my balance inside this new, shared bond between us, is going to be something else.

His gaze drifts down my body and back up again, unhurried, intent - patient as a cat watching a butterfly struggle back into awareness after getting thwacked. He isn’t rushing me. He’s waiting for me to catch up to reality.

I sigh. Soft. Resigned.

“I found more creatures that had come through the tear we sealed,” I say quietly. “They were near the swamp. It’s handled. The portal’s shut and the tear’s still sealed, and as long as it stays that way, nothing else should slip through.”

I stretch a little, testing sore muscles, rolling my shoulders, savoring the pleasant heaviness settling into my limbs. The exhaustion feels honest. Earned. Like proof that I did what needed doing and survived it, enjoyed it.

His response reaches me through the bond before he speaks.

Hot. Sharp. Annoyance edged with something close to anger.

Then his voice follows, low and hard.

“You went alone.”

Not a question. Not even close. Just a statement soaked in ire.

Another sigh slips out of me. Lord help me, he can be so possessive, and I’m realizing that the depth of his protectiveness is far far deeper than I had assumed.
I push myself fully upright and turn until we’re face to face. I cup his cheek in my hand, feeling the tension in his jaw…and beneath it, the tightly coiled rage mixed with fear he’d never admit to out loud. Through the bond, it thrums like a restrained storm.

“Eric,” I say gently, grounding both of us. “I’ve been fighting these beasts for four years. It’s not the first time I’ve gone in alone…and it probably won’t be the last.”

His eyes flash, bright and dangerous, but he doesn’t interrupt...yet. He just watches me, listening…not only with his ears, but with that new, unbreakable thread between us. And I feel it then, not just his worry or his control, but his resolve and compassion. Whether I like it or not… I’m not facing anything alone ever again.
“I ended up in a cave,” I continue. “It was tight. I couldn’t maneuver well, and one of them grazed me. That’s all.”

I shrug, deliberately casual. “Sam showed up. Total accident, but he helped. Took a hit into a tree, but the monsters got slain and I got him out. He wasn’t seriously hurt.”

I hold Eric’s gaze for the next part…steady, unblinking, giving him nowhere to look but at me.

“He left safely. I treated my wound, and it’s been healing fine.” I pause, feeling the hum of his blood, his presence, the bond inside me. “And now, after your blood… it’ll be gone by morning.”

A low grunt rumbles out of him, part satisfaction, part territorial agreement. Definitely not forgiveness. Not yet.

Eric doesn’t move at first. He stays curled around me, one arm heavy at my waist, the other tucked beneath my pillow, his body a quiet barricade. But I feel the shift in him, the way his anger banks instead of burns, contained only because it has to be.

“By morning,” he repeats softly.

It isn’t a question.

His fingers flex once at my hip, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he’s there. Solid. Unmovable.

“You are correct,” he says at last, voice even and cold in that way that means he’s already decided something. “You survived. You handled it. You did not lie to me.”

A pause. His breath ghosts over my hair.

“That does not mean I accept it.”

I tilt my head slightly, but I don’t interrupt. I can feel him now, control locked tight around something sharp and furious, threaded through with fear he won’t name.

“You will not go into confined terrain alone again,” he continues calmly. “Not caves. Not ruins. Not anywhere your mobility is compromised.”

“Eric”

“I am not finished,” he cuts in, not raising his voice, but the bond hums with warning. Then, quieter, more dangerous: “You could have bled out when I could not reach you.”

The truth of that lands heavier than any accusation.

His thumb brushes slow circles into my side, grounding both of us. “Sam will be compensated,” he adds. “And warned. Not threatened. Warned.”

That gets my attention.

“And you,” he murmurs, lowering his forehead to mine, blue eyes burning in the low light of the room. “You will continue to fight. I know this. I chose you knowing this.”

His anger finally finds a shape, one that is protective, ruthless and precise.

“But next time,” he says softly, “you tell me where you are going. And if you cannot… you take someone with you, or I will assign someone to you. Because whether you like it or not, Sookie Stackhouse…”

His arm tightens, enclosing me fully.

“...you are not prey anymore. And I will not treat you as expendable.”

Through the bond, I feel his irritation loosen its grip, easing just enough to breathe, but the worry remains, banked low, like an ember waiting for a careless gust of wind. It presses against me, protective and fierce, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes even as a small, traitorous part of me finds it comforting.
I move my hand, tracing lazy, soothing patterns across his chest, calming us both. His skin is cool beneath my palm. “Fine.” I say, not interested in pushing this point at this moment.

This discussion isn’t over. We both know it.

A shiver runs through me then, awareness snapping back into place as I notice the cool air against my bare skin. Before I can even blink, the world shifts.

We’re under the covers, silk sheets whispering over me, brushing my skin with a softness that feels decadent after everything else. The scent surrounds me: crisp and clean, edged with Eric. At this point, his scent feels permanently etched into my mind, as familiar as my own heartbeat.

He settles beside me, propped on his left elbow, watching me with that same quiet intensity. His right hand begins to trace a slow path from my shoulder down to my hip, unhurried, possessive without being confining. Each pass of his fingers sends warmth shooting through me a silent reassurance layered beneath the tension still waiting to be addressed.

I let my eyes drift closed for just a second, breathing him in. I lie there for a moment, letting the quiet settle, listening to him beside me. Then I sigh softly and glance up at him.

My fingers trace idle circles against the sheet. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.” I pause, not dramatic, just long enough to make it clear I’m not letting this go. “You want to tell me how you actually happened to end up King?”

My tone stays easy, but there’s no mistakin’ the expectation behind it. “’Cause as far as I know, folks don’t usually wake up wearin’ crowns unless somethin’ messy and complicated goes down first."

Eric shifts beside me, a low, amused sound rumbling from his chest as his fingers continue their slow, possessive path along my side. “You ask questions,” he murmurs, voice dark with humor, “as though you believe I might actually refuse you.”

He brushes a loose strand of hair from my cheek, unhurried, deliberate…buying himself a moment.

“It wasn’t planned, Lover,” he says.

And the way he says it tells me the truth is about to get a whole lot heavier.

“There was a gathering,” he continues, voice steady, measured, “at a vampire hotel in Rhodes some months ago. A summit of the vampire leaders in the Amun Clan.”

That alone makes my stomach tighten.

“There was an explosion during the day,” he says simply. “Catastrophic. Several royals were lost. Including the Queen of Louisiana… and many of her court. Others were injured, some seriously.”

The words settle heavy between us.

“The political landscape fractured that day,” he goes on. “Loyalties shifted. Power vacuums always invite ambition.” His mouth tightens slightly. “When it became clear the throne was open…others put my name forward.”

He pauses then, eyes lifting to my face, studying me…watching for doubt, for judgment, for fear.

I don’t look away.

“Pam and I were fortunate,” he says after a moment. “There was a supposed issue at the last minute with our reservations. We were staying elsewhere, offsite.” His tone is calm, factual, but I can hear the edge beneath it. “We returned as soon as we were able, but there was little left we could do.”

I swallow.

“The attackers were later identified as part of the Fellowship of the Sun,” he continues. “They are now officially designated a domestic terrorist organization. Their public operations have been dismantled.”

His voice remains even, but there’s a tightness around his mouth I don’t miss. Controlled. Contained. “I didn’t seek the crown,” he says quietly. “But I accepted it.

Seized it for stability and control.”

A familiar glint returns to his eyes then, and the corner of his mouth curves in that unmistakable Eric smirk.

“And perhaps,” he murmurs, “because ruling is something I am… particularly good at.”

His hand slides down my arm, light as a whisper, grounding me, claiming space without pressing. I shift slightly, angling so I can see his face more clearly in the glow of the room.

“Alright,” I say, considering it. “That explains how you got the crown.” I tilt my head. “But if you’re King, why are you still in Shreveport? Shouldn’t you be down in New Orleans wearing dramatic capes and bossing everybody around?”

His lips twitch, like he’s barely holding back a smile.

“I could have ruled from New Orleans,” he says. “I chose not to.”

His hand moves lazily across my waist, tracing the scars there, casual, intimate, like this is the most natural discussion in the world to be having lying naked in bed.

“I redrew the territories,” he continues. “Consolidated influence. Modernized the structure.”

There’s that calm certainty again, the tone he gets when he knows he’s played the board better than anyone else.

“Fangtasia is no longer merely a club,” he says. “The new location also serves as my seat of authority.” Now this makes more sense.

“And New Orleans?” I ask.

His expression softens just a fraction, pride flickering through his eyes…controlled, but unmistakable.

“It is still significant,” he says. “It is well-governed and watched.” A pause. “A kingdom does not need its king hovering over every stone. It needs confidence in its foundation, and,” he adds quietly, “I prefer to rule where I choose to stand.”

His gaze returns to me, intent, thoughtful.

“I summoned my other child home,” he continues, voice smoothing out, pride threading through it. “She is now Sheriff of Area One. You will meet Karin soon.”

There’s something almost warm in his expression now, rare enough that it catches my attention.

“She is fiercely loyal,” he says, “lethally efficient. The improvements already seen in the last year under her direction are… impressive.” That last word lands with quiet satisfaction.

“The former court headquarters remains in use for formal assemblies and ongoing matters,” he goes on, slipping back into measured authority. “We are converting part of the facility into a rentable convention space. It will be profitable and more practical than they offered previously.”

His thumb brushes along my shoulder as he speaks, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth that has nothing to do with body heat.

“Pam is now my first lieutenant,” he adds. “She oversees operations here when I am otherwise… occupied. As well as the day to day for Fangtasia.”

He looks entirely too pleased with that arrangement.

“I retained several sheriffs who proved loyal,” he continues. “There are newer appointments in Areas Three and Six, and I’ve added a second lieutenant as well to oversee certain Area 5 matters under Pam.”

I huff a soft laugh. “So you really did reorganize the entire kingdom.”

“Of course,” he replies smoothly.

It’s smug…but there’s something real beneath it. Purpose. Responsibility. Pride earned, not assumed.

He falls quiet then, fingers tracing idle, thoughtful patterns along my arm. I can feel it through the bond, the calculation, the weighing of words. Deciding whether to provoke me… or be honest.

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Out with it already.” His gaze lifts to mine, blue and sharp, suddenly focused.

He shifts onto his side, propping himself on one elbow so he can look down at me properly. His fingers tip my chin up, warm from the blankets.

“Our blood bond will be powerful, I can already tell,” he says. “With your fae heritage, it is already stronger than it would ever be with a human.”

My heart stutters.

“You will tell me,” he continues, voice low and exacting, each word laid with care. “If your abilities shift. If the bond, or my presence, becomes too much.” His thumb traces once along my jaw, precise. Controlled. “I will teach you how to master it. To bend it. To make it serve you instead of breaking you. To add to your strength. And mine.”

This isn’t an order. It’s a promise.

He pauses.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower - stripped of polish, edged with something old. “This bond,” he says, “especially with continued blood exchange, will extend your lifespan. That is certain.”

His thumb presses lightly at my throat, not claiming, but measuring. Anchoring.

“With your fae blood…” A faint line cuts between his brows, not fear but awe. “I do not know the limits.” His eyes hold mine, intent and unflinching. “Only this, you will not count your life in decades. You will count it in centuries.”

I nod, steadying myself. “You’re right.” The truth settles heavier than I expect, and I swallow through it. “My cousins already have told me that I will have centuries ahead of me - because of my magic, because of what I am.” I lift my eyes to him, not flinching this time. “Living longer than humans… It's been hard to accept. I’m still learning how to carry this truth.”

I take a breath, taking comfort in the quiet strength flowing between us. “But I know I won’t have to face it alone. When it gets hard, when time starts taking people I love, you’ll be my anchor when I need one, and I have others I can lean on to.”

I don’t say the rest aloud. I don’t have to. The bond carries it for me: the fear of watching mortal lives fade, the certainty that I will endure, and the promise that with him, I will endure my grief standing strong, not hollowed out by loss.

The bond answers before he speaks. A warmth settles through me, steady and unyielding, like a hand at the center of my spine.

Then his voice joins it, low and sure. “You are not losing your future, Sookie,” he says. “You are expanding it. And I will stand with you through every age you walk into.”

The weight of what we’re saying hangs between us, centuries, power, choice, heavy but not crushing. I sit with it, letting the truth of it settle into my bones, into the bond, until it no longer feels like a future rushing at me but one I’m stepping toward with my eyes open.

I breathe that in. Let it steady me.

“There’s something else,” I say, softer now, but no less certain.

“I don’t want to be a vampire, Eric.”

The bond tightens, not in anger, but in stark disagreement. His response is immediate, instinctive, edged with a predator’s certainty. I feel how strongly he believes it would make me safer and keep me with him.

His jaw sets. “You would be formidable,” he says. “More than you already are.”

“But it’s not what I want,” I say, meeting him without flinching. “Not now at least, and maybe not ever.”

Silence stretches between us, taut but unbroken. Then the bond shifts again, reshaping not yielding.

Eric inclines his head, the gesture small and absolute in its restraint. “Then I will not turn you,” he says. “I may try to convince you otherwise, I cannot promise I will not.” A pause. “But I will not turn you, unless you ask for it. Not unless it is your will, as well as mine.”

The bond seals around that vow, ironclad and unmistakable. Relief floods me, followed by something deeper, rust. I lace my fingers through his, grounding myself in the truth of us.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

His thumb strokes once over my knuckles. “You are mine by choice,” he replies. “Not by force. Never confuse the two.”

His gaze strips me bare, unblinking, ancient and intent. “I would never cage you to keep you,” he says, voice low, feral with truth. The weight of his words settles deep. I feel no fear, only clarity. I lift my hand to his, anchoring us together.

I take a moment, steadying myself. I feel the weight of our earlier discussion still pressing on us both through the bond; my fighting alone, my refusal to be sheltered.
“Eric,” I say quietly, meeting his gaze, holding it. “I don’t want to leave this unfinished between us…I can understand your reservations about my fighting, especially alone. Truly. I do.”

His jaw tightens. The bond bristles suddenly, sharp...

“But you can’t keep me in a bubble,” I continue, gentler now but unyielding. “Not without breaking something in me.”

His response surges through the bond, hot and volatile. He shifts on the bed, tightens beside me barely containing it.

“And if you are hurt because I failed to stop it?” he demands, voice low and edged with steel.

I move closer instead of retreating. “Then we don’t start there,” I say. “We start here.” I lift my hand, pressing it lightly to his chest, right over where I feel the bond thrum. “I won’t rush into anything without talking to you first. We make a plan. Together. You’ll know where I am. Always.”

He stills, the fire in him coiling inward as he turns the words over. I feel the conflict, every instinct screaming to lock me away where nothing can touch me. Protection wars with respect. Fear clashes with trust.

Finally, he grunts, rough and reluctant.

“We will try this approach,” he says at last, voice measured, deliberate. “As you suggest.”

Relief flickers through me, but it doesn’t last long. His eyes lock onto mine, ancient and uncompromising.

“But hear me, Sookie,” he adds, the bond tightening with iron resolve. “If I do not agree”

“I stay,” I finish, already knowing.

“Yes,” he confirms. “You stay.”

I nod, accepting the line he’s drawn, not as a cage, but as a boundary forged in trust rather than fear. And through the bond, beneath his restraint, I feel something shift. Not surrender.

Partnership.

The bond settles into a steady hum, carrying his desire and his fear of losing me, bound by ironclad intent and protection. I feel it where his body brushes mine, where his promise lingers, needing no words.

Emotion swells between us, fast and heavy, until the air itself thickens, electric. He wants me closer than he’s ever said aloud, closer than anyone could ever claim and I know, with shivering certainty, that the storm inside me mirrors the one raging in him.

We don’t resist. We let it take us.

Eric’s hands find me, mapping, igniting. His gaze is dark, molten, and locked on mine. It steals my breath. There is no crown, no throne, no politics, no restraint. Only him. Only me. The bond thrums between us like a live wire, hot with hunger and something fierce and eternal.

I reach for him without thinking. My body moves first, already knowing, already remembering the rhythm we forged, the way we fit, the way we burn…

And in the quiet afterward, wrapped around each other, it feels as though we become something elemental. The world falls away. All that remains is the relentless pull between us, impossibly real and utterly consuming.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 - Planning and Politics

Sookie sleeps at my side, warm and soft, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I watch her, memorizing the subtle lift of her shoulders, the curl of her hair across the pillow, the quiet flex of her fingers even in slumber. The bond hums between us, tethering me, claiming me, making me ache for her even more.

Even asleep, she intoxicates me. Every curve, every tiny movement, every sigh speaks of her fire - her intensity, her passion. I want her again, now. Every nerve in me demands it. But she needs rest, and I will not take it from her.

Sookie is stubborn. Infuriatingly so. She will walk into danger with her chin up and her spine straight, as if courage alone will bend fate. She does not understand how close the edge she truly comes because she refuses to see herself as fragile. And she is not fragile but she is mortal, and she is rare. That makes her a target whether she wants to be one or not.

I know that I do not need to protect her because she is weak. I need to protect her because of her power, because she shines too brightly to go unnoticed, because the world takes interest in things it cannot easily break.

She will argue with me. She will push back. She will meet every boundary I set with teeth and reason and that quiet certainty that makes others step aside. I allow it, because she thinks, because she chooses, because she is no one’s possession.

But I will still plan. I will still place guards where she thinks none are needed. I will still position myself between her and every threat she has not yet seen.
This is not control. This is survival.

She chose me knowing what I am. I chose her knowing what I feel and what she is and can become.

And I will not lose her to arrogance, chance, or a world that has already begun to circle.

I shift carefully, lifting myself from the bed, careful not to disturb her. My skin still tingles from her nearness, her warmth lingering like a promise. I let my gaze linger one last time, before I move through the soft shadows of the room.

In my study, the familiar scent of leather and old books greets me. I settle into my chair, fingers flexing over the keyboard. Correspondence waits…notes from allies, intelligence reports, updates from across the areas. New Orleans is doing well based on the latest report from Karin, although she also mentions that the witches have noticed the disturbances and have changed their wards around the Area 1 compound in response. Interesting.

I text Karin, requesting her presence at Fangtasia tomorrow night. The decision settles with quiet finality in me. It is time she meets my bonded.

My phone suddenly begins to chime ‘O Fortuna’ immediately drawing my attention…Russel Edgington.

I answer without hesitation. “Russel.”

“Eric,” his voice carries amusement, but I hear the sharpness beneath it, the calculation I respect. “I trust everything is… settled?”

“Everything we discussed,” I reply smoothly, leaning back in my chair, eyes narrowing. “But the situation requires ongoing attention. The gathering approaches, and we must ensure all parties are adequately prepared to discuss the matters further as a council. Louisiana will host?”

“Indeed,” he drawls. “I was surprised by your offer to host, yet it will serve its purpose rather well. Ohio, Missouri, Illinois…their responses are promising. But I imagine you’re aware of the delicate balance here.”

“I am,” I say, letting the weight of responsibility settle over me. “No room for mistakes. Michigan continues to flail, bitter over their disastrous end with Wisconsin.

They are miserable, grasping for influence but we cannot allow for that to distract unnecessarily from the matter at hand. We may need to try to push every advantage, no matter how thin. And Arkansas…the new Queen is still bitter she did not receive Louisiana instead of me, yet she continues to try to flirt for a useless alliance, prone to rash moves and even less patience.”

“Ah,” Russel says, a sharp chuckle cutting through the line. “The political chessboard does grow… interesting. I imagine keeping Louisiana neutral as the host will require every ounce of your charm.”

“I intend to ensure order,” I reply, voice low, deliberate. “Perhaps through charm, force if necessary. We have also encountered activity near the fae portals with unusual beasts, but have had little issue with eliminating them thus far. We continue to investigate, but I am hesitant to place blame with the fae directly. We can’t afford to incite conflict based on assumptions. This must be handled carefully, with exact knowledge.”

“Good,” Russel says. “Then we understand each other. Keep me informed, as I will you. And do be careful, Northman. The political tension alone is enough without added surprises.”

“I always am,” I murmur, ending the call. The click echoes, soft, final.

I lean back, letting my thoughts stretch. The bond hums faintly, Sookie’s presence etched into every sense. She is still sleeping.

I pull up the latest reports from Gregory, on the portal near Sookie’s house, as well as a suspected portal he has flagged in Area 6 near Munroe, the faint hum of the computer blending with the quiet of the house. Each file is meticulously detailed: timestamps, locations, creature movements, and the mystery shadow - seemingly vampire but not, it’s scent suggesting something else, something older - very strange.

I turn my attention to the inter-state updates. Michigan is a mess. While they have reported little in the way of disturbances the Queen is flailing like a child who lost the game entirely. Not deadly yet, but irritating enough to demand attention. This may pose useful as a distraction if it comes to it. She is bitter, resentful, opportunistic and will exploit anything. She is especially weak after Wisconsin’s announcement dissolving their marriage.

Arkansas. Queen Jacqueline de Tierney is known to be thin on patience, with sharp claws beneath a regal smile. Reports from her territory show minor incursions, but also signs of attempts to assert control. She has only worn the crown for a short time, but is hungry for more territory based on reports and is trying to stabilize what has always been a poorer region. She hasn’t yet interfered in Louisiana, but I assume she has spies watching me and mine closely, particularly given her repeated attempts to open discussions of a political alliance through marriage. I suspect that either Mildred Pierce or Walter Sampson who have recently relocated to Shreveport are hers. Neither concerns me or hold any influence in my affairs locally, nor will they.

I flick through updates from Pam on the rest of the states - Ohio, Missouri, Kentucky - their responses are mostly contained, professional, and wary. No one wants a fae war, not yet. But the tension is palpable, these monsters are causing disturbances, gaining attention. It is only a matter of time.

I tighten my jaw, letting my fingers drum against the desk. My mind runs calculations, scenarios, contingencies. If these excursions continue unchecked, it could destabilize everything…political, supernatural, even the delicate balance Sookie and I may be able to establish.

I need the Ancient Pythoness.

If anyone could see the shape of what was moving beneath Sookie’s path, threads tangled across realms and time it would be her. The old seer did not offer answers lightly, nor without cost, but she saw things others could not. Futures. Fault lines. The moments where choice became destiny.

Yet I cannot summon her outright. One did not summon the Pythoness.

Instead, I send a message to one of her handmaidens - an ancient creature in her own right, loyal, sharp-eyed, and discreet - asking where the old crone had chosen to anchor herself this season. The Pythoness wandered between Clans and territories when it pleased her, nesting with royals near currents of power like a spider sensing tremors in her web.

If she was anywhere within reach, I could make Shreveport… interesting for a time.

A gathering of vampire royalty. A fairy princess newly returned. Portals stirring. Tears in the fabric between realms. A balance on the brink.

Yes. That may be enough to draw her attention.

And if the Pythoness chose to come, it would not be for me. It would be for Sookie. Which meant whatever she saw or shared… would matter.

My eyes flick towards where she sleeps. Even in rest, the bond hums faintly, her pleasure from earlier resting between us. She’s unaware of the scale of what’s coming, but when the time comes, she will need to be ready.

Before I can lean back, the phone rings again. Karin.

I answered without looking at the screen. “Karin.”

“Master,” she said, voice steady, carrying the faint rasp of iron and cold air. “You’ve summoned.”

“I have.” I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled. “I want you at Fangtasia tomorrow night. Before midnight.”

A brief pause, calculating, not hesitant.

“For security?” she asked.

“For judgment,” I replied. “And presence.”

That earned a soft, approving huff on the other end. Karin had never been fond of ambiguity, but she understood it well enough.

“You want me to meet someone,” she said.

“Yes.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“Important,” she added.

“Very.”

Her tone sharpened, interest sparking. “Is this the fae?”

I allowed myself a thin smile. Of course Pam had already talked.

“Sookie Stackhouse,” I said. “And no, she is not just fae.”

That finally pulled a reaction from her. I heard the subtle shift of movement, as if she’d straightened instinctively, warrior to warrior.

“You sound… invested,” Karin observed.

“I am bonded,” I said simply.

Silence. It was heavy, weighted, but not shocked. Karin had been forged in blood and loyalty; she understands bonds better than most.

“Then I will come,” she said at last. “Tell me what you require of me.”

I appreciate that she does not ask why.

“You will watch,” I reply. “You will listen. You will decide for yourself whether she is a strength or a liability.”

“And if she is a liability?” Karin asked, voice already hardening.

A flicker of something dangerous curled in my chest.

“Then,” I said calmly, “you will remember she is mine, and we will adjust.”

That earned me a low, pleased laugh.

“As you command,” she said. “Should I bring additional guards?”

“No.” I paused. “Your presence is sufficient.”

“Good,” she replied. “I will leave Rasul in charge here in my absence. He is a sufficient lieutenant."

“Yes,” I agreed. “You seem to be doing well with Area 1, my child.”

Her voice softened, not weak, never that, but warm in the way only a progeny who trusted her maker completely could manage.

“I will see you tomorrow night, Eric.”

“I look forward to it,” I said. “Do not be late.”

“I am never late,” she replied, faintly amused. “I arrive when the moment requires.”

The line went dead.

I set the phone down slowly.

Tomorrow, Sookie would meet another piece of my world. And Karin would see exactly why I had chosen her to stand at my side.

The line clicks, and I sit back, letting the chair creak under me. The study is dim, quiet except for the faint hum of computers and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the bond that links me to Sookie.

I swipe my finger across the keyboard, the subtle hum of the system responding to my command. A flicker of motion behind me, and I speak her name;

“Pam.”

A soft chuckle carries from the kitchen before she appears, gliding down the hall with that effortless poise that only she can manage. Her eyes, sharp and amused, catch mine immediately. “You summoned, Master?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s that undercurrent of absolute readiness that makes the air between us tingle.

“Fangtasia tonight,” I begin, keeping my voice calm, deliberate, letting her read between the lines. “report.”

She inclines her head, stepping closer, the faint click of her heels a metronome of authority. “A few minor disruptions. Some new arrivals have been making inquiries too soon, but nothing that couldn’t be handled with discretion. The usual chaos at the club managed neatly, everything else is available for your review and is in order.

And, of course…” Her smirk tilts. “…everyone in Shreveport knows you were… unavailable tonight. Business, of course.”

I let a small smirk tug at my lips, keeping my gaze on her. “Good. Discretion is critical. Now listen carefully. Russell Edgington called. Summit plans are in motion. Michigan remains… chaotic, Arkansas is still bitter about everything and is a pain in our side, the other states are wary with the disturbances. I need you to finalize all the necessary arrangements.”

Her eyebrow quirks upward, lips pressing together in that perfect line of pithy disdain she favors. “You want me to finalize the bookings, feeding the royals, ensuring an appropriate schedule with entertainment to prevent them from biting each other - or us - while maintaining decorum? All to ensure this goes off without any… incident?”

“Yes,” I reply, voice smooth, unwavering. “Separate light-tight condos for the Royals. Nothing shared. After Rhodes staying in the same hotel or building is no longer an option. Ensure we are well stocked on all blood offerings including donors. Upgrade the security at Fangtaisa, including bringing in more Weres during the day. As for entertainment - I will leave that entirely in your hands. Understood?”

Pam’s lips twitch into a smile that is half amusement, half sheer delight. “Oh, I understand, Master. Consider it done. Light-tight, luxurious, and each royal coddled to prevent tantrums and bloodshed. I thrive on chaos - controlled, of course - but I won’t babysit fools while they all sit in the same room - I’ll leave that pleasure for you.”

I lean back in my chair, letting the subtle creak of leather fill the pause. “That’s exactly why you’re indispensable.” My gaze flicks towards the hall. “And another matter… Sookie.”

Pam’s eyes sharpen immediately, predatory, eager. “Ah. Finally, you’ve been hoarding her like a delicacy. How is the bond, Master?”

I allow a thin, knowing smile. “It’s… solid. Established. She is mine. Fully, utterly. She trusts me. And she needs rest tonight. But she already is starting to understand the depth of what binds us.”

Pam lets out a slow, luxurious sigh, the kind that sounds like she’s just been handed a very expensive pair of shoes. Eyes gleaming with open approval.

“Oh… finally,” she purrs. “She’s stubborn. Sharp. Infuriatingly moral.” Her mouth curving into a razor-edged smile. “And powerful enough to make everyone else very, very uncomfortable. Which means she’s perfect for you.” Pam steps closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And bonded?” Her smile turns indulgent. “Well. That explains the look on your face. You look… settled. It’s revolting. I adore it.”

“You know I would have chosen her regardless, Pamela. Still… your approval means something to me.” I state with a slight smile.

She gives a delicate shrug. “You could’ve chosen a fragile thing. Something obedient. You...” Her eyes glitter. “chose someone who can be a queen.”

A beat. Then, with absolute certainty. “Yes. I will enjoy watching the rest of the world realize they are now dealing with both of you.”

I watch her reaction, noting the small tilt of her head, the sharp gleam in her eye. She may mock, she may tease, but she understands, perhaps better than anyone, the balance of power, trust, and fire between Sookie and I.

“I want regular updates,” I add, voice low, commanding. “Summit arrangements. Security. Local contacts. And nothing gets handled without my approval. Karin will be here tomorrow night as well.”

“Of course, Master,” Pam replies, the smirk lingering, the faintest curl of anticipation in her tone. “You may be the master of your kingdom, but I am the master of knowing what needs to happen before you even think to command it.”

“Exactly, you are proficient in all things, my child,” I murmur.
Pam nods, her expression sharp but satisfied, and with a fluid motion, she glides out, already plotting, already calculating.
The house is quiet again. Sookie still sleeps, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of our bond. Outside, the world is moving - politics, portals, potential chaos - but here, for this moment, I am satisfied with my people, my kingdom, and my woman who is resting in my bed.

I had fallen asleep deeper than I meant to, though really, who knew that many orgasms could knock a girl out flat?

When I finally stir, the room is wrapped in darkness. Not empty darkness, but soft, warm, and intentional. The kind meant to cradle sleep, not interrupt it. Eric’s below‑ground bedroom didn’t allow so much as a whisper of dawn, but I could feel it anyway, pressing close above us, the world shifting toward day.

A cool hand traced lazy, unhurried patterns along my back.

“Wake up, lover.”

His voice curls around me, low and amused, and I stretch beneath the heavy blankets, every muscle loose, boneless, satisfied in a way that went all the way down to my bones.

“Mmm… what’re you doin’ awake?” I murmur.

A quiet, pleased laugh rumbles from him. “I wished to see your eyes before I am dead for the day.”

I roll toward him, squinting at his face in the dim glow from the recessed lights that have turned on from my movements. “You sound like you’re teasin’ me.”

“I am.” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers lingering like he had nowhere else to be. “You clearly required rest after our last round of… exercises.”
I could feel his grin even before I saw it. Then his tone shifted - subtle, but unmistakable. “Stay with me today.”

His hand slides to my waist, warm, certain.

“This room, the entire house, is yours while I rest,” he continues. “I updated the security system while you slept. You have full access. Explore as you wish.”
I blink. “Your vampire‑mansion‑meets‑palace is huge. I might get lost.”

“There are guards along the perimeter of the grounds,” he says mildly. “You will not be able to wander off. And no one will disturb you.”

I snort softly. “Eric, I haven’t even found the bathroom yet. Though…” I frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose I could stay a little longer.”

His eyes warm, unmistakably pleased and nods toward a doorway. “The bathroom is through there. It includes a shower, and a tub I believe you will appreciate.” A pause. “Deep enough to drown even a viking’s ego in.” His grin is full as he teases me.

I raise a brow. “That’s one hell of a sales pitch.”

“You will like it,” he says gently. “Use it while I rest.”

The intention behind it, wanting me comfortable, settled, at home here - lands squarely in a soft place in my chest I wasn’t fully ready for him to know about yet, but he can probably feel it anyway.

“And you want me here when you rise?” I ask quietly.

“Yes.” No teasing now. Just the truth. “I would much rather wake up to you, than an empty bed.”

My heart flutters in a way that feels embarrassingly sincere.

“I’m guessing you were attending to things while I was asleep,” I said.

His expression sharpens a heartbeat before he speaks.

Through the bond, I feel his focus draw tight, clean and precise. Everything in him aligned, purpose sliding into place with cold, elegant certainty.

“There will be a couple of visitors at Fangtasia tomorrow night,” he says. “Nothing complicated, but I want to introduce you.”

A ripple of calculation moves through him, cool and electric, brushing my nerves like a shared thought he didn’t bother to fully mask.

I wet my lips. “Anyone important?”

A flicker of amusement answered first, supremely confident. But beneath it lay something steadier. Watchful. Measuring consequences three steps ahead.

“I would like for you to spend some time with Pam of course. You will also meet Karin, and another of my lieutenants - Roscoe.”

When he reached up to touch my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of it with deliberate care, his emotions flowed through the bond in a slow, controlled tide. Trust. Warmth. And beneath it all, a fierce, instinctive protectiveness that felt older than either of us, older than reason.

“I want you beside me,” he murmured. “Tomorrow night will allow you to observe. To acclimate. To understand what it means to stand where you are now.”

The bond tightened, his longing brushing my chest, my pulse, my breath. He wasn’t hiding anything from me. Not intent. Not expectation.

Then his tone shifted.

“I intend to present you at court,” he said. “In time. I want every vampire under my authority to see you at my side - recognized, claimed, and unquestionably mine.”

The words settle deep, deliberate, not rushed. A promise. A future being possessively shaped, but not seized.

“But we will move carefully,” he adds, his voice steady, controlled. “You will be ready.”

Heat shivers through me, and his answering satisfaction echoes through the bond before I even think to anticipate it. There are no secrets between us now.

“Alright,” I whisper, because there is no other answer when he feels so completely present within me, and the challenge pulls at my curiosity. “I’ll stay today. And I’ll come tomorrow night.”

Then, because I am still me…“We will need to discuss this court thing further, however.”

A slow, dangerous smile curved against my skin through the bond. He had expected nothing less.

“All will be as it should, lover.” He draws me close, his hands settling at my waist. Dawn was already tugging at him, draining the fire from his limbs, but I can feel him pouring every remaining thread of his awareness into the closeness between us. It feels like a warm, steady pressure in my chest.

A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Everything here is yours, enjoy it all until I rise.”

His body stills, the bond dim like a lantern shielded behind glass. His emotions don’t vanish, they sink, settling into a quiet, steady hum.

Just before the last spark of animation fades, he whispers, soft enough that I feel it more than I hear it: “Thank you, Sookie.”

Then the sun claims him.

He goes still, and the silence falls over me like a second heartbeat, quiet, constant, and very much alive.

I fall back asleep, curled against him, tucked into his stillness like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The bond goes quiet and low, it pulses faintly in my mind soft, muted, unmistakably Eric. A cool, steady hum that wraps around me, comforting in its own strange way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 - An Omission

When I finally wake again, much later, judging by the stiffness in my limbs and the warmth of the room, I discover a new truth about sharing a bed with a thousand-year-old Viking.

Being the little spoon also means being caught.

At some point in his descent into deeper rest, Eric curled around me like an elaborate, perfectly executed trap. One arm under me, the other over me, one leg hooked just enough to pin me without applying real pressure. I am secured like treasure a dragon refuses to release.

The only problem… my bladder has very different opinions about being hoarded.

I tried subtle wiggles first, tiny little shifts, testing if any part of him would give. Nothing. Not a twitch. Eric in full daylight rest was as immovable as a slab of granite.
I tried sliding. I tried inching.

Eventually I resorted to a series of movements that could only be described as a desperation wriggle, which was not very dignified.

Through the bond, I felt nothing but the deep, dark quiet of his day-sleep - not disturbed, not curious, not even amusement. If he’d been awake, I knew damn well he’d be smirking.

Finally, I manage to slip free. I sit up with a victorious huff, pushing the mess of my hair out of my face, feeling like I’d just escaped a snare laid by a particularly affectionate predator. My viking didn’t move.

Didn’t even pretend to stir.

He lay in the center of the enormous platform bed, more a stage than anything meant for sleeping, hands relaxed at his sides, expression perfectly serene. Beautiful, dangerous, and completely unaware he’d nearly held me hostage.

I grab my phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up: 11:47 AM.

Hours yet before sunset. Hours before he would surge awake and the bond would snap sharp and bright, filling the room with his presence. Which meant I had time, most of the day, really, to explore, think, and satisfy every bit of curiosity about the home of a vampire who liked his secrets almost as much as he liked power.
Phone in hand, I scurry toward the doorway he’d told me led to the bathroom, feeling strangely buoyant. Excited, even. Just as I reach the threshold, a soft pulse brushes the back of my mind, barely there, almost imagined.

His awareness of me. A little more distant, but very much there. Like a sleeping viking’s hand resting lightly on my heart. I smile and slip into the bathroom, ready to see what daylight hours in Eric Northman’s world would look like.

The ensuite felt less like a bathroom and more like a private sanctuary hidden deep underground. I quickly take care of my business before letting my eyes wander around the room.

Smooth black stone warms underfoot, slate and polished obsidian walls catching amber light in soft glimmers, ancient and modern at once. A massive oval tub dominates one corner, deep enough for two, carved from dark marble veined with silver. I turn on the taps; the water fills silently, quickly, and I step up the smooth marble steps, adding bath salts. The surface rises around my ankles as I get in, warm and perfect, swallowing me to the shoulders.

Across the room, a glass-enclosed rain shower waits, multiple ceiling and wall showerheads designed for cascades rather than sprays. Built-in shelves hold thick towels, luxurious soaps, and oils in unmarked black bottles, some scented with lavender, vanilla, coconut, small touches I wouldn’t expect from him, but somehow he always knows.

I ease back against the marble, muscles unclenching one by one, aches softening in the coaxing warmth. Silver veins shimmer like trapped moonlight. The faint scent of soap and Eric lingers, comforting and familiar. My eyes half-close, and I admire the wide vanity along the far wall, soft-lit, a quiet place for preparation and reflection.

I soak in the tub until my skin starts to prune. Draining it, I wrap myself in a huge dark towel. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I see that my lips are slightly swollen, but I look rested. I turn, looking, and sure enough the marks on my shoulder are gone, as well Eric's bite from earlier.

“Well that’s handy at least” I say to myself. Then something else tugged at my attention. A faint heat sparks at the back of my shoulder, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. I twist just in time to catch the mark of the Adra flaring in the mirror, the light flickering beneath my skin before it fades again, like it had never been there at all.

That wasn’t normal. The brand didn’t act up without a reason. It only flared when called upon, or when one of our own was close and reaching for another - calling for help, or sending a warning.

