SVM fic: Ain't a Party 'til Something Gets Broke (nc-17)
Title: Ain’t a Party ‘til Something Gets Broke
Author: SabaceanBabe
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,000+
Focus: Eric/Sookie
Spoilers: book!verse, through From Dead to Worse
Beta: scapeartist (Dude! Thank you so much for all the hand-holding!)
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work, based on the characters and world created by Charlaine Harris. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s note: It started out as such a simple concept: Sookie and Eric at a supe party, an angry former Sookie suitor also in attendance, Pam pushing Eric’s buttons (as she is wont to do), some torn clothing and a fire. Well, it snowballed. It somehow developed a bit of a plot. O_o This was written for the Halloween Fic Exchange at eric_sookie and for as much as I agonized over this, it was fun. Enjoy! (And if you're so inclined, go check out the other fics, too - there's a gem or two...)
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“What you got there, Sam?” It was early, just a little before eleven. I was here to cover the lunch crowd and then I had the evening off. I opened up the big drawer in Sam’s office and saw that Holly’s purse was already there. Holly and I worked well together, as well as Arlene and I used to, before Arlene decided she hated anything to do with vampires. Which, by extension, included me. I dropped my purse in beside Holly’s and kicked the drawer shut.
“Hmm?” Sam looked up at me from where he sat, his chair leaning back at its usual dangerous angle (I swear I don’t know how he always manages to keep that thing balanced the way he does), a frown drawing his coppery brows together. He held a pale orange card in one hand, but I couldn’t make out the elegant gold lettering. A matching envelope lay on his desk. “Oh, it’s an invitation to the Halloween party at Fangtasia. I thought they weren’t having one this year.”
A little frown creased my own brow. Sam had received a formal invitation? All I’d gotten was a quick phone call from Pam a couple of nights before, telling me that they were having a party after all, and an “Of course, you’ll be here.” From what she’d said, I’d thought it was going to be kind of small and casual, out of respect for all the vamps who were now finally, truly dead during the hostile takeover. But the invitation Sam held was pretty fancy for something that was just being thrown together at the last minute. I was a bit put out that Sam rated a written invitation and it was just plain assumed that I’d be there. Eric and I were going to have words.
I kept that part to myself when I told Sam, “Eric wasn’t planning on a party, but that Victor Madden overruled him. It’s supposed to be some sort of send off for the new King before he heads back out to Nevada.” Halloween is a big deal in the vampire community, one of only two holidays they celebrate (the other being Dracula’s birthday, if you can believe that). Victor had told Eric straight up that he (Eric, that is, not Victor) was going to host a party on their high holy night in honor of Felipe de Castro, King of Nevada, Louisiana, and, thanks to the former Queen Sophie-Anne’s marriage and untimely demise, Arkansas. All of this I’d gotten from Pam.
Eric had not been a happy camper. Believe me, I know. His feelings on the matter were so strong, I’d felt a spike of his anger and frustration through our blood bond even over all the distance from Shreveport to Bon Temps. Of course, I hadn’t known that’s what caused the spike until I talked to Pam later that same evening and put two and two together. It wasn’t always like that, thank God; usually it was more like a feeling of well-being when he was near. If he was in a good mood, anyway. Although, come to think of it, he was in a good mood when he was around me, more often than not. I filed that little tidbit away to think about later.
“Do you think you’ll go?” I asked Sam while I gathered my long hair up into a ponytail high on my head. I wound a black cloth-covered rubber band around it and pulled it tight.
“I don’t know, Sookie. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m invited.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you helped out the King when Sigebert attacked him and Eric.” That had been just a few days ago. I think there were still little bits of vampire mixed in with the gravel of the parking lot out back.
“I guess.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his strawberry blond hair, making it stick up like a corona around his head. “It’s not like I did all that much.” He grinned over at me. “You did all the heavy lifting.”
“Ha! I’m just glad Dawson was able to fix my poor car.” At least I hadn’t had to explain the little bits of vampire stuck to my bumpers - Dawson knew all about what had happened, since the new king himself had called him about seeing to my car. I still felt bad about what had happened, but I couldn’t see that I could’ve done anything else. Sigebert’d been hurting Eric, and he was getting ready to do a whole lot more than just hurt him.
Well, gee. I’d been in kind of a good mood when I walked into Merlotte’s…
With a sigh, I said to Sam, “I’d better get out there.”
He waggled the invitation at me. “Are you going?”
I paused at the door. “I don’t know. I didn’t get an invitation.”
***
The weird mood I’d talked myself into wasn’t much better by the time I got home. After the lunch crowd had gone back to work or home or wherever, it had been kind of slow. Lots of time to think, although not big enough chunks of time to think well. Mostly just enough to brood. It didn’t help anything that when I got home and brought the mail in from the mailbox, there was a pale orange envelope with a Fangtasia return address, but it was addressed to Amelia, not me.
“Hey, Amelia!” I called up the stairs. “You’ve got mail.” I’d parked next to her car when I’d pulled in and I could hear her radio playing up in her room. Octavia’s bedroom door, on the same hallway as mine, was closed, but I thought I heard voices upstairs, mingled with the music, so I figured they both must be home. And that was a weird thought, too, that I’d gone from one roommate to two in the blink of an eye. Or in the time it takes to speak a careless word.
I laid Amelia’s mail on the end of the kitchen counter. In addition to the invitation, she had a letter from someone in Baton Rouge and a couple of catalogs. My mail consisted of the electric bill and the phone bill and a postcard from the Volunteers of America asking for a donation. It seemed everyone wanted me to give them money, but no one wanted my presence. I stuck my tongue out at the orange envelope on the counter and headed into my room to change out of my work clothes.
A few minutes later, I was much more comfortable, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a baggy Fangtasia t-shirt. I’d taken the time to wash off the light makeup I’d worn to work, too (I get better tips when I wear at least a little blush and eye shadow). I didn’t feel much like dinner, and the smell of popcorn that permeated the kitchen was a little off-putting, but I had to eat something, so I got myself a bowl of Cheerios and drowned them in cold milk. Jeopardy was just starting on the television in the living room.
There was still no sign of Octavia, but Amelia sat on one end of the couch, legs curled under her and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She flashed me a grin. “So is this party at Fangtasia really a costume party?”
I plopped down onto the other end of the couch, which was not necessarily the brightest thing I’d ever done, given the bowl of cereal and milk in my hand, but at least I managed not to spill. I shot Amelia a sour look.
“I have no idea. I didn’t get an invitation.”
I could hear the surprise in her head before she even said anything, but I tried not to respond to it prematurely. “Really? I’m sure it’s just an oversight…”
“I think it’s more likely somebody’s making some high and mighty assumptions.” I guess I was in a bit of a snit. Nobody likes being taken for granted. I shoveled a spoonful of milky cereal into my mouth. Amelia looked like she was going to say something else, but then she shut her mouth with an audible clicking of teeth and turned her attention back to Alex Trebek. She managed to shut down the leaking of her thoughts, too.
I ate my Cheerios and wallowed in what had turned into a full-fledged bad mood.
***
As the sun set in a spectacular display of color and line on the night of the party, I still hadn’t decided on what to wear. Not that I’d been officially invited, but both Amelia and Pam had expressed an interest in my being there. Although in Pam’s case, I’m pretty sure it was more because she knew I was mad at Eric than any real desire for my company. She swore up, down, and sideways that an invitation had been sent with my name on it, but the only ones I’d seen had been for Sam and Amelia. Oh, and Bill had gotten one, too.
From the way Amelia had asked about costumes, I’d thought the party was, at the very least, costume optional, but no. When I’d looked at her invitation, it pretty clearly stated that guests should wear some kind of festive costume. I couldn’t imagine Eric dressing up as anything or anyone other than Eric, so I was kind of interested in going, just to see what he’d be wearing.
That afternoon, I’d dug out a box from the attic that contained the handful of costumes I’d put together over the years. The adult years, that is. There was an entirely different box that held the Halloween costumes Gran had made for Jason and me as kids. And I was pretty sure none of those would fit me now. I had, well, filled out some.
The party was set to start at ten o’clock, so after pawing through the contents of the box for a few minutes, checking over the costumes that might fit and that I wouldn’t feel awkward wearing in a roomful of vampires (there were three), I still had plenty of time to shower and get dressed. Amelia was going as Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tray Dawson, her date, was going as Oz, which I thought was kind of hilarious, given that Tray is kind of a big, burly guy and Oz isn’t, although they’re both werewolves. I finally settled on a particular costume, but a part of me wanted to go as Buffy. It’d be an easy enough costume to cobble together, but I thought it might be a bit tacky. Not to mention potentially dangerous.
***
“Sookie! I’m so glad you decided to come.” Pam was checking both invitations and I.D. at the door -no proof you were of age, no admittance to the bar, even when it was open for a normal evening and not closed for a private party, as it was tonight. Pam’s long, pale blond hair was done up in a pair of braids draped over her shoulders and she wore a tunic that looked like some kind of leather armor above a red skirt that stopped just below her knees. The skirt looked like it would flare out in a big circle if she moved just right. Brown leather boots that laced up to her knees and a sword in a brown leather scabbard at her waist completed the ensemble. “I’m a Valkyrie. What do you think?” She spun around so I’d get the full effect and the skirt did indeed flare out wide, hampered a bit by the sword, before settling down around her legs. It would’ve done a flamenco dancer proud. Well, minus the weaponry, anyway.
“You look real pretty, Pam.” And she did, too. Real pretty and kind of scary, since she was also showing a little fang.
“I can’t wait to see Eric’s reaction to your costume, Sookie.”
Since dressing up as Buffy would’ve only been amusing (and that only to me) for all of about twenty seconds, I’d decided to go prim and proper, to wear something that concealed just about every inch of skin: a medieval-looking nun’s habit. The headgear was kind of restrictive, covering my head and neck so that only my face was exposed, and my hair was tucked in underneath. The habit itself was sturdy black broadcloth and there was a gray cotton overtunic, belted at the waist with a length of rope. Of course, I wasn’t exactly dressed as a nun all the way down to my concealed skin, unless nuns normally wear lacy, silky under things. But still, the outward appearance was that of what the Catholics called a bride of God, chaste and celibate. Let Mr. Eric Northman chew on that.
I grinned at her and started to walk past, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Invitation?” she asked. “I.D.?”
“Excuse me?”
“There are so many here that were invited solely because we were ordered to invite them, we’re being very careful that everyone in the bar should be in the bar.”
“Pam, you know I didn’t get an invitation. And you know I’m over twenty-one.”
“You still didn’t get it?” She frowned, a big reaction for a vampire. They’re really not all that expressive, generally speaking. “That is very odd, Sookie. I addressed it to you myself.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what you said before.”
She arched one eyebrow and looked me in the eye. “Sookie. Do you really believe that I’d lie to you to make Eric look good?”
I thought about it for maybe a second. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” She enjoyed tweaking his tail too much.
“Sookie!” A male voice called to me from inside the door and I blinked, startled. Over Pam’s left shoulder I saw Quinn, bald and beautiful and dressed up as a circus acrobat or a lion tamer, all tight, shiny lycra and satin and sequins. I felt the blood drain from my face. The last time I’d seen Quinn hadn’t been under the best of circumstances and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him tonight. Which was just sad.
I could’ve loved Quinn, maybe even did love him, but we’d never really had a chance. Seeing him here now, all I wanted to do was turn around and go home, but that would be cowardly and, much as I’d like to be a coward sometimes, that just wasn’t me. So instead of turning tail and running, I stiffened my spine and smiled at Pam, ignoring my until-very-recently missing boyfriend until I could figure out what I wanted to say to him.
That was the plan, anyway. As it happens, it’s harder than you might think to ignore a six foot four bald man in purple satin (which matched his eyes perfectly, I might add) and sequins. Still, I didn’t want to have this confrontation in front of so many witnesses. Or any witnesses.
While Quinn made his way through the crowd, which wasn’t too heavy just yet since it was only a few minutes after ten, I stepped past Pam with a smile (not a happy one) and headed toward the bar. There were some vampires there I recognized and I thought that maybe, if I were engaged in conversation with one or two of them, Quinn might not try to force us to have that conversation I’d nixed when I’d broken things off with him the morning after the coup.
Russell Edgington, the King of Mississippi, stood at the bar with his husband, Bart Crowe, the King of Indiana. With a stogie in one hand and a TrueBlood in the other, Russell wore a black velvet dressing gown over red silk pajamas; he wore black velvet slippers on his feet. He was facing me and as I drew closer I saw a white rabbit’s head embroidered on the left breast of his dressing gown. My nervous smile relaxed a bit at the sight, in spite of the tiger chasing me down; Russell wasn’t interested in women at all, and yet here he was, dressed up as Hugh Hefner. Come to think of it, his mansion outside of Jackson had reminded me of the Playboy Mansion, only with pretty boys instead of pretty girls. Standing in profile to me, Bart, dressed like a NASCAR driver and also holding a TrueBlood in his hand, laughed at something Russell said and then turned toward me.
Behind me I heard Quinn say “Excuse me” to someone, his voice much closer than it’d been when he’d called to me at the door. Russell grinned hugely at me, which is to say that his lips moved enough to expose some teeth, a little pink from the synthetic blood, and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. “Miss Stackhouse, it’s a pleasure to see you.” He turned to Bart. “You remember Sookie Stackhouse, Bart. From the summit at Rhodes?”
Bart nodded and raised his bottle to acknowledge that yes, he did recall meeting me. “Of course I remember Sookie. She attended our wedding. You’ve chosen an interesting costume, my dear.”
“It’s so good to see you-all again.” I beamed at them and Quinn’s fingers closed on my arm.
“Sookie, we need to talk.”
“I’m in the middle of a conversation, Quinn,” I told him, trying hard to keep my voice even, smiling for all I was worth. Bart and Russell both frowned at him.
Quinn ignored them. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, Sookie, but did you at least read my letter?”
Letter? He’d sent me a letter?
“Sookie! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight!” Oh, great. Just wonderful. First Quinn and now Alcide. And just to make things even better, I felt the pressure of Eric’s gaze as he, too, realized I was here. I looked up past Russell’s shoulder and sure enough, a pair of blazing blue eyes met mine. In full Viking regalia (which from what I could see at this distance appeared to consist of leather, green-dyed wool, and fur along with a huge sword strapped to his back), he stood in conversation with his new king (ironically enough, dressed as Elvis Presley) and Victor Madden (Frank Sinatra) and he was tall and barbaric and so beautiful he almost brought tears to my eyes.
Or maybe that was just Quinn’s fingers digging into my arm. I glared up at Quinn and snarled, “You’re hurting me,” as Alcide, dressed like a knight out of King Arthur’s court, presented the pretty young Were he’d brought as his date.
“Sookie, I’d like you to meet Minta Randall.” Minta smiled at me, showing off sharp, perfect white teeth. She looked every bit the fairy-tale princess her costume proclaimed her to be. Alcide even had a strip of filmy blue tied around his right wrist that matched the overskirt of her dress. How adorable. “Minta, this is my good friend, Sookie Stackhouse.”
Quinn still hadn’t loosened his grip on my arm and I tugged, demanding, “Let go!”
Which prompted Bart to take a step away from the bar, toward Quinn and me. Quinn was taller than the King of Indiana, but that obviously made no difference to Bart. “The lady wants you to release her, shifter.” There was enough steel underneath the words to transform them into an order.
Alcide’s smile transformed into a frown and Minta’s hand, lifted to shake mine, dropped to her side as they both caught a whiff of the tension in the air. Quinn growled at Bart, just a hint of tiger in the sound, but he did finally let go of my arm. His gaze swung back and forth between me and the vampire and if he’d been in his tiger form, his tail would’ve been twitching wildly in agitation. The tangle of his thoughts was such that I did not know if he was going to back down or take a swing at Bart.