And right now? There was no battle. No chaos. Which meant something was wrong.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face as the truth settled like a weight in my chest. Thinking back on everything I’d told Eric last night, realizing just how carefully I’d danced around the full story. I’d mentioned having “friends who were in an order” who helped train me - such a small, polite way of avoiding myself.

I told him about Sera, Valerius and Cassian, but the truth was a whole lot bigger, deeper, and messier than that. I hadn’t simply trained with a few talented acquaintances turned friends over time. And now… now I was lying by omission to a thousand-year-old vampire who noticed everything. Fuck.

Sooner or later, and probably sooner, if he so much as glances at me in the wrong lighting, Eric would see the brand for himself. Nothing escaped those keen blue eyes, certainly not a magical supernatural imprint buried in the curve of my shoulder.

I have to put this right when he wakes tonight.

A shiver runs through me, not fear exactly, just awareness. Because the brand wasn’t just a mark. It was a beacon. A tether. A signal to the others, wherever they were scattered or sent. And sooner or later, one of them would check in.

I need to keep my senses open. Keep my shields sharp, and somehow not radiate all of this through the bond I barely knew how to comprehend let alone control.

I exhale, slow and steady.

My stomach chooses that exact moment to unleash a long, indignant growl, loud enough to cut straight through my spiraling thoughts. The sound comes out so rude and so determined that it startles me clean out of my worries.

“Well,” I mutter to myself, “I guess someone has an opinion about all of this.” Acutely aware now of my hunger, I head to find clothes.

Eric’s closet opens up beside the bathroom, and stepping into it feels like entering the private vault of a king, because, in truth, that was exactly what it was.
It was enormous, longer than some small apartments, with a warm walls and ceiling that glowed in the lamp light. Everything was meticulously arranged, almost unnervingly so.

It also screamed ‘I am a stunning viking vampire god, and black is both my aesthetic and my birthright.’

My gaze runs down the side of the closet that held his clothing: row after row of tailored jackets in blacks, charcoals, light greys and some occasional deep blues. Silks, leathers, immaculate shirts and pants arranged by shade and texture rather than color. Shoes in precise pairs. A few ceremonial pieces of vampire royalty hung near the back, clearly rarely worn but impossible to miss.

The other side had clearly been adjusted for me.

A few drawers were waiting to be claimed and a section of hanging space was left open, lined with velvety hangers. A vanity stool tucked in the corner, soft as butter under the hand. In that same space also hangs a small cluster of clothes that definitely were meant for me. Light fabrics. A mix including softer colors. My size. Of course.

There, neatly folded on a small shelf, lie two pairs of the softest pants and a handful of cozy shirts. I feel a flutter low in my chest - unexpected, embarrassingly warm. Eric doesn’t say “I care” lightly, but this is quiet, thoughtful, practical in that very Eric way.

I realize he must’ve picked these out himself - or had Pam terrorize some personal shopper into perfection - because he wants me comfortable here. Not just visiting. Not just staying the night.

I grin at the stack of t-shirts, then find a drawer with underwear, bras, tights, and more. On a long table, his rings, watches, and jewelry sit arranged like a museum, but tucked beside them sits my hairbrush. From my house. From before. He had brought it here deliberately.

“Eric Northman,” I mutter under my breath. “You sneaky old vampire.”

I tug on a soft t-shirt and cozy pants, sighing at the comfort. Phone in hand, I check messages, one from my brother, another from Tara and reply quickly. Pocketing the phone, I head up the spiral stairs, and back into the kitchen.

My stomach reminds me again that it has been neglected, and famished doesn’t even begin to cover it. I stare down the shiny, intimidating coffee machine, half-convinced it’s a spaceship. After a few cautious experiments with pods, I end up with a perfect cup of steaming coffee hot, dark, strong, and absolutely necessary.
I open the fridge hoping for something more than bottled blood, and I swear heaven itself stocked it. Eggs. Bacon. A wedge of sharp cheddar. Fresh fruit. Thick slices of bread. Even those little containers of cream and jam that make a girl feel like royalty.

I scramble the eggs buttery and soft, melting sharp cheddar right into them. I cook the bacon until it crisps and crackles like music. I toast the bread and slather it generously with cream and raspberry jam.

I sink into the chair, fork in hand, and for a few bites I savor the simple perfection of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. The kitchen stays quiet except for the occasional hiss of the coffee machine, and I let myself just be, warm, fed, and absurdly comfortable.

Sometime later, I glanced down at the last piece of bacon, the last stubborn smear of eggs clinging to the edge of my plate, and felt a faint smile tug at my mouth. Food had helped. Feeling more satisfied now I needed something to do, and lucky for me, I also had a very large, very impressive distraction waiting.
Eric’s house wasn’t just big - it was intentional. Modern lines softened with old-world bones, every space designed to feel permanent, like it had been built to last centuries. I start upstairs, figuring I’d get the ‘few light-tight bedrooms and bathrooms’ out of the way first.

A few.

There were twelve.

I stop in the hallway and actually count twice, just to be sure. Twelve bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, each with the ability to be sealed tight against daylight. Even if Pam and Karin decided to take up permanent residence, that still left ten. I shake my head, equal parts amused and overwhelmed. Who exactly was he planning to house? Visiting Royalty? An invading army? Did he have a menagerie of siblings, aunts and uncles I didn't know about?

Two of the rooms stood apart from the rest with a smaller adjoining washroom. They were around a bend in the hall at the front of the house, feeling intentionally separate…They were completely empty, and weren't sealed up like oversized coffins with furniture. One of them caught me completely off guard…

It overlooked the gardens and the pond, sunlight spilling through tall windows, filtered just enough to make the room glow instead of glare in the afternoon sun. Soft green walls. Warm hardwood floors. The kind of space that feels… livable.

I turn in the empty room slowly, imagining shelves, a desk by the window, maybe a couch or chaise where I can curl up with a book and pretend the world isn’t constantly trying to kill me or use me.

An office. A sitting room. Mine. The thought slips in so easily it startles me.

I could see myself here…not visiting, not hiding, but living. Making space for myself. Leaving traces. Choosing what stayed and what didn’t. Safe beneath his protection, yes… but also defining my own space where I could be myself.

The realization hummed through the bond, quiet but undeniable.

What surprised me most was that the house didn’t feel empty. I’d expected silence to press in on me, to remind me I was alone in a place built for someone who didn’t need daylight or company. Instead, the quiet felt generous. Restful. I let my shields drop without even thinking about it. The guards were far enough away that I didn’t brush against stray thoughts. My mind was my own.

Eventually, I make my way back downstairs and drift toward the back door off of the living room. I look out and notice a pool, steam gently curling off of it, it must be heated. My gaze wanders further and lands on the small structure beside the pool house. A sauna. Of course there is. Viking to the bone.

I wander back down and into Eric’s study. This room feels the most like him, not just because of the pointy things mounted on the walls, but because his presence lingers here in a quiet, deliberate way.

I start examining his library. First editions. Ancient texts. A few modern novels scattered among them. I skim through one of his heavy old books, Gods and monsters and destinies, written like laws of nature, when something smaller catches my eye.

Tucked between all that leather and age sits a paperback that looks unmistakably human. A soft spine. Bent corners. A book that has been read more than once.
I pull it free and can’t help smiling. The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. A story about loving someone you can’t ever fully hold onto, about time slipping sideways, about moments stolen and treasured because you never know which one will be the last. It’s romantic without being soft, sad without being cruel and given the circumstances totally ironic.

I sink into the chair by the window and let the late‑afternoon light spill across the pages. The heavy history books fade into the background. Finding something so ordinary here, tucked into Eric’s vast, centuries‑deep library, feels quietly and unexpectedly comforting, reflective.

After a while, I let out a long, slow yawn, the kind that cracks my jaw and makes my eyes water. The night ahead brims with unknowns, and I already feel their weight pressing in. But for now? I rest. The book does its work, untangling my thoughts and loosening the tight coil of anticipation in my chest. Now a nap sounds exactly right, I head back down to the bedroom.

The room’s scent wraps around me, and the quiet weight of his presence settles in. It feels more hypnotic than any magic I’ve ever known, I drift easily back into sleep.

Some time later, before dusk, while the sun is still hovering stubbornly above the horizon, I blink fully awake just as he moves.

Eric sits up in one fluid motion, the last traces of undead rest falling away from him like dust from stone. His eyes open, blue, glacial and lock onto mine instantly, with the unnerving certainty of someone who has been waiting for me in the dark behind his eyelids.

“Good evening, lover,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-dark from disuse. Sleep roughens the edges, makes him sound older, more dangerous.
He reaches out and curls his arm around my waist as if it has always belonged there. The motion comes instinctive and fluid, marked by a grace no human man possesses. His hand settles warm, broad, and certain at my hip, drawing me closer.

My breath catches, but my smile comes easily. “Mmmm, hello my viking.”

He leans in and presses his forehead to mine. The touch is simple, but through the bond it surges cool and fierce and achingly familiar. His presence fills the hollow behind my ribs, easing into the space he leaves each day when he dies for the light.

“Tell me,” he says softly. “How was your day?”

The tenderness in his tone runs quiet but unmistakable, and it pulls a smile from me I don’t try to hide.

“Well, let’s see…” I tease lightly. “I took a long soak in the pool you call a tub, which is really more of a small lake. I raided your closet. Discovered your coffee machine has the processing power of a NASA satellite. I made myself the breakfast of champions, toured the house, and considered claiming one of the upstairs rooms. Then I spent the afternoon in your library with a good book before crawling back here for a nap.”

One of his brows lifts in that slow, elegant arc that always sparks warmth low in my chest.

“You survived all of that without me?” he asks. His tone stays perfectly dry, but amusement ripples through the bond a heartbeat before his mouth curves.

“Barely, it’s the least I’ve done in a day in some time.” I shoot back, nudging his shoulder with mine.

He answers with a soft, restrained huff of laughter. His thumb brushes my hip, lazy and possessive, as if he touches something he already claims without question.
“You found something of interest?”

“Mmm, you could say that.” I stretch deliberately, holding his gaze. “I found the empty green room on the second floor. I can see myself making a space in there, which surprises me. While I have a room in the palace in Faery, I’ve never really imagined living anywhere long-term, other than where I grew up.”

The words settle between us, and the bond floods warm and steady with the truth of them. Home. Not just shelter or safety, but belonging. A place where I fit.

“Mm,” he murmured, cupping my waist with both hands now, firmer, more deliberate. He leaned back slightly, just enough to study my face as though committing the moment to memory.

“You’ve been busy enough, lover, and I am pleased the house appeals to you.” he said, approval woven through every syllable.

His pleasure thrummed through the bond, warm and claiming. And my heartbeat answered him. His hand slid up my spine in one slow, reassuring sweep that he had ‘other’ plans to keep me busy.

And then, as naturally as breathing, he tipped my chin up with his fingertips. I met his gaze for a heartbeat, felt that familiar electric pull between us, and leaned in.

Our lips met in a soft, unhurried kiss, warm and slow, like the first moment of night stretching open around us.

His arm tightens just a little around my waist, drawing me deeper into the moment, into him.

We shift, I move over and straddle him without hesitation, letting gravity and instinct settle me in place. Eric cups my face, then my shoulders, steadying me, his strength palpable beneath my hands. Our lips meet, speaking in touches and hums, a conversation that needs no words. His hands trace my back and hips, holding me close, and I respond in kind, pressing to his chest, feeling the quiet power beneath his skin.

We move together slowly, deliberately, teasing and exploring, every graze of lips and fingers a question and answer, a rhythm of consent and desire. The bond pulses between us, alive and electric, grounding me in his steadiness.

Sometime later, collapsing together, our limbs tangled, foreheads resting together, and our hands still entwined in the quiet aftermath, we finally pull ourselves out of the bed, and the evening has gone full night.

Eric moves first, stretching like a great cat in the lamplight before rising. I watch him cross the room and head into the abyss that he calls a closet. Predictably, he emerges dressed in his preferred uniform: black shirt, black jeans, black jacket, black boots, each piece tailored to lethal perfection.

He catches my smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say, quickly brushing and tying back my hair. “Just admiring your commitment to the color palette.”

His grin is pure wicked moonshine.

My turn. I head into the closet searching for something that would strike a balance between who I am and who I need to be tonight.

A pair of fitted dark trousers, soft enough to move in, strong enough that they didn’t feel flimsy. A sleeveless top of deep raspberry that shimmered subtly with my fae glow when it caught the light just right, cut low enough in the neckline that it also showed my curves. Over it, a lightweight sky grey leather jacket that hugged my shoulders and made me look just a little more official, a little more dangerous. I added short, soft, dark leather boots that came to just above my ankle.

Warrior. But not ostentatious.

Fairy, but not a beacon.

Strong, without overshadowing the vampires I would be among.

I strapped my small dagger, Faery steel, against my ankle tucked into the top of my boot. Magic hummed quietly under my skin, warm and ready.

Eric approaches and looks me over slowly, eyes gliding from head to toe with appreciative intensity. Holding my shoulders he places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Perfect,” he says.

Suddenly, my stomach makes a noise that absolutely does not belong in a vampire’s elegant home.

Eric raises an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

“Apparently.”

He gestures toward the stairs. “Go. Eat. I’ll join you in a moment.”

I make my way back to the kitchen, the house is bright, the soft golden light pooling along the walls like a quiet evening sigh. I slip off my jacket, toss it onto the counter, and open the fridge. Fried chicken, cold but perfect, along with a bowl of vegetable and pasta salad.

Eric appears a few minutes later, moving with that effortless, ancient grace of his. Regal without trying. He leans against the counter and answers something clipped and efficient on his phone, but the bond tells me the truth, half his attention is on me. Warmth pulses across our connection, subtle but unmistakable.

I tear into my meal quickly but not rudely, hyper-aware of Eric’s watchful eyes and the faint tugs of curiosity threading through the bond. I didn’t mind. In fact, there was something reassuring about him simply being there, his presence brushing softly against my emotions as I ate.

After a few more bites, I swallow, set down my fork, and feel the familiar flutter of nerves. “So last night I mentioned my training, but I need to fill you in on some more of the details...”

Almost on cue, the brand at my shoulder flickered, heat, a faint pulse of magic. I pull my shirt out of the way and turn slightly to show him. “After proving myself capable, I was invited and inducted into the same order as those I trained with. I became a full-fledged member of the Order of Adra.”

A sharp spike of Eric’s surprise, and a hint of contained furry, flickered through the bond, masked outwardly by the calm of his blue gaze locking on mine.

“Few fae get the chance,” I added softly. “Even fewer outsiders. My great-grandfather supported my decision…eventually. It has given my purpose greater clarity, and allows me access to other resources to help here.” Without waiting for a reply I keep going, to fully make up for my earlier omission.

“I was inducted, branded, and claimed by an elite order that operates across realms,” I said evenly. “The Adra work where magic, survival, and politics collide and is older than even most vampire and fae kingdoms and far less forgiving. I am now their only current earth-side representative.”

I felt my Viking’s attention lock on me then, sharp and focused, but I wasn’t finished.

“All of this is part of the arrangement I worked out with Niall, to be able to stand here, where I choose, to live earth-side. As a member of the Adra, it leaves my crown and authority in place as a royal princess to be able to represent Niall here, when necessary.” I pause, knowing my Viking’s rage is burning. “Eric, I need you to understand, the fae court lost its appeal far more quickly than I first expected, and being a member of the Adra gave my leverage with Niall, to our mutual benefit.” I pause. “It also helped me remove the expectation to have to produce a fae heir at some point too.” I say quietly.

Possessiveness flares through the bond, fiery, unashamed, testosterone with fangs.

Eric moves before I finish the last word. One moment he’s still, the next he’s in my space, presence slamming into me like a physical force. His eyes burn cobalt-bright, fury sharpened into something lethal and precise.

“You chose to walk another path while you were gone,” he says, voice low and vibrating with control stretched thin. Not shouted. Worse. “You chose to take vows, resources, protection that were not mine, and then you didn’t tell me about it. Not directly.”

The bond hums, tight and volatile.

“You let me believe you had allies but,” he continues, jaw locking. “That every risk you took, every step back to me, you did with yet another power staking a claim on you.” His gaze cuts into me, searching, claiming. “Do you have any idea what that does to a Vampire? A King? To me?”

He circles once, slow, predatory, never breaking eye contact.

“I protect what is mine,” he says flatly. “I plan for threats I can see. Enemies I can name. Your omission denies me that ability.” His hand flexes at his side, fighting the urge to grab, to break something. “You play with forces that could shatter the control and order of the vampire hierarchy, our laws."

Then he stops in front of me again, close enough that the air feels charged.

“But hear me clearly,” he adds, voice dropping, dangerous in its steadiness. “My anger is not because you found strength. It is because you did this without trusting me with the truth.”

The bond tightens, possessive and fierce - but threaded now with something rawer.

“You came back to me,” he says. “That matters. But you do not keep secrets like this from a King… or from a vampire who has already claimed you...deeply”
His eyes darken.

Sorrow flickers - mine. A pulse of carefully banked fury comes back through the bond - his.

I don’t back away.

I feel his anger rolling through the bond, hot, sharp, possessive and instead of flinching, I plant my feet. I lift my chin, meet his gaze head-on, and let him see exactly how steady I am.

“I didn’t keep it from you to deceive you,” I say, my voice calm but edged with steel. “I kept it because it was mine to carry until I was ready. Until I could find the words.”

I step closer, close enough that the air between us tightens.

“The Order of Adra didn’t make me strong, Eric. It gave me access. Knowledge. Allies. A way back on my own terms, and not those of the Great Prince.” My eyes never leave his. “And yes, part of that choice was because of you. Because I wanted to come back to you but not as something retrieved or to be claimed.”

The bond hums, taut as a drawn bow.

“I won’t apologize for surviving,” I continue. “Or for building power where I found it. I won’t be small so you feel secure.” My voice softens just a fraction, but it doesn’t weaken. “What I will do is stand beside you - openly - if you can accept that you are not the only one moving the pieces on the board.”

I reach for him then, not submissive, not defiant. My hand presses to his chest, over the steady, furious tension that I can feel through the bond.

“I chose you,” I say quietly. “Not because I needed saving. Because I want you. But I am still me. Adra. Fae. Human. Sookie. And if I walk with you, Eric Northman, it is as your equal - or not at all.”

I hold his gaze, unblinking.

“Now tell me,” I add softly, “my viking, can you handle that?”

Eric steps closer - not touching yet, but close enough that I feel his presence wrap around me like a cloak. Power rolls off him in slow, controlled waves. His gaze drops to the mark on my shoulder, the Adra sigil faintly alive beneath my skin, answering the bond with a low, resonant hum.

His jaw tightens.

I feel the possessiveness slam through the bond again, hotter now, edged with fury and something wounded. He hates being kept in the dark. Hates even more that I chose danger without him.

I don’t retreat.

His eyes flick briefly to my throat, my pulse. Predator instinct, reined in hard.

I lift my chin, meet his gaze. “I didn’t hide it to deceive you,” I say evenly. “I did it because I was still uncertain, still learning to trust, figuring all of this out” I gesture between us, the air tight with everything unsaid. “The Adra don’t give me orders, Eric. They give me access. Gave me training. A path I was able to walk when it felt to me like every door was closing.”

“You took vows,” he says. Not a question.

“I took responsibility,” I correct. “For my power. For what I am. And for not letting anyone, fae, vampire, or otherwise, decide my fate for me.”

Silence stretches. Dangerous silence.

His hand lifts, stops just short of my shoulder, as if he’s testing his own restraint. The bond hums, tight and electric.

“You stood alone,” he says at last, voice roughened steel. “In worlds that kill the unprepared.”

“I survived,” I answer. “I learned. And I came back stronger.” My voice softens, but doesn’t weaken. “I didn’t do this to leave you behind. I did it so I could stand beside you without breaking so easily.”

That resonates.

I feel it, his anger shifting, reshaping into something heavier. Respect, hard-won. Pride, begrudging and fierce. The fury doesn’t vanish, but it steadies, coils inward.
His thumb finally brushes the edge of the mark, reverent and possessive all at once. The contact sends a pulse through the bond, deep in my chest I feel it.

“You are infuriating,” he murmurs. Then, lower: “And formidable.”

His eyes lock on mine again, unyielding. “If you walk dangerous paths, Sookie, you do not walk them unseen. Not anymore. You tell me. We decide together.”

I don’t smile, but I don’t argue.

“Together,” I agree.

The word settles between us like a vow neither of us takes lightly. The bond settling between us, still tense but resting.

He leans in closer, not touching now, but close enough that his presence wrapped around me. His attention drops to the mark on my shoulder, pale fire etched into flesh, its magic stirring faintly.

His jaw tightens. “It seems wrong,” he says quietly. “Unstable.”

I nod. “It should only surface when I’m using higher magic, or when another Adra is close - either calling for aid or issuing a warning.” I flex my shoulder, feeling the faint prickle under my skin. “It’s been flickering all day. No clear pull. No direction. And I can’t sense anyone nearby. That’s what worries me.”

Concern ripples through the bond, sharp and immediate from him, steadier but no less real from me. He smooths his expression, my viking, composed and lethal. “Then staying alert is prudent.”

I give him a look flat, unimpressed.

He doesn’t apologize. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, a thread of dry amusement brushes the bond, fond and maddening all at once, like he finds my irritation charming rather than inconvenient. Beneath it, though, his tension still coils tight. Annoyance. Worry. Possession sharpened to a blade’s edge.

“You are reckless,” he says calmly, which somehow makes it worse. “And infuriatingly capable.”

I lift my chin. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”

His mouth curves, not a smile, not quite. “It is,” he replies, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Because it means I cannot simply lock you behind walls and call it protection.”

“Good,” I say sweetly. “Because you don’t own me.”

The air snaps between us. His eyes flash, the predator surfacing hard enough that the bond hums with it but he reins it in, visibly, deliberately. That choice matters. I feel it.

“You stand with me,” he corrects, low and precise. “Not beneath me. Not behind me. And that,” he adds, fingers brushing my wrist at last, grounding rather than claiming, “is exactly why this unsettles me. We cannot be beholden or indebted to others.”

I squeeze his hand once, firm. “You're not the only one who is unsettled, but I owe the Adra no debts if anything they owe me.”

For a beat, he just watches me, measuring, recalibrating. Then his tension eases a fraction, replaced by something twisted - anger, but amusement too.

“Very well,” Eric said at last.

The words landed like a line drawn, not an apology, not surrender; an agreement forged under tension. The argument didn’t vanish; it settled, coiled and contained, waiting.

“Ask me questions when you have them, and I will explain more, I owe you that much.” I said, turning away before he could read anything more into my expression. “If this is settled for now, then let’s go to Fangtasia, I’m sure there are things you need to see to.”

Silence followed. Balanced on the edge of everything we hadn’t finished saying. I set my plate in the sink with deliberate care, steadying myself in the ordinary motion.
Behind me, I felt him move.

“Then come,” Eric said, voice smooth again, kingly, the weight of decision fully reclaimed. “We’re expected.”

I turn my back to him, as I slip my jacket on. The bond hums warm and steady, irritation still lingering but when I place my hand in his, everything clicks into alignment.

He leads me toward the door and out into the waiting night.

We step into the garage when a wild spark of an idea strikes, probably because I’m well fed, well rested, and buzzing with enough magic to light up half the parish.
I tug his hand. “Wait. What if we don’t drive?”

He arches one perfect eyebrow as amusement flows through the bond. “You propose we run? I suppose I could fly us there.”

“No.” My grin spreads wide.

“We pop.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 - Pam

Eric tilts his head, like a predator studying a very interesting mouse. That ancient, amused curiosity in his eyes makes the heat coil low in my stomach.

“To Fangtasia? Directly into my office?” His voice tells me he’s intrigued.

“If you let me anchor to you,” I say, raising my hand between us, “I can take us straight there. No one will expect it.”

His mouth curves, slow and wicked. “Pam will be… delighted.”

Translation: she’ll hate it, the whole entire second of it.

“So?” I tease, pulse beginning to race. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he says.

The bond flares warm, solid as stone beneath my ribs. That is all I needed.

I step into him, sliding my arms around his waist. Letting him pull me close, hands settling firm and sure at my back, anchoring me as much as I anchor him. My magic flares eagerly, gold and alive, wrapping around us both in a shimmering coil.

The air bends. Light twists. Reality thins.

POP

The world cracks open and reforms in a blink.

Eric’s office at Fangtasia snaps into place around us, sleek leather, steel edges, stacks of paperwork, faint lingering smoke, salt and leather. Definitely the right place.
Eric doesn’t so much as wobble. “Excellent landing,” he says, voice low and pleased.

Before I can even think about enjoying the praise, Pam’s shriek echos from the hall,

“WHAT IN GOD’S UNHOLY FUCKING BLONDE HELL WAS THAT?!”

Pam bursts into the office like a fashion-forward hurricane, eyes wide, fangs out, expression locked somewhere between astonishment and profound personal offense.
She jabs a finger at Eric. “You were not anywhere near here five seconds ago.”

Then she swings that accusatory finger at me. “And you. You did a thing. A sparkly fucking fairy thing.”

I shrug, all innocent sweetness. “Fairy express. First ride’s free.” My smirk cracks into a full grin.

Pam blinks like she had just witnessed a war crime. “You teleported him in here? Without warning? Without…”

She flails dramatically at the empty air behind us, like it had offended her designer cardigan.

“any respect for the laws of physics or vampire dignity?”

Through the bond, Eric radiates smug satisfaction like a cat who’d found both the cream and the canary. Out loud, he says simply, “It seems Sookie has discovered a useful shortcut.”

Pam puts a hand on her hip. Seemingly scandalized and begrudgingly impressed in equal measure. “Master, with all due respect, never, and I mean never, do that to me again without warning.”

“I won’t,” Eric says smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket with aristocratic nonchalance. “Sookie, however, may do as she pleases.”

Pam looks skyward, as if begging any deity willing to listen for control… or firepower. Hard to say which. Probably both.

“Well,” she huffs, straightening her blouse and dignity, “now that you’ve magically materialized like some undead fairy prince.”

Eric makes a sound very much like a cough.

Pam’s eyes narrow. “Fine. undead viking fairy King. I suppose I will let you know when Karin and Roscoe arrive.”

Eric’s amusement fades, replaced with that cool, commanding focus that settled on him like a mantle.

“See that you do Pamela.”

Pam nods, though she mutters darkly as she turns. “Teleporting vampires. Fucking fairies. This is why we can’t have nice things…” She stalks out, heels snapping like judgment.

As she vanishes down the hall, Eric steps closer to me, the bond humming warm and pleased.

“Nicely done, lover,” he murmurs, voice low.

I smirk up at him. “Told you I could do it.”

Given the mountain of paperwork on Eric’s desk, and the focused, faintly murderous way he attacked it, I figure I have some time. I sink into the leather sofa along the wall. It feels cool, soft, and smooth in that way expensive things do when Eric chooses them: understated luxury, no bragging required.

I watch him. He’s a controlled storm behind the desk, long fingers gliding over the keyboard, cutting through the stack of papers Pam left as if he’s slicing enemies instead of invoices. His focus sharpens the air itself; every movement is deliberate, purposeful.

My gaze drifts over the office, and my thoughts finally loosen. The bond, the pop-teleport, the talk about the Adra, the weight of responsibility settling heavier by the hour - it all blends into a low hum in my mind.

I’m halfway lost in it when the air shifts, a subtle displacement that means someone has moved, fast.

I look up.

Pam stands neatly in my line of sight, perfectly still, perfectly composed.

“Come,” she says, already turning. “Eric will be occupied for a while yet.”

I glance back at him. Eric stands behind his desk, hands folded, expression unreadable, but when his gaze meets mine, he gives a single, decisive nod. Permission.
Command. Maybe both.

Pam doesn’t wait for me to catch up. She glides from his office, heels whispering against the polished floor as we move down the corridor and into her domain.

Her office stops me short.

It looks like a luxury furniture showroom curated by someone with a wicked sense of humor. Soft blush-pink walls framed sleek modern pieces, glass, chrome, and velvet, delicate at first glance, but sharp underneath. Multiple flatscreens along one wall, eyes on everything, watching. Nothing here was accidental. Nothing was weak.

Pam circles her desk and gestures to a chair without looking at it. “Sit.”

I do.

“Pam,” I ask carefully, folding my hands in my lap, “what exactly are we doing?”

She arches a perfectly groomed brow at me.

“Well, to dispel any tragic misunderstandings, we are not going to be doing our nails, and we are most certainly not braiding each other’s hair.” Her lips don’t move, no amusement, just flat unimpressed boredom. “In case you are confused, we are not suddenly besties and I’m not planning a sleepover.”

She leans against the edge of her desk, arms crossing, eyes sharpening.

“Eric wants you trained for vampire society. Fully, and quickly.”

Those words land heavier than I expect, I shift slightly on the chair.

“So that,” she continues smoothly, “he may present you properly, as his bonded. His consort, if you prefer another term.” Her gaze flicks over me, assessing, cataloging. “And not as some well-meaning human pet who wandered into a throne room without knowing which way to bow.”

Heat climbs my neck. “I’m not going to embarrass him.”

Pam’s smile unfolds, slow, sharp, and unmistakably dangerous.

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I’m here.”

She straightens, heels clicking in a measured rhythm as she closes the distance between us.

“I have the distinct pleasure of teaching you how to stand, how to speak, when to remain silent, and most importantly, how to remind every vampire in this kingdom that you belong at Eric Northman’s side.” Her gaze locks onto mine, unblinking. “That you are his.”

The words settle like armor.

“And you,” Pam adds softly, “will not fuck this up.”

She circles me once, unhurried, a considered prowl, like a cat deciding whether I am furniture or prey.

She stops directly in front of me. “First lesson,” she says, eyes narrowing, “has nothing to do with etiquette books or which fork to use.”

She taps one lacquered nail against the arm of my chair. “This is about presence. You are not a guest in this place. You are not a pet. And you are certainly not going to be a liability.”

Pam doesn’t sit. That alone tells me there will be no softness in what we are about to do.

She moves instead, slow, deliberate, circling me the way a predator sizes up unfamiliar prey. Her heels click against the floor, each sound precise, intentional. I remain seated, spine straight, shoulders loose, chin level. Not submissive. Not defiant. Simply steady.

Pam’s eyes flicker, just a fraction of a second.

Then her gaze sharpens. “Stand.”

I rise smoothly, the motion instinctive and controlled, though my pulse skitters with a thread of uncertainty. Years of training, courtly and otherwise, settle into my bones. I plant my weight evenly, hands loose at my sides. Ready, without advertising it.

Pam’s lips part, then press together again. “…sufficient,” she says, the word catching her by surprise. “Most humans fidget. Or overcorrect. You don’t.”

I feel Eric then, a cool, steady presence through the bond, like a hand settling between my shoulder blades. Calm. My pulse steadies in response.

Pam drifts closer, close enough to be deliberate, not close enough to care. The invasion of my space feels casual, almost bored, as if she’s inspecting an object she’s already decided meets her standards.

“When you stand beside Eric,” she says flatly, “you do not cling. You do not hover. And you do not look to him for mercy.”

Her eyes lift to mine, expression tight and razor-sharp. The dismissal in her gaze is deliberate.

“You are his, and he is King,” she continues, her tone bored, precise. “Whatever charming little human emotions you’re tempted to indulge in, don’t. You manage them privately.”

Her gaze skims over me again, dismissive. “You are his risk, his weakness,” Pam goes on. “What you tolerate, whatever you endure, reflects directly on him.”

I meet her stare without flinching. “I know.”

That earns me a pause. Pam arches one immaculate brow. “Do you?”

“Yes.” My voice stays level, unadorned, edged with steel. “In the fae court, especially when you’re less than half fae, hesitation is an invitation.” I don’t look away. “As a royal fae, I learned early that weakness is something you never display. Not in posture. Not in tone. Not through action or silence.”

I let the words settle, measured. “Anyone watching for a chance to challenge or undermine my great‑grandfather learned quickly to look elsewhere.”

I hold her gaze.

Pam goes very still. “Well,” she murmurs, circling again, slower now, reassessing. “That explains the spine.”

She gestures to the space between her desk and the door. “Walk,” she says. “As if you are entering a throne room filled with predators who are deciding whether you are prey, or power.”

I move.

Each step lands measured and deliberate. Grace without hurry. Confidence without hesitation. I keep my gaze level, not lowered, not confrontational. I claim the space by occupying it, by moving as though I have every right to be there.

Pam watches me closely.

When I stop, she tilts her head. “You’ve done this before.”

“Not with a vampire court,” I say, honestly.

Her eyes glitter. “No,” she agrees. “But you’ve walked into rooms where losing didn’t just cost you, it marked you.” Her lips curve faintly. “Tinkerbell.”

She stops behind me. I feel her presence like a knife left casually on a table, forgotten only by the foolish.

“Next,” Pam said, voice smooth, “is awareness. Every vampire in this kingdom, and many others who believe they should own it, will feel compelled to try to test you, to test him.”

A pause. Deliberate.

“Some will try words. Some will try charm. Some will be creatively cruel.” Her voice dipped, almost lazy. “And a few will skip the theatrics and try violence.”

Her tone barely shifted. “Eric won’t permit it.”

Another pause, colder.

“But they may attempt to make him look weak by making an example out of you anyway.”

I didn’t turn. “Then they’ll lose.”

Pam’s laugh was soft and pleased, not amused, but interested.

“Oh, I knew I liked you,” she said. “But confidence can be a liability if it’s unearned.”

I finally looked at her over my shoulder. “Then test it.”

For a heartbeat, the room felt charged. Pam’s smile sharpened. “Careful, princess. I might.”

Just then, Eric’s presence surges through the bond, warmth radiates from my center, a soothing focus threading through my thoughts. He knows what we’re doing. I’d wager he can sense Pam as well, through their maker-progeny bond.

I exhale slowly and turn to face Pam fully again, unshaken.

She studies me in silence, then gives a single nod. “Very well.” Pam straightens, satisfaction flickering beneath her composure. “This will be far more entertaining than I anticipated.”

She folds her arms, her smile cutting razor-sharp. “And this one will hurt - one way or another.”

One moment she stands a few paces away, arms crossed, expression amused. Next, she moves.

I don’t see it so much as feel it.

Her hand slams into my shoulder - not hard enough to injure, but more than enough to test. A calculated shove meant to unbalance me. To see if I stumble. To see if I yield.

I don’t.

My feet adjust instantly. I drop my weight, widen my stance just enough to absorb the force, and pivot with it instead of against it. Pam’s momentum slides past me. One of my hands rise, not to strike, but to redirect, fingers brushing her wrist, guiding without gripping.

The room hums.

Pam halts short, eyes flashing, not with anger, but with sharp, delighted surprise.

“Well,” she says softly, “that was rude of me.”

I meet her gaze, breathing steady. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”

She chuckles, low, pleased. “You’re not wrong.”

She circles again, closer now. The theatrics drain away; what remains is real. “Most would have frozen,” she says. “Fallen flat. Or apologized.” Her eyes narrow. “You adapted.”

“I was trained to,” I lock eyes with her. “Balance before strength. Awareness before aggression.”

Her smile thins. “Who trained you?”

I shrug lightly. “Fae. Vampire. Demon. It’s hard to keep track.”

“Well,” she said at last, voice cool and bored, “I suppose that little fairy crown did wonders for your confidence. Gold leaves and sunlight tend to do that - very reassuring when no one intends to actually kill you.”

She stepped closer, heels precise, predatory. “But let’s not pretend you learned warfare there. You learned ceremony. Smiles sharp enough to pass for blades. You learned to play with toothpicks and call it combat.”

Pam tilts her head, eyes cutting.

“Swords are heavier. They don’t forgive mistakes. And they don’t care how special your lineage thinks you are.”

A beat.

“If you’re going to stand beside Eric,” she added flatly, “you’ll need to prove you’re more than a decorative relic with good posture.”

She lunges again, faster, sharper. Relentless, but precise. Every shove, every feint, every calculated nudge tests my balance, my patience, my control.
I pivot. Absorb. Counter.

Eric steadies me through the bond, a cool, unwavering presence at my back, like a hand braced between my shoulder blades. Affirmation. Focus.

Pam laughs softly while she’s still moving, the sound edged and amused. “Finally. Someone who can stand. Are you sure it will last?”

I drop, spin, and rise inside her reach, palm pressed flat against her sternum - not pushing, not striking. Just there. A reminder.

I hold Pam’s gaze, unafraid. The room goes very still. I draw a slow breath.”I learned to use more than mere toothpicks.”

She steps back, reassessing again. I see it in the flick of her eyes, the shift of her stance.

“You realize,” Pam says coolly, fingers smoothing an invisible crease in the air, “that if you pull that on the wrong vampire, they won’t shove back. They’ll end you. Clean. Without hesitation.”

“I know,” I answer evenly. “Which is why I won’t waste movement - or mercy. Anyone who comes for me isn’t just challenging me. They’re challenging the King of Louisiana and a Princess of the Fae who is a sworn member of the Adra.”

Her gaze traces my posture, my balance, every angle of muscle and intent. She nods once, slow, deliberate.

“Most humans,” she says lightly, “would be trembling right now. Eyes darting. Pulse racing. Ready to beg or bolt. And yet…here you are. It is almost impressive. Things that panic get eaten, but it seems like you’re not on the menu.”

I don’t flinch. “Fear only matters if you let it decide for you.” I meet her stare. “And I’m not just human.”

Her lips twitch, amused, almost bored. “Ah, yes. But what you don’t show is far more interesting.” She tilts her head. “How far does it go?” She leans in, just enough for her presence to press cold and precise against me. “There are vampires who like to kill for amusement. To them, you’re a complication. A toy. And the ones who don’t kill you outright, will want to see how much pain you’ll take before you break.”

I meet her gaze, calm and deliberate. “Then I’ll endure long enough to survive.”

Her brow arches, faintly impressed. Almost a smirk. “Bold. Stubborn. Composed. Dangerous.” She steps back, folding her arms. “Good traits, if you’re clever enough to back them up.” I eye her carefully, knowing we are far from done.

“Remember this, princess,” Pam says coolly. “You won’t get warnings. You won’t get mercy unless someone finds you useful, or entertaining. And sometimes not even then.”

I don’t blink. I don’t shiver. “Then I’ll make myself worth it.”

Her smile curves faintly, amused and utterly detached. “We’ll see. And if you fail…” She shrugs. “I never said I’d catch you.”

The room tightens, charged. Every word, every shift of her weight marks how thin the line is between being alive and being collateral. I feel no fear, only calculation, readiness, and the steady weight of someone who decided long ago to never be collateral again.