Maybe I should’ve taken the hint from that missing invitation and just stayed home tonight.
And then Sam was there and with him Bill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric take a step toward me, too, but Victor laid a hand on his arm, a clear indication for him to stay put.
Sam (Wolverine from the X-Men, complete with wife-beater and razor claws) smoothly maneuvered in between me and Quinn, taking the weretiger lightly by the arm and turning him aside. “You must be this Quinn I’ve heard so much about,” he said, pushing Quinn closer to Alcide and Minta and effectively shifting the tiny two-natured contingent away from me.
Bill (Abner Doubleday in a baseball uniform, not a Yankee military uniform) added his blocking power to Sam’s, linking his right arm with my left, the one that Quinn had finally released. “Bart. Russell.” He nodded a greeting to the pair of kings. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Stackhouse’s presence is required.” He gestured toward Eric, Victor, and Felipe, whose little grouping now included Pam. Pam looked positively gleeful. I wondered who was checking identification and invitations at the door.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking across a room on my own, Bill.” He still had his arm linked with mine.
He smiled down at me. “I know that,” he said, but he didn’t let go of my arm, just kept walking with me across the bar, smiling, leading me toward Eric. The knot of tension I’d felt ever since I’d first seen Quinn began to ease and I didn’t know if it was because of Bill’s calm presence or my ever closer proximity to Eric and the sense of contentment I felt when he was near. Either way, it was about as unsettling as relaxation could be.
Just as we were close enough for me to hear her, Pam leaned in toward Eric and asked, “Do you think she has a chastity belt on underneath all that cloth?”
“No, Pam, I do not,” Eric replied evenly, his eyes on mine. And then he looked down at Pam and said, “I think it’s more likely she’s wearing red silk and lace.” There was a challenge in his eyes when he turned his attention back to me. Heat bloomed across my skin as Bill released my arm and took a step back. It was a toss-up as to whether the flush was caused by my embarrassment at Eric and Pam discussing my style of underwear or that they were discussing it in front of Felipe and Victor (and Bill). Then again, it could have been caused by the fact that Eric was pretty much on the money.
Why was it again that I’d thought a nun’s habit would be a safe costume choice?
“Oh, Sookie, your costume is fabulous!” Amelia was bearing down on me with Tray in tow and suddenly I understood how inspired their choice of costumes really was. Maybe Tray didn’t physically resemble the laconic, sardonic, and fictional Oz, but his calm indulgence of her bright enthusiasm was absolutely perfect. She turned to Tray, her red wig flaring out a little with the movement, and said, “I didn’t get a chance to see it before I left.”
Felipe was looking at me expectantly. In fact, all of the vampires were looking at me and I realized that they were waiting for me to introduce Amelia and Tray to the king. Eric, Pam, and Bill all knew Amelia, of course (Pam a little better than either of the men), but I wasn’t sure if any of them had met Tray. In any event, as Amelia’s roommate, I guess the introductions more or less naturally fell to me. Even though technically, I was crashing the party.
I wondered what Miss Manners would advise in regard to introducing a witch and a werewolf to a vampire king and his assistant. Should I address Felipe as “your majesty?” Oh, never mind. It’s not like I’m one of his subjects, right?
Smiling brightly, I forged ahead. “Felipe de Castro, Victor Madden, this is my roommate Amelia Broadway and her…” I hesitated. Tray was her date, yes, but it was only their first date, so he wasn’t exactly her boyfriend and “date” just seemed kind of impersonal. Finally I continued, “And this is our friend Tray Dawson.”
I couldn’t tell from Eric’s expression whether he approved of how I’d handled it or not, but neither Felipe nor Victor seemed offended, Pam wasn’t rolling her eyes, and Bill remained unperturbed. Neither Amelia nor Tray offered to shake hands with the vampires, which was a plus, so all in all, I considered this a win.
As Amelia fell into conversation with Felipe and Victor, both of whom seemed to be fascinated by either her colorful costume or the witch herself, Tray politely excused himself and took a couple of steps toward me. “Need anything from the bar, Sookie?” he asked.
I don’t normally do a whole lot of drinking, but after the first half hour of this party, I felt like I needed something. “If you don’t mind, Tray, I’d like a champagne cocktail, please.” He nodded and headed off to the bar.
Across the room, which was a lot more crowded now than it had been a few minutes ago, I saw that Alcide and Minta were still with Quinn, although I didn’t see Sam. The Jackson Packmaster, Terrence, had joined them and seemed to be speaking to Quinn earnestly about something. Quinn’s attention was divided between Terrence and me and he looked much calmer now.
Turning away, I closed my eyes for a moment and let the crush of people, their thoughts and feelings wash over me, not something I allowed myself to do very often. If this had been a normal crowd for Fangtasia, I wouldn’t have done it, but there were so few normal humans in the group and the two-natured aren’t usually clear broadcasters, so I felt there wouldn’t be too much risk. I don’t even know why I bothered to do it, maybe just to see if I could control it, see if I could ride the wave. Or maybe I was just still a little rattled after the almost-incident with Quinn.
… so adorable in their matching costumes …
… can’t believe I have to wear this get up …
… too warm too warm suffocating got to get out …
… so much fun! I never thought vampires had any kind of sense of humor …
… hope nobody notices me …
… what the hell is she doing here?
… one mighty fine looking vamp. Too bad I don’t like my men blond. Or dead.
“Was I right?” Eric whispered by my left ear and I jumped about a foot. I think I might’ve squeaked.
“Eric, don’t do that!” I whirled around and glared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, but he just grinned at me unrepentantly. “Were you right about what?”
“Silky and red?”
“My underwear?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the smile, a real one, from stretching my lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Of course.”
He would take that literally. “Well I’m not going to tell you.”
He took a step toward me and then another. His smile turned predatory and my mouth went dry. “Then I’ll just have to discover it for myself.” And then he pulled me flush against his long, lean body, but instead of trying to get under my habit for a peek (and I’d have boxed his ears, if he’d’ve tried it, right out in the bar in front of all those people), he spun me out onto the dance floor. “But that can wait until later, my lover.”
I don’t even know what song was playing. All I knew was that our bodies moved together like we were one entity. For all I was aware of at that moment, there may not have been any music at all, except what we heard inside ourselves. There was only myself and Eric. For the briefest of moments, I was almost happy.
But of course it ended, as all such moments do. Eric was called away by Clancy to take care of some problem with one of the taps behind the bar. Tray rejoined Amelia and motioned me over to take my drink and join into the conversation. I didn’t necessarily want to talk to Felipe or Victor just then, but I did want that champagne cocktail, so…
***
Surprisingly enough, as the night went on, I loosened up a little and had fun. The hour or so after I hooked up with Amelia just flew by in a blur. A blur filled with conversation and more dancing and laughter and another champagne cocktail or two. Breathless after a whirlwind dance with Sam, I stood at the bar nursing my third (and last!) alcoholic beverage of the evening. It was pretty close to midnight. Sweat trickled from my scalp down my neck under the nun headgear I wore and I decided it had to go before I just plain melted. Eric was behind the bar, mixing and serving drinks, having given Clancy a break so that he, too, could enjoy some of the party. Pam sat on a barstool about halfway down from where I stood. I think her sole purpose for being there was to needle Eric. I smiled into my champagne as I listened to them bicker like some old married couple.
“Do you even know how to mix drinks?” Pam shot over her shoulder at Eric as she leaned back, resting her elbows on the bar, and watched their guests interact with each other.
Eric didn’t answer her, just handed a glass of red wine and a tumbler of some amber-colored liquor to a Were dressed as a biker. Given some of the Weres I’d known, I wasn’t sure if he was in costume or not.
“Oh, look at that,” Pam exclaimed. “The tiger and the wolf are both still watching our Sookie.” I about choked as I hurriedly swallowed a sip of my drink and turned around to see that Quinn and Alcide both had their eyes on me. They still stood where it seemed they’d been all evening, although Terrence had disappeared and Sam was taking a turn with Minta on the dance floor. I saw Quinn’s little sister, Frannie, push her way through the party-goers to get to his side. She was wearing normal street clothes, so I didn’t think she was here for a good time.
Pam beamed at me. “You’re very popular tonight, Sookie.” I felt a surge of irritation that couldn’t possibly be my own and shot a look at Eric, who wiped down the surface of the bar and studiously ignored his progeny. Past Eric I saw that Quinn was still watching me, even with Frannie tugging on his arm - I suspected she was trying to get him to leave.
The microwave sounded behind the bar and Eric turned to remove a bottle of Red Stuff (which is the cheapest variety of synthetic blood on the market - I was surprised any of the vamps attending this particular party would bother with what Eric likened to rusty sludge). He shook the bottle a bit to get rid of any hot spots and handed it to a vampire (dressed as Barney Fife) I’d never seen before. While Eric’s attention was momentarily diverted from me, I slipped away from the bar; it seemed like the perfect opportunity to visit the restroom and maybe find someplace to ditch the headgear.
As I walked away, I overheard Eric admonish Pam, “She is not our Sookie, Pam. She is my Sookie.” The way he said it wasn’t nearly as possessive as I would’ve expected, more like he was trying to reassure himself of that. He hadn’t really touched me like that in months, since he couldn’t remember anything about the time he’d stayed with me. But his memory wasn’t a problem anymore. I couldn’t help but shiver, and it had nothing to do with being cold.
***
I felt much better after I’d uncovered my head and splashed cool water over my face, even if it did tickle a bit, running down my neck and under the habit. Rather than put all that cloth back on my head, I carried the wimple (or whatever it was called) under my arm when I left the ladies’ room. Maybe Eric would let me leave it behind the bar and I could pick it up later, when I was ready to go home.
I never got that far, though. As the restroom door swung shut behind me, Quinn grabbed my arm. He wasn’t angry this time, just really focused. “I need to talk to you, babe.” I shook off his hand and glared at him, but kept walking. We were about up to the open end of the bar when he took my arm once more. Eric was all the way at the other end of the polished expanse of wood, serving a pretty large group of mixed vamps and humans, but Pam was facing us. She gave me a quizzical look at about the same time Quinn gave me a little push toward the door just behind the bar that read “Employees Only.”
The door opened into what must be Fangtasia’s main storeroom (a room I’d never had occasion to visit before) and Quinn crowded me in ahead of him. I hadn’t yet had time to formulate a protest, and when I did, it emerged as more of an, “Ow!” Something sticking out from the wall hooked the neckline of my habit, and Quinn was being a bit more forceful than was really necessary. If whatever hooked me hadn’t done so on the seam, I suppose I might’ve choked myself (or, more accurately, Quinn might’ve choked me by proxy). As it was, the seam tore, of both the habit and the lighter overtunic, so I didn’t get much more than what you’d call a rope burn.
“Sookie!” At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. “Damn. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I rounded on him, mad enough to spit fire. “What is the matter with you?” I demanded.
“Aw, Sookie, just give me a minute, okay? Please? I just want to explain.”
“I don’t need you to explain. We’ve already discussed it, Quinn. Your mom and your sister need you.” I raised a hand to my neck where the skin still stung from the pull of the separating seams. There was no doubt a red mark there, too.
“Frannie…” He shook his head, his expression troubled. He took a step back from me, leaned back against the wall beside some metal shelving containing boxes marked “True Blood” and “Maker’s Mark.” “She told me she stole the letter I sent you. She waited around by your mailbox for a couple of days until it arrived in the mail. You’d hurt me, she felt, and so she didn’t want me to talk to you and maybe patch things up.”
Fran was still just a kid, really, not that long out of high school. I suppose her behavior didn’t surprise me too much, although it wasn’t something that would have occurred to me to do, were I in her shoes.
“She took your invitation to this party, too,” Quinn continued, “because she knew I’d be here with de Castro’s group and she didn’t want us to run into each other.”
“Quinn,” I began, but then I stopped. “Do you smell smoke?” The odor was faint, and I couldn’t tell where it came from, but I thought it was definitely smoke. Something somewhere was burning, and I just hoped it wasn’t Fangtasia.
Before I could say anything else, the door to the storeroom crashed open. An angry Viking stood there, backlit. “Step away from her, shifter,” Eric ordered.
“She doesn’t belong to you, bloodsucker.” Quinn pushed off from the wall and took a step away from it. The three of us formed an irregular triangle.
I looked from angry vampire to irate weretiger. I realized it the instant Eric noticed the torn neckline of my costume and I knew without even being able to read his mind the assumption he made as to how it had gotten torn. He actually snarled. Quinn crouched into a kind of fighting posture and growled right back at him, low in his throat. They were like two dogs fighting over the same bone.
God save me from that Y-chromosome.
“All right,” I announced, pretty pissed off, myself, “you two cavemen do whatever you need to to work your issues out-”
My sentence wasn’t even finished when Quinn abruptly shoved past first me and then Eric (kind of a dangerous thing to do, under the circumstances). “I didn’t come here to fight with anyone,” he said from the hallway just outside the storeroom. “I’ve got to go.” His eyes met mine, imploring. “Frannie said our mother is…” he began, but then stopped, knowing those three little words (“Frannie” in conjunction with “our mother”) would not endear him to me. He shook his head and walked away. Without even meaning to, I picked up on a wave of regret, following after him like a cloud.
Which left me with Eric; I was no happier with him in this little tableau than I was with Quinn.
I took a step toward him, thinking that, like Quinn, I’d push past him and go back out to rejoin the party, or maybe just go home, but Eric frowned and stopped me with a light touch on my shoulder. “Do you smell smoke?” Without another word, he stepped further into the storeroom, his hand trailing down my arm (I’m not sure he was even aware of the contact), and headed toward the roll-up door and the more normal one beside it that led to the delivery area in back of the bar.
My curiosity got the better of me, mixed in as it was with a good dose of concern - I had a lot of friends in the bar. Eric pushed the back door open and I followed him out, the smell of smoke much stronger.
Fangtasia’s big Dumpster was ablaze. Or more accurately, the contents of it. Flames licked out of the open top, smoke and sparks flittering up into the air in an orange-gold haze. The air above it shimmered with the heat.
“Oh, my,” was about all I could manage. What can I say? I wasn’t really at my most creative at that particular point in the evening. Hello? Three champagne cocktails and a lot of unnecessary drama!
Before I could construct anything more intelligent to say, Eric began to laugh. Okay. I frowned. His fists rested on his hips, his arms akimbo, and his wool-and-fur-covered shoulders began to shake with it. After a brief moment, he threw back his head and shouted with laughter. For a minute there, the flickering light of the fire lending warmth to his face, I saw how Eric must have been when he was alive and my heart skipped a beat. Or two.
I stepped up beside him, my arm brushing his, to see what could possibly be so funny about his property burning. He looked down at me, still chuckling, and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against his side. “Those idiots,” he said and turned his gaze on the Dumpster again.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Fellowship of the Sun.”
Sure enough, now that he mentioned it and I looked closer at the side of the Dumpster, I saw spray painted onto it the trinity knot and shining sun the FotS people used on all their literature. The yellow paint actually stood out pretty well against the black of the Dumpster, now that I knew it was there. I reached out and scanned the area, but the only mental signatures I picked up were in Fangtasia; no FotS members were still running around outside and I doubted any of them had made it into the bar, even if Pam was no longer the one checking invitations and I.D.
“Aren’t you angry?” I mean, I could feel that he was, but he was more amused than mad, and that kind of surprised me. Especially when I thought of how angry he’d been at Quinn only a few minutes ago.