Pam circles me again, slower now. Deliberate. Her heels click like a metronome of menace. Then she says, “ But can you endure? Not just the body. Mind. Nerves. Patience.” Her eyes gleam. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Her movements escalated. Fast, precise, relentless. Shoves, feints, nudges to test weight shifts, balance, stamina. A flick to my ribs. A lean into my shoulder. Twist on my wrist. Kick to my calf. Each motion controlled, exact, designed to push me to the limits physically, strain my focus and composure.

I keep my stance calm and measured, moving, adapting. “I’ve survived worse than this. I won’t break.”

Pam pauses, just slightly, then leans in, her presence sharp and close. “Oh, I don’t expect you to break immediately. I want to see how far you’ll take it. How much restraint you can manage before instinct takes over, fights back.”

She moves faster. Pressure increases. Contact sharpens. Each push, each feint, each calculated shove tests not just my strength but my nerve, my awareness, my ability to stay composed while she attacks in every subtle way. She tries to wear me down, to force submission or provoke a reaction.

The room turns into a ballet of precision, control, and tension. Shoves, feints, counter-moves, verbal barbs - each layer tightens the edge. Every motion, every glance, every shift carries the threat of violence, the weight of hierarchy, the thrill of testing limits. We circle the office seamlessly, a brutal dance of subtlety, cutting without drawing blood or leaving a bruise. I shift with her, counter, pivot, guide her momentum…never yielding, never panicking.

Neither of us yields. Neither of us breaks.

Then she changes tactics. She presses in just enough to force a real adjustment in my stance, fingers brushing my ribs with precision sharp enough to shatter bone if she misjudges. I absorb the pressure, twist, redirect, and place my hand against her chest, not to strike, but to measure, to remind her I can answer in kind.

She strikes my shoulder, then feints low, forcing a near-lunge. I counter with a spin, guide her momentum, keep my footing, lock my eyes on hers. She comes again and again…every shove, every nudge designed to grind me down, stretch my nerves, test my patience. My muscles burn. My breath stays even…barely. My mind stays alert. I’m getting tired now, but still I continue - counter, pivot, redirect, every movement precise, deliberate, controlled.

Her eyes glint, admiration hidden beneath blasé cool. “Not bad, Tinkerbell. Not bad at all. You’ve handled every push, every shove, every verbal cut. And yet…you’re still standing, still composed.”

“I’m still standing,” I said, flat and unflinching, spine locked into place. “Not because I was spared, but because I learned how not to fall.”

My pulse thudded hard, controlled. Measured. “And I’ll keep standing,” I continued, voice low and deliberate, “because to stand beside a king, means collapsing isn’t an option. It’s a liability.”

I drew in a slow breath, every instinct coiled tight beneath my skin.

“So if you’re waiting for me to break,” I finished, eyes steady on hers, “you’re going to be very bored.”

“Perhaps,” she said coolly. “But I’ve barely begun testing your limits and decorum. Next time, we’ll see whether you’re a doll that shatters when the shelf is tipped.”

I pause at the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. “Next time,” I say over my shoulder, dry and casual, “we should do this where we won’t break something.” I turn back and cross to her desk, magic humming faintly in the air. I set a long box on the corner, matte black, precise lines. No explanation.

“I appreciate the lesson,” I say simply. “Truly.”

Pam eyes the box like it might detonate, then lifts the lid. Inside: thigh-high boots in lethal hot pink. Italian leather, flawless stitching, heels built for domination. Glamour shimmers faintly, as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate them.

Pam doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t smile. She traces a delicately painted finger along the edge, reverent in her own way. “…Acceptable.”

High praise.

She closes the box and meets my gaze. “You understand gifts like this create expectations.”

“I do,” I say. “Wear them when you want to be underestimated.”

She smiles now, slow and dangerous. “Darling, that’s my favorite occasion.”

I incline my head, not submission, respect, and turn away. The walk back to Eric’s office feels different. Quieter. Heavier. Something settles into place. Before I reach the door, the bond hums - approval, pride, dark amusement.

I smile and send my own satisfaction back to him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 - Roscoe

The door was open as I moved to enter Eric’s office. I freeze for a heartbeat, aware of another presence in the room. My steps slow as my eyes scanned the space, trying to measure the tone in the room before moving.

Eric looks up from behind his desk, gaze sharp but welcoming. “Sookie, come in,” he says.

I move forward, steady, measured, as he rises to come around the desk. His arms wrap around me, protective and familiar, a cool weight that settled my nerves immediately. I lean into the embrace, feeling his calm, then turn my attention to the other vampire.

He was seated on the couch, relaxed, yet every inch the predator. Roughly six feet tall, he had been turned in his mid-thirties. Shaggy brown hair, short but messy in a deliberate way, and brown eyes that lingered with quiet scrutiny. His facial features were prominent, almost classically handsome, and his olive skin gave him a vitality unusual for one of the undead. He wore a tailored suit without a tie, carrying the faint scent of olives and wine, something rich and subtly dangerous.

“So, this is your bonded,” he says to Eric, his voice smooth, assessing. There was a touch of an accent to his voice that seemed European, with his hair, perhaps mediterranean in origin.

I remain silent, the way one does when a test has already begun. My gaze is steady, measured, taking in the subtle power dynamics in the room. I meet the vampire’s gaze evenly, carefully, without challenge or fear. Eric’s grip tightens slightly, not possessive, but protective, a reminder that while the room contained threats, I was not unguarded. And in this instant, I realize that one set of lessons has ended, only for another to begin, one that requires more than reflexes or endurance. This was about presence, perception, and sound judgement.

I stay still, poised, waiting, aware that my every movement, every word, would be measured, tested, and catalogued by them both.

Eric makes the introductions smoothly, as if this were any other business meeting. “Roscoe,” he says, “this is Sookie. My bonded. Sookie this is Roscoe who is another of my lieutenants and is filling the role of chancellor for me. He’s looking after our business holdings, records, certain communications and protocols. We’ve known each other for a very long time.”

Roscoe inclines his head toward me, the gesture precise and old-fashioned, carrying the weight of long memory. His gaze slides over me in a single, deliberate assessment - not invasive, but still sharp.

“A pleasure,” he says, then allows the faintest curve of a smile. “It is not often one meets a woman who has managed to bind herself to the Great Northman… I almost did not believe it after so many centuries, old friend.”

Eric’s mouth curves, not quite a smile, more a warning tempered with pride.

“Careful, Roscoe,” he says mildly. “You speak as if she is a curiosity.”

His thumb presses once to my chin, deliberate. “She is unique, my true match, and she stands here because she wishes to be, not because history finally caught up to me.”

I incline my head at Roscoe, calm and unyielding, and meet their gaze without flinching. “Eric and I stand together by choice,” I say evenly. “Which means respect for him includes respect for me. I’m pleased to meet you.” Eric then turns the conversation back to business as though nothing else had just occurred.

They speak of properties; two gas bars, a Grabbit Quick store, and a twenty-four-hour laundromat. On the surface, mundane. But beneath the words was the subtle dominance of control and territory, of money moving quietly through the city like blood through veins. I listen without interrupting, filing it away. These had to be part of Eric’s other holdings in Shreveport, the ones Roscoe must help oversee.

Throughout it all, Eric remains curled around me, his arms folded loosely across my chest, akimbo and possessive without pressure. It wasn’t restraint, but meant as reassurance. A reminder, to me and to anyone watching of exactly where I belonged.

Several minutes pass before I sense them, their footsteps echoing softly down the hall. Two minds approach, comfortably blank, their edges smoothed by glamour into something calm and compliant. No resistance. No fear sharp enough to catch on. The women step through the open doorway without hesitation, drawn forward as if summoned, as if entering this room is the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah,” Roscoe says pleasantly, rising from the couch. “Good. Dinner.”

Eric flicks his wrist with casual dismissal. “Take your pick, Roscoe. I’ve already been satisfied this evening.” He leans down and brushes his mouth against my neck, not biting, just enough contact to make heat bloom up my spine. I feel the flush creep over my skin despite myself.

I understand vampire feeding. I’d traveled with them before. I knew the rules, the realities of traversing donors, criminals, drainers and more. Yet knowing and witnessing are very different things.

I glance at the women, both slender, both beautiful in that carefully curated way. One blonde, one brunette. Their features were exotic, seemingly from somewhere far from Louisiana, lingering in their posture and scent. They look calm. Willing.

Roscoe studies them briefly, like a man selecting a wine. Then he reaches for the taller one, the brunette, and guides her gently to the couch. The blonde, being dismissed, leaves as quietly as she came.

I turn my face away before anything more can register, my instincts pulling back even as Eric’s attention sharpens. I can feel it through the bond, his interest and arousal. I can also feel it pressing against my hip. I shift slightly in his arms and look up at him instead. Eric’s blue eyes are intent, warm with something that wasn’t hunger at all, and it occurs to me this isn’t just another test. It is a reminder of the world, of whose world, I was standing in now.

Eric shifts us, the movement deliberate and unhurried. His arms loosen just enough to guide me as he steps back behind the desk. He settles into the chair with me drawn smoothly into his lap. Effortless.

His arm closes around my waist again, anchoring me there, while his other hand rests at my hip, thumb tracing a slow, idle line as if this were a habit formed centuries ago. I sit against him, my back to his chest, the solid, unyielding line of his body unmistakable against me. There’s no question in the posture, no room for interpretation. I am placed exactly where he intends me to be.

He lowers his mouth to my neck, but not to bite. Not even a kiss at first. Just the brush of his lips, cool and unhurried, followed by the faint press of his nose beneath my ear. A nuzzle. Intimate. Possessive.

I inhale softly, steadying myself. Then sounds begin.

A sharp intake of breath. A soft gasp, drawn out and unguarded. Then the unmistakable rhythm of feeding in a subtle, wet, and intimate way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with vulnerability and pleasure. The brunette’s breath hitches again, a sound caught somewhere between pain and surrender.

My shoulders tighten despite myself, and Eric feels it instantly.

His mouth returns to my neck, lingering this time, lips pressing there as if to remind me where I was. Who I was with. His fangs graze my skin, not breaking it but just enough to send a shiver through me.

I could feel his awareness expand through the bond, calm and controlled, hunger was there but threaded now with attention that was solely, unmistakably on me.
I turn my head slightly, enough to meet his eyes.

I let my point ripple through the bond hoping it translates. ‘No sex’ I didn’t dress it up but I also didn’t try to hide it. Watching a feeding I could endure, I understood it. But I was still human enough to recoil at the idea of anything more publicly, of intimacy laid bare in front of others, of being witnessed or exposed in that way. Especially when there was no reason, no need, and I had no desire for it.

The sounds in the office continue, another gasp, a low breathless sound of pleasure, small sucking noises and a groan. Yet Eric’s focus remains entirely on me. His gaze softens, not weak, not indulgent, but attentive. Reassuring.

His hand at my waist tightens just slightly. His lips brushed my skin again, slower now, gentler. No demands. It felt like I could almost hear him say it, his presence and the bond stating it as clearly as words ever could. You are safe. Trust me.

I exhale, tension bleeding out of me in a slow, careful release. I lean back into him, trusting the strength at my spine, the king behind the desk who held me as though the world…blood, power, hunger and all, would wait its turn.

Roscoe finishes efficiently. The sounds soften, slow, then stop altogether. A final breath trickles across the room, before he leans back, satisfied in a way that was distinctly vampiric and entirely unapologetic.

“My King, your taste in donors is exquisite,” he says to Eric, his tone pleasant, almost courteous.

The brunette sways slightly as he releases her. Roscoe locks his gaze with hers, subtle and practiced, the glamour settling in more deeply. The girl’s shoulders relax, her expression smoothing into something vague and content. He guides her to the door himself and sends her on her way, closing it gently behind her before returning to the couch.

Just like that, it was business again.

Roscoe straightens his jacket as he returns to the couch, business snapping back into place as if blood hadn’t just been savored a moment before. “As for the update on the gathering next month,” he says, smoothly transitioning, “the preparations are well underway.”

Eric’s hand remains at my waist, steady and proprietary, but his attention shifts to the matter at hand. I stay in his lap, still, listening.

“Accommodations are being secured,” Roscoe continues. “Many high-end condominiums, scattered throughout Shreveport. Discreet locations. Top floors with private access, and all will be suitably furnished.” He pauses, watching Eric carefully. “All will be in order for the royals and their entourages, my King.”

Eric inclines his head once, satisfaction radiating through the bond. “Good.”

Roscoe nods. “I’ll forward the finalized layouts and security assessments. Pam will receive updated information as we receive it.”

“She’ll expect nothing less,” Eric replies dryly. “I want her to oversee the final arrangements personally, make sure she has all she needs.”

“Of course.” Roscoe rises smoothly. “I’ll see that she has all of the details.”

That earns Roscoe a faint smile. He inclines his head again, respectful and measured. “Until next time.”

Eric gives a slight nod. Roscoe crosses the room, leaves, and closes the office door behind, the click of the latch echoed softly.

Silence settles in the room. Eric’s hands tightens at my waist the moment the door clicks shut.

Eric exhales slowly, his chin brushing my temple, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, the weight of everything I’d been holding together finally eases.

His mouth returns to my neck, pressing there in a lingering kiss, followed by a familiar nuzzle and a scrape of fangs that was entirely private now.

The shift was immediate…no witnesses, no restraint left to observe. His mouth claims my neck again, slower this time. I turn my head to meet his mouth and the kiss turns from reassurance into intention. I inhale sharply, fingers curling into his jacket as the bond flares hot and unmistakable between us.

“Sookie,” he murmurs, low and rough against my skin.

I turn around fully in his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, and kiss him before he can say anything else. The response is instant. One arm comes up to cradle my back, the other fists lightly in my hair, tipping my head just enough to deepen it.

The desk was suddenly too close.

Eric rises with me still in his arms and sets me back against it, papers scattering as his hips press into me, deliberate and unashamed. A folder slides to the floor, then another. The careful order of his office unraveling beneath us, papers and reports forgotten.

His jacket vanishes somewhere between one breath and the next. My jacket and top follow soon after, tugged free with impatient precision. His mouth traces heat along my collarbone, down the line of my throat, making me gasp, making my hands roam his shoulders, chest, the solid coolness of him beneath tailored clothes.

“We’re destroying your paperwork,” I say faintly, my mouth curving against his ear. Threading my hands through his long hair.

He gives a low satisfied hum, lips brushing my skin, his voice calm and utterly assured. “I assume you have no objections to being on my desk now?” The smile that followed was all fang and promise.

I chuckle, “I think I can let you lead this time, but...hell I’m claiming your office Eric. This is my territory now.” My grin is pure menacing fun.

The world narrows to the desk beneath my palms, the king in front of me, beneath me, filling me, while the bond sings between us.

Sometime later, I become dimly aware of the edge of his laptop pressing into my ribs, a forgotten casualty beneath me as I lay sprawled across his desk, breath still uneven, hair a wreck, my body humming as I come down from yet another cresting wave.

Eric’s forehead rests against my abdomen, his breath cool against my overheated skin. He takes his time kissing his way upward, unhurried, giving me space to breathe again, and for my pulse to settle.

“Lover,” he murmurs at last, lips brushing just below my sternum, “you have displayed remarkable control, stamina and grace tonight.”

I let out a soft laugh, fingers threading into his hair. “In what sense?”

He lifts his head just enough to look at me, blue eyes bright with wicked satisfaction.

“With Pam, you held your ground without provoking retaliation or losing your composure.” A kiss, slow and lingering.

“With Roscoe, you remained composed under…observation. I know having another feed in front of you was uncomfortable, but it was necessary to test your…sensitivities." Another kiss, closer now. “And now,” his mouth curves against my skin, “you have managed to withstand repeated assault, without losing form.”

I swallow, heat flaring again despite my exhaustion. “It sounds suspiciously like you are trying to give me a performance review.”

A low chuckle vibrates against me. “On the contrary,” he says smoothly. “It’s an assessment of your stamina, adaptability, and ability to thrive when properly…challenged.”

His gaze flicks briefly over the wrecked desk - the scattered papers, displaced technology, the evidence of our earlier lack of restraint.

“You handled every position flawlessly,” he adds dryly. “Though I suspect Pam would be appalled by your methods here.”

I smile, lazy and spent. “I thought you liked the results.” Neither of us are referring to my lessons anymore.

Eric’s mouth brushes my skin once more, reverent and teasing all at once. “I very much appreciate the results,” he says. “Especially when they leave my office in complete disarray, and provide such…satisfaction.”

A moment later, the door opens without warning.

Pam steps in and takes in the wrecked desk, the scattered papers, the displaced laptop. Her nose flairs, registering the scent of our passion still lingering in the air, fangs descending with a snick, then very deliberately lets her eyes drift to me.

Her gaze moves slowly, unapologetically…over bare legs, up over my breasts, to my rumpled hair and swollen lips. Appreciation warms her expression, edged with a flicker of desire. Her nostrils flare.

“Oh no, did I forget to knock again.” she says blandly, turning to Eric. “Well, this explains why I’m still missing signatures on the real estate agreements.”

Heat floods my face. I scramble upright, suddenly acutely aware of my nakedness - my hair, my skin, the unmistakable fact that I had never intended to be seen stark naked by Pam while sprawled across Eric’s desk like the main course at a buffet.

I slide off the desk in a rush and snap my fingers, the glamour comes fast and furious covering me in a quick robe, flustered and keenly conscious of every second her eyes are still on me.

Pam’s mouth curves faintly. Not a smile, exactly. More an indication of her appreciation of my curves.

“You can stop pretending modesty matters,” she says coolly. “Your magic would be a far more effective shield than whatever glitter comes from between your legs, Tinkerbell.”

Eric leans back against the desk, entirely unbothered in his nakedness, one arm drapes possessively around my waist. “Pam.”

She glances at him. “Yes, Eric?”

Eric doesn’t look at Pam when he speaks next, rather his gaze stays fixed on me. His hand stays firm at my waist, thumb resting there as if he’d placed it with intention and forgotten to remove it.

“Sookie had proven herself quite capable tonight," he says calmly. “And thoroughly attentive.”

His gaze finally lifts - lazy, assessing - and meets Pam’s.

“There was a reason the door was closed.”

Pam’s mouth curves, faint and knowing. “I assumed it was for effect, because they could hear you in the staff room.”

Eric’s voice rumbles, low, his own grin starting to pull at his mouth. “Among other things.”

I feel the heat rush up my neck again, slightly mortified. The bond pulses - amusement, pride, and a dangerous undercurrent of possession.

Pam’s gaze slides back to me, clinical and bored. “Your human instincts are showing again. Fae don’t flinch at nakedness. Or sex. Or witnesses, for that matter. You need to decide which parts of your heritage you’re aligning with.”

I swallow and pull on the hem of the robe, cheeks still burning. “Your just sad you didn't get a front row seat.”

Eric cuts in smoothly. “Sookie decides when and where she’s on display.”

Pam lifts a brow. “Relax. I’m not angling for a show.” Then, dry as dust, “Though if you decide you want an audience…” Her gaze scans up and down me again, stopping at my throat which is totally exposed.

A beat passes.

She turns, already mentally moving on. “Sookie and I have agreed to another lesson. We will be starting with daggers, and not just the verbal kind.”

Eric’s eyes light up with unmistakable amusement. “Of course you will.”

Pam pauses at the door, hand on the frame. “And Karin is here,” she adds, as if recalling the weather. “She’s waiting in your booth. She’s been very patient, which I find suspicious.”

Then she leaves, the door swinging shut behind her. I lean into Eric, exhaling slowly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into my hair. “You belong here, lover, do not doubt it. You’re simply discovering how. His hand tightens at my waist just enough to make the promise unmistakable. “And I’m very happy to provide…continued instruction.”

I smiled despite myself, warmth unfurling where his confidence wraps around me.

“Then I suppose,” I say softly, tilting my head just enough to meet his eyes, “it’s fortunate I learn quickly…especially when the instruction is thorough.” I grin up at him despite my nerves from being walked in on. “Perhaps I will need further instruction later, once we have finished our business with Karin.” I kiss him tenderly, while mentally starting to determine where my other clothes have gone around the office.

The air between us is still charged as we gather our scattered clothes, quickly getting frustrated, I use my magic and reassemble myself with a flick of my wrist. Meanwhile Eric was already waiting by the door, fully dressed, calm, controlled, and every inch a king.

We step out together, entering the club it feels like the air comes alive around me. The dance floor is packed, more so than my visit a week ago. The music pumping, lights flashing and darting across the floor and around the room. My eyes move across the bar, looking towards the VIP booths on the other side of the dancefloor trying to see who we were headed to greet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 - Karin

Eric leads me through the crowd with his usual, unapologetic air of ownership, one hand firm at my back. Conversations part as we pass. Eventually we climb the dias and I slide into the lush leather booth beside him, the seat comfortable and indulgent.

Karin is already there, seated, poised, expectant.

She wears grey from head to toe, the palette functional rather than fashionable. A dark grey leather jacket caps the look, practical and restrained, as if she shares her maker’s strict loyalty to muted colors. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a precise braid, severe in its neatness. She wears no makeup; her features remain unadorned, striking in their pale, disciplined severity.

A bottle of Blood Moon sits untouched in front of her.

Her eyes flick to me, quick, assessing, then returning to Eric. The acknowledgment carries a careful blend of curiosity and deference, the kind only those who know him well ever manage.

Eric’s hand rests lightly on my thigh, thumb brushing in slow, deliberate reassurance. I lean slightly into him, feeling the comfort of possession, control, and protection coming from him all at once.

Eric gestures toward Karin with a faint, commanding smile. “Sookie, this is Karin - my first child.”

Karin lifts her eyes, scans me briefly, then lets her attention settle back on Eric. “Greetings,” she says, her voice clipped and precise. A subtle peculiarity colors her accent, making every word feel deliberate, almost foreign. Her calm is absolute, so complete it carries an undercurrent of lethal intent. Even in that simple greeting, I sense the quiet efficiency of someone who is always alert, always ready.

“Hello, Karin. It’s an honor to meet you,” I reply, tilting my head slightly. “Eric has told me you are now Sheriff of Area One.”

Her eyes flick to me for a heartbeat, then sweep the dance floor with measured, assessing precision. “Yes,” she replies, brief and controlled, the tone of someone long accustomed to command. Even as she speaks, her attention never dulls, never stops scanning the dance floor for disruption.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pam leaning casually against the bar, her familiar smirk in place as she watches the room with predatory ease, her phone in one hand. The contrast between them sharpens the moment. Despite their shared blonde pale beauty, Karin is subtle, deadly, and restrained; Pam is sharp, wickedly playful and, impossibly alert, though no less lethal. Together, they make the dynamics of Eric’s world feel stark and undeniable.

It struck me then that Eric definitely had a type, women who could stand perfectly still in the middle of danger and make the danger blink first. I am fortunate to consider myself among them. Apparently, being shapely and blonde was just the finishing touch.

Karin’s gaze snaps to Eric, then flicks to me, sharp and measuring. “Majesty, we have had disturbances in Area 1, it's been mostly limited to areas in parks so far but the number of missing people in the City is increasing,” she says, her eyes drifting back to me with a trace of suspicion, as if questioning my presence. I let a tiny flare of my magic thrum beneath my skin, just enough to cast a subtle glow, a silent message that I was here with my own skill and not merely by his desire.

Eric chuckles softly at our unspoken exchange. “What do you need to deal with the situation?” his eyes locked with Karin's. “We can't have the City being run ragged by these beasts. Contain the problem. You will keep the City functioning and the humans calm.” Eric doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. “ Now perhaps Sookie can provide you with something to assist?” He holds Karin’s gaze, expression unreadable, authority settled and absolute.

Karin’s attention returns to me, her gaze intense and unyielding. It felt as though she was reading me like an open book, absorbing every thread of my history, every subtle strength and hidden edge, all in a single, calculating look. I hold her stare, being aware that this is as much an assessment as it is an acknowledgement.

“Our weapons aren’t proving effective against these beasts,” Karin says, her voice level, almost dispassionate. “However, I had one of the local covens seal the source.”

She pauses, just long enough for the cost to register. “They lost two witches in the process,” she adds calmly. “However it has proven effective.”

Processing what she has shared, I move my hands low beneath the table, I call forward a short sword, fairy steel, answering my will as easily as breath. The blade slides into my palm, familiar and balanced, its surface etched with glyphs that lay quiet for now - dormant, but heavy with restrained power. As I lift it, the light catches along its edge. I set it flat on the table between us.

“Take this,” I say, keeping my voice steady, careful not to oversell it. “It should cut through them cleanly. It’s been blessed with light, and it works especially well on anything coming out of the Vale.”

Karin’s attention fixes on the blade. Her eyes trace the glyphs, shifting towards the empty space where it came from, and finally back to me. The calculation in her expression deepens, curiosity sharpening into something closer to respect. Whatever conclusions she was drawing, I could feel the shift, my presence no longer dismissed, but now being carefully reconsidered.

Eric leans back slightly, his hand still resting lightly on my thigh, and lets his gaze slide from me to Karin. “Sookie has defeated these creatures before, including with me” he says, his tone calm but firm, “Whatever disturbances you’ve noted, what she has provided you will allow you to eliminate them more effectively, and do so immediately.”

Karin’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning the room as though already cataloging threats. “You are looking for a pattern,” she says, precise and clipped, her voice ringing with the weight of command.

Eric subtly inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Yes,” he says, “I suspect they are scouts, probing, looking for something… or someone, possibly to test defenses…resistance here. From the reports and information I’ve gathered, their activity seems mostly concentrated in North America, particularly the midwestern and southern states. There does seem to be reports of some disturbances in targeted areas in Canada, Europe and Asia as well.”

He lets the words hang for a moment, the weight of the implication unmistakable, then adds, “That’s why vigilance is key. Every detail we learn matters.”

Karin’s gaze flicks back to me, quick and razor-precise, already recalibrating whatever ledger she keeps in her head. Then she turns to Eric and speaks in a low, measured stream of words I don’t understand, the cadence cool, almost clinical. Her tone isn’t hostile, but it isn’t gentle either.

"Hon är mjukare än jag förväntade mig. Och vassare. Inte ett vapen du smitt, utan ett som valde sin egen egg. Om du tänker placera henne där andra kommer att blöda för dina beslut, kommer de att testa henne. Brutalt. Jag antar att du har övervägt kostnaden." ²

Whatever she’s saying sounds like an assessment delivered to a commander, not a curiosity offered to her maker. Eric’s reply comes without hesitation, his voice low and even, carrying the weight of finality before the promise of continuation.

“Hon är inte vad du tror att du ser. Inte heller vad andra kommer att försöka göra henne till.” ³

His gaze flicks briefly to me, possessive without display, then returns to Karin, but then he switches back to English.

“...we shall continue this discussion later. What else have you observed?” He asks,

When she addresses Eric, her voice drops low and precise, each word carefully measured. “We have seen a shadow,” she says. “Tall. It moves like a vampire, but it does not smell like one, exactly. Only glimpses near the disturbances. It seems to vanish as quickly as it appears.”

The implication settles heavily between us. This shadow gives rise to new concerns. It’s actions seem deliberate, intelligent, as though it's watching.

Eric’s expression darkens, his focus snapping sharp. “That aligns with other intelligence we’ve received,” he says evenly. “Continue monitoring the situation. Do not engage unless you’re certain of having the advantage. I want to know who, what we are dealing with. Nothing is to be left to chance.”

Karin nods, her eyes flicking briefly to the phone on the table before returning to Eric - and then to me. “The night is passing,” she says, clipped and precise. “If I’m to return to New Orleans before dawn, I need to leave.”

Eric inclines his head, a small, approving smile touching his lips. “Of course.” His gaze sharpens as he adds, “Take the blade with you. Use it well.” He pauses, letting the weight of the command settle. “Plan to return for three nights for the gathering in mid-November. Pam will contact you with the arrangements. You will stay with me.”

Karin considers this, her expression unreadable. Then she nods once and lays her hand over the blade resting on the table, acknowledging both its power and the trust behind it. Without another word, she rises and departs, leaving only the faint trace of her scent, and the quiet authority that lingers in her wake.

I press closer into Eric, letting my fingers trail lightly along his leg, feeling the steady, controlled power beneath him. From the corner of my eye, I could see the fangbangers on the dance floor below, all of them trying to catch his attention. A ripple of possession travels down my spine, surprising me…they wouldn’t have his attention tonight or ever again. Not so long I am here. I push the thought aside for the moment.

“Do you know who’s behind this?” I ask softly, my voice just above the thrum of the music, hoping his insight might give me further clues as to his thinking.
He leans slightly into me, one hand resting possessively around my waist. “Not yet,” he murmurs, low and deliberate, “but it looks more like a scouting exercise than a forthcoming attack, and there is consistent evidence of this shadow.” He pauses, voice dropping into that velvet cadence that always makes my chest flutter. “I’ve also reached out to extend an invitation to the Ancient One I mentioned before. I await her reply.”

I nod, only half listening now as my gaze drifts again over the crowd below. I rest it now on a couple of women dancing a little too close, a little too deliberately, their movements overtly sexual and calculated to draw Eric’s eye. Heat flares sharp and unwelcome in my chest at the thought of his hands, his fangs, his attention ever turning toward theirs. Yet knowing in the same moment, that this was the reputation that came with Eric Northman.

He shifts beside me, catching the flare of jealousy through the bond. I feel his grin, wicked and teasing, against my hair as he presses a soft kiss along my ear. “Well, well, well… aren’t they interesting?”

“I don’t think they are that interesting,” I murmur, pressing a little harder into him, letting the possessiveness in my touch speak louder than words, as I drag a finger up along the inside of his thigh.

Eric chuckles, low and throaty, nipping gently at the shell of my ear. “Oh, my little vixen… you wear your green monster well. But you know,” he whispers, his breath tingling against my skin, “no one here will have my…attentions. Only you.”

I tilt my head, a tense pull along my lips. “Eric, do not ease me about this. Your nature, your reputation, is not one known to be…restrained.” I shift closer to him without quite meaning to, staking my place on instinct alone, the jealousy lingering, hot and restless within me.

His laugh rumbles through me like a dark melody, and his hand tightening just a fraction along my waist. “Let them prance. They’ll learn quickly enough, I have no interest, beyond what I already have here.”

I exhale softly against him, melting just a little, knowing every word, every touch was his way of staking claim. And damn it, it worked. Every single time.
“We haven’t discussed our… arrangement,” I say quietly. “Not fully.”

I swallow, nerves tightening in my throat before I push on. “I know vampires have different… expectations in relationships. As do the fae… but my own preferences seem to remain very human.”

Eric’s hands slide up my sides, slow and deliberate, brushing over my ribs before settling just beneath my breasts. His touch wasn’t so much possessive now, as it was attentive.

“Sookie,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice low and sincere, “you have ruined me for all others.”

I look up at him, searching his face for mockery, for teasing. There was none. Only that ancient steadiness, sharpened by something dangerously close to vulnerability.

Calmly he continues “I am not interested in sharing you, nor am I interested in sharing myself. If that is what troubles you.” His thumb traces a small, absent circle against my side. “Vampires may take pleasure freely, but choice - true choice - is rarer. You are my choice.”

My breath catches. “That’s not exactly how it usually works in your world.”

“No it's not,” he agrees. “Which is why this is… different.” His gaze softens, locking onto mine. “I will not ask you to abandon your humanity. I cherish it. Your boundaries matter to me, Sookie. Say where they lie, and I will honor them.”

I hesitate, then admit softly, “I need to know I’m not one indulgence among many. I can’t be someone you set aside when the night grows boring.”

His hands still. “Look at me.”

I do.

“You are not a diversion,” he says, each word deliberate. “You are irreplaceable. You challenge me, you always have. You steady me. You make me consider tomorrow.” A faint, crooked smile touches his mouth. “That is no small thing for a vampire of my age.”

The bond thrums between us, warm and certain, easing the tightness in my chest.

I turn fully toward him, no teasing, no half-steps. I lean in and rest my forehead against his chest, letting him feel the steadiness beneath my nerves.

“I want your affections to be mine alone,” I say quietly, firmly. “Exclusive, not borrowed or shared. When you look at someone, I need to know it’s only me you’ve chosen, and not the night offering you options.”

His stillness tells me he’s listening.

“And I would ask you to avoid taking blood from other humans,” I add, my voice softer but no less resolute. “Unless it’s necessary. Survival. Strategy. I understand those, as one who has to rule. But not indulgence. Not when it would cost me more than it gives you.”

Eric’s lips brush my temple, reverent rather than hungry. “Then we are aligned, lover. Because exclusivity and commitment are one luxury I will not deny you.”
Eric’s thumb brushes once more along my side, lingering just enough to promise continuation. “Exclusivity goes both ways you know, I intended to ask the same of you,” he says softly, decisively. Brushing a finger along my jaw, I nod.

“Then we agree, my viking.”

“There are a few matters I must check quickly in my office. Then we can return to the house.” He says.

I nod, comforted by the certainty in his tone, and he rises in one fluid motion, already pulling me with him. In the blink of an eye, we’re back in his office, the door closing behind us with a muted click. As always, Eric moves with efficient precision, vampire speed blurring his hands as he checks his computer, scans reports, and signs the files that appear neatly on his desk. The room returned to immaculate order, as if the chaos of our lovemaking never dared touch it.

He turns to me, his expression softening as the weight of business falls away. “Come, lover,” he says, offering his hand. “The night is clear, but not so chilly. Let us fly back.”

Excitement flutters low in my belly as he leads me through the employee entrance at the rear of Fangtasia. The noise of the club fades behind us, replaced by the quiet hum of the city settling into the deeper hours of night. Before I can speak, Eric scoops me up effortlessly, one arm firm beneath my knees, the other secure around my back.

Then we’re airborne.

The ground drops away in a rush of wind and sensation, Shreveport spreading beneath us like a scatter of dim stars. Cool night air brushes my face and tugs at my hair, but Eric’s hold remains absolute, unshakable. I press closer instinctively, resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful rhythm of him and the air brushes past us.

As I relax into his embrace, the world feels smaller, quieter, less complicated. Up here, worries about disturbances, ancient beings, and expectations fall away, replaced by a floating, unexpected peace. I trust him completely, in the way he carries me, as if there is nowhere else I belong.

I glance down once more, then close my eyes, letting the rush of air and the bond between us carry me. Whatever conversations still wait, whatever lessons remain to be learned, tonight we move forward through a clear, dark sky.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23 - Preparation

Nights blur into days, and before I quite realize it, a full week has slipped past me. My lessons with Pam continue. She is relentless, methodical, and unapologetic in her expectations. Every shield has to hold: mental, emotional, physical. There are no allowances made for fatigue or distraction, and somehow that suits me just fine. She also put me to the task of telepathically screening Eric’s daytime and human staff, as well as those at the bar, as well as those hired directly to act as donors when needed. Time consuming, I flag the reliable ones with a quiet sense of relief and flag the anxious, the distracted, the ones carrying debts or grudges that could turn sharp under pressure, the dangerous thrill-seekers who romanticize fangs and blood. I could tell what Pam was doing, she was preparing me not just to survive Eric’s world, but showing me where I could fit, and how to stand in it without so much as flinching.

I make time for lunch with Tara and Lafayette, train at the farmhouse, hang out with my brother and the simple normalcy of it all calms me in ways nothing else could. Shared meals, familiar voices, it helped steady me as the world around me shifted and expanded at a pace that sometimes is hard to comprehend. With them, I could still just be Sookie, not a title or a weapon or a symbol of anything larger.

The larger world didn’t pause, though. Another tear had opened on the edge of Shreveport, tucked into an industrial stretch no one paid much attention to. Eric and I handled it much like the first, quietly and efficiently. We found a massive hoard of dusklings feeding on a flock of ducks and geese that had ventured to close and destroyed them before they could spread, but didn’t see any signs of the elusive shadow. Scent revealed its presence to Eric though, fleeting but whatever it was it had been there. The work was brutal, yet clean in its purpose, and standing beside Eric in that kind of danger felt… right. Coordinated. I could feel the bond align us, instinct sharpening instinct, power moving where it was needed without a word spoken.

The bond was growing between us slowly. I felt its pull the night I chose to stay at my family home, a mild steady ache in my chest, it made maintaining separation from Eric for any real length of time or distance difficult, distracting. Eric has also been helping me learn how to share emotions, impressions, intent…communicating almost as clearly as I could hear others with my telepathy. Just as important, he has been teaching me how to temper it: how to block, how to manage the intensity of what I received and how to choose what to share with him. It wasn’t magic the way my fae power was, but the discipline I’d learned with it and with my telepathy, gave me an unexpected advantage. Control has come easier than I’d first expected.

The brand of the Adra continued to flicker off and on, but searching and scanning as I might I could not get a sense of where it was coming from or from who. For all I knew, someone might be hurt in Faery or stuck in the Vale. I continued to search using my abilities and Eric was monitoring through the vampire network as well. I had also tried calling Claudine for an update, but had received only a message back indicating that new tears to the Vale had been opened in Faery, with bests emerging in greater numbers and that Niall had them under control.

My official introduction to Eric’s court was now coming closer. We had decided it would be just after Halloween. I’d agreed to it, eventually, though the weight of what it represented pressed closer with each passing hour. I didn’t love what all was involved, it still felt like a declaration of ownership over me, but I also understood the importance of establishing myself within the vampire hierarchy. So I’d relented my objections, at Eric’s insistence about my safety. My Viking however was doing his very best to keep me distracted from my remaining misgivings.

Eric and I had been exploring each other with the same intensity we brought to everything else. Our passion was relentless, consuming, leaving no space untouched and no doubt unanswered. Every stolen moment was charged, overwhelming in the best possible way…desire layered with trust, hunger braided with certainty. The bond drew us together relentlessly, the pull constant and I never felt diminished by it, only more present, more alive. I knew, with a clarity that didn’t scare me at all, that I would never have enough of him. And I didn’t feel the need to pretend otherwise.

I arch my back, a groan breaking from my lips. His head between my thighs as I lay spread across the couch in the living room. We’d barely let me come up for air since he’d risen, caught in a tide of want that refused to ebb. My breath is sporadic, pulse racing, as pleasure crests hard and fast, my climax hitting me full force in response to his tongue and fingers doing delightful things to my most sensitive areas.

His grin is wickedly infectious as he rises from between my legs, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. In one smooth motion he turns me, guiding me forward until I am braced on my knees, his hands steady and assured as Eric positions me exactly where he wants me. The shift sends a fresh shiver through me, anticipation curling low and tight as his presence closes in behind me. I feel his hand caress my ass, and land a light smack. I gasp, my arousal and excitement screaming through the bond.