He shrugged, an interesting exercise from my current point of view. “Not so very much. We are insured, the fools have indicated exactly to whom we should send the police, and there is nothing in the container worth worrying about. Just wood pallets and cardboard boxes.” He smiled down at me again. “They lit us a bonfire. Don’t you find it just a little romantic?”
I couldn’t help it. I snorted. It just came right out, not the least bit romantic. And then I may have giggled. Eric turned toward me and put his arms around me, grinning all the while. I expected he’d kiss me then, all things considered, but he didn’t. He just held me. He rested his chin in my hair and we watched the flames and sparks dance over the Dumpster. Oddly enough, it was kind of romantic.
When the flames died down a bit, he released me and walked over to a stack of pine pallets between the Dumpster and the wall. He tossed several in to feed the flames and, when the firelight grew brighter again, he came back to me. I couldn’t take my eyes from him; he took my breath away. I stood transfixed.
He’d gone all predatory on me again. As he drew closer, I backed up. Not so much to get away from him, because I found that I didn’t want that at all. More just to keep the illusion that I had any kind of control over my body. I didn’t stop until my back was against the wall. He didn’t stop until his body was against mine.
Neither of us said anything. His eyes picked up just enough of the fire’s light that I could see them glittering blue in the otherwise darkness as he leaned down to brush my lips with his, once, twice. He breathed in, smelling my skin beneath the torn costume, confirming that Quinn hadn’t caused the damage to it, I expect; I felt his chest expand with the breath. And then he very deliberately licked the welt that had formed between my neck and shoulder. I thought I might explode.
He pulled back a bit, looked down at me, maybe judging just how much he could get away with. I found my eyes were on a level with his collar bones and that spot between, just below his throat, the smooth pale skin of that dimple. Almost without my willing it, I leaned in and licked that spot, just as deliberately as he’d licked me.
He lifted me then, effortlessly. Lifted me up until I was looking into those blue, blue eyes. His right hand stroked down my side to my bottom, supporting me, and I squirmed for a second, maneuvered myself so that I could wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders. The nun’s habit bunched up between us, leaving my legs bare, except where the fur and wool of his cloak covered them.
I couldn’t tell you if I kissed him then, or if he kissed me, but the next thing I knew, the only thing I knew, was the taste of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, his teeth, his sharp, sharp fangs. We kissed until I was breathless, until my heart was racing, my blood rushing through my veins.
And then the door from the storeroom slammed open and Eric accidentally bit my tongue. Since he drew blood, he wasn’t in any hurry to stop sucking on it, either.
“There you are!” Pam exclaimed. “What a creative place to light a bonfire.”
I pounded a fist against Eric’s shoulder and pushed as hard as I could away from the wall, trying to dislodge him. It wasn’t a graceful solution, but it did work. I was no longer pinned to the wall and was able to slide down his body (darn that Pam!) and put my clothing back to rights, even thought Eric didn’t entirely release me.
“Perfect timing as ever, Pam,” Eric observed, although he looked at me as he said it.
She shrugged, not the least bit repentant. “We smelled smoke.”
Pam, apparently, was only the tip of the iceberg. Behind her, costumed humans and supes poured out of the storeroom door. Several people expressed appreciation for the Dumpster fire and someone - it sounded like Amelia - shouted for marshmallows and skewers. I sighed in exasperation and Eric gave me a lopsided grin, even though I knew he was as frustrated by this turn of events as I was.
About the time Clancy (who I only just now realized, as he glittered in the firelight, was dressed up as a sparkly Edward Cullen from that teen movie all the girls seemed to be crazy for) and Victor dragged some speakers out so the partiers could dance around the Dumpster fire in style, Eric took my hand and held a finger to his lips. He pulled me quietly with him as he slipped behind the Dumpster and over to another, unmarked, door, at least temporarily concealed from the collective view of the crowd. From somewhere he produced a key and slid it into the lock, twisted it, and opened the door. It led into his office and he was quick to lock it behind us.
Although the harsh overhead lights were off, the lamp he kept on top of a filing cabinet was lit. He gave my hand a little tug and then I was in his arms and we picked up pretty much where we’d left off, his mouth hungry on mine, exploring each others’ tonsils with our tongues. He only broke away from me long enough to sweep the contents of his desk to the floor and to unclasp the cloak, letting it drop in a dark green, fur-trimmed (red fox, maybe?) puddle at his feet. Next thing I knew he picked me up and set me down on his suddenly clear desk. I was pretty sure he was going to have to replace his computer monitor.
“What about the couch?” I asked, still pretty breathless, even as I was unbuckling the strap that held the huge sword strapped to his back.
“Too cramped.” My habit was rucked up around my hips and he pulled me toward him, which bared my legs even further. He hooked his cool fingers under my panties and pulled them off me, lifted them up. “I knew it,” he crowed, triumphant, then flung the red, lace-trimmed satin panties across the room.
The sword dropped to the floor with a clatter as I finally got the belt undone. I must not have been moving fast enough for Eric, because he pushed my hands away and made quick work of his trousers on his own. I wasn’t all that surprised to find that he didn’t have any underwear underneath. Nor was I surprised to find that he was more than ready.
And then he was between my legs, the desk at just the right height for him to push into me, sliding inside me like he belonged there. I made some incoherent sound as he thrust into me and he growled his agreement. Supporting myself with one hand so he wouldn’t push me right off the desk, I met him thrust for thrust, with first my body and then my tongue when he leaned in to kiss me. He slid a hand between us, found that spot he’d learned drove me wild, so many months ago.
I was falling, breaking apart like shattered glass, clinging to him desperately when he bit into my shoulder, pulled blood from my veins and a cry of completion from my lips.
This might just be the best Halloween party ever.
Author: SabaceanBabe
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,000+
Focus: Eric/Sookie
Spoilers: book!verse, through From Dead to Worse
Beta: scapeartist (Dude! Thank you so much for all the hand-holding!)
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work, based on the characters and world created by Charlaine Harris. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s note: It started out as such a simple concept: Sookie and Eric at a supe party, an angry former Sookie suitor also in attendance, Pam pushing Eric’s buttons (as she is wont to do), some torn clothing and a fire. Well, it snowballed. It somehow developed a bit of a plot. O_o This was written for the Halloween Fic Exchange at eric_sookie and for as much as I agonized over this, it was fun. Enjoy! (And if you're so inclined, go check out the other fics, too - there's a gem or two...)
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“What you got there, Sam?” It was early, just a little before eleven. I was here to cover the lunch crowd and then I had the evening off. I opened up the big drawer in Sam’s office and saw that Holly’s purse was already there. Holly and I worked well together, as well as Arlene and I used to, before Arlene decided she hated anything to do with vampires. Which, by extension, included me. I dropped my purse in beside Holly’s and kicked the drawer shut.
“Hmm?” Sam looked up at me from where he sat, his chair leaning back at its usual dangerous angle (I swear I don’t know how he always manages to keep that thing balanced the way he does), a frown drawing his coppery brows together. He held a pale orange card in one hand, but I couldn’t make out the elegant gold lettering. A matching envelope lay on his desk. “Oh, it’s an invitation to the Halloween party at Fangtasia. I thought they weren’t having one this year.”
A little frown creased my own brow. Sam had received a formal invitation? All I’d gotten was a quick phone call from Pam a couple of nights before, telling me that they were having a party after all, and an “Of course, you’ll be here.” From what she’d said, I’d thought it was going to be kind of small and casual, out of respect for all the vamps who were now finally, truly dead during the hostile takeover. But the invitation Sam held was pretty fancy for something that was just being thrown together at the last minute. I was a bit put out that Sam rated a written invitation and it was just plain assumed that I’d be there. Eric and I were going to have words.
I kept that part to myself when I told Sam, “Eric wasn’t planning on a party, but that Victor Madden overruled him. It’s supposed to be some sort of send off for the new King before he heads back out to Nevada.” Halloween is a big deal in the vampire community, one of only two holidays they celebrate (the other being Dracula’s birthday, if you can believe that). Victor had told Eric straight up that he (Eric, that is, not Victor) was going to host a party on their high holy night in honor of Felipe de Castro, King of Nevada, Louisiana, and, thanks to the former Queen Sophie-Anne’s marriage and untimely demise, Arkansas. All of this I’d gotten from Pam.
Eric had not been a happy camper. Believe me, I know. His feelings on the matter were so strong, I’d felt a spike of his anger and frustration through our blood bond even over all the distance from Shreveport to Bon Temps. Of course, I hadn’t known that’s what caused the spike until I talked to Pam later that same evening and put two and two together. It wasn’t always like that, thank God; usually it was more like a feeling of well-being when he was near. If he was in a good mood, anyway. Although, come to think of it, he was in a good mood when he was around me, more often than not. I filed that little tidbit away to think about later.
“Do you think you’ll go?” I asked Sam while I gathered my long hair up into a ponytail high on my head. I wound a black cloth-covered rubber band around it and pulled it tight.
“I don’t know, Sookie. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m invited.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you helped out the King when Sigebert attacked him and Eric.” That had been just a few days ago. I think there were still little bits of vampire mixed in with the gravel of the parking lot out back.
“I guess.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his strawberry blond hair, making it stick up like a corona around his head. “It’s not like I did all that much.” He grinned over at me. “You did all the heavy lifting.”
“Ha! I’m just glad Dawson was able to fix my poor car.” At least I hadn’t had to explain the little bits of vampire stuck to my bumpers - Dawson knew all about what had happened, since the new king himself had called him about seeing to my car. I still felt bad about what had happened, but I couldn’t see that I could’ve done anything else. Sigebert’d been hurting Eric, and he was getting ready to do a whole lot more than just hurt him.
Well, gee. I’d been in kind of a good mood when I walked into Merlotte’s…
With a sigh, I said to Sam, “I’d better get out there.”
He waggled the invitation at me. “Are you going?”
I paused at the door. “I don’t know. I didn’t get an invitation.”
***
The weird mood I’d talked myself into wasn’t much better by the time I got home. After the lunch crowd had gone back to work or home or wherever, it had been kind of slow. Lots of time to think, although not big enough chunks of time to think well. Mostly just enough to brood. It didn’t help anything that when I got home and brought the mail in from the mailbox, there was a pale orange envelope with a Fangtasia return address, but it was addressed to Amelia, not me.
“Hey, Amelia!” I called up the stairs. “You’ve got mail.” I’d parked next to her car when I’d pulled in and I could hear her radio playing up in her room. Octavia’s bedroom door, on the same hallway as mine, was closed, but I thought I heard voices upstairs, mingled with the music, so I figured they both must be home. And that was a weird thought, too, that I’d gone from one roommate to two in the blink of an eye. Or in the time it takes to speak a careless word.
I laid Amelia’s mail on the end of the kitchen counter. In addition to the invitation, she had a letter from someone in Baton Rouge and a couple of catalogs. My mail consisted of the electric bill and the phone bill and a postcard from the Volunteers of America asking for a donation. It seemed everyone wanted me to give them money, but no one wanted my presence. I stuck my tongue out at the orange envelope on the counter and headed into my room to change out of my work clothes.
A few minutes later, I was much more comfortable, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a baggy Fangtasia t-shirt. I’d taken the time to wash off the light makeup I’d worn to work, too (I get better tips when I wear at least a little blush and eye shadow). I didn’t feel much like dinner, and the smell of popcorn that permeated the kitchen was a little off-putting, but I had to eat something, so I got myself a bowl of Cheerios and drowned them in cold milk. Jeopardy was just starting on the television in the living room.
There was still no sign of Octavia, but Amelia sat on one end of the couch, legs curled under her and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She flashed me a grin. “So is this party at Fangtasia really a costume party?”
I plopped down onto the other end of the couch, which was not necessarily the brightest thing I’d ever done, given the bowl of cereal and milk in my hand, but at least I managed not to spill. I shot Amelia a sour look.
“I have no idea. I didn’t get an invitation.”
I could hear the surprise in her head before she even said anything, but I tried not to respond to it prematurely. “Really? I’m sure it’s just an oversight…”
“I think it’s more likely somebody’s making some high and mighty assumptions.” I guess I was in a bit of a snit. Nobody likes being taken for granted. I shoveled a spoonful of milky cereal into my mouth. Amelia looked like she was going to say something else, but then she shut her mouth with an audible clicking of teeth and turned her attention back to Alex Trebek. She managed to shut down the leaking of her thoughts, too.
I ate my Cheerios and wallowed in what had turned into a full-fledged bad mood.
***
As the sun set in a spectacular display of color and line on the night of the party, I still hadn’t decided on what to wear. Not that I’d been officially invited, but both Amelia and Pam had expressed an interest in my being there. Although in Pam’s case, I’m pretty sure it was more because she knew I was mad at Eric than any real desire for my company. She swore up, down, and sideways that an invitation had been sent with my name on it, but the only ones I’d seen had been for Sam and Amelia. Oh, and Bill had gotten one, too.
From the way Amelia had asked about costumes, I’d thought the party was, at the very least, costume optional, but no. When I’d looked at her invitation, it pretty clearly stated that guests should wear some kind of festive costume. I couldn’t imagine Eric dressing up as anything or anyone other than Eric, so I was kind of interested in going, just to see what he’d be wearing.
That afternoon, I’d dug out a box from the attic that contained the handful of costumes I’d put together over the years. The adult years, that is. There was an entirely different box that held the Halloween costumes Gran had made for Jason and me as kids. And I was pretty sure none of those would fit me now. I had, well, filled out some.
The party was set to start at ten o’clock, so after pawing through the contents of the box for a few minutes, checking over the costumes that might fit and that I wouldn’t feel awkward wearing in a roomful of vampires (there were three), I still had plenty of time to shower and get dressed. Amelia was going as Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tray Dawson, her date, was going as Oz, which I thought was kind of hilarious, given that Tray is kind of a big, burly guy and Oz isn’t, although they’re both werewolves. I finally settled on a particular costume, but a part of me wanted to go as Buffy. It’d be an easy enough costume to cobble together, but I thought it might be a bit tacky. Not to mention potentially dangerous.
***
“Sookie! I’m so glad you decided to come.” Pam was checking both invitations and I.D. at the door -no proof you were of age, no admittance to the bar, even when it was open for a normal evening and not closed for a private party, as it was tonight. Pam’s long, pale blond hair was done up in a pair of braids draped over her shoulders and she wore a tunic that looked like some kind of leather armor above a red skirt that stopped just below her knees. The skirt looked like it would flare out in a big circle if she moved just right. Brown leather boots that laced up to her knees and a sword in a brown leather scabbard at her waist completed the ensemble. “I’m a Valkyrie. What do you think?” She spun around so I’d get the full effect and the skirt did indeed flare out wide, hampered a bit by the sword, before settling down around her legs. It would’ve done a flamenco dancer proud. Well, minus the weaponry, anyway.
“You look real pretty, Pam.” And she did, too. Real pretty and kind of scary, since she was also showing a little fang.
“I can’t wait to see Eric’s reaction to your costume, Sookie.”
Since dressing up as Buffy would’ve only been amusing (and that only to me) for all of about twenty seconds, I’d decided to go prim and proper, to wear something that concealed just about every inch of skin: a medieval-looking nun’s habit. The headgear was kind of restrictive, covering my head and neck so that only my face was exposed, and my hair was tucked in underneath. The habit itself was sturdy black broadcloth and there was a gray cotton overtunic, belted at the waist with a length of rope. Of course, I wasn’t exactly dressed as a nun all the way down to my concealed skin, unless nuns normally wear lacy, silky under things. But still, the outward appearance was that of what the Catholics called a bride of God, chaste and celibate. Let Mr. Eric Northman chew on that.