He enters my swiftly, filling me from behind, grasping my hips as he thrusts. I am so aware of him, of the way my body responds instinctively, tightening around him until my vision blurs and my breath catches. He moves slowly at first as if savoring every inch as he strokes me from the inside out.
His chest brushes my back, solid and cool, as he leans in to nuzzle my neck. I breathe him in, the familiar, intoxicating scent of him and the possessive certainty of it sends a fresh shiver through me.

A sound breaks free from my throat as I shift my hips to meet him, arching into every touch, every careful movement. The pleasure builds, deep and insistent, until need sharpens into something undeniable.

“More,” I demand, pressing back into him.

I can feel his restraint even as he answers my demand, the way he moves with deliberate control instead of surrendering to the instinct I knew was coiled tight beneath the surface. The change was enough to draw a moan from me, but not enough to fully satisfy the sharp, aching need I can feel.

I know him too well now not to recognize it, the careful caresses, the measured pace meant to protect us both. I didn’t want that, not tonight.

“More, Eric,” I breathe, pushing back into him, refusing to be so gentle. “Stop holding back.”

“Sookie”. He says my name like a warning, his voice rough, edged with something dangerously close to breaking.

That hesitation only fuels me. A low sound rises from my chest, answering his growl with one of my own. I turn my head and rise up slightly into his chest. Locking an eye with him and letting him hear the certainty in my voice.

“I mean it. If you truly want me,” I say, voice low and unflinching, “then stop restraining yourself. Take what you’ve claimed. Show me you mean it.”

The bond flares sharp and undeniable and I feel his control fracture. Not shattered, not lost, but released.

Eric exhales against my neck, deliberate, as if committing himself to the decision. His hands tighten, his presence closing around me with unmistakable intent, and the air itself seems to thrum with it.

“You should not challenge me like that,” he says, his voice low, dangerous, threaded with promise rather than warning.

He withdraws completely, and I feel the sudden emptiness with a groan. My pulse races, every nerve strung tight with need and anticipation.

“If I want you?” his voice echoes sharply, I see him bite into his palm.

“Want, Sookie,” he says, voice low, deliberate, “is far too small a word for what I desire from you..”

I shiver at the raw heat in his tone. I could see him running his blood along his swollen member. His actions were deliberate, controlled, and terrifyingly potent all at once. I feel my own muscles clench watching his movements in raw anticipation.

“My need for you,” he says, drawing close once more, his presence impossible to resist, “burns beyond all reason.”

He arches back over me, forcing me back down onto my elbows, rubbing his member thick and hard between my folds, and thrusts back into me to the hilt. It was sudden, hard, and full of intention. My gasp tears free before I can even think, and my body responds instinctively, craving every inch of him.

“Ohhhhh,” I breathed, and then a deeper, more helpless sound escapes me as I realize fully just what he’d done.

He chuckles, low and confident, and I feel the bond between us flare, the heat of it threading through me, amplifying everything I was feeling and sharing it back to him.

“Feel something you like?” he teases, clearly amused by my reaction.

Eric begins to move within me again. He pulls back almost entirely and returns home, his thrusts pressing into me at an angle that seems to multiply the sensation with every stroke.

“God Eric,” I cry, involuntarily.

The combination of his touch and the way he fills me from within is overwhelming. I make no effort to stifle the moans that slip from me, falling into a rhythm that mirrors his deliberate, unrelenting movements.

“Yes! So goooo…ohhhhhhh…..Mmmmrrrff.”

His pace and force of his thrusts increase, his blood arousing me to a fever pitch from the inside. Gripping my hips with enough force to bruise he lets his pace go until I can no longer tell the direction of our movements.

He uses a force that leaves no room for hesitation, his presence overwhelming me in the best possible way.

As our momentum increases, so does the volume of my approval. I sing it out into the house, just how much I want what Eric was doing to me. The force of his arousal seems to intensify with every sound that flies from my lips, and I feel him swell further in me. I look back locking eyes with him and squeeze his length from the inside, and his fangs pop out. He groans and pistons me even faster, racing us both towards oblivion. Every stroke sends tremors through my body, and I spasm with the constant stimulation.

He pulls me up with him my back to his chest, still on my knees and he continues to thrust with an impossible rhythm.

I feel him nuzzle my neck, the scrape of his fangs and his tongue drawing out my pulse along my neck. His fangs sink into me, the initial prick ignored because of the current of pleasure coursing through me, as he pulls my blood sending shock waves through my body and into my core.

“ERRRIIIIIC” I scream, as I can’t hold back any longer, shattering waves course through my body and I release myself to him completely.

He must have been waiting for that moment, because as soon as I scream and my walls begin to contract around him, he roars a string of words I cannot understand and I feel him burst, releasing his juices into me with every spasm.

He collapses against me as we fall onto the couch, holding enough of his weight I’m not crushed, as I feel the last of him pour into me. My own quivers are beginning to ease. I feel his tongue against my throat, lapping up every last drop of my blood. My breath and pulse are steadying out as I feel a satisfied glow from head to toe.

Eventually, we shift on the couch. Eric is on his side, he draws me against him. I tilt up my head, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and meet his gaze. The intensity I’d come to expect from his gaze was there, yes, but it also was softened. There was something there I hadn’t fully noticed before, a gentleness and quiet respect…maybe even love.

Things were moving so fast, but this was real, and I could feel the weight of it settle around us like a promise I never wanted to let go of.

We stay like that on the couch for several minutes, the warmth of our actions still lingering around me, until he finally shifts, the movement gentle but deliberate.
“Pam will be here shortly, and I will need to head to Fangtasia,” he says, voice calm but carrying that unmistakable weight of authority that made me pause.

I sit up, not ready to try standing yet and look at him. “Why is Pam coming here?”

His lips tilt into a teasing grin. “There is… the matter of your wardrobe.”

I shoot him a sharp look, pointedly ignoring the obvious fact that I’m completely naked. “There is nothing wrong with my clothes, and Pam picked out most of them, and I can glamour most anything else.”

“Not at the moment, no,” he agrees, his eyes lingering just long enough to make my pulse skip. He raises his hand to his mouth, pricking his finger and traces it along my neck, healing the bite marks with quick efficiency.

I frown, trying to regain some sense of composure. He chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates low in his chest, and his grin widens, mischievous but protective all the same. “Sookie, your appearance at the court presentation matters…” I have heard all of this before.

“Pam has put considerable thought into this, and I expect you to work with her… and to consider what constitutes an acceptable wardrobe for your presentation, as well as for other…events. Whether you find other things for everyday, or prefer to glamour them on demand… I will leave that for you both to figure out.”

The words hang in the air, playful yet authoritative, and a shiver runs through me. Just as I open my mouth to protest, to tease him back, there is the faintest echo of the door opening, and I know Pam has already arrived.

I jump to retrieve my robe from the floor, hastily belting it around me for modesty’s sake before Pam could see me in my current… state. My cheeks burn, and I wish I could disappear entirely into the fabric as I can still smell our arousal in the room.

Eric, completely nonchalant, rises from the couch and greets his progeny with that familiar, measured charm. “Pam,” he says simply, before turning back to me, nakedness seemingly forgotten. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my lips that is deep and deliberate, searing in its intensity.

“I’ll see you later, Lover,” he murmurs against my mouth before pulling back, leaving me with a racing heart and the lingering warmth of him as he heads to the bedroom to dress for the evening and head to Fangtasia.

Pam enters the living room arms piled high with shopping bags, dress bags, and various other parcels. It takes her three trips to unload everything into the living room and the dining room, each time casting a glance in my direction that is a mix of appraisal and silent amusement.

As she sets the last bag down and she raises an eyebrow at me, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “Really, Sookie…modesty and blushes?” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Your humanity is showing again. The robe is unnecessary. He’s not going to eat you, at least not any more than he already has.”

I feel her eyes rub down me and back up. “And I can assure you, nothing I may see would qualify as unprecedented.”

I flush, adjusting the belt as best I can. Pam’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and I feel the faint weight of her approval. She and I were coming to an understanding, slowly. I had realized a few days ago that she was appreciative, not just of my body based her lustful glances, but of the care I was taking in approaching my role as Eric’s bonded.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands lightly, “let’s get to work. There’s more to these presentations than simply looking the part. Vampire law and custom are… very specific. A bonded being presented before court is expected to signify their status.” She begins pulling gowns from various bags, running her fingers over silks and velvets as she speaks.

“I’ll be frank,” Pam continues, a slight smirk curling her lips, “you will need an accessory- something that clearly indicates your bonded status and represents Eric. It can be incorporated into a gown, like a brooch or clasp, jewelry on the neck, wrist or ankle or something more obvious, like a choker or… leash, depending on the presentation style. The point is for anyone in attendance to recognize at a glance, that you are not just a participant, you are claimed, and therefore untouchable."
I swallow, glancing down at the robe I’m clutching tightly around me, my heart still fluttering from Eric’s kiss. The idea of being so openly displayed, even in the name of tradition, makes my pulse quicken, but not just from nerves. There is a spark of irritation too. I’ve worked too hard, survived too much, to be reduced to a symbol of submission simply because custom demanded it.

I understood the ritualistic nature of it, and I understood the politics. My presentation in the fae court had also been full of the same. That said, I wasn’t anyone’s ornament, and I wasn’t interested in pretending I was smaller or softer than I’d become. If I was going to stand before Eric’s court, it would be with my head high, bonded, yes, but unbowed.

Pam’s eyes linger on me again, sharp appraisal giving way to something more nuanced - recognition, perhaps, of the tension coiling beneath my calm. “Do you understand the importance, Sookie?” she asks, her tone instructive, but not dismissive.

“I understand the purpose, the nature of the vampire hierarchy to show dominance, control.” I say, lifting my chin. “What I don’t understand is why bonded still seems like it automatically translates to submissive. I won’t be presented like an accessory. I won’t dishonor Eric, Pam, but I won’t diminish myself either.”

Pam studies me for a long moment, then surprises me by smiling slowly. “Good,” she says. “If you’d accepted it without question, I’d be worried.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Bonded does not always have to mean meek or subservient. It can also mean chosen. For this to work, those in attendance must see that Eric stands with someone powerful enough, of enough value to tie himself to; that it does not weaken his authority. The accessory isn’t solely about ownership, it’s about visibility. A signal that you are protected, yes, but also a sign of his power, that you are an extension of it in your own right and capability. Most mortals can’t pull that off, nor would just any vampire want them to.”

I let this sink in, the irritation easing into something steadier. “So I don’t have to look… compliant.”

“Absolutely not,” Pam said dryly. “With others, this would be the case, but if you did, Eric would be offended. This presentation should say strength, not surrender. We’ll choose something for the presentation that marks the bond without erasing you.”

I sigh, my larger hesitation coming to the surface…“Pam, the blood exchange…”

“The blood exchange is necessary, and it must be witnessed.” Her voice is cold, no room for discussion.

Pam arches a brow, a faint edge of irritation threading her tone. “Your hesitation is all to human. Leave the tender butterflies and blushes out of this princess. Strength doesn’t apologize, and neither should you. You must hold yourself steady, and stop getting invested in your tender fucking mortal feelings.”

She lets the words hang, eyes cold and calculating, daring me to argue.

“See the blood exchange as a mutual declaration,” Pam says coolly, eyes sharp and assessing, “not as a submissive gesture. It’s not you kneeling. It’s a symbol, public and unmistakable of the bond.”

Her lips curve, faint and lethal. “Anyone watching should understand that touching you without permission would be… educationally fatal. Regardless of who may wield the blade.”

I take a slow breath, letting Pam’s words settle, and feel the tension in my chest give way to a hardening resolve. I find the steel in my spine, the part of me that refuses to waver. I can do this. “All right,” I say quietly, voice steady. “Let’s make it clear I belong with him.”

Pam lays the first gown on the chair, a rich burgundy silk that shimmers in the soft lamplight. In the next room, I step into it, feeling the fabric glide over my skin like water. The dress hugs my waist and flares slightly at the hips, the neckline modest but elegant, the sleeves long and flowing. Returning to the living room I turn in front of the mirror, watching the light play along the folds, but something about it feels… safe. Eric would appreciate the elegance, yes, but it lacks the daring spark I seek.

The second gown waits in emerald green, cut from heavier velvet with a high slit and off-the-shoulder sleeves. It accentuates my curves, the deep color making my skin glow, but the neckline feels restrictive. I twist, swaying slightly, and while the movement comes easily, it doesn’t feel like me. I need more, more presence, more authority.

Pam’s eyes glitter as she holds up the third gown. Midnight blue, nearly black, threaded with a subtle glimmer that catches the light like distant stars. My breath catches. The fabric feels soft yet structured, draping perfectly over my hips and thighs. The neckline plunges daringly along my breasts, leaving my throat bare, exposing the clean line of my collarbone. It makes me feel powerful, and exposed, in a way that thrills me.

The slit up the left side makes walking effortless, letting me move freely without a trace of self-consciousness. I turn slowly in front of the mirror, feeling the weight of attention and authority settle around me. My pulse quickens, not from nerves, but from certainty. I know I’ve found the one.

“It’s this one,” I whisper, almost reverently.

Pam’s approving smile tells me she understands without needing another word.

I try on the fourth gown anyway, a deep violet with intricate embroidery along the bodice and flowing chiffon panels. It’s stunning in its own right. I slip it on, letting the delicate fabric trail behind me, but when I glance at my reflection, it feels ornamental rather than commanding. Beautiful, yes, but not the statement I want to make when I step into court the first time beside Eric.

My gaze drifts back to the midnight blue gown. I trace the plunging neckline with my fingers and exhale slowly.

“This one,” I say, my voice steady, confidence blooming. “Beyond a doubt.”

Pam’s eyes gleam with pride and delight. “Of course,” she says softly. “It shows authority, elegance, and no one will forget you in this.”

I put the blue dress back on and let it settle around me. The bond with Eric pulses faintly under my collar bone, and I know he will approve when he sees it too. This is the dress that carries my presence and our connection - a signal of what, and who, I truly am.

Pam circles me once more in the midnight-blue gown, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then she gives a small, satisfied nod.

“For this one, we will need to have the length adjusted slightly” she says lightly, almost casual, “I also suspect Eric already has something in mind to finish the look.”
I still. “Something in mind?”

Her smile stays faint, unreadable. “An accessory. One that says exactly what it needs to say… without saying too much.” She waves a hand before I can press her. “You’ll see. she adds briskly, “Now let’s talk about shoes.”

She kneels with efficient grace, pulling boxes from one of the bags. Heels first - sleek black stilettos that make my legs look miles long. Then a pair in deep sapphire, echoing the gown’s glimmer without competing with it. Pam watches me walk, turn, pivot.

“You need height,” she says. “Not fragility.”

The sapphire pair earns a decisive yes.

From there, the evening becomes a study in precision. Silk and satin blouses - some sharp and structured, others soft enough to suggest approachability without inviting it. Tailored pants that fit like they were made for me. Dark denim that walks the line between casual and commanding. Jackets that change my posture the moment I slip them on.

Pam rejects anything that softens me too much or hides me at all. While they may be her go to, pastels are flatly rejected.

“You are not a porcelain princess,” she says, her lips curving faintly. “We want others to see a Valkyrie - beautiful, yes, but lethal when provoked.”

Shoes follow. Flats for speed. Boots for authority. Sunglasses - oversized, angular, unapologetic.

“Never underestimate the power of anonymity,” Pam remarks dryly as she sets a particularly severe pair aside with approval.

Piece by piece, the living room transforms. Neat, deliberate piles form on the couch and floor. Endless yes stacks, sorted by purpose and mood. Court. Business. Casual. Combat and combat-adjacent, though Pam never uses those words. The no piles gather just as carefully and are moved into the dining room, ready to be returned without ceremony.

When we finally stop, I look around in quiet disbelief. The living room feels full - orderly, intentional, unmistakably mine. I’ll worry about getting it all into the bedroom closet later.

Pam straightens and dusts off her hands.

“There,” she says coolly. “Now you won’t just be seen in whatever room you walk into. You’ll be recognized as someone who decides who gets to walk away.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 24 - Maniacs

By the time we finish the fashion show, my nerves have coiled into something restless and tight. I slip into a new matching yoga set, soft and flexible, and pace the living room. Excess energy hums under my skin, demanding release. Training. Sparring. Something physical. I need to move, run, dance, anything to quiet my nerves.
“I want to train,” I say finally, glancing around the immaculate space. “But I really don’t want to be the one who cracks a floor or dents a wall in here.” I sigh. “I suppose we could go out to the gardens,” I add halfheartedly, cold rain pounding outside and making wet training deeply unappealing.

Pam arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You mean he hasn’t shown you the training room?”

I freeze. “The what?”

I’ve explored the house. Thoroughly. We’ve been in every room, the pool house, the sauna, the gardens…sometimes more than once, sometimes with very little awareness of where we were at all. I stare at her, stunned. “What room, Pam?”

Her grin turns sharp, lethal, and unmistakably pleased. “Follow me.”

She leads me down into the entertainment room, past the bar and wide seating area, straight toward the wall of screens behind the pool table. Without hesitation, Pam reaches behind one of the screens. A soft, almost imperceptible click sounds.

The wall shifts.

Two panels slide silently aside, revealing a hidden opening. A short set of stairs descends into another basement level, the air noticeably cooler as we step down. My pulse quickens - not from fear, but from that familiar thrill of discovery.

The room below sprawls wide and unfinished, all concrete walls and open space. Bare. Utilitarian. Industrial lights cast clean white light across the floor. The ceiling and floor are padded with mats, clearly meant to help muffle sound. More thick mats are stacked neatly in one corner, while a rack with a few weapons rests opposite.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs, slowly taking it all in.

“Oh,” I breathe. This is exactly the space I need.

Pam watches my reaction with open satisfaction. “This is where things stop being decorative.” Her smug expression promises trouble, in the best way.

Her eyes sweep the room - mats, weapons, empty space meant for impact, then land on me with pointed appraisal.

“No mirrors. No spectators. No mercy for bad habits,” she adds. “You can bleed here. You can fail here. And if you do it properly, you won’t do either when it matters.”
A beat. Pam’s mouth curves, sharp and satisfied.

“Think of it as the place where a fairy can learn not to shatter.”

She doesn’t ask if I’m ready.

She moves.

One second she stands there, elegant and still; the next she blurs with bone-deep intent. I barely manage to brace before her shoulder slams into my chest, driving me against the concrete wall just hard enough to rattle my teeth.

Pain flares, sharp, clarifying, and I laugh as I push off it.

“Good,” I snap, launching myself at her.

We collide mid-room, fists and forearms meeting with bone-jarring force. She catches my strike, twists, and uses my momentum to fling me upward. I call on my magic, shifting the air before I hit the ceiling, cushioning the impact. The displaced air booms as I hit the ceiling. I twist and land in a crouch just as she comes at me again.

No holding back.

I catch her by the throat, my magic bending the air, amplifying the force behind my arm, and I drive her into the opposite wall. Concrete spiderwebs spread behind her head. Pam hisses - not in pain, but approval, then kicks off the wall, wraps her legs around my torso, and throws us across the room. We hit the floor in a brutal roll, the pile of mats scattering as we tear through them.

“You’ve been itching for this,” she says coolly, even as I elbow her in the throat.

“So have you,” I shoot back.

She slams me flat, drags me up by my arm, and throws me straight into what remains of the mat pile. I twist at the last second, catch myself, and snarl as I push off the floor, mats flying into the wall with a thwack behind me.

The bond flares faintly in the back of my mind. I send a wave of excitement and strength through it, careful to try to not worry Eric.

I charge again.

This time I don’t stop when she blocks me. Magic surges through me as I drive forward, lifting her clean off the ground, and I hurl her into the far wall. Pam rebounds instantly, using the impact to launch herself back at me like a missile.

We collide. I jump, holding onto her, and we hit the ceiling together.

Dust rains down. I grab her wrist; she grabs my hair. We slam each other down in opposite directions, landing hard enough to steal my breath.

We lie there for half a heartbeat.

Then Pam laughs - low, sharp, delighted.

“There it is,” she says as she rises smoothly. “There’s the Valkyrie.”

I push myself up, bruised, aching, grinning anyway. “You’re not exactly going easy.”

“Why would I?” she says, one perfectly groomed brow lifting. Her eyes rake over you, slow and assessing, like she’s pricing a weapon. “You’re not delicate. Not with that magic in your veins and my Master’s blood backing it.”

A thin smile curves her mouth. “And frankly, I was curious how far you’d go before you stopped pretending to be so damn polite about it.”

I square my shoulders, magic humming, every nerve alive. “Then don’t stop.”

Pam smiles at me like a blade being drawn. Like maniacs, we go at it again.

She shifts tactics - less brute force, more precision. She baits, redirects, and punishes my hesitation. I answer with raw power, magic flaring as I drive her back, slamming her into the wall, then blunt the rebound when she sends me skidding across the matted floor.

I roll, spring up, and launch back toward her…and the air shifts.

No sound. No warning. Just a pressure change so sharp my instincts scream half a second too late.

Eric is there.

He stands near the stairs, impossibly still after arriving at vampire speed, eyes flicking between Pam and I, both of us dusted with concrete. The bond flares from him, sharp-edged concern threaded with confusion.

Pam notices him first. Instantly she stops, drops her stance and inclines her head. “Master.”

I move a heartbeat later. I pull up from my last launch, the displaced force exploding outward instead. A blast of air rushes across the room, rattling lights and scattering dust. My breath comes sharp as adrenaline drains enough for awareness to return.

I straighten and look at him. Despite aching muscles and sweat cooling on my skin, I smile unapologetically, a little wild and disheveled.

“I needed to burn some energy,” I say honestly. “And nerves.”

His gaze sweeps over me - checking, assessing - then flicks to the cracked walls, the mats scattered on the floor, Pam’s disheveled hair. He stays composed, but through the bond I feel relief first, then pride, dark and unmistakable.

Pam breaks the silence. “She’s…less terrible,” she says dryly. “Which, considering my expectations, counts as improvement,” she says coolly. Pam pauses, her eyes flicking over me with clinical disinterest. “Her hand-to-hand skills are not…embarrassing either.” Her lips curling faintly.\

“I can see that,” Eric replies.

He looks back at me, approval clear, along with understanding. This isn’t recklessness. This is part of who I am.

“Next time,” he says evenly, “you warn me before attempting to bring the house down - and challenge me instead.”

I wipe my hands on my leggings, smiling. “Deal.”

Eric approaches, calm and deliberate, a faint smirk at his mouth. Without a word, he raises his arm, bites his wrist - quick and precise - and holds it out.

“Here,” he murmurs. “Before you bruise.”

My heart stutters. I press my mouth to the wound, tasting him, warm, metallic, rich. A shiver races down my spine as the bond thrums, steadying me, amplifying euphoria and adrenaline.

Pam inclines her head a fraction, satisfaction flickering coldly across her features.

“These lessons,” she says, voice smooth and bored in equal measure, “are becoming…amusing.”

Eric turns to her. “You may go.”

Pam inclines her head, gives me one last appraising look softening her sharpness. “You may actually have potential with this,” she murmurs.

That’s a compliment.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

She leaves, footsteps echoing, and Eric and I are alone.

I exhale and lean lightly against him, tasting him still, his cool presence steady at my back. The air between us crackles with unspoken promises.

His grip tightens slightly at my hip. “I felt a disturbance earlier in both of your bonds. I came to see if it was concerning.”

I draw a breath, leaning subtly into his touch. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

My gaze flicks briefly around the room. “Pam and I just needed to burn off some steam. It’s been… good for us. Building trust... Our own relationship such as it is.”

There’s no defensiveness in my tone, just honesty.

“And I’m fine,” I add, quietly. “By the way we picked a dress, Pam is having it adjusted” I say over my shoulder. My body begins to register the aftermath - aching muscles, blooming bruises already easing from his blood. “I need a drink and a shower.”

Heading to the kitchen I pour myself some water and drink deeply. When I turn, Eric leans against the wall in the hallway, watching me with that careful, cataloging gaze.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” he says quietly.

I lift a hand. He stops. I meet his eyes. “I don’t expect to have to fight all the time. But I also want to be ready, I won’t be left standing vulnerable on the sidelines.”

The bond tightens, his concern wrestling with his pride, and I feel it then, the surge through the bond. Typical territorial behavior. That blunt, neanderthal-like need to shield, to remove me from danger altogether.

“Eric.” I hold up a hand and he stops mid-thought. I meet his eyes, steady and unflinching. “I’m not saying I want to be on the front lines all the time either.” He waits, jaw tight.

“But if I have to - if things go sideways, if someone makes it necessary, I won’t be left waiting for danger to arrive and mow me over,” I continue, my voice calm but firm. “I will not be a bystander caught in the crossfire ever again, and you can't tell me it can't happen. As much as I know you will try to prevent it.”

The bond shifts in my chest, tension rippling through it as he absorbs what I’ve said. Concern wars with pride. Fear with respect. “We’ve been over this,” I remind him gently. “And we both need to remember that politics can kill just as efficiently as blades. I’ve already survived both. I won’t pretend I’m fragile just to make you comfortable, or so you can put me on a pedestal.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he steps closer, close enough that I could feel the coolness of him, the weight of his presence without it pressing down on me. “You are not fragile,” he says finally, voice low and deliberate. “And I do not wish to cage you.”

His thumb brushes my wrist, grounding rather than restraining. “While I would prefer that you not put yourself at risk. I only wish to be certain that when you choose to stand in the fire, you do so because it is your will, not because you believe you must prove something.”

I soften my stance, just a little. “I know the difference.”

His gaze holds mine, searching, and he inclines his head not a command. An acknowledgment.

“Very well,” he says. “But you will allow me to stand with you, and you will listen to me if I say so."

A slow, knowing smile curves my mouth as I lift my glass. “That, my viking” I say lightly, meeting his eyes, “I can handle.”

I take another sip of water, thinking about steam and heat and washing the dust of concrete and adrenaline from my skin, as I head for the stairs. Not surprising by the time I make it to our bedroom, all of my clothes from tonight are already in the closet, he is naked and is already starting the water for the shower. Sometimes vampire speed has its perks.

The heat of the water is immediate, cascading over my shoulders and down my body as I step in. I close my eyes, letting the tension from my activities tonight, the lingering ache, slide away under the torrent of the overhead rain shower. I open my eyes to see Eric fully under the stream, his presence filling the space, pressing into me with a soft embrace.

Without a word, his hands grab my body wash and start massaging me, deliberate, slow, tracing over my shoulders, down my arms, rubbing the curve of every line, massaging the strength that lingers beneath my skin. Turning, I lean into Eric’s touch, letting my own fingers glide over the planes of his chest, across the hard muscles that flex under my touch.

We take our time, unhurried, deliberate, the intimacy quiet and reverent rather than hungry. I shift closer, opening myself to him without a word, letting his hands move with careful assurance as Eric washes me, thorough and attentive. The water sheets over us, steam softening melting away any remaining soreness from all of my activities this evening.

When it’s my turn, I smile and reach for him, fingers sliding into his hair as I work the soap through slowly, massaging until he exhales that low, satisfied sound I love. I make certain not a single place goes neglected, my hands learning and relearning him until he is rinsed clean and gleaming beneath the lights.

I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a thick, dark towel, and rub my hair dry, watching him through the fogged mirror. Water beads along his shoulders, his reflection calm and unreadable in that way that always makes me look twice.

Relaxed now, I sense something slightly off, a sour tension hovering within our bond. “Was everything okay at Fangtasia tonight?” I ask, casual on the surface, studying his expression carefully.

“It was,” he replies, reaching for a towel of his own. “However, there’s been an issue reported in Area Two. I just got the update, the sheriff there - Cleo - will be bringing the matter forward tomorrow night in person.”

I pause, towel still in my hands.

“There is a matter regarding a portal there,” he continues evenly, “and two vampires apparently were hunting for fae near it last week, despite my edict to bring anyone found using the portals to me.”

My head snaps up, heart thudding hard enough that I feel it in my throat. “Do they have someone? Do you know who?”

Almost as if the question itself summons it, the brand on my shoulder flickers, warm, sharp, and unmistakably alive. I hiss softly, fingers tightening in the towel as the sensation blooms and fades, leaving behind a pulse of warning that settles deep in my bones.

Eric’s eyes are on me instantly now, no mirror needed. He closes the distance between us in two quiet steps, his hands warm and steady as they settle on my arms. “Easy, lover,” he murmurs, smoothing his thumb along my skin until my breathing evens out. “We will learn all we can tomorrow night.”

His gaze holds mine, anchoring. “ I will share anything else I learn, but Cleo was still dealing with it when we spoke earlier. Her update was that she would be bringing the vampires here tomorrow night, given that they had broken my edict and that it involves fae.”

I nod, though the worry doesn’t quite leave my eyes.

“Do not fret,” he continues, his voice calm. “We will see this through. And if there is retribution or punishment to be had…” his voice becoming icy and lethal, “it will be dispatched.”

There’s no bluster in it. Just certainty.

Leaning into him I let out a slow breath, accepting the reassurance even as my thoughts continue to churn. “All right,” I say quietly. “I’ll try to reach Claudine again during the day. Maybe she’ll have an update from Faery.”

Eric inclines his head, approval flickering across his expression. “Good. Information from both sides will serve us better.”

We settle together on the bed and I rest my cheek briefly against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of my pulse. Calmer now.

“Enough for tonight, dawn is soon” he murmurs, thumb brushing my jaw. “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”

The weight of the evening finally catches up with me, my exhaustion unspooling all at once. I barely have time to register the quiet, the warmth, the steady sense of safety before sleep claims me. I slip under without dreams, sinking into a deep, silent rest.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 - Missing

I wake to soft daylight and the quiet realization that it was already past one in the afternoon. I feel rested, deeply so, which is a relief. Tonight would test me on more than one level, and I will need every scrap of strength and focus I have, especially if the news is…I shake my head dismissing the thought.

I dress quickly and head for the kitchen, fixing myself a solid meal and a strong cup of coffee. Once the edge of hunger is gone, I pour a second cup and carry it out to the patio, settling myself in the cool afternoon sun.

Closing my eyes, I center myself. Magic answers intent best when it is clear. Focusing. I reach inward, drawing on both will and blood, and speak aloud to anchor it.

“I need you, Cousin. Claudine here my request.”

The words linger in the air. A minute passes. Then another. Just as I begin to wonder if I’d misjudged, the space in front of me shimmers, light bending strangely before snapping back into place with a soft pop.

Claudine stands on the patio.

Her long hair was pulled back from her face, revealing her sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Her dress seems to float rather than hang, fabric moving with an effortless grace that marks her as unmistakably sky fae. She smiles as soon as she sees me.

“Greetings Cousin, I apologize for not coming sooner, but things have been happening with a swiftness we didn’t fully anticipate.” She crosses the patio and sits opposite me on a chaise, folding her long legs beneath her. Her gaze sharpens, and I can feel her magic unfurl, brushing against mine as she looks past what her eyes alone could see.

“You have changed,” she says quietly. “Your magic sits differently now.”

She leans forward slightly, eyes intent. “I knew your heart and your mind were aligned, Sookie…but I did not expect you to step so fully into the current so soon.” She pauses. “It is stronger than before. And there is something else, a deeper connection. I can see it woven around you.”

“We’ve bonded,” I say simply, watching her reaction. “We’re still learning each other’s limits and expectations. It hasn’t been without… its adjustments.” I smile faintly. “But Sera’s friendship, and her honesty about what I was committing to, has helped more than I can say.”

Claudine studies me for a long moment, then inclines her head. “We each walk our own path, Cousin. That yours continues, by your own volition, to tangle with vampires is… unusual. But if you are truly determined to stand here, between worlds and races, this may serve you rather than hinder you.” Her gaze sharpens. “I trust you are being careful?”

I nod. “Yes. Of course. I am monitoring my abilities and my light, being careful on exposing or sharing my power with.” The words echo conversations I’ve had with Niall more than once, about my power, my joining the Adra, my choice to claim Eric as my own. None of it goes unnoticed. My path will draw attention not just for what I can do, but for what I represent: a member of the ruling house of Fae who can stand as an emissary, a bridge between courts, a visible and renewed presence for those fae who choose to remain earthside. It also makes me a weakness, a distraction and a target if I am not aware, alert and careful.

“I didn’t call just to catch up,” I say softly. “Are there any updates?”

Claudine’s expression tightens. “There is news. Not all of it good.”

She draws a measured breath. “Two new tears have opened in Faery. Royal guards and members of the Adra were dispatched to deal with the attack. The beasts were destroyed and the tears sealed, but this time, we encountered something new.”

My grip tightens around the coffee mug.

“It appeared as a man,” she continues, “but also of the shadows. It is old, ancient in its force and power. No one was able to approach closely enough to truly read or sense it.”

She shakes her head slightly. “We are certain the power emanating from it is part of the source of the tears, but that is all we know for now. Niall has the record keepers combing the archives for any mention of the Vale, or of this ancient one.”

I nod, absorbing the implications but already sensing there was more.

“Two of the Adra are also missing,” Claudine says softly. “Nia and Autumnly. They were both involved in the attack. We believe they were pulled through the tear - into the Vale. From there, we lost their trail.”

My stomach sinks.

“They’re not dead,” she adds quickly. “Sylvie can still sense them both. But they may be trapped in the Vale… or have crossed into another realm entirely, we aren’t sure.”

She meets my eyes, grave and steady. “The vampires have gone to the Noctis Vale. As it is easiest for them to navigate - shadows, twilight, liminal paths.”

“So that means Sera…” I say quietly.

“…is with Valerius and Cassian,” Claudine finishes. “They have stealth, strength, and several millennia on their side. They will return when they have answers.”

I take a slow breath and trying to distract myself I lay out the details of the plans for my upcoming presentation at Eric’s court. My gown, chosen not for its softness but for power; the expectations of tradition, posture, and possessive decorum. I speak to my Cousin of the bond as well, not just as romance, but as mark and claim, and the declaration that will place me unmistakably at his side in a room full of predators who measure worth in strength, capability and permanence.

She listens in silence, almond eyes scanning me as if weighing every word, measuring the shift in my aura and the new strength that has settled into me since bonding with Eric. Her expression stays carefully reserved, but a subtle nod tells me she understands.

After a moment of quiet, she extends her hands. A faint shimmer of magic dances across her palms, and a small, perfectly shaped box appears.

“Then you will be needing these,” she says softly, her voice carrying that weight of certainty that always made me stop and listen.

I blink, taking the box from her carefully. “And this is?”

“Exactly what you will need, when the time is right.” she confirms, her smile light but knowing, as if she could see the careful choreography of what was ahead of me already playing out in her mind.

I lift an eyebrow. “Of course?”

“Of course,” she says again, her smile lingering, carrying both encouragement and quiet amusement. “You wouldn’t be prepared any other way, Cousin. You will know when they are needed, use them to give you strength and ground yourself in your abilities.”

I tuck the box against my chest, a small thrill of anticipation running through me. Claudine’s magic and insight never failed to make the impossible feel possible, and going forward that certainty would be invaluable.

I open the box and lift out two rings. The first was wide, white gold, etched with a repeating hummingbird pattern - my own Brigant sigil. I slip it onto my middle finger, and it fits perfectly, as if it had always belonged there.

Then my gaze falls on the second ring. It bears the full crest of Brigant, set among yellow sapphires that catch the light like tiny suns. I study it carefully, running my thumb over the intricate setting and engraving.

“I’m not sure that I want to announce this particular detail yet,” I say thoughtfully to Claudine. “Given current tensions between vampires and fae, we are keeping this between us for now.”

She nods, understanding. Claudine’s almond eyes glimmer as she studies me. “Wisely spoken,” she says softly. “Either way, it is yours to use when you are ready. Your tiara is waiting as well.”

I raise an eyebrow, suppressing a groan. That damn tiara. I’d worn it once, only once, for my formal presentation to the Faery Court with Niall, then sealed it back in its velvet-lined chest as quickly as courtesy allowed. It was all delicate filigree and pale shimmer, a frilly traditional circlet of metal designed to suggest fragility, obedience, and ornamental grace.

It didn’t speak of survival or strength. It didn’t belong to a warrior. It was a crown meant to remind others you were to be looked at, not listened to.

Claudine’s smirk told me she knew full well how much I despised it. Her amusement was faint, sharp, and utterly knowing. We spent a little more time catching up, sharing news and laughter, her presence both supportive and otherworldly. As the afternoon wanes, I know it was time to let her go.

“I should bid you farewell,” I say, rising.

“Be careful, Cousin,” she says softly. “The Vale grows stronger, I will keep you updated if there is news on Nia or Autumnly.

Once she disappears with that familiar, quiet pop, I step back inside and lock the patio door behind me.

I curl up on the couch and pull the blanket tight, but Claudine’s presence and the weight of this evening still thrum in my chest. My nerves refuse to settle. My thoughts jump from one imagined nightmare to the next. My friends, trapped, hurt…or worse. I try to nap, try to coax my body into rest, but every time my eyes close, images of what might be unfolding for my friends run behind my eyes.

After a while, I give up and turn on the television, hoping the mindless chatter and flickering images will distract me. I wrap the blanket tighter and let the warmth and the low hum of sound pull me into a shallow doze. Somewhere between a forgotten sitcom and a scrolling news ticker, my body finally surrenders, dreams drifting loosely torn between magic and mortality.

A quiet click of a door and a soft shift of air wake me.

Eric’s presence settles instantly through the bond…calm, steady, grounding me before his voice even reaches me. “My lover, you should wake. We need to get ready,” he murmurs, patient, threaded with the quiet authority I know better than to resist.

I blink and rub sleep from my eyes, noting we have less than an hour before full dusk. What I have learned is UV filtering glass protects him through the main part of the house with the sun this low on the horizon. I slip off the couch and head for the bathroom, where the water already runs warm and inviting. I take my time in the shower, letting the heat wash away the last of my sleep and some of the tightness in my shoulders.

When I step out, I quickly dry and fix my hair into a messy updo with pieces falling down my back and head for the closet. Selecting a black silk top, form fitting dark leather skirt and jacket, adding a heeled boot, knowing that Pam will appreciate my choices for this evening.

Eric suddenly joins me in the closet, just as I am putting my ring back on my hand.

Eric’s gaze sweeps over me, taking in the outfit, the hair, and boots. Then, with a fluid, confident step, he moves closer, closing the space between us. His eyes are intent, dark, and filled with that familiar, possessive fire.

“You look… ravishing,” he murmurs, his voice low, reverent, and edged with hunger. “Do you know how fortunate I am, to have you as mine?”

A warmth spreads through me at the words, a shiver that had little to do with my appearance. I feel the weight and pride of his gaze, the way he truly sees me, not just as a companion or a bonded, but as someone he cherishes and claims.

Then his eyes drift to my hand, lingering on the ring that Claudine had given me. His expression sharpens with interest. “That ring,” he says softly, brushing his thumb across the metal.

I hold out my hand, steady despite the flutter in my chest. “Claudine brought it. A gift. ” I begin to explain.

“It’s my fae sigil, designed just for me while I was there. Niall had it made for me - my own mark, to use as I need.”

Eric’s gaze sharpens as he studies the ring, his thumb brushing over the etched hummingbird pattern. “The hummingbird,” he murmurs, dark eyes glinting with interest. “Your way of representing your roots… Hummingbird Road. Your home.”

I feel a thrill at his observation, though I am not surprised. Eric always manages to see everything, connecting the details with that razor-sharp mind of his. I smile at him, a mix of pride and quiet delight. “Exactly,” I say softly.

He studies my hand for another moment, the corner of his mouth tugging into that faint, approving smile that always makes me weak in the knees. “It suits you… perfectly. Like it was always meant to be yours,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to meet mine.

I fill Eric in on what Claudine shared earlier, keeping my voice level and measured even as my thoughts map the unseen currents tightening around us, Faery, the missing Adra, and whatever it is that is clever enough to be creating the tears and manipulating the portals. I don’t dramatize it. I don’t need to. Eric listens without interrupting, his attention sharp, predatory, weighing consequences as easily as breath.

At last, he nods once, slow and deliberate. “Then we’ll see what other information Cleo brings when she arrives at Fangtasia tonight.”

I gather my things and throw together a quick dinner while Eric finishes up in his study. The house feels quiet but charged, that low awareness humming through the bond. When he finally joins me in the kitchen, jacket already on, his attention sharpens on me.

“I’ll be tied up before Cleo arrives. There are some other matters I need to address...privately.”

“That’s fine,” I reply, grabbing my bag. “I can entertain myself for a bit.”

His mouth curves faintly. “I’ll come collect you.”

We take Eric's silver Audi from the garage for a change, the engine smooth and powerful beneath us as the city slips by. When we pull up to Fangtasia, the night is still young. The line is short, the club only just opening for the night.

Inside, Eric pauses near the stairs. “Keep yourself busy for a bit,” he says quietly. “I’ll be in my office, but don’t wander too far.”

I smile. “Define far.”

His eyes flick briefly with amusement. “I’ll know where you are.”

That settles it.

I decide to explore the club on my own, restless energy pushing me forward. The main floor hums softly, music building, bodies filtering in. I take the stairs up and wander the second floor taking it all in, discovering the two smaller bars tucked into the upper level. There are more booths up here and a handful of tables positioned to overlook the dance floor below. The railing is a sleek elegant statement. A massive modern chandelier dominates the space hanging over the dancefloor, with four lyra rings suspended slightly lower around it.

I pause, studying them, and then it occurs to me. So that was Pam’s solution. The stripper poles had gotten a subtle quiet upgrade as well - classy.

I round the corner behind a pillar starting to make my way back towards the stairs, letting my eyes scan the red booths and chairs. The smell of polished wood, spilled drinks, and faint hint of blood hangs in the air. Everything seems normal, or as normal as Fangtasia ever is, but instinct prickles along my spine.

Before I can react, a hand clamps over my arm, strong and unyielding. I’m yanked sideways into the nearest booth, the vinyl seat cold beneath me.

I look at my would-be abductor. Short blonde tresses curl just enough to catch the light, framing a face that’s both familiar in its angles and wrong in its symmetry. Her dull blue-brown eyes lock onto mine with a slow, deliberate interest, sizing me up. Attractive enough to distract for a heartbeat, but not stunning - her round face clashes with cheekbones sharp enough to slice the light, her nose delicate yet commanding.

She leans closer, flashing in a wicked grin. “Well, hello, you must be the new distraction keeping his majesty so occupied of late.” she says, her voice silk over steel.
I shove back instinctively at her, but the booth’s narrow space limits movement and she doesn’t budge. Her smile doesn’t waver; if anything, it deepens, a slow curve that promises mischief - and danger.

My pulse spikes, I calm it down. I pull back slightly, keeping my hands between us. “Who are you?” I ask, voice sharp. I focus on keeping the bond quiet for the moment, waiting for the right moment to call Eric through the bond.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting in the dim overhead light. “Names are for friends,” she purrs. “And I don’t think we’re friends…yet”

The booth feels smaller now, the air tighter, charged with something I can’t quite name. Her fangs, her confidence, the predatory tilt of her head, it all screams: I’m testing you.

I can feel the weight of her intent, subtle, restrained, but deliberate. She’s not here to chat. And I am not about to make this easy for her, but I am also not about to reveal myself now, not fully.

I lean in, close enough that she can absolutely hear the promise in my voice. “Here’s why you just made a big mistake, chickypoo. Because while I could fry your ass, like first degree burns under the high noon sun, I’m not going to.” I pause, layering it on with a smile, “because I happen to belong to a merciless, over-a-thousand-years-dead vampire who does not give a fuck about anyone but himself and what is his. And seeing as I am his, and this is his house, I’m pretty sure this is the part where you should start begging.”

For the first time, something flickers in her eyes. She grabs my arm, her fangs descend.

I’ve got her full attention now, but I’ve had my fill of this game. I open my end of the bond up wide and yank, hard.

Get here. Now.

I stiffen as her grip on my arm tightens, fingers biting just enough to bruise. She leans closer, eyes glittering with calculated amusement. Her fangs flash - short, sharp, deliberate.

A full second doesn’t even pass.

Eric is there.

He fills the narrow space at the mouth of the booth, blocking her exit completely, tall and terrible and utterly still. Blonde hair loose around his face, blue eyes so dark they are virtually black. The air shifts around him, pressure dropping like the moment before a storm breaks. Conversations nearby falter, silence descends across the floor.

The blonde’s hand jerks back from my arm like she’s been burned.

Eric doesn’t look at me. His gaze locks on her, cold and precise.

“Rory Whitlock,” he says calmly.

Her face suddenly breaks. “King Eric…”

“Your Queen will hear of this transgression,” he continues, voice smooth as polished steel. “I’m sure Arkansas will rejoice knowing that your relentless ambition continues to feed your poor impulse control, as well as your persistent inability to understand jurisdiction or our laws.”

She slides to the edge of the booth on shaking legs, head bowing reflexively. “I meant no disrespect. I didn’t know she was…”

Eric moves.

Not fast. Not flashy. Just moves.

He grips her throat and lifts her clean off the floor, slamming her back against the pillar with a crack that echoes through the upper level. The booth rattles. Glass trembles. Every vampire within sight freezes.

“You knew,” Eric says mildly. “You sensed the bond and decided to test it.”

Her feet kick uselessly. “I, I was curious…”

He tightens his grip just enough to make the lesson unforgettable. “Curiosity is a luxury you do not possess in my kingdom.”

His eyes flick briefly to me, checking. Making sure. Then I watch them return to her, colder than before.

“You touched what is mine,” he says. “You will never do so again.”

She chokes out a sound that might be a plea.

Eric leans closer, voice dropping so low it vibrates in my bones. “You will return to Arkansas. You will inform your Queen that Fangtasia is not a hunting ground. And if I hear your name spoken in connection with what is mine again…” His fangs slide down, just enough. “...there will be no warning.”

Eric doesn’t release her so much as discard her.

He pivots, one smooth, economical movement, and hurls Rory Whitlock over the railing. Her scream cuts sharp and short as she plummets, body twisting helplessly before she slams into the dance floor below with a bone‑jarring crack. The music stutters. The lights flicker. Every vampire in Fangtasia goes dead still.

Silence follows. Thick. Absolute.

Eric remains at the railing, hands relaxed at his sides, chest rising once with controlled fury. His eyes burn as he looks down at the crumpled courtier below, already struggling to move, dignity shattered beyond repair.

He doesn’t raise his voice often.

When he does, the room listens.

“See that she is removed,” Eric bellows, the command rolling through the club like thunder. “Roscoe.”

Roscoe appears instantly from the shadows near the bar, posture snapping straight. “Yes, my King.”

“Permanently barred,” Eric adds coldly. “If she so much as breathes Louisiana air again without my consent first, end her.”

Roscoe inclines his head. “Understood.”

Below us, Rory tries to push herself upright. Two enforcers are on her before she can manage it, hauling her up without ceremony. She doesn’t look back. She can’t afford to.

Eric turns from the railing and faces the upper level. His gaze sweeps the booths, the balconies, every vampire who witnessed the fall.

“Let this be clear,” he says, voice level now, but far more dangerous for it. “My house is not a proving ground. My companion is not a curiosity. And my patience”, his eyes flash, “is not infinite.”

No one speaks. No one moves.

Then his hand finds my lower back, solid and possessive, grounding. The bond hums low and satisfied, his fury ebbing just enough for me to breathe again.

“Come,” he says quietly, for me alone.

We head back downstairs, the bass thumping low and steady, the club already pretending nothing happened. I slide onto a stool at the main bar and brace my elbows against the polished wood.

“Bourbon,” I tell the bartender.

He’s a vampire I don’t recognize, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Fangtasia has expanded, and so has the staff. Most of the human servers are newer too, moving with practiced efficiency, eyes down, nerves tight but controlled.

The bartender sets the glass in front of me without comment. I take a slow sip, letting the burn ground me.

I scan the room. No Pam.

Eric leans in close behind me, one hand settling briefly at my waist. His presence is a steady weight at my back, reassuring and dangerous all at once.

“Stay here for a few minutes,” he says quietly, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “I need to finish a meeting in my office.”

I glance up at him. “I’m sorry you were interrupted."

“You made the right call, she did not” he says, his rage carefully banked for now but still there.

“Thank you.”

His thumb presses lightly at my spine, a silent promise threaded through the bond. You’re safe. I’m not far.

“Do not leave the bar,” he adds, eyes flicking once across the room, already assessing. “If anyone approaches you without my consent..”

“I scream, throw a drink, or slice them through,” I finish.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “In that order, preferably.”

He straightens, already turning away. “I will not be long.”

I nod and take another sip of bourbon as he disappears into the crowd, the space he vacates filling almost immediately with the low murmur of conversation restarting around me. My arm aches faintly, nerves from earlier returning. I spy Indira sitting now at the end of the bar, her watchful eyes providing oversight - another precaution.

As I sit, I let my awareness stretch outward, listening through the club for anything out of place, especially after what happened. I push a little farther, brushing the edges of my magic outward as well, searching for any familiar trace of the Adra. I think of my friends, reach, listen - nothing distinct answers back.

Then a hand settles lightly on my shoulder.

Warm. Careful. I get a flash of something red…sharp, teeth and tearing.

“Hey there,” a male voice says easily. “You always sit alone at a bar in a vampire nightclub looking lost in thought?”

I pull myself back into the moment and turn toward him. He’s already taken the stool beside me, a beer in his hand. He’s big, almost Eric’s height, with a muscular build, rich olive skin, and striking purple eyes fixed on mine.

“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling slowly. “I was distracted. Were you asking me something?”

He smiles back, open and warm. “I was hoping to get your name. It’s not every night you see someone like you sitting alone in a place like this.”

Interesting.

I brush his mind gently with my telepathy and catch flashes of claws, stripes - feral strength beneath control. Definitely a were. That explains the eyes.

“Well,” I say, turning towards him slightly, “I’m Sookie. And you are?”

“John Quinn,” he replies. “But everyone calls me Quinn.” His gaze sharpens, searching, like he’s trying to decide exactly what I am.

“Nice to meet you, Quinn.” I take another sip of bourbon. “I’m waiting on some business in the back tonight and am killing time with a drink. What brings you to Fangtasia?”

“Work,” he says easily. “I’m actually meeting with one of the owners about an event. I help run a special events branch of Extreme(ly Elegant) Events, E(E)E.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card.

I glance at it, then back up at him. “Oh really? I happen to know the owners. Who are you meeting with?”

“Me.”

I jump slightly as Pam’s voice cuts in behind me. I hadn’t felt her approach at all.

She steps into view, impeccably dressed, eyes glittering with amusement as she looks between Quinn and me.

I look fully at Pam, and end up caught in her gaze as she raises an eyebrow. Her gaze flicks pointedly to the spot on my shoulder where his hand had rested briefly minutes before.

Cheese and rice. Twice in one night. Are you fucking kidding me!

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. The look alone carries a thousand implications, most of them inconvenient and at least half of them dangerous.

I lift my glass and take a measured sip, schooling my expression into something neutral and innocent. “What?” I ask lightly, even as my pulse kicks up a tad.

Pam’s lips curve, slow and sharp. “Nothing,” she says. “I’m sure Eric will find it… fascinating.”

Pam’s attention settles on Quinn, all business now. “I’m ready for you,” she says coolly. “Follow me.”

Quinn rises without argument, easy confidence in the way he moves. Before he turns away, he looks back at me, clearly questioning our exchange, but offering me a warm smile in return. “See you later, Sookie,” he says. “Hopefully we’ll get a chance to talk again soon.”

“We will see about that,” I reply, offering him a hesitant smile.

He follows Pam toward the back, disappearing through the doors marked Staff Only.

I toss back the rest of my bourbon, hoping it settles my nerves, and then I slide off the stool. Praying his meeting has finished, I head to find Eric now, before he catches the were’s scent on me and that cold, territorial edge slips into him, the kind that tends to have heads removed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26 - Embers

I knock on Eric’s office door, I can’t hear or sense anyone else in the room with him.

“Come in” he says.

“Any news?” I ask, my voice quiet but sharp with concern. My eyes flick to his laptop as he types, and I feel the tension in the pit of my stomach tighten.

Eric’s gaze lifts briefly, calm and unreadable. “They should be arriving anytime. I’ve told Roscoe to have them sent to the interrogation room in the basement, I’ll bring you down with me.”

I feel the familiar flare of my brand across my shoulder, a subtle pulse that sends a ripple of warmth and unease through me. My intuition sharpens. There is more to this, there always seems to be. With Nia and Autumnly still missing, this could not be coincidence. The bond between Eric and I thrums quietly, resonating with my growing certainty that something significant was about to unfold.

He nods occasionally, fingers flying over the keys as he deals with matters on his laptop, but I can feel his awareness stretching beyond the screen, sensing the tension I carry.

Not wanting to break his focus, but needing to fill him in, I ask “Can I discuss something with you?”

He looks up sharply, nostrils flaring just enough for me to notice, and then he’s there.

The distance between us disappears in a blink. His hand settles on my shoulder, firm, proprietary, the touch sending a sharp ripple through the bond. Heat. Alertness.

He already knows.

“I need to tell you something,” I say quickly, before he can speak, before that instinct sharpens into something far less patient. “Someone approached me in the bar."

He touches the exact spot on my shoulder. "I didn’t realize who, or what, he was at first. He was a were here to meet Pam. I was distracted, scanning the room, listening…”

Eric’s fingers tighten a fraction. Just enough. His eyes darken - not with fury, not yet, but with that cold, territorial focus that can still an entire room when he allows it.

“He touched you,” he says quietly. Dangerous. Certain. “You met the tiger.”

I blink, the realization hitting all at once. “Tiger?” I stare up at him. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say what he was.”

A faint curve touches Eric’s mouth, no warmth in it, no humor. Just a predatory understanding.

“He should know better.” His thumb shifts, brushing the edge of my collarbone, claiming me, scenting me. “I knew he was coming tonight to see Pam tonight.”

The pressure in his grip eases slightly, but the jealousy doesn’t disappear. I can feel it through the bond, banked, feral, waiting. Alongside it: approval. Trust.

“You told me at once,” he says, “As you should.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again, possession rolling off him in waves.

“Sookie,” he says, voice dropping to something ancient and lethal, “this does not happen again. What is mine is not touched.”

A pause. Deadly calm.

“And I will make certain he remembers where his hands do not belong.”

There’s no doubt who he means.

Before I can respond, he’s gone, down the hall toward Pam’s office in a blur of motion, the air barely stirred by his passing. I hear a bang and several thumps, a feral bloodlust pouring through the bond. Dark rage.

Moments later he’s back, perfectly composed, as if nothing at all has happened. The bond tells me otherwise - it's under control again, but not gone.

He extends his hand toward me.

“Come,” he says, already certain I will. “They’ve arrived.”

I follow Eric down the hallway and through a doorway I’ve never noticed before, tiger apparently dealt with and set aside for the moment. Later I tell myself. The air changes immediately, cooler, quieter, edged with intent. We start down a stairwell that drops into the basement, stopping at the first landing, but the steps continuing far below into further darkness.

I glance down, curiosity tugging at me.

Eric catches it and smiles, all teeth and control. “We will not be heading down to the… holding cells this evening.”

“You still have a dungeon in the basement, Eric?” I ask, not entirely surprised.

“But of course,” he replies smoothly. “And it has also seen… improvements since we expanded.”

That earns a soft huff from me. Of course it has.

“We are headed to the integration rooms,” he continues. “Come.”

We move down a long corridor lined with sterile finishes and recessed overhead lights, the aesthetic more laboratory than nightclub. Doors line both sides, identical and unmarked. The deeper we go, the louder the low hum of servers and computers becomes, a constant mechanical presence that sets my nerves on edge.

Eric turns sharply and opens an unmarked door on the right.

Inside, several vampires wait.

My attention snaps immediately to the vampiress leaning against the far wall. Even still, she radiates tension, coiled, precise, dangerous. Cleo Babbit, Sheriff of Area 2.

Her posture is immaculate, expression grim, her aura drawn tight like a blade seated in its sheath, ready to be pulled free at the slightest provocation.

Beside her, two vampires sit on the floor, silver restraints biting into their wrists and ankles. Their heads are bowed, faces carefully blank, bruises and cuts visible through torn clothes, and their bodies betray them. Fear. Guilt. Desperation. Hate. It rolls off them in waves strong enough that I don’t need telepathy to read it.

Another figure stands off to the side in the other corner of the room. I assume given his attire and position, that this is Cleo’s second. Behind him on a bench is someone small, bundled in a dark cloak, fae made boots visible beneath the hem.

The bundle shifts, barely.

My brand flares hot against my shoulder. Recognition slamming into me so hard I want to curl into a ball, yet I remain seated and composed. My eyes lock onto the small shape dread and certainty tangling like wire inside my chest.

Eric clearly can feel my spike of panic through the bond, I can sense his attention snapping sharp as steel with the barest of glances at me. I watch as he leans back against the wall, steepling his fingers together.

“Explain.”

Cleo straightens up and I watch her bow with crisp efficiency.

“My King, these two vampires have committed multiple violations of your edicts: unsanctioned feeding, interference with fae portal activity, and abduction. The captive we recovered is… not human.” She pauses. “There is also an ongoing issue in the area of this portal. I do not have sufficient manpower to address it, my King.”

Carefully I reach my telepathy outward, brushing a feather‑light touch over the bundle. The faint, flickering signature that meets me makes my throat close, confirming what I both hoped and feared.

Eric’s voice cuts through the tension. “Marius, who have you recovered?”

Just then the bundle shifts, straightening upright, the fabric slips aside, her head coming up and eyes meet mine.

I feel my whole world narrow in an instant.

Nia.

Her dark blue‑black hair was dull and matted. Her warm brown skin had turned ashy, mottled with bruises in the patterns left by iron restraints. The warmth in her cheeks was a barely visible ember. Fang marks marred the curve of her throat and arms, too many, too deep. Her body was limp, fragile in a way that made something violent and ancient coil inside me.

“Nia…” Her name left me in a cracked whisper. My hands trembling with the force of wanting to touch her…fix her…tear apart whoever had dared. I hold myself back, stilling my desires.

Eric’s voice came low, cutting, but directed at me alone. “Go to her. Tell me what they’ve done.”

I move, swift but careful, across the room and kneel beside her. I press my hand lightly to her bare shoulder, and I slide into her mind as gently as I can.

Chaos hits me first.

Damp, dank fog, she had been in the Noctis Vale. I see a flash of an arrow and a wave of golden locks, Autumnly had been with her. A portal flaring…countless dusklings slipping through as she follows in pursuit. Then ambush.

Three vampires, not two. Fear. Pain.

Harsh and repeated bites draining her. Iron biting through skin, weakening her, silencing her screams.

But beneath the trauma… Her essence glows stubborn, fierce, loyal.

Still Nia. Still fighting.

She leans weakly into me, her voice a rasp of breath.

“Sook… found you…”

Her head falls forward, exhaustion weighing her down.

I feel like my heart is being cracked open. Grief, guilt, fury…they surge so hard my vision blurs.

Eric feels it all. Through the bond comes a steadying force I need more than breath. The sensation is cool, calming. It wraps itself around my spiraling emotions like a protective arm pulling me upright.

I swallow hard, and speak, voice low but clear.

“They drained her. Repeatedly. They used iron restraints to suppress her abilities. She was pursuing dusklings that came through the portal - doing her duty to see them destroyed - and these two, along with a third vampire, ambushed her. She’s alive, but she needs assistance. Now.”

A flicker of approval and calm pulsed through our bond, anchoring me.

I exhale shakily, knowing who I am in the room with. “I may be able to stabilize her, my King, but I request privacy… and time.”

Eric’s eyes sharpen. “How long?” The soothing pulse through the bond continued, soft but insistent, keeping me from unraveling.

“Fifteen minutes.”

His answer is immediate. “Done.

Then slightly louder “Pamela. Assist my bonded and move the fae to my office.”

Pam was already at my side, appearing from seemingly nowhere, before Eric finished speaking, her expression neutral but her eyes flickered in acknowledgement of how well I was handling this.

Eric turns now to Cleo, voice cold and regal. “We will hear the rest of your report while we wait..”

I slip into Eric’s office, the door shutting with a soft click behind us.

“Set her there,” I say, motioning to the long leather couch. The cushions dip slightly as Pam lowers Nia with unexpected gentleness…not tenderness, but efficiency. It’s her version of care.

Pam straightens, eyes taking in Nia’s ashen skin, the limpness of her limbs.

“Well,” she drawls, “your little firefly looks like the ash left over from a burn that gave up days ago.”

Shooting her a sharp look, “Be careful, Pam. Because once I rekindle that fire, you might be the one who gets burned.”

She pauses, clearly intrigued. Her expression flickers between curiosity and amusement before she smirks and saunters to the chair beside Eric’s desk, crossing her long legs and settling in to watch like she’s purchased front-row tickets.

I summon my fae chest from my house with a thought. It appears with a soft pop of golden air. Kneeling, I flip the delicate latch and pull out what I need with quick, practiced hands; the jar of healing balm I’d used on my own shoulder, a small leather bag, half-full and humming faintly with magic, and a wooden mortar and pestle that smell faintly of summer herbs.

From the leather pouch, I withdraw three golden berries no larger than large grapes. I cup them in both hands, closing my eyes.

Light stirs in my palms, warm, pure, tinged with a slight metallic scent of Faery. It pours into the fruit like sunlight soaking into the earth.

The berries swell, ripen, and brighten, growing until they’re the size of peaches. Their glow softens into a warm, pulsing gold, and the air fills with the scents of mango, pineapple, and wild honey.

I turn to Nia, touching her shoulder lightly. “Nia,” I whisper. “Pixie, I need you to wake for me.”

She stirs, lifting her head with painful slowness. Her usually bright grey eyes are dull, struggling to focus. “Sookie…?” The word is barely a breath.

I lift the fruit to her lips. “Take a bite. It’ll help. Please.”

Her mouth opens, revealing small, sharp demonic teeth. She sinks them into the glowing flesh, the juice running down her chin like molten gold. She swallows, then greedily brings both hands up, taking the fruit fully and devouring it with shaking determination.

As she eats, I drop a second fruit into the pestle and grind it down to a thick, shimmering paste. The scent intensifies, sweet and alive. Dipping my fingers in, I begin spreading the mixture over the worst of her wounds, gashes, deep scrapes on her legs, bite marks, bruises that run in violent purple streaks down her neck, legs and arms. I reach under what is left of her torn tunic and spread the mixture on other gashes and bites I can find. Nia shifts, letting me reach her back to do the same.

She finishes the fruit and sits up straighter, breath steadier, color beginning to warm her skin.

“Nia,” I say softly, my voice barely more than a breath. “Have I gotten the worst of it?”

A spark flares in her eyes, small but fierce. “Yes, Sookie,” she says, voice hoarse but adamant.

Relief hits me so hard my eyes sting. I hand her the mortar. “Eat the rest. All of it.”

While she swallows the paste, I scoop up the jar of balm and begin smoothing salve over her wounds, repeating my ministrations over her body. It melts into her skin, sealing the magical fruit in deeper, accelerating recovery.

Then I sit back and look at her properly.

Her hair is still matted, dull, but less lifeless now.

Her warm, rich brown skin is slowly regaining its depth, her cheeks starting to show the red fire glowing faintly from within. Her pixie-like facial features are sharper and more alert.

Her eyes, those bright grey, mischievous, ancient eyes are sparking again.

The faint shimmer of fae essence begins dusting over her skin like golden frost under moonlight.

“Sookie,” she murmurs, her voice taking on its usual musical undertone, “how in the Bright Sun's name did you get fae fruit here? And, oh. That does feel… delightful.”
I smile, soft and real. “Claudine. She insisted I come back stocked with medical supplies. And she was right.”

Pam, who has been observing us like a cat judging a bird rescue, suddenly huffs.

“Well, as lovely as it is to see the bedazzled pixie reject resurrecting, I do have one complaint.”

She leans forward looking at me.

“If she’s fae, why am I not getting even a trace of that irresistible fairy perfume? In fact all I seem to detect is a touch of burnt sulfur.”

I grin at Nia, who bares her teeth in a wicked, tired grin.

“Permanent masking tattoo,” she tells Pam. “Every member of the Adra who needs one has one, and I am only part fae.”

Pam raises a brow at me. “And where is yours, Princess?”

I lift my chin. “Hidden. On purpose. But if you guess where it is, maybe I’ll let Eric see it.”

Her smirk widens.

Nia stands, wobbly, but upright. “Sookie… could you help with a glamour? Just a light one. My magic’s still too drained.”

“Of course.”

I raise my hands. She mirrors me. Light gathers between our palms, swirling slowly at first, then building into warm, steady radiance. The magic flows over her in a delicate wave, washing away grime, restoring color and health, coaxing strength back into her limbs.

When the glow fades, she’s transformed.

Her hair is back to rich blue-black, short and spiky in every direction, her bruises and bite marks are faded and her skin gleams with a faint golden light, her inner fire now glowing more like embers along her cheek bones.

Her clothes have shifted into her preferred warm hues, an ochre colored long flowy shirt and ember soft leather pants with chocolate leather boots wrapping up her calves. A dagger hangs neatly from her hip.

Her essence finally feels like Nia again.

“Better?” I ask.

She beams. “Sookie… I feel like myself.” Her shoulders sag a little moment later. “Ok, maybe more like after that time I got trampled by that kelpie and then stitched back together under the moonlight…but definitely better.”

Her voice is steady and warm. She is tired and not at full strength, but her fire is back and so is her sass. I hand her the last ripened fae fruit hoping it will help give her enough energy to make it through the rest of the night. It is quickly devoured.

“We should return downstairs,” I say.

Pam rises smoothly, brushing invisible lint off her jacket. “Well,” she says dryly, “if your little glitter brigade is done now with arts and crafts, His Majesty will want his report.”

Nia smirks, chin high, a hint of a flame dancing between her fingers. “Whenever you’re ready, vampire.”

Pam tilts her head, clearly entertained. “That took longer than I expected,” she says. “I already like you less, firefly.”

Pam sweeps ahead of us with her usual effortless glide, pushing the door open with a single, impatient flick of her wrist.

Nia and I enter together.

Her steps match mine, steady, sure, and though the trauma of earlier still lingers faintly along the edges of her aura, the fire has returned to her. My own light shimmers lightly warm and gold, sunlight. Beside me, Nia glows with flickers of living flame, embers caught in motion beneath her skin, her presence sharp and bright as a struck spark.

We enter the interrogation room without a sound.

Every gaze in the room tracks our path. I can feel the bond humming faintly in the back of my mind, Eric’s attention fixed partially on me.

I stop and look up at him. My pulse steadies the moment his gaze meets mine…cool steel wrapped in glacier calm and I incline my head slightly.

“My King,” I begin, my voice carrying cleanly through the room’s vaulted stillness. “I present Nia of the Adra. Highborn part fae of the demonic fire courts.” My joy in seeing her, having her here with me, breaks into my tone at the end. I neglect to add in the moment, that she is also a walking, talking spark that could cause volcanoes to erupt when crossed.

Nia flashes a wide, toothy grin, feeling much renewed and ready to burn. She steps forward and bows slightly, letting her firelight shimmer across her skin in shades of embers.

“My thanks to your majesty," she says, voice steady now, threaded with the warmth of molten lava. “For permitting your bonded one to assist me, and the rescue by your sheriff. I now stand ready to answer whatever questions you may require.”

Eric inclines his head, a gesture that is both acknowledgement and authority. “You account of the events, explain.”

Nia straightens and focuses on Eric directly. “We were tracking a band of dusklings and shademauls when they breached the portal, I pursued while another of the Adra covered my back. The fighting was intense and I moved quickly." she begins.

“It was a standard elimination mission. I went ahead to deal with those that had crossed through the portal, my back up stayed behind to take care of what was remaining on the other side.” She pauses for a brief second, I watch her give her head a quick shake.

“I was disoriented for a split second when I came through the portal. One of the vampires” she jerks her chin at the chained pair near Cleo "immediately attacked me when I appeared. They did not seem at all concerned with the dozen or more dusklings that had preceded me however.”

Her tone darkens, flames flickering faintly over her palms. The one looks up at her then and hisses, fangs out, furious. “Should have drained you when we had the chance, fae bitch.”

Cleo cuffs him upside his head, and adds a kick to his abdomen for good measure.

Nia continues, rage carefully banked but her magic still flaring. “Three of them. They fed from me and bound me with iron. Attempted to break me and force obedience. They held me for days. I am here only because of your Sheriff’s arrival with her people.”

Cleo speaks up now. "Majesty, my second Marius saw two the third vampire involved when we retrieved the fae. He attacked us both and quickly met his end." One of the remain two shift on the floor glaring directly at Nia but remains silent.

Nia’s head suddenly turns, focusing on the two vampires still chained at Cleo’s feet, bodies taut with rage and defiance. Silver glints across their bindings. Their gazes flickering between Nia and Eric.

“While I appreciate the aide of your sheriff, Majesty, I demand that their true death be carried out swiftly and by my own hand. They have taken my blood and fed me theirs by force to heal me, only to subject me to their torture over again. It is my right, as both demon and fae.” Nia’s entire posture changes. Her flames pulse hotter, and I take a breath in to steady myself.

I see Eric assessing my friend, his gaze taking in her posture, the magic barely contained as live flames hint from her skin.

“The attack, draining and abduction of a fae who also claims demon heritage, is a matter I will see resolved,” he says. “This offense, however, extends beyond my sole territory under vampire law.”

A flicker of what I assume is relief passes over one of the accused. The other continues to eye Nia with hatred and rage burning in their gaze.

“Until the Amun council is convened,” Eric continues, “they will be confined here, as our...guests. They will not feed, nor communicate except at my discretion. See they are given to Indira to see to.”

No anger. No threat. Just certainty.

Pam lifts her hand then, two fingers precise. Marius moves immediately, as does Cleo. They take positions at the accused vampires’ sides, firm and efficient. There is no struggle. Resistance now would only hasten the inevitable.

As they’re escorted out, Eric’s gaze meets Pam's. “Let this stand as notice. Any vampire found interfering with, feeding from, coercing, or otherwise exploiting the fae within my territory will be dealt with immediately. Fines will be crippling and confinement harsh. No one will be spared.”

The words settle into the bones of the room.

Eric steps back. Pam’s expression smooths into cool indifference, “I will issue the edict at once, my King.”

When his gaze flicks to me, then to Nia, I catch the faintest smirk brushing his lips, satisfaction hidden beneath that usual restraint. “I have a few other matters to see to, in the club. Take Nia back to my office and I will join you there shortly.

I breathe out slowly, nodding, feeling both awe from his edict and from the sheer power and weight of his presence next to me and through the bond.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27 - Tempers

I fall into step behind Pam, who moves ahead like a predator in heels, silent and lethal as ever, opening the doorway to the hall leading toward Eric’s office. Even now, she carries herself like a drawn blade, elegant, precise, and utterly unapologetic.

I glance at Nia as we walk, her aura still burning, bright and restless, though exhaustion softens its edges. Behind us, my apprehension about this evening dissolves into the familiar, pounding bass of Fangtasia.

“His Majesty will be along shortly to see you both,” Pam says as we pass, her tone bored to the point of insult, as if kings and near-death events are nothing more than a mild inconvenience in her evening.

I nod once, reading the dismissal for what it is: a few minutes alone with my friend.

Nia and I settle onto the couch side by side. She takes my hand without hesitation, her grip warm and grounding. Her gaze sweeps over me; my outfit, my ring, my magic. Keen eyes missing nothing.

“Sookie,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing with tired curiosity, “you to need to fill me in on what exactly is going on around here.”

I notice the strain around her eyes more clearly now, the kind that comes from surviving something that demanded more than it should have. She leans back slightly. “A shower and a soft bed wouldn’t hurt either.”

“That will be seen to, and I have somewhere safe you can stay,” I reply gently, careful with each word. “But I need to speak with Eric first.” I hesitate. “Tonight has been… a lot.” That barely scratches the surface.

Nia watches me closely, exhaustion softening her edges but doing nothing to dull her attention. Centuries have taught her patience, never indifference. Her curiosity, like her fire, is inexhaustible.

I let out a slow breath. “You remember the vampire I talked to you and Sera about - the one I said I was going to find when I came home.” I hesitate, she nods, then I push on. “I found him. And while it’s far more complicated than I ever anticipated… we’ve bonded. I am also preparing to be formally presented in a few weeks.”

Nia stills.

Her gaze sharpens, ancient and assessing, as if she suddenly sees not just me, but the future stretching out beyond my words. “You neglected one rather significant detail, Sookie Brigant,” she says at last, her voice low and grave. “You did not mention that he is a vampire king.”

She leans forward slightly, fire flickering in her aura. “Are you mad?” Not cruel, concerned.

“Do you have any notion of what it means to bind yourself to a crowned vampire? I do not understand how the Great Prince could sanction this. You place yourself squarely in the crosshairs of vampire politics - and that mire is endless, corrosive, and merciless.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “And I don’t disagree.” I meet her gaze, steady. “But Eric wasn’t a king before, this is relatively new, and we haven’t revealed my full lineage, yet. So no more name dropping, unless you want me listing out all of your titles, former and otherwise too.” I smirk at her knowing her own complicated history wasn’t exactly cut and dry either.

“Beside Nia” I add. “My great-grandfather is aware of my choices, and we have agreed on them. He sees value in having an emissary who can walk between realms. He knows Eric is my choice. Also we were always going to have to deal with vampire politics, this may make that more complicated, or it may help it, we shall see.”
I pause, drawing in a breath, feeling the weight of my next words before I let them fall. “What isn’t complicated is how I feel about Eric. How we feel about each other. I’m still learning my powers, learning how to manage this bond, but Nia…” My voice softens. “I can’t imagine my life without him. He drives me crazy at moments, but I love him.”

The words hang in the air.

It strikes me then - quietly, profoundly - that this is the first time I’ve said them out loud. Not to Eric. Not even to myself. And yet, once spoken, they feel irrevocably true.

Nia leans back against the couch, a long, weary sigh leaving her. “Ah,” she murmurs. “I suspected as much for a long time, Sook, and that explains far more than politics ever could.”

She studies me a moment longer, something like reluctant acceptance settling into her expression. “You have much to tell me, clearly. Bonds, kings, and wars-in-waiting.” A faint, wry curve touches her lips. “But if what you tell me now is that you are safe, and that you are happy, then it is enough for this moment.”

Her fingers squeeze mine, warm and steady, her expression suggesting she is sensing something. “We will speak of the rest during the day, in the sun, when it is…quieter.”

The door to Eric’s office swings open without warning. He doesn’t announce himself, he never needs to.

Eric steps inside, Pam trailing behind him. Her heels click as she perches on his desk. He remains standing, dark and immaculate, eyes flicking to Nia. His expression stays composed, but I feel the alertness snap into place, a predator’s focus tightening the air. Nia straightens instantly, instinct and centuries of protocol snapping her to attention. The fire in her aura pulls inward, contained but watchful.

When he speaks, his voice is even, calm enough to be dangerous.

“At ease,” he says. Not a command. An allowance.

He turns slightly, claiming the room without moving closer. “I know what was done to you. I have the names you want carved into blood and ash.” His eyes sharpen, blue gone cold. “You are not wrong to want their true death.”

Pam’s smile flickers, razor-thin, but she stays silent.

“But,” Eric continues, measured and absolute, “As I said, this does not simply end with you burning them where they stand.”

He lets that settle.

“Their fate will go before the council,” he says. “Not to spare them. To bind the judgment, because this is a matter with the fae and now demons. With current tensions their end must be lawful, witnessed, and irreversible.”

His gaze locks with hers now, ancient meeting ancient. “Vengeance taken alone becomes a spark - brief, satisfying, and easily challenged. Vengeance taken by decree becomes precedent. Ensures anything that may follow after is contained.”

A pause. Then, quieter, not softer.

“You are now under my protection,” he says. “Anyone who violates that will answer to all of us.”

The corner of his mouth tilts, not a smile. “And when the council is finished… we will see that their fate is carried out.”

Nia inclines her head once, sharp and controlled. When she speaks, her voice is low, heat banked rather than blazing.

“As you decree, Majesty,” she says. “Let it go before the council. I will make arrangements for a legal representative to be present.”

I chuckle at that, guessing who she means. A flicker of ember-light ghosts across her eyes. “But understand this, fire remembers what it is fed. I will wait while the fuel is gathered… but I will be the one to strike the match.”

He nods at Nia again, clearly weighing her words. The fire in Nia’s aura settles fully, banked coals instead of a blaze. Pam’s posture eases by a fraction, boredom reclaiming its throne. And then Eric turns away from them all and comes to me.

He crosses the short distance with that smooth, predatory grace that never fails to remind me exactly how old and how powerful he is. The King of Louisiana, done dispensing judgment, now wholly focused on his bonded in his office.

His hand slides beneath my arm, lifting me effortlessly to my feet. The other settles at my waist, firm and possessive, drawing me flush against him as though the world beyond us has already been dismissed.