I grinned at her and started to walk past, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Invitation?” she asked. “I.D.?”
“Excuse me?”
“There are so many here that were invited solely because we were ordered to invite them, we’re being very careful that everyone in the bar should be in the bar.”
“Pam, you know I didn’t get an invitation. And you know I’m over twenty-one.”
“You still didn’t get it?” She frowned, a big reaction for a vampire. They’re really not all that expressive, generally speaking. “That is very odd, Sookie. I addressed it to you myself.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what you said before.”
She arched one eyebrow and looked me in the eye. “Sookie. Do you really believe that I’d lie to you to make Eric look good?”
I thought about it for maybe a second. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” She enjoyed tweaking his tail too much.
“Sookie!” A male voice called to me from inside the door and I blinked, startled. Over Pam’s left shoulder I saw Quinn, bald and beautiful and dressed up as a circus acrobat or a lion tamer, all tight, shiny lycra and satin and sequins. I felt the blood drain from my face. The last time I’d seen Quinn hadn’t been under the best of circumstances and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him tonight. Which was just sad.
I could’ve loved Quinn, maybe even did love him, but we’d never really had a chance. Seeing him here now, all I wanted to do was turn around and go home, but that would be cowardly and, much as I’d like to be a coward sometimes, that just wasn’t me. So instead of turning tail and running, I stiffened my spine and smiled at Pam, ignoring my until-very-recently missing boyfriend until I could figure out what I wanted to say to him.
That was the plan, anyway. As it happens, it’s harder than you might think to ignore a six foot four bald man in purple satin (which matched his eyes perfectly, I might add) and sequins. Still, I didn’t want to have this confrontation in front of so many witnesses. Or any witnesses.
While Quinn made his way through the crowd, which wasn’t too heavy just yet since it was only a few minutes after ten, I stepped past Pam with a smile (not a happy one) and headed toward the bar. There were some vampires there I recognized and I thought that maybe, if I were engaged in conversation with one or two of them, Quinn might not try to force us to have that conversation I’d nixed when I’d broken things off with him the morning after the coup.
Russell Edgington, the King of Mississippi, stood at the bar with his husband, Bart Crowe, the King of Indiana. With a stogie in one hand and a TrueBlood in the other, Russell wore a black velvet dressing gown over red silk pajamas; he wore black velvet slippers on his feet. He was facing me and as I drew closer I saw a white rabbit’s head embroidered on the left breast of his dressing gown. My nervous smile relaxed a bit at the sight, in spite of the tiger chasing me down; Russell wasn’t interested in women at all, and yet here he was, dressed up as Hugh Hefner. Come to think of it, his mansion outside of Jackson had reminded me of the Playboy Mansion, only with pretty boys instead of pretty girls. Standing in profile to me, Bart, dressed like a NASCAR driver and also holding a TrueBlood in his hand, laughed at something Russell said and then turned toward me.
Behind me I heard Quinn say “Excuse me” to someone, his voice much closer than it’d been when he’d called to me at the door. Russell grinned hugely at me, which is to say that his lips moved enough to expose some teeth, a little pink from the synthetic blood, and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. “Miss Stackhouse, it’s a pleasure to see you.” He turned to Bart. “You remember Sookie Stackhouse, Bart. From the summit at Rhodes?”
Bart nodded and raised his bottle to acknowledge that yes, he did recall meeting me. “Of course I remember Sookie. She attended our wedding. You’ve chosen an interesting costume, my dear.”
“It’s so good to see you-all again.” I beamed at them and Quinn’s fingers closed on my arm.
“Sookie, we need to talk.”
“I’m in the middle of a conversation, Quinn,” I told him, trying hard to keep my voice even, smiling for all I was worth. Bart and Russell both frowned at him.
Quinn ignored them. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, Sookie, but did you at least read my letter?”
Letter? He’d sent me a letter?
“Sookie! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight!” Oh, great. Just wonderful. First Quinn and now Alcide. And just to make things even better, I felt the pressure of Eric’s gaze as he, too, realized I was here. I looked up past Russell’s shoulder and sure enough, a pair of blazing blue eyes met mine. In full Viking regalia (which from what I could see at this distance appeared to consist of leather, green-dyed wool, and fur along with a huge sword strapped to his back), he stood in conversation with his new king (ironically enough, dressed as Elvis Presley) and Victor Madden (Frank Sinatra) and he was tall and barbaric and so beautiful he almost brought tears to my eyes.
Or maybe that was just Quinn’s fingers digging into my arm. I glared up at Quinn and snarled, “You’re hurting me,” as Alcide, dressed like a knight out of King Arthur’s court, presented the pretty young Were he’d brought as his date.
“Sookie, I’d like you to meet Minta Randall.” Minta smiled at me, showing off sharp, perfect white teeth. She looked every bit the fairy-tale princess her costume proclaimed her to be. Alcide even had a strip of filmy blue tied around his right wrist that matched the overskirt of her dress. How adorable. “Minta, this is my good friend, Sookie Stackhouse.”
Quinn still hadn’t loosened his grip on my arm and I tugged, demanding, “Let go!”
Which prompted Bart to take a step away from the bar, toward Quinn and me. Quinn was taller than the King of Indiana, but that obviously made no difference to Bart. “The lady wants you to release her, shifter.” There was enough steel underneath the words to transform them into an order.
Alcide’s smile transformed into a frown and Minta’s hand, lifted to shake mine, dropped to her side as they both caught a whiff of the tension in the air. Quinn growled at Bart, just a hint of tiger in the sound, but he did finally let go of my arm. His gaze swung back and forth between me and the vampire and if he’d been in his tiger form, his tail would’ve been twitching wildly in agitation. The tangle of his thoughts was such that I did not know if he was going to back down or take a swing at Bart.
Maybe I should’ve taken the hint from that missing invitation and just stayed home tonight.
And then Sam was there and with him Bill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric take a step toward me, too, but Victor laid a hand on his arm, a clear indication for him to stay put.
Sam (Wolverine from the X-Men, complete with wife-beater and razor claws) smoothly maneuvered in between me and Quinn, taking the weretiger lightly by the arm and turning him aside. “You must be this Quinn I’ve heard so much about,” he said, pushing Quinn closer to Alcide and Minta and effectively shifting the tiny two-natured contingent away from me.
Bill (Abner Doubleday in a baseball uniform, not a Yankee military uniform) added his blocking power to Sam’s, linking his right arm with my left, the one that Quinn had finally released. “Bart. Russell.” He nodded a greeting to the pair of kings. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Stackhouse’s presence is required.” He gestured toward Eric, Victor, and Felipe, whose little grouping now included Pam. Pam looked positively gleeful. I wondered who was checking identification and invitations at the door.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking across a room on my own, Bill.” He still had his arm linked with mine.
He smiled down at me. “I know that,” he said, but he didn’t let go of my arm, just kept walking with me across the bar, smiling, leading me toward Eric. The knot of tension I’d felt ever since I’d first seen Quinn began to ease and I didn’t know if it was because of Bill’s calm presence or my ever closer proximity to Eric and the sense of contentment I felt when he was near. Either way, it was about as unsettling as relaxation could be.
Just as we were close enough for me to hear her, Pam leaned in toward Eric and asked, “Do you think she has a chastity belt on underneath all that cloth?”
“No, Pam, I do not,” Eric replied evenly, his eyes on mine. And then he looked down at Pam and said, “I think it’s more likely she’s wearing red silk and lace.” There was a challenge in his eyes when he turned his attention back to me. Heat bloomed across my skin as Bill released my arm and took a step back. It was a toss-up as to whether the flush was caused by my embarrassment at Eric and Pam discussing my style of underwear or that they were discussing it in front of Felipe and Victor (and Bill). Then again, it could have been caused by the fact that Eric was pretty much on the money.
Why was it again that I’d thought a nun’s habit would be a safe costume choice?