“You and I have other matters still to deal with.” No softness. No pause. Just the point, sharp, predatory, demanding truth.

I meet his eyes, the weight of the night still pressing on me, but no longer crushing. “We do, missteps were made tonight, I know it.” I say, a certain amount of guilt and responsibility caring through me, in my tone and through the bond.

Eric nods, and I can feel his unrest, coiled tight beneath his stillness, dark and dangerous. It hums through the bond, sharp enough to make my skin prickle.

Pam lounges against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with interest that’s a little too keen. Nia remains on the couch posture deceptively relaxed, but I can feel her attention tracking every shift in Eric’s mood.

“First she put hands on you,” Eric says at last. His voice is calm. Too calm. “Without permission.”

“She caught me off guard upstairs, I handled the situation, and you finished it. She was purposefully testing you and me both. This was to be expected at some point” I say carefully.

“That is not the point,” he cuts in, blue eyes flashing. “You are my bonded. That makes you under my protection.” A growl comes from his chest “that Arkansas thought to be so bold…” He releases me now prowling over to his desk, pacing.

Pam arches a brow at me. “Technically, darling, it also makes it a very public insult that they tried and that it was witnessed.”

Eric’s jaw tightens. “And then there is the tiger.”

I exhale slowly. “That one was stupidity on my part, I was focused on my telepathy.”

“Stupidity cannot happen,” Eric snaps. His hand curls on the edge of the desk, wood creaking faintly under the pressure. “No vampire touches what is mine without invitation. No were lays a hand on you and walks away thinking it was acceptable.”

I step closer, grounding him with my presence. “Eric, I do believe you saw to that already as well, or did I misunderstand the disruption earlier in Pam’s office?”

His gaze flicks to me instantly - still furious, but focused now. “Irrelevant. You were restrained,” he says, lower. “Handled. Treated multiple times tonight like you were… available.”

The bond surges - possessive, protective, feral in its clarity.

Pam straightens, tone dry but edged with steel. “Word will spread. If it hasn’t already. Others may now decide to test boundaries further simply to see if they can.”

“They will fail,” Eric says flatly. Then his gaze cuts back to me, sharp and unyielding. “However, you need to be more aware of your surroundings constantly - or you will remain behind, or under guard, at all times, if I or Pam are not with you.”

Something hot snaps in my chest.

“No,” I say at first, low and tight. Then it rises, raw and sudden. “Absolutely not.”

Eric’s eyes flash, surprised despite himself.

“I will not be sidelined,” I snap, the words coming fast now. “I will not be locked away or parked under guard and house arrest because someone else forgot how to keep their hands to themselves.”

Pam’s brows lift, faintly impressed. Nia shifts her weight, already bracing.

“I’ve fought my way through a hell of a lot worse than this,” I continue, heat flooding my voice. “I didn’t survive the last four years to be told to sit quietly while everyone else decides what risks I’m allowed to take. I could have ended that courtier earlier where she sat blocking me but that would have caused other issues, as I am still only considered human at this point.”

Eric steps toward me, presence flaring. “Sookie.”

“No,” I cut him off, meeting him head-on. “You do not get to punish me for someone else’s violation. I am bonded to you, not owned by you. I stand beside you, not behind you. Your words Eric.”

The bond crackles between us - his control slamming into my defiance, neither giving an inch.

Finally Nia clears her throat carefully. “You’re both right,” she says, calm but firm. “And if you keep pushing like this, neither of you is going to hear the other.”

Eric’s jaw works, fury banking again, darker now. “You are not expendable,” he says, voice rough. “And I will not watch you be treated as if you are.”

I don’t look away. “Then teach me. Present me formally. Don’t cage me.”

Silence falls, heavy and charged, the kind that precedes either compromise - or war.

I let out a long, weary sigh, the fight bleeding out of me without giving up the ground beneath it. “Eric… I’m taking Nia back to my house.”

His head snaps up. “No.”

“We are not finished, I know.” I say evenly. “I’ll come back. Before dawn. We’ll finish this - at home. Together.”

“That is unnecessary,” he says coldly. “Pam will take Nia. You will remain here.”

Pam’s lips part, clearly ready to enjoy that assignment far too much.

I turn, gathering Nia to my side, one hand closing around her wrist - steady, deliberate. Then I look back at Eric, my voice flat, final. “No, Eric. I will meet you after. I will see to her comfort and give myself a few moments of reflection. We will continue this later.”

The bond flares, his frustration crashing into my resolve, but I don’t yield.

“This isn’t defiance,” I add quietly. “It’s choice.”

For a heartbeat, no one moves. The room hums with power, tension stretched thin as wire.

Then I flick my fingers, light blooming briefly between them - soft, precise, threaded with familiar magic. The air shivers.

With a shimmer of displaced air and a soft pop, we appear in my living room, the couch directly behind us. The sudden stop steals our balance, and both Nia and I drop back onto the couch at the same time, each letting out a sigh.

I turn toward her and pull her into a warm, solid embrace. “Welcome to my home, complete with family drama and a healthy dose of vampire politics and bullshit.” I say, smiling into her shoulder.

She lets out a quiet laugh, then sobers, tipping her head to look at me. “You realize,” she says gently, “you’ve just left one rather old, very territorial royal vampire standing in his office with unfinished sentences.”

I groan softly. “I know. But he also needed to give a certain influential fairy princess a hot minute to calm down.”

Nia’s mouth quirks. “You’re going to need to let him win something when you go back. Not control - you won’t tolerate that. But give him reassurance.” She taps my chest lightly. “Go to him. Touch him first. Make it clear you’re choosing him, not escaping him.”

I lean back against the couch, considering. “And the anger?”

“Oh, that stays,” she says dryly. “You're not calming him by challenging him head-on when he’s like that. Remind him you’re alive, intact, and still very much his - by choice. Although this is still pretty tame.” She grins cheekily, humor sparkling in her grey eyes. “You should have seen before Sera was turned and they were first navigating their bond…Val and her…now those disagreements were epic. Neither of you have even broken anything yet, let alone caused a monsoon.”

I eye my friend carefully. “A monsoon? Seriously, Nia?”

She gives me a knowing look. “Sera was one seriously pissed water fae at the time, but my point is you both need to listen to each other, not add fuel to the fire.” She pauses.

“Sook, you’re going to be dealing with one seriously disgruntled vampire before dawn. He won’t appreciate your calling the shots and just vanishing.”

The tension eases a notch once it’s said out loud. The fight, the bond, which includes Eric’s banked fury that I can still feel pulling at me. All of it settles into something manageable, something waiting. For now, distance is mercy.

I nod “You're right, but I also needed a minute to reflect, and we needed to get you somewhere to rest. You have also been through enough.”

Nia shifts beside me, stretching out, then goes still. Her attention sharpens, drifting outward, cataloging the room with that otherworldly awareness that never quite leaves her.

“This,” she says slowly, eyes lingering on the television mounted above the fireplace, “is a far cry from Faery.” Her mouth quirks. “Sookie, I may need some assistance finding my footing in this realm. It’s very different from everywhere else I have been.”

I nod, affection warming my chest. “We’ll have time for that. But first…”

I reach inward. Magic answers immediately, clean and familiar. I sweep the house with intent - every trace of iron, every hidden nail, forgotten screw, and buried fixture lighting up in my awareness. With a decisive pull, I draw it all away in one coordinated motion, relocating it to the woodshed. The fireplace grate vanishes from the mantel with a faint metallic echo outside. Necessary losses.

“There,” I say, releasing the spell. “The house is now fae-proof. I’m not risking there being iron in the house with you being here now.”

Nia watches, brows lifting in quiet approval.

I get up my pent up energy humming through me as I give her a brisk tour - through the kitchen, pointing out the fridge and pantry, then upstairs to the bathroom and guest room. I pause at the doorway, turning back to her.

“Okay - look,” I say, softer now. “Stay here tonight. I’ll lock up before I head out. The yard and the house are warded - you’ll be safe.”

I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck, then add more gently, “I’ll be back in the morning. Or… closer to midday, realistically, I can’t see getting to bed anytime soon.” A faint, wry smile tugs at my mouth. “I’ll make food, and we can actually have some time together - preferably when I’m not being yanked around by the very cranky vampire I’m bonded to.”

She makes a faint sound of protest, but exhaustion is already catching her, pulling at the sharpness around her eyes. “Very well, Sook,” she concedes. “But we have much to discuss. Not to mention a hoard of dusklings and a wayward portal to deal with still.”

“I know,” I say, meeting her gaze steadily. “And we’ll handle it, after some rest tonight. We will both have clearer heads.” I smile. “I’ll make us breakfast. I promise.”
That earns me a small, genuine smile in return.

She heads toward the guest room, footsteps light despite her fatigue. I wait until her door closes, then move through the house once more, checking locks, reinforcing wards.

I sink into the quiet of my living room, Nia’s presence still settling around me. Her being here; my friend, my fellow Adra, reassurance and support. Even in her exhaustion, knowing she shares this space with me gives me strength. The oath we share, the trust and loyalty between us, makes me feel fortified, capable, and ready.

Eric’s presence seethes beneath my skin, a low, dangerous thrum that hasn’t cooled in the slightest. The bond is tight and restless, bristling with banked fury and intent, a constant reminder that I’m not done with him yet - not even close, but I don’t want another battle either. Sighing, I step outside and lock the front door behind me, already bracing myself for the confrontation waiting before I can rest.

I draw in a breath, center myself, and focus on the living room in our house - its shape, its pull, its familiar gravity.

With a soft pop, the world folds - and I am gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28 - Hard Headed

I shimmer into existence in the living room of the house, the familiar weight of it settling around me at once. Through the bond, I feel him nearby - coiled, watchful, almost certainly in his study.

He appears a heartbeat later, moving with that effortless vampire speed, all focus snapping to me as if the rest of the world has fallen away.

“Sookie,” he says, and there’s a storm in it, banked and waiting. Saying nothing, I go over to him, and place one hand on his chest.

“Sookie,” he says again, slower this time.

I don’t get a chance to speak.

“You vanished,” he continues, voice low and edged like a blade drawn just enough to warn. “You removed yourself from my reach while I was still speaking.”

“I told you where I was going,” I say evenly.

His eyes flash. “You left.”

I take a step closer, because distance will only make this worse. “I made a choice. Nia needed rest. I wanted to see her settled, and we didn’t need to finish this while entertaining Pam either.”

“That choice removed you from me,” he snaps. The room seems to tighten with him. “Do you have any idea what it does to a bond - to feel you pull away while I am still trying to secure you?”

“I didn’t pull away,” I counter. “I stepped aside, I didn’t go far, and told you I was coming back. There’s a difference. And don’t tell me you don’t have eyes on the farmhouse already.”

He’s right in front of me now, presence looming, anger no longer banked but honed. “You are bonded to me,” he says. “That means when threats surface, when lines are crossed, we stand together.”

“And it also means,” I fire back, “that you don’t get to unilaterally decide I’m staying put like a chess piece you don’t want captured.”

Silence crashes down between us, thick and volatile.

His jaw works. I can feel the war inside him - instinct screaming possession, control, retaliation… all slamming into the part of him that knows exactly who I am and why he chose me.

“You were touched,” he says finally, quieter but far more dangerous. “Handled tonight. Marked as accessible.”

My chest tightens, but I don’t back down. “And I shut it down. So did you. And we did it right.”

“You should never have had to…fucking Arkansas.” he growls.

“No,” I agree softly. “But I did. It was going to happen, we knew this. And we will again if we have to.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, pacing once like a caged thing before stopping in front of me again. “You make it very difficult to protect you.”

I lift my chin. “Good. Because I don’t want protection that costs me myself, and I know you don't want that either.”

The bond pulses - hot, furious, threaded through with reluctant respect.

His hand comes up, stopping just short of my arm, fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to touch. “You terrify me,” he admits quietly. “Not because you are weak, but because you refuse to be.”

“And you,” I say just as quietly, “terrify everyone else. But you don’t scare me, not anymore.”

His gaze snaps to mine, sharp, searching, like he’s recalibrating around that truth.

“That’s why this works,” I continue. “It’s how we make this work.”

I reach for him then, threading my fingers through his hand and pulling myself into his space instead of waiting to be claimed. His body responds instantly, tension shifting as he allows it, his palm settling at my back.

“Eric,” I murmur, tracing a slow, grounding line across his chest, “I’ll be heading back to the farmhouse during the day tomorrow. I need to check on Nia.”

I feel the change in him at once. His jaw tightens, attention sharpening, the King already mapping possibilities and threats, but he doesn’t pull away. He stays with me, eyes locked on mine.

“She’s… not exactly familiar with Earth customs,” I add, a faint smile tugging at my mouth. “Food. Electricity. Plumbing. Faery doesn’t prepare you for any of that.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. Amusement brushes the bond, he’s still angry but it's muted. “That seems wise,” he says. “She will adapt more quickly with guidance. And she will be safer with you.”

“There’s more,” I admit quietly. “When I read her earlier tonight, I saw another member of the Adra with her before she crossed the portal. Claudine told me they were both missing. While we’ve found Nia, I’m still uneasy.”

His arm tightens slightly, protective without pressure. I shift so I can look at him fully.

“Take time tomorrow,” he says after a beat. “See what you can learn. Reach out to Claudine as well - perhaps she may know more.”

I nod, then hesitate. “After that… Nia and I need to check on the portal in Area Two. We need a plan first, but it needs to be addressed. Assess the damage, figure out how to deal with the dusklings - and anything else that may have slipped through.”

The change is immediate.

His body stills completely, like a predator locking onto prey. The bond bristles, instinct surging hard against pride, control pressing against trust.

“Sookie,” he says flatly.

His eyes have gone glacial, ancient authority surfacing in full, yet again. “The portals are becoming unpredictable,” he continues, voice controlled but edged. “And are attracting more than just dusklings. You will not go to that portal tomorrow.”

I look him full in the eyes, irritation flaring hot and immediate again. “That is not what I said.”

His jaw sets. “You want to go to the portal in Area Two, I can tell.”

“I said we’re going to talk about it,” I snap, the word sharp enough to cut. “Compare notes. Figure out what she knows and what I’ve seen here. You know - planning. The thing sane people do before charging headfirst into danger. I am not marching off alone, or without you.”

His eyes flash, predator instincts bristling through the bond, all protective and possessive. 100% genuine ancient viking who does not like uncertainty or danger where I’m concerned.

I huff, dragging a hand through my hair. “Eric, I am not announcing a field trip. I am not packing snacks and a sword and skipping off into the woods at noon tomorrow.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “We are going to discuss strategy and approach. Consult with Claudine as you suggested.”

The bond hums with his displeasure, still irritated from earlier, thick and prickly, and I feel my own temper pushing back just as hard. Gods help me, at this point part of me wants to smack him upside the head and explain this with diagrams.

“You are acting like I said, ‘Hey sweetheart, I’m going to poke the mysterious void monster with a stick for fun at lunch tomorrow without you,” Sweetly I add, “Which I did not.”

He exhales slowly through his nose - unnecessary, dramatic. “You underestimate the danger.”

“And yet again, you overestimate your ability to lock me in a tower,” I shoot back. “I will not be treated like delicate furniture or fine china. How can I make that clear!”

That lands. I feel it ripple through the bond - his pride, his fear, his constant internal battle between wanting to shield me and knowing I will never accept a cage, no matter how gilded.

I soften just a fraction, looking for compromise, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear in my meaning. I’m not going anywhere without you. We will take back up, pick who you think should be there…” I huff, my frustration and sleepiness now beginning to wear me down. “I just want to understand what is happening, and have it dealt with before things get out of control.”

He studies me for a long moment, blue eyes searching, weighing, recalibrating.

Finally, grudgingly, “Your practicality has a point,” he says. “but you will stay with me.”

I smirk now. “See? Compromise. Revolutionary concept.”

His hand slides into my hair, grip firm but familiar. “You test my patience, Lover.”

I smile up at him, all teeth and defiance. “You love it.”

The bond answers for him first; irritated, protective, deeply affectionate and I know, even as he scowls, even though he doesn’t say it, that he does.

Eventually, he leans down, lips brushing my ear, warm and soft against my skin. “Only because you drive me mad,” he murmurs, voice low, rough-edged with amusement. “And because… you’re mine.”

I do not give her time to answer.

I turn her fully into me, one hand firm at her lower back, the other sliding up to cradle her jaw. My thumb presses there just enough to tilt her mouth where I want it - where it belongs.

I kiss her. I do not have the control left to be restrained. My possession is held in check by choice alone. My mouth claims hers slow and deep, unhurried, as if I have all the time in the world and intend to use it. The bond surges at the contact, heat and hunger and something darker threading through it. A recognition and agreement, mine.

She responds instantly, rising into me, her hands curling into my shirt as if she feels the same gravity pulling her closer. I deepen the kiss, letting her taste the promise in it, the vow I am not ready to speak aloud. My tongue brushes hers, deliberate, controlled, reminding her exactly who stands with her.

I pull back only when breath, for her, becomes necessary, my forehead resting against hers, my grip still unyielding.

“This,” I murmur against her lips, voice low and certain. “Will serve as a reminder of whose mark you bear, whose scent you carry and blood you share.”
Another kiss, slower now, sealing it.

“Eric.”

I claim her mouth, slow and thorough, silencing her and letting the kiss tell her exactly how much restraint it costs me. My hands follow instinct, one at her lower back, the other sliding up her spine, anchoring her to me. I break the kiss only long enough to drag my knuckles along her jaw, to tilt her chin and make her look at me. Mine.

I strip her the way I hunt: efficiently and deliberately. Fabric yields under my hands, torn and tossed aside with no patience for ceremony. I peel her layers away, pausing just long enough to feel her warmth against my palms, to breathe her in. Her scent, her arousal. Each piece I reveal is a quiet claim - mine to protect, mine to touch, mine.

I keep her close the entire time, never letting her step back, never giving her space to doubt. When she reaches for me, I catch her wrists and hold them above her head, not to stop her, only to remind her who is controlling this. My mouth traces a path behind her ear, down her throat and along her collar, marking with heat and promise, my grip firm.

I release her wrists and lift her. Her legs wrapping around my waist, eye to eye. Her gaze already hooded, desire haunting her eyes.

I move back to the wall, pressing her against it. I know she is already ready. I thrust up. Her groan erupts from her chest as I lower her fully onto me.

I smile at the sound she makes, low, primal, and I shift with intent, sliding my hand between us, knowing exactly how to touch her, how to draw it out. I feel the moment her body tightens, the unmistakable pull as she climbs, breath hitching, everything in her reaching for release.

And then I stop.

Completely.

I hold her there, suspended on the edge I put her on, my grip steady, my presence unyielding. I let her feel it - how thoroughly I have her, how easily I can deny what she wants, how every tremor in her body answers to me.

Sookie moans in pure frustration, the sound rough and needy, and it makes my mouth curve slowly. I look at her openly now, deliberately, letting my gaze drag over her so she feels every inch of my attention.

I don’t rush. I don’t soften it.

I let the silence stretch, let her feel the weight of my control, the fact that I stopped because I chose to. My thumb presses just enough to remind her I’m still there, still holding her right on that knife-edge.

“Look at you,” I murmur, voice low, pleased. “So impatient.

I move us to the office in less than a blink, the world snapping back into place with her breath still caught in her throat. The scent of old wood, leather, power, mine, wraps around us instantly.

I don’t ask. I don’t slow.

I set her down across my desk, spreading her there with deliberate intent, the polished surface cool beneath her, the edge pressing just enough to make her gasp.
Papers shift. Something clatters softly to the floor. I don’t look away from her face.

This is my territory.

This is where I decide things.

My hands brace on either side of her, caging her in as I lean closer, my presence bearing down, unmistakable. I let her feel the contrast, how fast I brought her here, how completely she’s at my mercy now.

“Here,” I murmur, voice low, satisfied. “I will drive you mad. You are going to beg, scream for it before I am through.”

I stretch her out over the desk letting one hand slide over her breasts. I lean down letting my tongue follow the path of my hand. Fangs lightly scraping one nipple, I tug at it with my lips. Nipping gentle with my blunt teeth. I trail a finger down her stomach, drawing patterns on her skin. Making her twitch and quiver with the touch.

Tiny moans and cries erupt from her.

I tilt her chin up with my other hand so she has to meet my eyes.

“Breathe,” I tell her.

She does, almost gasping as I part her legs, slipping two fingers between her thighs. I let my fingers play gently with nerves in her body. Driving her again and again to the brink, but pulling back each time she nears her release.

Her heady arousal now surrounds me. I feel her frustration through our bond as she tries to clench her thighs, her fluids slowly coating my hand. Sookie makes a sound, low, sharp, unmistakably frustrated, and it cuts through the room.

“Eric,” she breathes, my name pulled tight with impatience, heels digging into my back, as if she might actually be able to move me closer.

I grin at it, slow and unapologetic, because that sound? That’s only the beginning of what I wanted.

Slowly, so slowly I start to lower myself into her. I hear her sigh, as I sink into her tight wet sheath again. I start to move, savouring our shared enjoyment through the bond. Once again as I feel her reach towards her moment and I stop, mid thrust.

I feel it immediately, the shift in her. The way her body tightens, then trembles when I pull back again. Her frustration and desire reaching new heights, it ripples through the bond - bright, sharp, furious.

She gasps my name like it’s an accusation this time, her breath uneven, fingers clutching at my shoulders as if she might anchor herself there by force of will alone. There’s a spark in her eyes when she looks at me - defiant, heated, daring me to keep going.

Her hips try to follow instinct, chasing what I’ve denied her, and that only makes me slow further. I savor the way she bites back a sound, jaw setting, pride warring with need. She’s not pleading. She’s fighting me for control.

Good.

The bond hums now, frustration bleeding into want, into trust, into that fierce certainty that I will finish what I start. She knows it. I know it. And the knowledge makes her shudder when I deny her yet again.

She glares up at me, breath wrecked, eyes bright with heat and pure irritation.

“Oh you are evil for doing this,” she snaps, voice rough but steady enough to make it a challenge instead of a plea. “I swear, if you stop one more time…”
She breaks off with a sharp inhale when I move again but fail to give her what she wants, fingers tightening against my shoulder, nails digging in.

“Eric, you’re impossible,” she mutters, then lifts her chin, stubborn as ever. “And you’re enjoying every second of this."

I smile, slow, knowing, and that’s all the warning she gets.

I take us to the bedroom in a blur of motion, the world folding and snapping back into place as I land us on the bed. Sheets tangle around bare skin, limbs everywhere, heat and laughter and breath all at once. She lands against me with a startled sound that turns into a breathless laugh, arms looping around my neck as if she expected nothing less.

I cage her there for a moment, hovering just enough to make a point, forehead to hers, both of us flushed and unsteady.

“Mine,” I murmur, not as a threat, never that, but as a promise.

Then I kiss her again, deep and claiming, reassuming my ministrations with my hands.

“Eric, please!” The cry breaks from her as she shudders, still seeking release.

My lips find her neck, sucking and licking my way down and I feel her shiver, her magic rippling beneath her skin which feels warm and flush. I scrape my fangs along her collar bone, as I use my legs to open her wide and slip down along her body between them.

In that moment, I curl my fingers inside her and beckon, precise and unrelenting, while my tongue flicks against her clit with impossible speed. Her cry breaks free, pure surrender as she approaches her peak once more.

“Say it”. I command.

“I’m yours.” she cries her need piercing through the bond.

“Again!” I demand.

“Yours, Eric! Only yours!.”

I flick and twist and thrust with my fingers and this time I feel it when she shatters, light bursting from within her sparkling around the room, her eyes locked with mine as the orgasm takes her hard and fast.

It’s as overwhelming as I knew it would be, all-consuming, but there’s no anger left in her now. Only euphoria. I stay with her through it, cool lips and steady hands guiding her until the tremors ease and her breathing finds me again.

I don’t give her time to recover fully. I take her mouth again with my own, swallowing the last of her breath as I press in close, thrusting into her, fitting us together with deliberate force. She arches into me with a sound that goes straight to my spine, hands clutching at my shoulders like she means to hold on through whatever comes next.

I move with her then - slow at first, controlled, letting her feel exactly where she is, exactly who she’s with. The bond flares, rich and overwhelming, her pleasure answering mine in a rush that makes the room feel too small.

She’s warm, shaking, alive beneath me.

I flip our positions, without losing contact. Her atop of me riding, arching her back, undulating her hips to grind down against me. I watch her move now, her head thrown back, eyes closed, savouring every movement.

“You are fucking perfect,” I rasped. “Look at swallowing me whole, so tight and wet. Look at my ecstatic cock, buried in you, while you ride astride me, as I am filling you again and again. You are the most intoxicating creature I have ever touched, Sookie Stackhouse.” My voice drops, rough and deliberate, every word pressing into her skin.

I increase my pace. Using my hands to lift and guide her. Leaning her forward I take her breast into my mouth, sucking, fangs lightly scraping.

“Eric,” she cries, voice breaking with heat and defiance all tangled together. “Don’t you dare stop again. If you’re going to take me apart…” A breath, ragged, honest, “then finish it. Please."

I need no further encouragement. I pick up with pace of my thrusts further, savouring every sensation as she grips me tightly. She curls over me, and I switch breast with my mouth. Licking, sucking, tweaking around her nipple before I sink my fangs into the side of her breast.

I pull a mouthful from her. Her sweet blood fills my mouth, as I feel her start to peak once more.

“Eric..ahhhhh”. I hear it in her voice when she says my name…broken, fierce, utterly certain, and it hits me harder than blood ever could.

“All of me,” she says, breath shaking but unyielding. “I choose you. Always. Yours.”

The bond flares at the word, hot and undeniable, and I feel the truth of it lock into place. I hold her there, still thrusting, drawing out her peak and sending her over again.

Her cry echos through our bed chamber. As I release myself into her, savouring this moment and knowing that my queen is a goddess in her own right.

I half growl, voice breaking as release takes me, and I shout the truth I never soften, “Min kärlek, du är min och jag är din.” ⁴

After, she lies sprawled on top of me, boneless and warm, her cheek pressed to my chest where her heartbeat thunders, slowing now and steady against me. Her hair is a soft curtain across my shoulder, tousled with my own. She is slightly sweaty, smelling faintly of her earlier arousal and me. One arm is draped over my ribs, fingers lax, tracing nothing in idle little movements that tell me she’s too content to stop touching entirely.

Her breathing evens out, deep and unguarded. Not asleep, just done. The kind of exhaustion that only comes when there’s nothing left to hold together.

I keep one hand on her back, broad and certain, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. She fits there instinctively, as if her body remembered before her mind did.
Her lips curve faintly, the ghost of a smile she doesn’t bother to hide. Satisfaction hums through her, not sharp, not overwhelming, just right.

I tilt my head and brush my mouth against her hairline,

I should tell her, so I do, quietly, without drama.

“I heard you tonight,” I say. “In my office. With Nia.”

Her breath catches. I feel it before I see it.

“Not everything,” I add smoothly. “I wasn’t trying to listen. Just… just before I came in, when I was at the door.”

She lifts her head and studies my face, searching for an angle that isn’t there. “Eric,” she asks, “are you fishing for something?”

I shake my head once. Honest. Controlled. “Not if you don’t have anything to say.”

“Say what, exactly?” she teases, warmth blooming as she looks up at me from where she’s still laying in my arms. “That I love you?”

My grin answers first. I can’t stop it. My vision sharpens, as joy rolls through me, quiet, satisfied, undeniable. She sees it. Of course she does.

“I love you too.”

She shifts herself, straddling her legs around my waist without warning. I adjust to her easily, hands sliding over the backs of her thighs, locking her close like this is always the outcome. Satisfaction settles through the bond, mirroring the certainty in my grip.

She looks down at me now, a smile still lightly playing around her mouth. She shifts, curling into my side instinctively, fitting there as if the space was carved for her alone.

My arm comes around her, solid, anchoring.

She snuggles; I hold. She fights exhaustion; I feel her lose. Her body finally catches up to the long night and surrenders. I lower my mouth to her hair.

“You need to rest, min kärlek,” I murmur, my voice low and warm, steady enough to carry her down.

The words linger between us, intimate and weighty. She tucks herself closer, trusting the watchful presence I don’t bother to hide.

Eventually, my hand settles at her hip, then her breast, possessive without pressure, as we both relax and give ourselves over to the coming dawn.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29 - A Plan

I wake to soft light filtering through the curtains and glance at the clock- 10:30. I smile. I didn’t sleep the whole morning away for once. Carefully, I ease myself out of Eric’s embrace, and pad toward the bathroom, our disagreement from last night playing in my mind. We had reached a pleasant outcome in the end, but Eric can be so overbearing, stubborn, it was infuriating and reassuring at the same time.

The shower steams quickly, and I step under the hot spray, letting it sluice away the last of my lingering tension. My muscles stretch as I roll my shoulders, starting to feel fully awake. I wash my hair, rinse, and step out feeling awake and clear-headed. Wrapping myself in one of the oversized towels, I head straight for the closet.
Determined to get on with my day.

Jeans, a soft tee, leather jacket, boots - comfortable, practical, familiar. I tug everything on, run a brush through my hair, and add a fish braid quickly, securing it at my neck. No fussing. No lingering.

Passing back through the bedroom, I lean down and kiss Eric softly, then slip my insignia ring onto my finger. The weight of it steadies me.

In the kitchen, I notice a book and a note left on the counter. Eric’s graceful scrawl…

Sookie,

Last night, I measured risk alone instead of listening. That was not balance. That was instinct overruling judgment.
I do not regret wanting you safe, but hope that by offering you this it becomes part of how you stay that way.
Until tonight, let this stand as proof that I heard you.

~E

I pick up the book slowly, my fingers lingering on the worn leather. The weight of it settles into my palms, heavier than paper, heavier than ink. My chest tightens, sharp and sudden out of respect and recognition.

This book is an old one. Bound in dark leather, pages soft with age. A book of knowledge. I skim its pages quickly, it holds records of supernatural law where vampires are concerned and accounts of older powers, councils, precedents. But perhaps most interestingly where the pages are dog eared, they include fae and the marginal notes are in Eric’s hand - brief, precise, brutally honest.

This is not protection by enclosure. This is protection by information, and he left it because he trusts me to learn it and use it.

He isn’t trying to shield me by shutting doors. He’s opening them. Handing me the map and trusting me not to get lost. He still expects that he gets to come along and even lead the way, but this isn’t an apology meant to quiet me, it's meant to strengthen me.

Considering this, I close the book for now, making note of what I plan to read later. I move efficiently, pulling together groceries I know the farmhouse is light on. I make a mental note to have Eric’s dayman Bobby bring out a full restock later today, no reason both kitchens shouldn’t be stocked now. Once everything is packed into two large bags, I focus my energy.

With a shimmer and a soft pop, I reappear in the green kitchen at the farmhouse.

First things first - coffee. I get the pot going and begin unpacking, sliding items into the fridge and pantry. The house is quiet, still wrapped in sleep. I listen carefully, then start planning breakfast in my head: homefries, eggs, bacon, fruit salad. Toast with jelly. Comfort food. Familiar food. I pull things out but wait to start cooking.
I fire off a quick email to Bobby, attaching two neatly organized shopping lists - one for the farmhouse, one for the mansion, and make a point of copying Eric. Bobby is efficient, I’ll give him that, but he’s also an unrepentant ass, at least where I’m concerned. I haven't actually asked Bobby to do anything before now, I’ve only met him a handful of times when he was dropping off or picking up things for Eric. Eric on the other hand has been encouraging me to use his services, which still feels odd. I consider it a practical perk of vampire authority.

Coffee mug in hand, I’m halfway through my first cup when I hear movement upstairs, followed by a muttered string of curses.

Modern earth plumbing. I knew it. Faery had it all figured out when it came to rain fed heated showers and composting toilets. I head towards the stairs and think it first, wondering if Nia is feeling better… ‘Good morning! Can I help at all?’

I hear Nia open a door, and then without missing a beat, she’s in my head. ‘Sook, I don’t know what this fancy water closet has against me, but I’d very much like to wash up.’

Grinning, I head up and walk her through the bathroom, step by step. I start the shower, adjust the temperature - hot, of course - and line up the bottles.

“Soap. Shampoo is for your hair first, rinse, then conditioner.” I hand her a washcloth and hang a thick towel on the hook. “I’ll grab you some clothes in case you want something that will fit in here. They might be a little big, but you’ll manage, or glamour them to fit,” I add with a wink.

In my room, I raid the closet, choosing tights, a long knit tunic with a belt, and boots in colors I know she’ll appreciate. I add a jacket as the day is cool, just in case. I lay them out on her bed and head back downstairs.

By the time she comes down, I’ve turned the kitchen into controlled chaos. Breakfast is spread across the table, steaming and abundant. I hand her a mug of coffee - black.

She takes one sip and grimaces. “Too bitter, Sook.”

Laughing, I add cream and sugar, stir, and pass it back. “Try that.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh. I like that.”

We eat mostly in comfortable silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the ticking clock.

“I can't believe you cooked, Sook. Glamour makes it so much easier.” Nia manages around shoveling food into her mouth.

I smile. “True, but I like cooking, and I think it tastes better. It’s like talking vs. telepathy both have their advantages.”

Finally we both lean back, full and content, mugs in hand once more, I smile across the table at her.

Refilling mugs, “Bring your coffee and come with me,” I tell her.

We step out onto the porch together, the screen door sighing shut behind us. I curl into an oversized deck chair, tucking my legs beneath me, while Nia claims the porch swing with lethe-limbed grace. The late morning sun pours across the front of the house, warm and generous for fall, and for a few quiet moments we simply sit there, letting the light soak into our skin.

I breathe out slowly, the tension easing from my shoulders. “Alright,” I say at last, my voice softer now. “Where do you want to start?”

We choose the easy ground first.

I fill her in on the basics, how I’ve been back a couple of weeks since leaving Faery, and how much has happened in that short span. I summarize what I told her the night before about Eric and me, the bond, the way my life has tilted onto an entirely new axis that I’m still getting my head around.

Nia listens, eyes intent, then nods and offers her own timeline. It’s been four months for her since I left Faery - at least it was when she departed on the mission in the Vale that ultimately brought her here. Timelines twisting as they are known to. Autumnly had been with her then, strong and uninjured, when Nia stepped through the portal bringing her earthside.

I tell her the last update I received from Claudine, which seems weird that it was only yesterday. Other members of the Adra had gone into the Vale searching for them both. The words sit heavy between us, carried on the warm air and the creak of the swing as Nia rocks slowly back and forth. But we can't accurately piece the timeline together…

Frustrated, Nia says “You should try reaching out to Claudine,” her gaze drifting toward the tree line as if she might already be listening for answers beyond this world.

“You’re right,” I agree, the thought settling heavily in my chest. Claudine would hopefully know more by now, or could at least give us an update.

The words have barely left my mouth when the quiet of the morning shifts. Gravel crunches along the laneway, deliberate and familiar.

“Hey, Sook!” Lafayette hollers before the engine even cuts, leaning halfway out the window like subtlety has never once crossed his mind. “Lord Jesus be a fence, if it ain’t the country fairy herself back from whatever glittery death trap you ran off to this time.”

He parks crooked as hell and struts up the porch steps, sunglasses already pushed into his short curls. “I was hopin’ I’d catch you here. Thought maybe you’d vanished again into some magical bullshit with no return address.”

His eyes flick to Nia on the swing - and he stops. Just stops. Slowly pulls the sunglasses back down his nose, giving her a long, appreciative once-over.

“…Well damn,” he says softly. “Who ordered the fire goddess with a side of ancient vengeance?”

I bite back a smile. “Lafayette, this is Nia. She’s… family. Sort of.”

Nia tilts her head, studying him with cool amusement. “You are loud,” she observes serenely.

“Oh, baby,” Lafayette grins, delighted, “that ain’t loud. That’s charisma. And you…” he gestures vaguely at her whole being, “yous look like you could burn a man alive and not even smudge your eyeliner.”

Nia lifts one finger. A thin ribbon of flame dances at the tip, harmless but unmistakable.

“I can,” she says pleasantly. “Anytime you require.”

Lafayette’s grin widens. “Oh, I like her.”

He glances back at me. “You been keepin’ all the fun company since you got back, huh Sook? Figures.”

He checks his watch with an exaggerated sigh. “As much as I would love to stay and gossip with the Hot and the Magicall, I gotta haul my fabulous ass to Merlotte’s before Sam starts blowin’ up my phone.”

He points at me. “Sunday. Lunch, 1oclock. My place. You, your flame-throwin’ friend, and I want you meetin’ my man. Jesus. Fine as sin and twice as patient.”

Then, with a wink at Nia, “No fire inside the though house, sugar. I just got the carpets done.”

And with that, he pivots, strutting back to his car like he owns the world, leaving laughter and just a hint of chaos behind him.

Once Lafayette clears out, I catch Nia watching the lane where his car disappeared, her head tilted slightly, curiosity bright.

“Do all humans have that much personality?” she asks dryly. “If so, perhaps I have misjudged this world by staying out of it for so long.”

I snort softly, while sipping my coffee. “No. He’s a category all his own.” I take another sip of my coffee. “But he can cook like nobody’s business. Sunday’s in 3 days - we’ll go for lunch. It’ll be… memorable.”

She hums, amused. “I will prepare myself.”

I shift in my chair still grinning, setting my mug down. “Alright. Back to the matter at hand. Let’s try Claudine.”

I close my eyes and focus, drawing my magic. The call carries not just power but intent. Out loud, I anchor it.

“Cousin. I have news. Join me.”

We sit in the quiet that follows, porch boards warm beneath us, the air cool against our skin. Minutes pass.

Nia exhales slowly. “Perhaps the princess is occupied.”

A tinkling laugh ripples through the air, light and familiar, followed by a shimmer that bends the sunlight.

“Or perhaps the princess is exactly where she needs to be.”

Claudine appears on the porch steps, settling there with casual grace, one shoulder resting against the post. Her gaze moves between us, sharp and affectionate all at once. “You caught me in council with Niall,” she says mildly. “But I see there is much to discuss, and company I am pleased to see.”

She smiles warmly at Nia.

Nia wastes no time. She recounts everything, being attacked after crossing the portal, bitten, tortured and held by vampires for over a week. Her rescue by Eric’s sheriff. My presence at Eric’s side.

When she finishes, Claudine’s attention fixes on me, her expression thoughtful, assessing.

“Things sound like they have gone well, and you are adjusting to being at your viking’s side, Cousin ” she says.

“There’s more to it,” I say calmly, though the truth of it hums deep in my chest. “Yes, vampire politics are at play, but as I’ve been trying to explain to Nia and to you before, this isn’t just strategy or obligation, it's also for me.” I lift my gaze, steady and certain. “If I’m going to honor my responsibilities…to Faery, to the Adra, I also have to understand Eric’s world. Not from the outside, but from his side too.”

I pause, feeling the bond warm and sure beneath my skin. “He doesn’t stand apart from my path. He’s part of it. And standing with him, learning the weight he carries, it's giving me insights on how to do this. It’s also helping me explore the depth of feelings for him, and how he feels for me. Which is anything but straightforward. This is still all so new, different, I’m…it's exciting in a slightly terrifying and overwhelming way.”

The words settle, undeniable. My feelings for him aren’t tentative or restrained. They burn, bright, fierce, and fully claimed.

Claudine’s smile softens, pride unmistakable. “You found your confidence while you were with us, don’t lose it now. It brings me joy to see you smitten after so long. Lean on those around you, you will find the support you need when you call upon it.”

Then her expression tightens. “Now I do have an update - let me tell you what we’ve learned.”

“Sera and the others found Autumnly and returned from the Vale. She was shaken, bruised, but alive - and formidable enough slinking through the forests to survive on her own until they reached her.” Her voice lowers. “However… they also encountered something new.”

Nia straightens. I feel my magic stir.

“An entity,” Claudine continues, “the one we had seen as a shadow before. It is ancient and old, possibly older than the Great Prince himself. We are certain he is part of the source of the tears, the force pushing beasts through the portals.”

Silence settles over us as the weight of that sinks in.

“I want to share this with Eric,” I say finally. “The vampires are tracking portal activity too, and there’s a pattern forming, the scent of something, someone has been detected here as well. Whatever this thing is doing, it’s deliberate.”

I glance at Nia. “And the portal you came through - it hasn’t been sealed from this side. There are still beasts out there. Possibly a weeks’ worth pouring through.”
Claudine’s eyes sharpen.

“Then Area Two may be your next move,” she says. “But only with planning. Precision. They seem to be gathering now in larger numbers, greater force.”

I nod slowly. “Eric has told me they suspect there is a portal near Munroe as well. Claudine - is there one there? Would Claude know more about it? I know you both keep residence near there…We should get eyes on it as it hasn’t been sealed yet either.”

The three of us fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that only comes from shared purpose and mutual respect. The plan takes shape carefully, deliberately - no bravado, no rushing. Just strategy.

Nia leans forward first, elbows on her knees, fire-glow subdued but steady in her aura. “The portal in Area Two is the priority. It’s been open too long to the Vale. Anything that came through may have scattered.”

“I agree,” I say, nodding. “If we go tonight, we can seal it and eliminate whatever Vale beasts are still loose. But we don’t do it alone.” I glance at Claudine. “I want vampires with us. A small contingent. Ones Eric trusts. Ones who can know what we can do and won’t get in the way.”

Claudine’s brows lift slightly - not in surprise, but in approval. “I will ask my brother about the Munroe portal. But for your work tonight a tracker may help too,” she adds. “If anything slipped the perimeter days ago, you’ll need someone who can follow a trail through rot and shadow.” Nia gives a sharp smile.

“Yes,” I say. “A tracker included in the handful of vampires, or a were, and us. Enough strength to handle surprises, not so many that it becomes… political.” I don’t say Eric’s name, but all three of us understand the weight behind it. Every move reflects on him now. On us.

Claudine studies us for a long moment, then inclines her head. “It is a sound plan. Dangerous, but measured.” Her gaze settles on me, sharp and assessing. “You are learning how to stand in more than one world at once.”

“I have to,” I reply quietly. “And I won’t pretend Eric isn’t part of that equation. What I do reflects on him, on his reign. I intend to be an asset at his side, not a liability, but I am standing on my own two feet.”

Something like pride flickers across her face.

“One more thing,” I add. “We need better communication. This” I gesture between us “can’t be sporadic anymore. Too much is moving, too fast.”

Claudine nods without hesitation. “Agreed. We’ll establish regular updates - messages and windows keyed between us. You won’t be operating on guess work anymore. Here is my number, Claude’s and another for the Great Prince - in case of emergencies.” She hands me a slip of paper.

She rises then, smoothing her dress. “I must return. Niall and the council were still in session when I left, and this news cannot wait.” Her expression turns serious. “But you will have my support - and my attention.”

With a soft shimmer, she pauses just long enough to meet my eyes. “Give Eric your plan. I suspect he will have opinions.”

I huff a quiet breath. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Claudine smiles, knowing, fond, and just a little ominous, before vanishing in a ripple of light.

Nia exhales slowly beside me. “Well,” she says, “that went better than expected.”

I glance toward the house, already feeling the pull of the bond, a faint ache from my separation from him today, Eric’s presence brushing the edge of my awareness. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Now comes the hard part. Convincing a stubborn viking that this is the smartest way forward.”

I slide into the kitchen, deciding we need a late lunch, early dinner to keep our energy up before tackling anything else. I move with practiced ease, pulling together a hearty spread of sausages quickly grilled with fresh vegetables, a salad, and some bread. Nia perches on a stool at the counter, watching me with that quiet, curious intensity that centuries of experience bring. We eat, talk quietly, and the sun drifts lower, painting the room in warm gold.

Just as we clear the plates, the familiar rumble of a truck pulls into the driveway. Bobby steps inside moments later, arms loaded with bags and boxes. He drops them on the counter with a little more force than necessary and offers a curt nod. “Here’s your stuff. Don’t bother me unless you want trouble, I have to look after the Masters tasks ahead of yours.”

I roll my eyes and maintain my polite smile, moving to unpack the groceries. Nia simply arches an eyebrow, smirking slightly at his theatrics. Despite the attitude, every item lands exactly where it should. Once the work is done, I give him a nod of thanks. “That will be all, Bobby. I appreciate your help.”

He grunts, mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and heads back out to his truck. The moment the door clicks shut, Nia and I exchange a glance and chuckle softly.

“I’m ready for a nap,” I admit. “You?”

She nods. We head upstairs together, slipping quietly into my bedroom. The room wraps around us like a sanctuary. Curling up side by side, on my bed our magic threads weaving gently through the air between us, I feel a deep, peaceful calm settle over me. Nia hums softly, and I respond in kind, our energies mingling in that quiet rhythm only those bound by trust and shared purpose can reach.

The sunlight starts to lower slowly through the windows, warm and golden, and the world outside drifts away. Safe here, together, we let sleep reclaim us, the tension of the day easing from our bodies as our breaths fall in sync.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30 - Area Two

We wake about thirty minutes before sundown. Clouds covering the sunset, the light in the room dimming. My phone buzzes immediately - a text from Eric. He’s risen, noticed my absence, and is making sure I know it. I smile, letting a wave of warmth ripple through the bond. I’m awake. Safe. Ready.

I type back quickly, asking where he’d like to meet to go over tonight’s plan. I mention that we’ll need several vampires and a tracker to accompany us.

Before my text even sends, I feel his response thrum through the bond…He's coming to me. The certainty in him makes my pulse quicken. I send the text anyway hoping he can make arrangements for support and a tracker if he hasn’t already.

We move efficiently. A quick glamour summons our fae leathers, clinging perfectly, supple and dark. I tweak mine, switching the Brigant crest on my chest for my hummingbird sigil, a subtle nod to my roots that avoids declarations we’ve agreed to stay silent on for now. Dinner is simple, sandwiches I’d prepped earlier, washed down with sweet tea. I toss some bottled water and protein snack bars into my rucksack for Nia and I for later, checking that everything sits secure.

Then come the weapons. My usual short sword and dagger rest in their customary positions, but tonight the pull for something different is strong. I glance at Nia, and she smirks knowingly. “Want sword-staffs tonight?”

“You have to ask?” she teases.

In an instant, two weapons shimmer into being in my hands: sword-staffs, each with a wickedly curved blade on one end and a heavy, silver-capped pommel on the other. Slightly shorter in length to suit our heights but balanced, deadly and perfect. Runes etched along the blades pulse with a muted, glowing light. I hand one to Nia, feeling her approval hum through her aura.

I summon the sword Eric used before, along with four others - various sizes, each expertly balanced. Guessing at how many we may need. We lay them carefully on the coffee table, checking weight, edge, and runes. Every movement deliberate, each weapon a promise of efficiency and lethality.

No sooner have we put the weapons down, we can hear a car on the driveway, and by car I mean minivan. I barely have time to glance through the window before Eric is at the door, flanked by Pam and Thalia. Their presence is immediate, commanding. I open the door, inviting them in, and they step inside, the air thick with authority and latent energy.

Pam eyes Nia. “Well, looks like the little firefly got warmed up, how quaint” she drawls.

I smirk. “Careful, Pam, she will bring the heat if you fire her up.”

Her dry laugh echoes, sharp and brittle. “Oh, I don’t doubt it at all. I just prefer my surroundings unincinerated.” She lets the words hang, sharp, but I swear I can see a faint trace of approval in her gaze.

Nia smirks, not missing a beat. “I’ll keep it in check… mostly.”

Eric’s gaze flicks to me, then back to the array of weapons. His voice is low, smooth, and sharp with approval.

“Impressive selection… and well chosen. You know your tools as well as your own strength.” He glances at the sword staff now strapped to my back. “That one suits you, balanced, deadly, and just a touch unpredictable. Like its owner.”

His eyes sweep over Pam and Thalia with the same precision, then back to me. “Tonight will be a test. I expect nothing less than that same precision, and that same fire, from all of you.”

We discuss the plan and load quickly, the hum of anticipation buzzing in the room. The plan is simple but high stakes: an hour-and-a-half drive to rendezvous with Marius Cleo’s second from Area two, and Gregory, Eric’s tracker, then a short trek to the portal.

We pile into Pam’s minivan - a fully loaded Dodge Caravan with leather seats, tinted windows, and a moon roof big enough to remind you this monstrosity once had dreams of summer road trips and family adventures before resigning itself to vampire carpools and blood raids. A soccer mom’s chariot, turned vampire shuttle through and through.

Eric and I take the back bench. He settles in beside me with lazy possession, one long arm draped over my shoulders like it belongs there, which it does, and drops a brief kiss into my hair. It’s casual, intimate, unmistakably public.

Thalia claims shotgun, Pam already behind the wheel, hands light on it like she’s piloting something far more lethal than a minivan. Nia slips into one of the middle bucket seats, alert but relaxed, for now.

As the driveway disappears behind us, conversation turns tactical. I fill them in on Claudine’s updates while Nia expands on Vale threats we’ve already crossed paths with. We review shademauls - brute force, dense muscle, slow but relentless and best taken down with heavy blades or coordinated strikes. Dusklings follow, skittering horrors that thrive in shadows and panic, teeth sharp enough to remove limbs, vulnerable to light and disruption. Graelghasts round it out: huge, long reaching talons, shrieking, laser focused, and vicious if cornered or in greater numbers, but predictable enough once you learn their patterns.
The van hums along the highway, dusk creeping closer with every mile. Eric listens without interrupting, his grip steady and grounding, his attention sharp. Nia leans in, her eyes narrowing,

“There are others to be aware of as well, most likely threnox and krivtars,” she begins, her voice calm but edged with urgency. “While Sookie tells me they haven’t been reported here yet, they dwell in the Vale and we’ve been encountering them more often. Autumnly and I were fighting a bunch of them with the dusklings when I crossed so it’s possible they may have found their way through.”

We all listen as she continues, her tone vivid, precise. “Threnox are like mutant goblins. Limbs crooked and sinewy, their shorter forms move with predator-like grace, defying the awkwardness their bodies suggest. They have slate-colored skin that absorbs light, eyes like bottomless tar pools but intelligent, calculating. Their claws can tear through bone, but their attacks follow ritual, precise movements. They rarely act alone, usually in groups of five or more, they can wield weapons as well, striking in coordinated bursts.”

She shifts slightly, her gaze sharpening as she describes their lieutenants. “Krivtars,” she says, “are fog-forgotten elves. Deadly, elegant, leading alongside the threnox. They move with ghostly stealth, blades shimmering in the dim light, teeth sharp, eyes soulless. Their presence radiates command; and while they are more rare, they are equally lethal. They’re cunning, strategic… everything the threnox are not in isolation, but together are amplified.”

“Tell me,” Eric says suddenly, looking first at Nia and then back to me, “what ends them fastest?”

He draws patterns on my leg with this thumb, a thin hint of curiosity flickering.

“I don’t care about legends or theatrics. What is the most efficient way to take them out?”

Nia doesn’t hesitate. She straightens, all warmth gone from her expression, fire sharpening into something hard and ancient.

“Threnox first,” she says. “They’re tough, but not clever on their own. Silver slows them, the swords we have will wound them deeply, and fire or light finishes the job. Don’t let them surround you, that’s when they’re most dangerous. Break the pack, kill one fast, and the rest lose cohesion. Decapitation also works, so does burning or ripping out the heart.”

Her gaze flicks to Eric, steady and unflinching. “They rely on patterns and formation. Disrupt that and they fall apart.”

Then her voice lowers, more serious. “Krivtars are different. You don’t overpower them, you have to outmaneuver them. Cold blades will bite, but you need precision. Aim for the throat or spine. Fire disrupts their form, but it won’t always kill them outright unless it’s sustained.”

She exhales slowly. “Light is your best weapon, as Fae magic destabilizes them, silver will burn them, but it’s not enough on its own. Decapitation with silver or light infused steel will do the trick, but getting them to hold still is almost impossible. If you see one retreating into fog, don’t chase it blindly. That’s how they lure you.”
A faint, humorless smile touches her mouth. “In short: kill the threnox fast and loud. Kill the krivtars clean and final. And if you have to choose which to eliminate first, take out the krivtar. The rest will collapse there formation without their mind to guide the attacks.”

“What about the shadow? Who or whatever it is, is appearing more often here and in Faery. What’s the approach for it?” I ask more as a precaution, eyeing Eric wearily.
Eric doesn’t answer me immediately.
He stills in a way that has nothing to do with thought and everything to do with instinct. His gaze shifts, not to me, but somewhere inward, measuring something old and unfinished. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, deliberate, carefully contained.
“We do not assume intent where there is not yet proof,” he says. “Whatever we have been tracking has not acted openly, but it doesn't mean it won't”

I don’t relax. Neither does he.

His eyes meet mine, sharp and steady. “Ancient forces reveal themselves in layers. This one hasn't tipped it's hand yet, we need to press it without being careless.” his tone is flat and serious.

“If it shows itself, you do not face it alone.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze it reassuringly. I remember our conversation well, and am not trying to test those limits tonight.

The van is silent for a few minutes and I tip my head back against the seat and look up through the moon roof. The clouds are starting to stack thick, bruised layers sliding over one another, heavy with promise. The air feels tight, charged, like it’s holding its breath.

“Feels like a storm’s coming,” I murmur.

Nia chuckles from the middle row, low and pleased. “Could be useful,” she says. “If you can pull it off.”

I snort softly and glance her way. “Please. I can pull it off.”

She grins, all teeth and wicked amusement. “Uh-huh. And the last time you said that, you nearly blasted two of our allies into low orbit because you didn’t ground the bolt first.”

“It was my first time trying, and I corrected that.” I protest softly. “Mostly.”

“After,” Nia says sweetly. “After you made a crater the size of a pool.”

Pam’s eyes flick to us in the rearview mirror, sharp and unimpressed. “One of you is going to explain why you’re casually discussing atmospheric manipulation and friendly fire,” she drawls, “or I will drive this charming suburban death trap into a tree to make the noise stop.”

I smile sweetly at Pam’s reflection in the rearview mirror, all innocence and sugar layering it on thick just for her. “Relax Pammy,” I say lightly. “We’re just discussing my ability to harness lightning.” I tilt my head, letting the smile sharpen at the edges. “I can always practice with you, Pam, if you’d like.

Pam’s eyes flick back to the road for half a second, then return to the rearview mirror, one perfectly arched brow lifting.

“You will not,” she says coolly, every word edged in silk and threat, “be practicing lightning on my person, my vehicle, or anything I’m financially or aesthetically attached to.”

She gives me a slow, venomous smile in the mirror.

“I don’t care how bonded you are now, Sookie. If you fry my hair, I will end you. And then I’ll have Eric bring you back just so I can do it again.”

Thalia snorts from the passenger seat.

Eric’s arm tightens around my shoulders, the bond carrying a low thread of dark amusement. “Pam,” he says evenly, “my lover would never strike you with lightning," A pause, precise and intentional. “unless you had earned it.”

Pam clicks her tongue. “See? This is exactly why I’m driving. None of you can be trusted with weather, magic, or impulse control.”

Nia laughs from the middle row, firelight flickering faintly along her finger tips.

“Oh, don’t worry, vampire. If she loses control, I’ll catch the fallout.”

Pam exhales unnecessarily, long and unimpressed. “Do not waste your time trying to comfort me, firefly.”

Thunder murmurs somewhere far off, low and distant. I glance back up through the moonroof, clouds thickening, darkening.

Eric dips his mouth close to my ear. “If there is a storm coming,” he murmurs, voice warm and dangerous, “I trust you to decide if and when to let it loose.”

I smile to myself.

Pam accelerates just a little.

We park a little later, pulling into an empty parking lot at State Park. Pam pulls in beside the only other vehicle in the lot, a pick up truck that had seen better days. The minivan doors hiss open, and the crisp night air washes over me, carrying the faint scent of damp asphalt and a chill from the gathering storm. I step down, boots crunching against the loose gravel of the parking lot.

Turning I recognize Cleo and Marius from the night before and give them both a quick nod, turning my attention to the other vampire. He stands just beyond the circle of light spilling from the minivan’s interior. Dark hair, neatly kept but with a hint of disarray, suggests someone who doesn’t need to fuss. His eyes, too dark to call brown, too alive to call black, lock on me with a quiet intensity that tightens my stomach. He moves with an economy that speaks of centuries of practice: no wasted gestures, every step precise, deliberate.

Eric places a hand on my shoulder and gestures toward the stranger with a faint tilt of his head. “Sookie, this is Gregory. Gregory, Sookie my bonded.”

Gregory inclines his head slightly, a polite but measured gesture. His accent, a faint European lilt, refined, ripples through the words. “A pleasure.”

“Hello,” I say, my voice betraying a flicker of curiosity despite myself.

Gregory’s gaze lingers on me a heartbeat longer than polite before shifting, appraising, toward Eric. “I trust you’ve been well, my Liege,” he says softly, and there’s a weight in his tone that suggests unspoken histories, debts long paid…or not paid at all.

Eric smirks, the faintest curve of his lips, and steps closer to me. “Gregory is newer in town, but has always proven himself to be very…capable.”

Gregory’s eyes flick back to me, just for a moment, and in that brief contact I feel the almost tangible pulse of power measured, controlled, unmistakably dangerous. It isn’t a threat, not overtly, but it carries the quiet certainty of someone who’s survived many centuries.

“Update,” Eric says, his voice calm but sharp, eyes scanning both Marius and Gregory.

Marius steps forward. “There’s continued activity in and around the portal. Dozens of creatures, although they seem to be staying in the immediate area.”

Gregory inclines his head slightly. “There’s another presence…and that scent again. Older, vampire-like, but not quite.”

Eric’s gaze narrows. “Can you locate it?”

Gregory shakes his head. “It heads from the portal and back in an expanding pattern, but doesn’t seem to go anywhere.”

Eric’s jaw tightens, the tension snapping through our bond like a drawn bowstring. I feel his control lock down, cold and lethal, and I immediately push calm back at him, focus, steadiness.

I’ve got this.

I turn inward, extending my senses past the familiar edges of myself. I ignore the hollow voids where vampires stand, blank, soundless absences in the world, and push beyond them. The fog presses close, damp and whispering. Then I hear them. Dusklings.

Their thoughts skitter at the edge of perception, thin, chittering fragments, like whispers carried through wet leaves. I reach farther, strain, and hit my limit.

“Nia,” I call.

She steps in without hesitation. I lift my hands, palms up. She places her palms down over mine, warm and alive, and we hold each other's wrists. The moment our grips tighten, our magic braids together; hers bright and volatile, mine sharp and searching.

The world opens.

My awareness surges outward, clean and vast. I locate the portal first - it's now a raw tear in the fabric between worlds, pulsing and wrong. Around it, beasts swarm. Hundreds of dusklings flit through the area, darting and scattering like minnows in dark water. Beyond them lurk heavier presences: many shademauls, thick and brutal, and four distinct clusters of threnox each with a krivtar.

'Fucking great, just great', I think and I can here Nia's tinkling laughter to my reaction in the back of my mind.

'Relax Sook, unless your telling me these vamps are just for show, we've got this." Her thoughts are already a little wild, ready for a fight.

I release Nia’s wrists and the world snaps back into focus. I turn to the others, breath steady, heart thudding, but my voice clear.

“Okay,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “Here’s what we’re walking into, this is going to be fun.”

I tick it off on my fingers. “Hundreds of dusklings swarming the woods, just assume they are everywhere. They’re skittish but thick as gnats. A few dozen shademauls further in, and” I grimace “four clusters of threnox, each one being babysat by a krivtar. So it’s one hell of a welcoming committee.”

I look at each of them in turn. “The portal’s wide open. That’s the problem. Until it’s sealed, they’ll just keep cycling through.”

Eric doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward and the night seems to tighten around him, every set of eyes snapping to attention as if pulled by gravity.

“We are lucky they haven't tried to move towards New Orleans from here. We proceed clean,” he says, voice even, carrying authority without effort. “We move in as one. No heroics. When we separate, we do so with precision.”

His gaze cuts to Pam and Nia first. Then Cleo. “You three take the left flank. Fast, decisive strikes. You burn what blocks us and you do not linger.”

Then he turns slightly, already assigning without pause. “Thalia, you lead Marius and Gregory on the right. I will not tolerate surprises tonight.”

Finally, his attention returns to me. Not soft, never soft, but focused, intent. Possessive in that way that makes my magic hum instead of bristle.

“You stay with me,” he says. “We go straight down the center. You reach the portal. You seal it.”

A beat.

“After that,” he continues calmly, “we eliminate everything that remains.”

His eyes hold mine, sapphire and unyielding. “No one breaks formation. Do not chase strays. The flanks clear the worst of our path first and nothing more.”

Then, quieter meant only for me, carried across the bond like steel wrapped in velvet.

“And you do not place yourself between that portal and anything I have not already cleared.”

Everyone reaches for steel and then I feel it, that faint hitch, the wrongness of the count. We’re one weapon short.

My gaze slides to Thalia. “Your preference?”

The ancient vampire looks up at me, her slight frame doing nothing to disguise the predator coiled beneath it. Her eyes rake over me with cool appraisal, sharp and unblinking, as if she’s weighing my worth along with the question. When she speaks, her voice is soft and precise.

“An xiphos,” she says. “If you have one.”

I nod once already summoning my light and it answers immediately.

A blade shimmers into existence in my hand - double-edged, leaf-shaped, and a cross-hilt. Faery runes chase one another along its length, glowing with a pale, dangerous light. It feels like condensed intent, like violence given form. I hand it to her hilt-first.

Thalia takes it, testing the weight with a slow, practiced turn of her wrist. She angles the blade, studies the curve, the edge, the way the runes respond to her touch. Just barely, at the corner of her mouth, the barest tick of approval appears.

“This will do.”

That’s as close to praise as she gets.

With everyone armed, Eric signals forward. We slip into the tree line as one, boots crunching softly over leaves and damp earth. The woods close around us, dark and waiting, and we follow the trail toward the portal, toward whatever is already moving in the shadows ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31 - Dark Regent

We close in on the dusklings, and the pull of the portal tightens in my chest - close now, maybe a hundred feet ahead. The air feels wrong, thin and humming, like the woods are holding their breath. I glance left, catching Nia’s eye, then flick one at Pam. We’re almost close enough to break off.

I lean toward Nia and keep my voice low. “Hey, pixie. Watch your back, okay? And try not to singe Pam, she’ll get testy if she so much as breaks a nail.” I add a faint smile. “She’s fast, and lethal. Like Sera, but blonder. Cleo is solid too so you'll have support.”

Pam cuts me a sharp sideways look. “Careful, Stackhouse. I don’t bruise easily, but my patience does.” Cleo barely warrants my comment with a glance, focused with the task at hand.

Nia grins, fire already glowing beneath her skin, lighting her eyes and warming her cheeks. “Please,” she murmurs, rolling her shoulders. “We’ve walked out of worse than this. I’ll have these turkeys toasted before they know they’re on the menu. As for undead barbie here, I got her back. She and the sheriff have nothing to worry about.”

Before I can answer, Eric’s hand settles on my shoulder - solid, steady. Our pace slows, then stops completely as he surveys the forest ahead, eyes tracking movement I can’t quite see yet. I can hear the dusklings whisper and skitter through the fog, their voices layering into a restless hiss that crawls under my skin.

I draw in a breath and sink down into myself, reaching for the forest beneath my boots. The earth answers. Light blooms under my skin, warm and steady, threading through my veins instead of burning out of control. The coming storm answers too - distant thunder rolling low, the wind stirring the canopy above us.
Eric’s presence at my back anchors me. Focus sharpens. Fear quiets.

“We move,” he murmurs.

We step forward together.

The dusklings are everywhere now - shadows slipping between trees, bodies half-seen, half-felt. The forest fills with sound: chittering, hissing, the rush of wind, thunder edging closer. Then everything fractures into motion.

Pam, Cleo and Nia peel off to the left. Nia’s blade ignites in a wash of fire, bright and furious, cutting through the fog. Pam moves like a blade herself - precise, elegant, lethal. Cleo is but a shadow between them - deadly and focused.

To the right, Thalia, Gregory, and Marius vanish into the trees. The sounds there change fast - dusklings screaming, dissolving into ash and mist, their voices swallowed by the wind.

Eric and I keep straight ahead.

We push forward together, blades flashing, bodies moving in that smooth, lethal rhythm we’ve found when we fight side by side. The dusklings go down easy - too easy - little snapping mouths and needle teeth meeting steel and light. I don’t even have time to think about them before they’re ash at our feet.
We’re about thirty feet from the portal when three shademauls surge out of the fog, low and fast, all claws, muscle and bad intentions. One on the left is already square with me.

“Mine,” I say, more instinct than strategy.

Fairy light flares along my sword staff, white-gold and humming, and I pivot toward it. Eric doesn’t argue. He squares up on the other two like a wall that suddenly decided to become a weapon.

The shademaul lunges. I roll under its claws, dirt and leaves exploding into the air, and come up already swinging. The blade bites deep into its leg - bone cracks, the sound sharp and ugly, and the thing howls as its weight shifts wrong.

I don’t give it a second chance.

I pull air to me, a sharp inhale of magic and will, and launch upward, letting the force carry me. I land hard on its back, driving the blade straight down through its spine. Light floods the weapon, surging out of me in a controlled blast, and the head separates cleanly. The body starts to flake apart almost immediately, mist unraveling into nothing.

I spin just in time to see one of Eric’s shademauls drop, his sword already slick with dissolving shadow. He pivots behind the last one and ends it with brutal efficiency - no wasted motion, no hesitation.

For half a second our eyes lock.

There’s pride there, heat, and that deep, unshakable certainty that hums between us like a living thing. I let his leashed fury mingle with my own resolve in the bond, letting it focus and strengthen us both.

I nod once. He nods back.

More dusklings swarm in, and we cut through them without slowing. Somewhere to our left I hear the roar of flame and the unmistakable screech of threnox. Cleo, Pam and Nia are busy.

Suddenly through my mind flickers a thought. 'We are working our way through this side. So far so good'. Stay focused, Sook.'.

I send back a quick thought of 'stay safe, we are nearly to the portal'.

We’re now within ten feet of the portal when two more shademauls break from the trees.

Eric steps forward without even looking at me. “Go. Seal it. I’ve got these.”

I don’t argue. I trust him.

I turn toward the portal, already pulling light from the air, from the ground, from the storm gathering overhead. Tendrils of magic lace around my hands as I close the last few feet, movements precise, practiced.

Then it hits me. That feeling. Something cold and vast and watching. The same presence I felt near the farmhouse - ancient, patient, and far too aware of me.

My skin prickles. My magic tightens, reacting before my mind can catch up.

Something very old is paying attention now.

The portal hums at my side, light twisted wrong, bleeding the Vale into the forest. I turn, raising my blade. Then - nothing. I can’t move. Can’t hardly breathe. A foreign magic slams into me, pinning me in place like an insect trapped in amber.

He steps out of the portal, and for one awful heartbeat my mind can't refuse him - because he’s powerful and almost beautiful. Tall. Terrible. Wrong in a way my blood recognizes before my thoughts catch up. Hair that might once have been blond curls dark around his face, shadow-stained, winding through the splintered antler crown rising from his skull as if it grew there willingly. The antlers curve back and outward, threaded with dead vines and a faint, sickly glow. Fangs extend from his mouth, his eyes a dark swirling depth of silver and violet, power and something else… deeply twisted. He looks like a dark, forgotten regent - a prince of the ancients who vanished into the mist and returned poisoned by shadow and death, and yet is standing before me all the same.

It’s his hands that undo me. Human hands. Pale. Steady. Dirt beneath the nails. Reaching for me like this is intimate. Like it’s inevitable.

Panic slices through me, sharp and desperate. I claw for Eric through the bond - scream for him without sound, but the connection stretches thin, muffled, swallowed by this thing’s presence. It's like I'm shouting underwater.

I strain anyway. Every instinct screams run, fight, do something - but my body betrays me, held firmly in place. My voice dies in my chest. His eyes lock onto mine with cold, endless patience, like he’s waited millenia for this exact moment.

His hand extends, the small blade gleaming coldly. The cut comes fast, precise, a sharp bite of pain that draws a breath from me despite myself. Blood wells instantly, dark and vivid. I watch, helplessly aware of every second, as he draws the blade back and lets my blood drip into his mouth.

Then he looks at me.

His grin is cruel. Fangs bared, eyes alight with something ancient and merciless. It is not reassurance or desire he offers, but a promise of terror, of domination, of terrible things waiting just beyond restraint.

'We have been looking for you', his voice slides into my head. 'Ones who have the power. Ones who can stand in more than one world'.

My terror spikes hotter. His gaze feels like it’s peeling me open, rifling through my soul. I force myself to look away…anywhere else. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eric tearing through dozens of dusklings swarming him and then blocking the swipe of a shademaul. I can see a krivtar ghosting his way through the trees approaching with another swarm of dusklings. Eric is moving with practiced efficiency, a rabid ferocity I’ve not seen before, and I know he feels it. The bond’s suddenly muted…it's silence screams louder than words. I try my telepathy to find Nia, but it's like static blocking me again.

I have to break free.

Now.

I close my eyes and push inward first. I feel him circling me, testing, tasting my magic, probing for weakness. I reinforce my mental shields keeping him out and slide past him instead. Upwards. The rain had begun to fall, the wet reaching the forest floor almost instantly.

I stretch my magic into the sky, into the pressure and static of the storm rolling through. The clouds answer immediately, eager, crackling. I revel in it, in the swollen air and suffocating humidity, in the tension coiling in the clouds until it breaks loose as thunder. I grab a hold.

Knowing this could all go to hell if I miss the anchor, and knowing it might be the only thing that saves me if I don’t, I dig in, quieting my doubts.

Managing to shift ever so slightly in the magical hold I’m bound in, ignoring the tremor running through my legs, I brace slightly. I push my magic down, deep into the ground beneath the forest floor, past roots and stone and old bones, spreading it wide like tree roots searching for water. The earth answers, and I latch on to the thread I need, the anchor point humming beneath the chaos.

The spell fights me. Everything does. The portal screams behind me, his magic clawing at mine, trying to drag me off balance. I can see Eric trying to get to me, the shademaul falling and the krivtar attacking with it’s ghostly blade. My teeth grit together and I snarl under my breath, now stubborn as hell and twice as determined.

I PULL.

Power floods me like I’m a lightning rod, the current building fast and furious. I feel him pushing harder now, cracking at my defenses, fingers slipping into my thoughts…

I don’t hesitate, I call the bolt directly at me.

Lightning tears down through me, white-hot and roaring, and the blast shatters everything around me at once - the portal flares, the dark regent staggers back, his hold on me snapping like rotten twine. I drop to one knee, vibrating with leftover power, heart hammering like it wants out of my chest.

I don’t waste it, I’m ready.

I call a second bolt and guide it without hesitation, raw power ripping free of me. This time, I’m not frozen, I’m moving, choosing, striking.

It misses.

In less than a breath he is there and gone, space itself seeming to fold where he stood.

The lightning slams into the earth with a concussive crack, the ground rupturing beneath it. A crater blooms open, hurling soil, roots, and shattered leaves into the air. Dust and debris rain down over me, stinging my skin, catching in my hair, the earth still sizzling and smoking as my magic bleeds into the ground.

The regent is back before the dust can settle, so close I feel him in my bones, the air drawing tight around us as if the world itself is holding its breath. I summon another bolt, pushing the static out around me like a shield, floating through my hair, crackling around me. I raise my blade.

'This is not over.'

The words slide into my mind like silk over a bruise, slow, deliberate, heavy with promise. With anticipation. With certainty.

Then he smiles. Just a hint of it.

And in less than a breath the portal blooms open behind him, light folding inward as he steps back into it, vanishing as if he were never there at all - except for the lingering stench of his presence and the echo of his voice still coiled around my thoughts.

I channel some of the remaining electricity straight into my sword staff, the runes blazing as the weapon hums alive in my hands.

Eric is suddenly beside me, solid and lethal and covering my back, shredding a shademaul that had approached me from behind, the krivtar still hard on his heels. The relief that punches through me from his presence, almost drops me to my knees, but there’s no time for it. I lift my free hand and let instinct take over, releasing a shard of lightning braided tight with fae light from my free hand. It slams into the krivtar mid-lunge, ripping through it in a flash of white-blue fire.

I don’t wait to see if it finishes the job.

I pivot, driving forward with my sword staff, striking again and again - three clean, brutal hits, laced with light. The creature shudders, unravels, and dissolves into mist that scatters across the forest floor like it never mattered at all.

My breath comes shallow now. My hands tremble. The storm still hums in my bones, rain soaking me now, but I’ve burned through more than I meant to. I cut down another shademaul, leaving what remains for Eric. I turn back toward the portal, my vision narrowing, the edges of the world going a little too bright. I can’t sense the dark regent, anymore - thank God - but the portal still yawns open, raw and wrong, pulling at everything around it.

Eric moves like a force of nature beside me, finishing off the last shademaul and cutting down the remaining dusklings with ruthless efficiency. I feel him guarding my flank without looking, anchoring me even as I stagger. I reach out through the bond, drawing on his rage. Startling myself, I realize I am able to draw from it - syphoning it off to rejuvenate me.

Pam’s voice cuts in suddenly, cool and irritated from behind me. “Firefly, if you’re done flirting with the beasts of the apocalypse, help tinkerbell and close the damn portal already before she turns into fairy dust.”

Just then warmth blooms at my shoulder.

Nia.

She presses her palm there, steady and sure, her fire threading into me without overwhelming, without taking. I exhale shakily and lean into it, letting our magic braid together - earth and sky, flame and light. The power from both of them now, channeling with my own. The portal fights back, screaming soundlessly as I pull the weave tight, drawing the edges closed stitch by stitch.

Together, they help me finish it.

The light snaps shut with a final, echoing crack, and the forest exhales. The pressure lifts. The night settles.

I sag, barely upright now, but the portal is sealed - done - and the Vale is cut off once more.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32 - Burnout

I don’t remember getting back to the van. One moment there was smoke, thunder and torn earth, and the next we were there.

Eric’s voice is low in my ear, firm with that calm that never quite lets me argue.

“You were done,” he says. “The moment the portal sealed, your legs gave out. I’ve carried you back.”

I open my mouth to say something, but he tightens his hold just enough to stop me.

“You pushed past your limit,” he continues, matter-of-fact, like this is not up for debate. “You need rest, real rest, or you are going to break something that does not heal easily.”

His thumb brushes my hip, protective, possessive, final.

The hatch lifts, spilling cold night air into the van, and Eric lowers me into the back with deliberate care, as if I’m something precious instead of merely exhausted.

Metal clinks softly as a cooler is pulled free. Bagged blood is passed from hand to hand, the vampires settling into the ritual with practiced ease.

Around us, the aftermath seeps in. The sharp edge of adrenaline dulls, leaving behind bone-deep weariness and the quiet weight of what we survived.

I scan myself for injuries. A slice on my arm and a small scrape burns on my cheek. My knee is clearly bruised and bloodied. Everything in me feels overcooked, my magic singed at the edges, raw and frayed. I’m soaked and filthy - dirt, mud, leaves, half the forest floor clinging to me.

Eric looks at me again, his gaze sharpening. “Min valkyria, take some of my blood. You’re drained, more than you should be.” Still too frazzled to say anything, I nod, he is right.

Eric wraps one arm still around me, he brings his other hand to his mouth, and I hear a crunch as he bites into his wrist with his fangs, and offers it without hesitation.
“Here.”

My knee throbs sharply, the ache demanding attention. I take his wrist into my mouth and draw gently. His blood flows thick and smooth, rich without being overwhelming. I feel the pain easing, my scrapes knitting closed almost immediately.

I look around then, as I lick Eric’s healing wrist. Marius and Gregory look worse for wear but remain stubbornly upright, bloodied, slightly scorched, and unyielding in that way only the undead can manage. Cleo appears to be trying to reattach her hand, while sucking back bags of blood.

Thalia, by contrast, looks like she went through a fight pit the wrong way, clothes torn, hair a wild snarl, yet not a single mark mars her skin. Her eyes tell another story however - she thrived on every minute of the chaos.

“You were incredible, min kärlek.” Eric says softly to me, brushing hair out of my face. Keeping an arm around me, letting me lean my weight on his.

He’s paler than usual, but otherwise looks fine. A smudge of dirt mars his cheek; his clothes bear small tears and dark smears of blood, bits of forest tangled in his long hair where it was pulled from the tie at the nape of his neck. Nothing serious that I can see. Typical Eric - barely marked by the chaos, standing solid and unshaken while the rest of us look like we went a few brutal rounds and were lucky to walk away at all.

Eric accepts a bag of blood from Pam, but his eyes never leave me. I nod at him understanding his question, too tired and fried to offer him myself.

“Take it,” Pam drawls. “You look appalling.”

He drains the bag in moments.

Rain falls harder now, soft but relentless, soaking everything as thunder still mutters in the distance. Marius and Gregory finish their blood quickly, helping Cleo get into the truck with her slowly healing hand and peel away. Midnight is closing in and the storm is still pouring around us.

Somehow Pam doesn’t have a hair out of place, not really. Aside from being all wet, the only proof she’d been in the fight at all was the mud caked on her boots and pants, one broken nail, and a single neat slice through her leather jacket.

Pam and Nia were also suddenly… friendly. Laughing, leaning close, almost conspiratorial. Something about it feels wrong, like watching fire and ice share a secret.
Apparently Pam had guarded Nia’s back with lethal precision, while Nia had incinerated anything foolish enough to come at them. Cleo had taken on one to many at one, and her hand paid the price.

Nia grabs the rucksack from the van and presses a bottle of water and a protein bar into my hands. I sip slowly, steadying myself as I lean into Eric. He watches me with quiet intensity, giving nothing away on his face, but concern moves through the bond in a steady, unrelenting pulse. I open the protein bar and take a bite, hoping fuel will help me start to feel more normal.

We move then, piling back into the van and start the trek back towards Fangtasia. I barely register the drive, the sound of the windshield wipers, before sleep claims me, curled in Eric’s lap, the hum of the road and his steady presence pulling me under.

When I wake, I’m stretched out on our bed, a blanket tossed over me. The room is dim and familiar, and I can hear the soft, rhythmic clicking of his laptop across the room. I sit up, disoriented…and he’s beside me in an instant.

“You are awake min kärlek, You were asleep so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Where is Nia?”

“She went back to the farmhouse, after Pam convinced her you were ok. She asked that you join her once you’ve rested, and mentioned something about getting more regular updates from Claudine?”

“Yes we are setting up a system to be able to connect, pass notes and correspondence on a regular interval - I’m not sure yet if it will be daily or not. I was given phone numbers too, I put them in my phone” I yawn, still not fully awake.

Eric settles beside me, one hand resting on the bed, close enough that I can feel him without him crowding me. His attention is sharp, focused on me, and on what he’s about to say.

“If you are awake enough, I have some things to discuss with you before morning,” he says quietly.

That alone makes me straighten, I try to smooth out my hair, realizing I’m in an oversized Fangtasia tshirt. “Okay…”

“I changed you when we got back here,” he said. “Your clothes were filthy and soaked through. You needed to warm up too.” Clearly he could see the other question run through my mind.

I watch Eric’s eyes focus, his gaze hardening, pondering.

“Never have I encountered one so ancient." Eric says at last, voice calm in that dangerous way. “He announced himself tonight.”

I look up at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” He looks down at me, eyes catching the lamplight, ancient and sharp. “It is supposed to make you understand.”

I swallow and nod. Gazing around the room I know I already do.

“He didn’t rush,” I say. “Didn’t try to tear anything out of me. He took his time. He tasted my blood. Like…like he was confirming something he already suspected.”

Eric’s jaw tightens. “You were evaluated.”

The word lands hard.

“He knew what I was,” I whisper. “Not just fae. Not just human. He said ‘we have been looking for you’. Plural.”

Eric moves, sits beside me, gripping my knees just tightly enough to ground me. “Look at me.”

I do.

“You broke his hold,” he says. “You anchored through storm and earth simultaneously. You struck him with raw atmospheric force and lived. It worked. The portal is sealed. Your power is incredible.”

“That’s not entirely comforting either. The lightning is brutal to contain, and I’m completely burnt out now.”

“True,” he agrees softly. “But it is power.” He pauses, reflective. “What did he feel like through your magic?”

I hesitate. This is the part I don’t want to say out loud.

“He felt…familiar,” I admit. “Not like I knew him. Like my magic did. Like something in me recognized him and hated it.”

Eric’s hands tighten for a fraction of a second. “That is concerning.”

“Agreed.”

Silence stretches. I can hear the subtle sounds of the house around me and I know I am safe. A reality I'm not sure I can believe.

“He wasn’t of the Fae Court,” I say finally. “Not any magic I’ve ever brushed up against at least. He felt older. Sideways. Like he stepped out of something that should’ve stayed a myth.”

Eric nods once. “He seemed to be a royal, a regent” he says. “Or something wearing the memory of one. Antlered crowns predate most structured courts. They belonged to the wild sovereignties. The ones who ruled before rules.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Ancient, powerful, and still mysterious.”

Eric reaches for my hands, turning them palm up, grounding me again. His thumbs brush faint fried nerve endings, I didn’t know were there.

“He also retreated,” Eric adds. “That matters.”

“Because he didn’t want to risk real damage,” I say. “Or because he didn’t need to.”

Eric doesn’t answer immediately. He stands, pacing once, controlled energy barely leashed. “Or because you are more valuable intact than broken,” he says finally. “And perhaps because he knows where to find you now.”

The words sink in slow and heavy.

“I felt him smile,” I say. “With his magic, it had intent. Like this was the first move in a very long game.”

Eric stops pacing. He looks at me fully now, no pretense, no softness layered over truth. “Something very old has noticed you,” he says. “You weren’t careless tonight. Clearly this is part of their plan, to take power.”

I stare at my hands. They look normal. Steady. Still mine. “Eric…he had fangs. Human hands that looked cold as ice.”

Eric stills.

Not freezes - still. The way vampires do when something finally slots into place.

“Describe them,” he says.

“They weren’t claws,” I continue; forcing the words out. “No talons. Just hands. Pale. Veins faintly visible. Like he could have passed for a vampire if I didn’t know better.” I swallow. “But they didn’t belong to one.”

I look up. “His blade was old too, it had markings on the blade, but not runes I’ve ever seen…Do you know what he is?”

“I know what he is not,” Eric says. “He is not a modern fae. Not vampire. Not demon in the way we understand them.” His gaze sharpens. “And he was also not fully embodied.”

My stomach drops. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the human shape is deliberate,” he says. “A compromise, an echo, perhaps even a vessel. Old things often wear what allows them to walk freely where they will, like the maenad did.”

I rub my arms, suddenly too aware of my own skin. “He touched me like it mattered. Like he was testing whether I was…real enough.”

“He was evaluating you.” Eric says.

“That word again.”

“Yes.” Eric’s voice hardens. “Because beings like that do not waste time on curiosities. They seek anchors. Conduits. Something that can survive contact and be used for a purpose, especially when they have power.”

“He reached into my head,” I say after a moment. “Not ripping things out. Just…sliding. Like he owned the space and wanted to inspect it.” I meet Eric’s eyes. “And he wasn’t surprised by my shields.”

Eric’s mouth thins. “Then he expected resistance.”

“Which means he’s done this before.”

“Yes.”

“With others like me?”

Eric doesn’t answer right away. His silence stretches too long. The thought sends a shiver through me, fear tangled tight with something else. Something defiant.

“So,” I say quietly, “he knows where I am. He knows what I can do, and knowing my luck he’s going to be back.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re standing here like this confirms a theory.”

Eric’s gaze locks onto mine, ancient certainty settling in his expression. “Because it does.”

My chest tightens. “About what?”

Eric sits again beside me. Hand resting gently on my shoulder. “You're safe with me, you know that. We will figure this out, lover. Yet I have suspected for some time that something far older than the modern world has awakened with these portal disturbances, one that may go back to the origins of vampires.”

I lean into his side, feeling my exhaustion and stealing what comfort I can, acutely aware of my desperate need for a shower, proper clothes and a bed, preferably in that order.

“Eric…pending apocalypses and dawn of time discoveries aside for tonight, since we are already home - is there any chance I can get into a shower soon?”

“Home?” he repeats, his face carefully neutral.

“Yes,” I say, pushing myself upright a little more. “Well. Your house, I guess.”

He grins, slow, his concern and focus still humming in the bond, but unmistakably pleased. “You think of this as your home?”

“Well, I’ve basically been living here. I don’t like being far from you with our bond…it pulls on both of us Eric, and it aches after a while…so that has made staying elsewhere for any period of time a challenge.” I point out. “And I have been thinking about setting up the green room on the second floor as a workspace for myself. So I guess so, yeah.”

“You should,” he says immediately. “I was hopeful you would choose to live with me.”

I grin back at him, tired and worried as I am, I still recognize the importance of his words. “That doesn’t mean I won’t spend a night here or there with Nia at the farmhouse, though.”

“We will discuss that when it comes up, min kärlek,” he replies smoothly. “But it shouldn’t be a problem.” He glances toward his laptop on the nightstand. “I’m almost finished here, and I could help you with your shower.” His grin turns somewhat lecherous at me, and I can feel his lust in the bond.

“You should know that I’ve already arranged additional security around the farmhouse tonight," he goes on. “Day and night. As a precaution. And tomorrow, I’m arranging for a personal guard to accompany you. After which you will not be on your own ever, when I can’t be with you.”

I’m too tired to mount a proper argument, and he knows it. That doesn’t stop irritation from sparking anyway. “Eric, tonight shook me too.” I yawn, rubbing at my eyes. “Even so, I have Nia with me, and we are hardly helpless. I don’t need a personal guard.”

“You do.”

“Eric.”

“Sookie.”

I sigh. He’s dug in deep, and through the bond I feel it - unyielding, immovable, his mind already made up.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Then who?” I look at him sharply. “Who is this mystery guard that meets your approval?”

“I plan to have a witch join us tomorrow night who will assist with summoning a Britlingen warrior,” Eric says calmly, like he’s discussing the weather.

I stare at him. “Eric. A Britlingen? Really? They a lot of work to retain, and aren’t they crazy expensive even if you manage to summon one and broker a deal?”

“Sookie,” he replies evenly, “I will spare no expense for your safety.”

“That’s sweet and all, truly,” I say, rubbing my temples, “look if you really want a Britlingen, we can go that route.” I pause, thinking it through.

“However… why don’t we simply bring over a Fulmarian instead?”

He arches a brow. “Fulmarian?”

“Yes. They’re the higher caste of warriors from the Britlingen dimension, although they don't come earthside as a rule…” I hesitate, then add, “But if you’re willing, I could ask to have Auron join me here. If he would be willing.”

“Auron?” His tone sharpens, curious now.

“Yes. My great‑grandfather uses Fulmarian among his personal guard. Auron was my personal guard when I was in Faery.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “You had a personal guard in Faery - and you were going to argue with me about having one here?”

“I didn’t say I wanted one,” I protest. “Or that I thought it was necessary. But Niall made it very clear that unless I planned to stay in the family wing of the palace when I was there, it wasn’t optional.”

I cross my arms, giving him an extremely tired look. “Funny how that logic suddenly sounds familiar, isn’t it?”

We agree that tomorrow I’ll make the request, to see if Aron would be willing to attend me here, and that he could take one of the spare rooms at our house if he is. The decision settles between us, and all I can feel bond or no is my exhaustion.

Standing now, determined to make it into a shower, I slide my arms fully around him, pressing myself into his strength. He is protective to his core, possessive without apology, but I know he is trying.

Quietly Eric adds, “I’ve also heard back from the ancient one I mentioned, it has been arranged”

My stomach tightens.

“She is called the Ancient Pythoness,” he continues, his jaw setting. “She is among the oldest vampires in North America - older than most vampires can remember.” His voice lowers, reverent despite himself. “Born blind. It’s said she once served as the oracle of Greek legend, and at the very end of her natural life, she was turned.”

I stay still, leaning against him, listening.

“She is wise beyond reason,” he goes on, “and she carries a power that allows her to give insight, but she seldom chooses to interfere. She also acts as adjudicator for the Clans when council matters necessitate it, and has been known to facilitate high Council matters between races at times as well.”

I swallow. “That’s… comforting. Ish.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but only barely. “She does not act without reason. She has agreed to come to Shreveport in a little over a week. She will arrive two nights after your presentation to court.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “She agreed to come here?”

“Yes. To stay for…a while.” His gaze holds mine, steady and intent. “At least through the summit with the Amun leaders. She will also hear the matter regarding Nia’s abduction.”

That snaps me more awake. “People like that don’t just visit.”

“No,” he agrees calmly. “They position themselves.”

“For what?” I ask.

“I suspect she is coming to meet you,” he says simply. “And for what is happening. The Clan gathering is merely a convenient reason for her to visit Louisiana."

The bond hums at the back of my mind - watchful, protective, edged with something like grim satisfaction. “She is interested,” he adds, “in you, in me, and in everything currently in motion.”

“Well,” I mutter, rubbing my face, “that’s not ominous at all.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles, grounding me. “She would not come in advance if she believed matters were already set, or were too insignificant to matter.”
I look up at him. “If she is older than you, is she a threat?”

“I will not allow her near you without me, and appropriate precautions will be in place, so there is nothing to fear, lover.” he says, his voice dropping into something absolute and unyielding.

His words don’t just reassure me, they settle something deep and restless inside me. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it quiets, edged back by the certainty in his voice and the way he looks at me like the world has already been decided.

The moment stretches, heavy and private, until his expression shifts subtle, deliberate. Whatever he was weighing, he reached a decision.

Then I fix Eric with what little strength I have left, summoning the last scraps of dignity and irritation I can still manage. “Okay. That’s it.”

His mouth curves, already amused. “Is it?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I am still damp, filthy, magically overcooked, and running on fumes. So I am formally, officially demanding that you take me into that bathroom and help me shower.”

“Demanding,” he repeats, clearly enjoying this.

“To wash,” I clarify. “Followed by clean clothes, and rest in this bed behind me. In that order. Immediately.”

He studies me for a long second, eyes bright with humor and something softer underneath. “And if I refuse?”

I lean into him, deadpan and exhausted. “Then I am falling back asleep right here on you and I promise later that I will drool on your pillow, and cover it in mud and forest debris.”

A low laugh rumbles out of him. He rises in one smooth motion, already reaching for me. “Very well,” he says indulgently. “Let's get cleaned up, min kärlek, before you start making more concerning threats.”

“Good,” I mutter as he pulls me close.

The rest of the night blurs together. Eric scoops me up without another word and carries me into the shower. We don’t talk anymore about what happened at the portal - not yet. I’m too fried, stretched thin past the point of conversation.

I only know that I’m bathed, cared for, loved and tucked into that giant, ridiculously oversized platform bed, wrapped in warmth and the steady certainty of him beside me. Sleep finally claims me deep, and healing.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33 - Recuperation

She sleeps through the day, unmoving, and as midnight approaches she still hasn’t stirred. I stand watch longer than necessary, listening, measuring. The battle took more from her than I allowed myself to expect - no, not the battle. The magic. I underestimated the cost of what she drew on.

She is fierce and so capable. That has never been in question. It is precisely why I should have accounted for this.

I have seen many wars. I have watched cities burn and gods bleed and monsters fall screaming into myth. None of that prepared me for the moment she called the lightning. It wasn’t wild or even frantic in how it answered her.

The air changed first - pressure, ozone, the sharp taste of a storm being born where none should exist. Then the lightning came down through her like a decision already made. Exact. Ruthless.

This dark regent thought he had her under control. That confidence lasted exactly as long as it took for the first bolt to strike. I watched his power meet her determination and erase it. And she had brazenly called the bolt directly at herself. She stood at the center of it, eyes bright, grounded, magic threaded through her veins like it had always belonged there. I realized then that I wasn’t watching her survive.

I was watching her command.

It revealed what had already been there, that I had only glimpsed before - discipline under pressure, clarity under threat, a will that does not bend simply because the world demands it. That kind of power does not burn itself out. It reshapes what stands in front of it.

I felt it through the bond - her focus, her refusal to yield, the cost she accepted without hesitation. It struck me harder than the lightning itself. I have protected many things in my long existence. Assets, territory, law. But her?

She needs protection to give herself the space to become, my power to help moderate it and I will make sure she has both. And whatever this dark thing is that is hunting in the shadows and fog, it should pray it never faces her again with the sky at her command.

I check on her. Her pulse steady, her breathing even. Her body is warm and normal beneath my hand. No signs of distress, no fading, no instability. I will call Dr. Ludwig if she doesn’t wake up soon. The thought irritates me more than it should. Sleep may be all she needs, and I will not disturb her without cause.

I have another message from Pam. She had already called earlier, sharp as ever, demanding an update for Nia. The two of them, improbably, seem to have found common ground. I make a note to revisit that when my lover is awake.

Pacing across the room now…I’ve checked on other messages and correspondence from my study. Illinois is now reporting two missing fae from a bar in Chicago. Ohio remains silent on updates. Arkansas in her feeble attempt to look like she's doing something is blaming the fae for the disturbances. None of these updates are comforting. I should go and heat myself up a bag of blood, and focus on something else.

Instead I return my attention to her, to the quiet rise and fall of her chest. Whatever this dark being is, there may be more than one of them. The real question is why. What are they after and how does Sookie play into their plans? And how can we prevent it before this escalates into a full vampire and fae war?

The Ancient Pythoness will arrive in a weeks time. Ordinarily, I would wait. I would rather her intuition more than most forms of power. But time feels thin now, stretched too tight. I don’t know if we can afford to wait that long. Dammit.

Lately, I find myself returning to his journals. I read them not for comfort, but for clarity. Godric always understood how power moved beneath the surface - how law, myth, and blood intertwined long before anyone noticed the current shifting. Yesterday, I gave Sookie his book on vampire law, councils, and precedent, hoping it would steady her footing for what lies ahead.

Knowledge is the only true armor that lasts. How I miss my maker, his advice and insight. Yet I must focus, as I must also weigh another decision.

Do I reveal the existence of this shadow regent to the other Amun leaders? Not all of them though. Maybe not any yet…Perhaps only those I know to be disciplined, reliable, but even that carries risk. Information spreads. Fear spreads faster.

GAH!

None of these options satisfy me. Each carries consequence and each invites escalation, and could place further risk on wholly revealing Sookie as my bonded, let alone as a Brigant princess. I want to raise the idea of pledging with her, but I know now is not yet that time, but soon. Perhaps very soon.

Through the bond, I feel her as she rests. There is a deep, steady pull, it’s quiet, warm, anchored. Her magic hums low and slow, not flaring, not fractured. Exhausted, yes, yet less so than before. She is recovering, I can feel it. Her resolve is there, even in sleep. A sense of gathering rather than retreating. She isn’t slipping away from what happened; she’s absorbing it, folding it into herself. Preparing, whether she’s conscious of it or not.

Beneath that, I feel trust, her love for her home, her people…for me. She leans into the bond even now without reaching, content in the knowledge that I am here and will remain so. It steadies her. It steadies me. I felt her pull, her draw on it and of my own power and ability in the woods, when she sealed the portal, blending it into her own. She is quickly learning how to leverage our bond, letting it steady her and call upon it and me as she needs. I am impressed and thrilled with her progress, and willingness to accept it and me so entirely.

And threaded through it all is something sharper - curiosity, restrained but persistent. The bond tells me what her body cannot yet say aloud. That she will wake stronger, her power is growing - I can feel it, and when she opens her eyes, she will be ready to stand beside me and to assist me with these decisions. We will move forward together.

I wake feeling rested. I stretch. How long have I been asleep? The room is dark, lights on low. I can feel Eric nearby though he is not in bed. My throat is dry, I’m parched. I sit up and find a glass of water waiting for me on the nightstand. Just as I sip it, I become aware of a certain viking who is now beside me.

“You are awake min kärlek” says Eric.

I nod, finishing the water in slow pulls, savoring the way it eases the dryness in my throat. The glass is cool against my palm.

“I am,” I say softly. My voice sounds rested, grounded in a way it rarely does. “How long was I out?”

“41 hours and 37 minutes.” he replies, close enough now that I can feel him without looking - cool, steady, unmistakably present. “You needed it.”

My eyebrows raise, certainly I was not expecting I would have slept so long, but I feel less fried and more like myself. My spark is at ease, no longer frayed and almost pulsing within me.

I glance up at him. No jacket, a simple black tank top covers his chest, blond hair loose instead of bound. Lounge pants. Relaxed, but watchful. There’s a faint satisfaction in his expression, like a predator who’s ensured his territory is secure and is now allowing himself stillness.

“You watched over me,” I say, not a question.

His mouth curves, just slightly. “Of course.”

I shift, setting the glass aside, suddenly aware of how carefully the room has been arranged - lights dimmed, silence held in place. He’s been awake the entire time. Guarding. Waiting.

“I knew you would have thirst,” he adds, eyes flicking briefly to the empty glass. “You dreamed. Not badly, but...”

That makes me pause. “You could tell?”

“I could feel it,” he corrects. He reaches out, brushing his thumb along my jaw, affectionate rather than possessive. “You are quieter when you sleep peacefully.”

Something warm settles in my chest. Trust, appreciation and love.

I lean into his touch before I can stop myself. “You didn’t wake me.”

“No,” he says, voice low and certain. “Sleep is precious. Especially for you, and after everything in the woods.”

For a moment, we just look at each other in the low light, the bond between us humming softly - no urgency, no demand. Everything is all right. And still, beneath that calm, a fear curls quietly in my chest- unacknowledged, unspoken. Real and very there, waiting, and not something I’m ready to deal with…yet.

Then he adds, gently, “Are you hungry, lover?”

The choice, offered so simply, feels intimate in its own quiet way. I slip out of bed and pull on a soft yoga suit, the fabric grounding me. My phone buzzes in my hand as I check it - more than a dozen missed messages, I tuck it into my pocket for now and follow Eric upstairs into the kitchen.

“I made arrangements for a few options, lover,” he says smoothly. “Which would you prefer? Braised short ribs with mashed potatoes and green beans. Duck breast with cherry reduction and vegetables. Or truffle risotto with aged parmesan and herbs. The restaurant assured me they were their best, ready to rewarm in the oven.”

The care behind it steals my breath. “The risotto,” I say, then smile up at him. “And the duck.”

Minutes later, a restaurant-worthy spread fills the table, steam curling into the air, rich and fragrant. I sit, fork already in hand, and take my first bite. Creamy, decadent, perfect. Hunger gives way to pleasure, and I eat like I haven't seen real food for a month.

After I finish eating, I lean back in my chair, pleasantly full, the last traces of hunger finally quieted. I gather the plates and rinse them, tucking them into the dish washer, more out of habit than necessity, then pick up my phone again. The screen lights up with missed notifications, the outside world nudging back in.

I text Tara first.

~ Lunch tomorrow. Me and a friend at your Cousin’s. Please say you’re free to join before I start begging. I would love to see you. ~

A second later, I send Lafayette his own message.

~ Tell me you’re still cooking tomorrow and that I’m still invited, because I am not emotionally prepared for disappointment tonight, and I've invited your cousin. ~

I smile when the replies come in almost immediately. Tara’s enthusiasm is blunt and loud even through text. Lafayette’s response is dramatic, affectionate, and comes with several emojis and a promise of food that borders on religious experience. I send a couple of messages off to my brother catching up, while I confirm the time, with Lala and then I decide to call the house and see if Nia has figured out the phone.

Nia answers on the second ring.

“Sookie,” she says warmly, relief threading her voice. “I was just about to check in. Pam showed me how this contraption works - sort of.”

“I wanted to make sure you were settled, and are ok. I am also feeling better now that I have slept for the better part of two days” I tell her. “I also wanted to confirm lunch tomorrow. Tara and Lafayette are expecting us.”

A pause, then a soft laugh. “Good I am glad you are feeling better. I've rested and been training here during the day. The woods are fantastic Sook! There is a vampire patrolling here tonight, a bigger man with dark hair and he likes…cats? Pam made sure I knew to stay inside, but I am managing ok. I think I will enjoy seeing more of your world when everything isn’t… so intense.”

“Tomorrow will be loud, opinionated, and full of food,” I promise. “But safe.”

“That sounds perfect.”

We say our goodnights, and I end the call just as Eric steps a short distance away, phone already at his ear. I don’t mean to listen, but the bond hums faintly, drawing my attention whether I want it to or not. At the same time, I spy the book he gave me yesterday, sitting on the table. I pick it up, opening to one of the dog eared pages starting to read, while still listening.

“Pam,” he says, voice calm, clipped. “Yes she is awake.”

A brief pause. I imagine Pam’s expression without effort.

“Yes, she has spoken with Nia. They will be in Bon Temps most of tomorrow. Bubba is there tonight, yes? Good. Ensure nothing… unexpected arises.”

Another pause, shorter this time.

“No,” Eric continues coolly, steel threading his tone. “This is a precaution. Nia remains my guest, and Sookie’s safety extends to those under her protection and therefore my own.”

His gaze flicks to me then, sharp but reassuring, noticing the book in my hands, as if he’s anchoring the conversation to something solid.

“Good,” he says after a moment. “Keep me informed.”

He ends the call and pockets the phone, turning fully toward me. Whatever he sees on my face makes his expression soften just a fraction.

“All arrangements are in place,” he says. “For tonight, and for tomorrow. You will have a guard with you until we can see about other arrangements for your Fulmarian guard."

With that reminder, I proceed to text both Claudine and Niall my request to have Auron join me here, with all of the details. “The request is made, and I’ve told them any negotiations can go through you,” I tell Eric. “Now please tell me we have some time for ourselves?”

He nods once, decisive. “Yes. Other than checking in, I cleared my evening to make sure you were well.”

We curl up together on the couch, his arm firm around me as I open the book in my lap. I trace a finger along the margins. “Eric… will you tell me more about this?”

“What would you like to know, lover?”

“I can tell you wrote these,” I say, tapping the notes in the margins - Eric’s flowing scrawl unmistakable. “But who authored the book? In places it feels less like a legal text and more like a collection of observations. Almost a journal.”

He goes still. For a moment I wonder if I’ve crossed some invisible line.

Finally he speaks, quietly. “It was one of Godric’s works. I have his entire library here now with my own.”

The air between us settles into silence. I remember my brief meeting with his maker in Dallas - his calm, his resolve, the roof, his end. I remember Eric’s grief afterward, raw and terrible. I lift my hand to Eric’s cheek, thumb warm against his skin. “He would be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Eric.”

“He would be impressed with you, min kärlek,” he replies, his blue eyes locking with mine.

I close my eyes for just a moment, drawing comfort in his embrace. We read a few pages together discussing implications for the upcoming clan gathering. Eventually I close my eyes and lean into his cool embrace, relaxing. I brush my arm thoughtlessly…then without warning, the memory surges. The dark regent, standing before me again. The wrongness of him. Panic claws up my spine, sharp and sudden, the blade slicing my arm open and my hand flies back to my arm where he cut me.

Eric feels it instantly. He draws me fully into his embrace, solid and unyielding. “Are you all right, Sookie?” he asks, voice low, intent. “What is distressing you so?”

A tear slips down my cheek. The memory crashes in - being frozen in place, his hunger fixed on me, terror staring back from his eyes. Power crushing me into stillness. Helpless.

I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “It wasn’t anything like I’ve ever felt, Eric. Not any magic I know. I didn’t know how to fight it. I couldn’t do anything - I almost panicked completely. He just… held me there trying to get in. If it wasn't for the lightning…”

My fingers curl into his shirt. “I don’t know how to use what I am against something like that.”

Eric stills completely.

When he speaks, his voice is low and lethal, stripped down to iron and intent. “You will learn. I can already feel that you are stronger tonight. It is rippling through our bond, lover.”

His arm tightens around me, not frantic, soothing. “You are not weak. You were outmatched by something ancient and prepared. And you found a way out. That is not a failure.”

He tips my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. “You do not face him again unless you know you are ready. I will bring you every teacher, every text, every weapon that exists for this kind of power. Witch, fae, vampire, demon…I will tear knowledge out of the world if I must.”

His forehead rests against mine, breath steady, certain. “And until we know how to fight him, we do not put you in that position again - not alone.”

The bond surges. He is protective, ruthless, absolute.

“You are not helpless,” he finishes softly. “You were incredible to behold. A true valkyrie.”

The words settle over me like a promise. Eric and talk for a bit more about everything that happened. My concerns. The risk of his tasting my blood and what it could mean, especially if he is part vampire. If it was me they are looking for, it is possible I am now a locatable target. Our house, the farmhouse are both heavily warded, as was Fangtasia, but beyond? Too many chances, so I will now have guards day and night.

Eventually, Eric takes my hand and leads me back downstairs, our steps unhurried, the house quiet around us. The master suite waits, dim and private, the kind of space that seems to hold its breath when he enters it. He guides me straight through the bedroom and into the bathroom, already reaching for the taps with practiced ease.

Water begins to run, steam rising as the tub fills. The sound is steady, soothing, but I still feel restless. My magic tingling, it feels different somehow, restless. Like the lightning had left a trace, or that my abilities had healed back stronger. It was pulsing through the bond as well, recharging us both. Eric turns back to me, his attention narrowing until I feel like the only thing in the room that matters.

“My magic feels different tonight, Eric. It’s more than before, I’m still not sure why - but it must be because of everything.”

“Come here, lover, I can feel it too. You are still recovering, you should take it easy, relax and…perhaps engage in something more pleasurable?” he murmurs.

He doesn’t rush. His hands find the hem of my top, lifting it slowly, deliberately, as if undressing me is its own ritual. The fabric slides away, his fingers warm against my skin, grounding, reverent. He follows with the rest, easing each piece aside until I stand bare before him, the cool air prickling softly where his touch has just been.
His gaze lingers, dark and intent, not hungry so much as claiming, memorizing. One hand settles at my waist, the other brushing my hair back from my shoulder as he leans in, his voice low near my ear.

“Relax,” he says simply. “I have you.”

Behind us, the bath continues to fill, steam curling around us, the night narrowing to warmth, water, and the quiet certainty of his hands on me. He leads me down into the massive round tub and I settle with him behind me, head resting on his chest.

“Sookie," he breathes out in a gentle huff.

A shiver runs through my body at the sound of my name on his lips, and it is as though a low jolt of electricity runs between us. We sit like this for sometime, his hands casually wandering along my curves, playing with my breasts and tweaking my nipples. Lustful sure but casual and calming at the same time.

Eventually I trail my hand along his leg tracing upwards and eventually resting it, bent, behind his head. He begins to place kisses along my throat and the sensitive spot behind my ear. Fingers still massaging my breast, playing with my nipples before one hand starts to roam its way down.

I give him a look, the water lapping softly around us. “Eric, this is supposed to be relaxing. To help me, so I can actually get more rest.”

His grin spreads slow and wicked now, eyes bright with promise as steam curls between us. He shifts closer in the tub, one arm sliding around me now, drawing me back against his chest more tightly. “But of course, my lover,” he murmurs near my ear, his voice a low vibration that travels straight through me. “I would never deprive you of rest.”

His other hand moves with deliberate care, not hurried, not rough, tracing warm, unhurried paths over my shoulder and down my body, easing tension from muscle and bone. “I will see that you are clean,” he adds softly, lips brushing my temple, “and completely relaxed when I am through. I am exceptionally thorough.”

Despite myself, my breath slows. The heat of the water, the steady strength of him behind me, the bond humming low and content. If this is his version of restraint, I think hazily, by the time he is done I may actually sleep for a week.

Turning me suddenly in the tub, Eric's body presses into mine, leaving me with just enough time to pull my remaining hand away to loop behind his head before his chest crushes down against mine.

Eric looks briefly into my eyes, asking my permission, and when he sees no doubt or restraint there, he plunders his way in, taking my lips with his.

I can feel his fangs beneath his lips, a hard, pointed pressure. Quite similar to another body part that is pressing firmly against me now. My lips part for him, feeling his tongue enter my mouth immediately, flicking through the space between his fangs. I meet his tongue with an equal fervor, hungry for more.

Though my eyes are closed, I can feel my light pulsing stronger and stronger tonight, filling us both with a powerful heat that draws a cry from my lips. I feel rejuvenated and stronger than ever before. Eric pulls away, I can see my reflection in his eyes, and the way my body is flaring a white blue light, it reminds me of the moon.

"Extraordinary, lover," he whispers, before claiming my lips again. His hands quickly snake around my waist pulling him tighter to me.

I smile subtly, and I arch my body against his, needing to feel more of him. Water sloshing repeatedly over the sides of the tub from our energetic movements.

Eric pushes me back against the side of the tub, his weight settling between my legs, his hardness pressing into my stomach. His mouth is ravenous, exploring every inch of my mouth with his talented tongue, sucking on mine and massaging it with his. The hands around my waist moving around to grasp my ass, cupping me against him.

I claw at his back desperately, lust coming off of us in waves, looping back in the bond between us. I begin to inch higher along him, wanting to feel his erection slide into me.

"Eric," I pant out, drawing breath whenever I can, refusing to pull away from him for even an instant.

"Now...I need you." It was all I could say, and it was all he needed to hear.

Suddenly with either very little, or very speedy maneuvering, Eric is pressed right against my nether lips, the tip just barely touching my folds. His fangs scrape my neck lightly, but don’t draw blood.

"Oh yes, min älskade," pulling away slightly to look into my eyes.

In an instant his lips settle over mine again as he thrusts into me. I let out a small scream in passion-fueled shock. Not in pain but in response to the overwhelming pleasure as he joins his body to mine. I feel his tongue lick the skin above my neck vein, laving it repeatedly, worshipping the area.

I clench my hands on his back, and wrap my legs around his thighs. Cradling myself around him, moving with each of his thrusts. Eric thrusts into me over and over, and I can tell through the bond he isn't holding back tonight. Perhaps it is my renewed strength, my pulsing and glowing light that continues to flood the bathroom in a persistent, soft-white and blue hue.

My first orgasm builds up slowly, a steady, heated pressure low in my stomach. I stare up at the ceiling for a moment before my eyes roll back into my head, giving way to reckless abandon. Power rippling out from me. Eric rides me through my orgasm, slowing his pace briefly to savor the feeling of my clenching inner muscles.

When I start to be able to focus on breathing again, he increases the pace even more, sending a fresh wave of water over the edge of the tub. At the rate we were going, there won't be any water left before long.

"Eric that ..." Eric cuts me off.

"We are nowhere near done yet, lover," he promises, capturing my lips in another lustful kiss.

His fangs split my lip when he kisses me, I let out a small hiss. He looks down at the blood coating my lips, his blue eyes almost fully black in bloodlust. I give him the permission he doesn’t realise he is asking for pushing myself against him and pressing our lips together.

His tongue snakes out immediately, lapping up the blood that spilled from my mouth. He soothes over the small wounds with his rough, pleasing tongue, making me mewl in response.

With the taste of my blood burning through him now, Eric turns feral.

He drives into the moment with ruthless intent, pinning me back against the curve of the tub, water surging as my light flares brighter again in answer. A sharp cry tears from me, stolen by the way he claims me. The air thickens, charged, alive.

A growl rips from his chest, dark and satisfied. For an instant I fear my light might be scorching him, but the bond surges open and tells me the truth. He is reveling in it. My power feeds his hunger, and his hunger sharpening my light. Through the bond we spiral together, predator and chosen prey, neither yielding.

The knowledge thrills me. I bare my throat to him, mouth finding his.

"Bite me," I tell him, almost pleading.

Eric comes to a full stop, making me groan in protest. "Are you sure? You aren’t fully recovered.”

I nod emphatically, moving one hand from his back to his neck, pulling his face down against my throbbing pulse point. "Not deep, but drink. I want to feel you, all of you. I need it, the bond needs it."

He kisses the spot once more and his fangs pierce the skin, eliciting a growl from each of us. He sucks a couple mouthfuls of my blood into his mouth before he pulls away.

I whimper in response, missing the contact. He hasn't started moving within me again, either. Before I can ask him what was wrong, he bites into his own wrist. He slowly pulls it from his mouth, bringing it to my own. "Drink," he repeats, though his tone sounds more like a question.

I answer with something better than words - my lips wrap around his wrist and I suck his sweet, healing elixir into my body.

Eric gasps at the sensation, and returns to my neck with a growl. As we drink greedily from one another, he begins to move again, slapping more water away from our bodies with every thrust.

I feel the swelling heat rise within me again in our exhilarating movements, knowing that he isn't far behind.

With a final gulp of his magnificent blood, I tear my mouth away from his wrist, and release a cry in pleasure as electricity rocks my body against his. Light cascading from me again, brighter still. I embrace it and the bond. The sensations satiate me and leave me wanting simultaneously. I could spend a lifetime doing this with him and never be fully sated.

The power emanating from me envelopes Eric as well, seizing his body with the same shock that grips me. Traveling through the bond with a flourish.

He yells out “Sookie, min älskling” as his own release floods into my body, his mouth latching onto my neck for one final draw of blood.

I come down from my high slowly ... agonizingly slowly. I can feel my internal muscles clenching and releasing Eric's length within me, suckling the last bits of fluid from him. My head drops back against the tub, feeling the light fade from my now spent body.

Eric caresses the skin of my neck with his tongue, removing all traces of my blood, sealing his bite. I notice that some of our blood has dripped into what remained of the water, turning it a light-pink color in the bath.

My hands ghost over Eric's back and neck, brushing through his wet long tresses with my fingers, not quite ready to let go.

The hand that I'd been drinking from slips back below the water, wrapping around my body. He pulls me flush against him, making me quite aware that he is still inside of me. Without pause or preamble, he lifts us both and turns, so that he is underneath me, now sitting on the edge of the tub.

My breasts squish against his chest, the cool temperature of the bathroom causing them to tighten almost immediately.

Eric pressed another series of kisses against my neck, my jaw, and finally my mouth before he spoke. "mitt lys... du er min."

I smile into his chest, feeling safe, healed, loved and cherished.

“Eric, what was that?” I pant, breath still uneven.

His mouth curves, slow and smug, blue eyes bright with entirely too much satisfaction. “That, lover, is what happens when we both embrace the bond…I believe some would call that sex...mind blowing?”

I stare at him, then bark out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “No. No, that wasn’t just…” I gesture vaguely between us, still buzzing. “That was the bond and my magic. Your… everything.” I swallow, grinning despite myself. “Wow. Like wow.”

He hums, pleased, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “Yes,” he says lightly. “I noticed.”

I rest my head against him, shivering slightly as the bath is beginning to cool. True to form, Eric doesn’t say anything with words. He simply moves.

One moment I’m curled up with him there, cool, wet and unsteady, and the next his arms are around me, lifting me like it is the most natural thing in the world. He carries me as though I’m something precious, wrapping me in a towel along the way, blotting water from my skin with slow, careful hands. Just attention and care.

“Easy,” he murmurs, low and soothing. “Let me.”

He dries my hair, my shoulders, presses a kiss to my temple that anchors me more effectively than any spell. By the time he carries me back to the bed, the edge has faded, leaving only warmth and a deep, bone-level calm.

He settles beside me, drawing me in against his chest, arranging the blankets with surprising gentleness. One arm curves around my waist, firm and protective. His presence fills the room - steady, watchful, safe.

As the dawn begins to press softly at the edges of the world. I drift, my breathing slowing, the bond humming quietly between us. My Viking is beside me, unyielding as stone, presence as warm as any fire, I let myself drift back off to sleep.