“Oh, Sookie, your costume is fabulous!” Amelia was bearing down on me with Tray in tow and suddenly I understood how inspired their choice of costumes really was. Maybe Tray didn’t physically resemble the laconic, sardonic, and fictional Oz, but his calm indulgence of her bright enthusiasm was absolutely perfect. She turned to Tray, her red wig flaring out a little with the movement, and said, “I didn’t get a chance to see it before I left.”
Felipe was looking at me expectantly. In fact, all of the vampires were looking at me and I realized that they were waiting for me to introduce Amelia and Tray to the king. Eric, Pam, and Bill all knew Amelia, of course (Pam a little better than either of the men), but I wasn’t sure if any of them had met Tray. In any event, as Amelia’s roommate, I guess the introductions more or less naturally fell to me. Even though technically, I was crashing the party.
I wondered what Miss Manners would advise in regard to introducing a witch and a werewolf to a vampire king and his assistant. Should I address Felipe as “your majesty?” Oh, never mind. It’s not like I’m one of his subjects, right?
Smiling brightly, I forged ahead. “Felipe de Castro, Victor Madden, this is my roommate Amelia Broadway and her…” I hesitated. Tray was her date, yes, but it was only their first date, so he wasn’t exactly her boyfriend and “date” just seemed kind of impersonal. Finally I continued, “And this is our friend Tray Dawson.”
I couldn’t tell from Eric’s expression whether he approved of how I’d handled it or not, but neither Felipe nor Victor seemed offended, Pam wasn’t rolling her eyes, and Bill remained unperturbed. Neither Amelia nor Tray offered to shake hands with the vampires, which was a plus, so all in all, I considered this a win.
As Amelia fell into conversation with Felipe and Victor, both of whom seemed to be fascinated by either her colorful costume or the witch herself, Tray politely excused himself and took a couple of steps toward me. “Need anything from the bar, Sookie?” he asked.
I don’t normally do a whole lot of drinking, but after the first half hour of this party, I felt like I needed something. “If you don’t mind, Tray, I’d like a champagne cocktail, please.” He nodded and headed off to the bar.
Across the room, which was a lot more crowded now than it had been a few minutes ago, I saw that Alcide and Minta were still with Quinn, although I didn’t see Sam. The Jackson Packmaster, Terrence, had joined them and seemed to be speaking to Quinn earnestly about something. Quinn’s attention was divided between Terrence and me and he looked much calmer now.
Turning away, I closed my eyes for a moment and let the crush of people, their thoughts and feelings wash over me, not something I allowed myself to do very often. If this had been a normal crowd for Fangtasia, I wouldn’t have done it, but there were so few normal humans in the group and the two-natured aren’t usually clear broadcasters, so I felt there wouldn’t be too much risk. I don’t even know why I bothered to do it, maybe just to see if I could control it, see if I could ride the wave. Or maybe I was just still a little rattled after the almost-incident with Quinn.
… so adorable in their matching costumes …
… can’t believe I have to wear this get up …
… too warm too warm suffocating got to get out …
… so much fun! I never thought vampires had any kind of sense of humor …
… hope nobody notices me …
… what the hell is she doing here?
… one mighty fine looking vamp. Too bad I don’t like my men blond. Or dead.
“Was I right?” Eric whispered by my left ear and I jumped about a foot. I think I might’ve squeaked.
“Eric, don’t do that!” I whirled around and glared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, but he just grinned at me unrepentantly. “Were you right about what?”
“Silky and red?”
“My underwear?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the smile, a real one, from stretching my lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Of course.”
He would take that literally. “Well I’m not going to tell you.”
He took a step toward me and then another. His smile turned predatory and my mouth went dry. “Then I’ll just have to discover it for myself.” And then he pulled me flush against his long, lean body, but instead of trying to get under my habit for a peek (and I’d have boxed his ears, if he’d’ve tried it, right out in the bar in front of all those people), he spun me out onto the dance floor. “But that can wait until later, my lover.”
I don’t even know what song was playing. All I knew was that our bodies moved together like we were one entity. For all I was aware of at that moment, there may not have been any music at all, except what we heard inside ourselves. There was only myself and Eric. For the briefest of moments, I was almost happy.
But of course it ended, as all such moments do. Eric was called away by Clancy to take care of some problem with one of the taps behind the bar. Tray rejoined Amelia and motioned me over to take my drink and join into the conversation. I didn’t necessarily want to talk to Felipe or Victor just then, but I did want that champagne cocktail, so…
***
Surprisingly enough, as the night went on, I loosened up a little and had fun. The hour or so after I hooked up with Amelia just flew by in a blur. A blur filled with conversation and more dancing and laughter and another champagne cocktail or two. Breathless after a whirlwind dance with Sam, I stood at the bar nursing my third (and last!) alcoholic beverage of the evening. It was pretty close to midnight. Sweat trickled from my scalp down my neck under the nun headgear I wore and I decided it had to go before I just plain melted. Eric was behind the bar, mixing and serving drinks, having given Clancy a break so that he, too, could enjoy some of the party. Pam sat on a barstool about halfway down from where I stood. I think her sole purpose for being there was to needle Eric. I smiled into my champagne as I listened to them bicker like some old married couple.
“Do you even know how to mix drinks?” Pam shot over her shoulder at Eric as she leaned back, resting her elbows on the bar, and watched their guests interact with each other.
Eric didn’t answer her, just handed a glass of red wine and a tumbler of some amber-colored liquor to a Were dressed as a biker. Given some of the Weres I’d known, I wasn’t sure if he was in costume or not.
“Oh, look at that,” Pam exclaimed. “The tiger and the wolf are both still watching our Sookie.” I about choked as I hurriedly swallowed a sip of my drink and turned around to see that Quinn and Alcide both had their eyes on me. They still stood where it seemed they’d been all evening, although Terrence had disappeared and Sam was taking a turn with Minta on the dance floor. I saw Quinn’s little sister, Frannie, push her way through the party-goers to get to his side. She was wearing normal street clothes, so I didn’t think she was here for a good time.
Pam beamed at me. “You’re very popular tonight, Sookie.” I felt a surge of irritation that couldn’t possibly be my own and shot a look at Eric, who wiped down the surface of the bar and studiously ignored his progeny. Past Eric I saw that Quinn was still watching me, even with Frannie tugging on his arm - I suspected she was trying to get him to leave.
The microwave sounded behind the bar and Eric turned to remove a bottle of Red Stuff (which is the cheapest variety of synthetic blood on the market - I was surprised any of the vamps attending this particular party would bother with what Eric likened to rusty sludge). He shook the bottle a bit to get rid of any hot spots and handed it to a vampire (dressed as Barney Fife) I’d never seen before. While Eric’s attention was momentarily diverted from me, I slipped away from the bar; it seemed like the perfect opportunity to visit the restroom and maybe find someplace to ditch the headgear.
As I walked away, I overheard Eric admonish Pam, “She is not our Sookie, Pam. She is my Sookie.” The way he said it wasn’t nearly as possessive as I would’ve expected, more like he was trying to reassure himself of that. He hadn’t really touched me like that in months, since he couldn’t remember anything about the time he’d stayed with me. But his memory wasn’t a problem anymore. I couldn’t help but shiver, and it had nothing to do with being cold.
***
I felt much better after I’d uncovered my head and splashed cool water over my face, even if it did tickle a bit, running down my neck and under the habit. Rather than put all that cloth back on my head, I carried the wimple (or whatever it was called) under my arm when I left the ladies’ room. Maybe Eric would let me leave it behind the bar and I could pick it up later, when I was ready to go home.
I never got that far, though. As the restroom door swung shut behind me, Quinn grabbed my arm. He wasn’t angry this time, just really focused. “I need to talk to you, babe.” I shook off his hand and glared at him, but kept walking. We were about up to the open end of the bar when he took my arm once more. Eric was all the way at the other end of the polished expanse of wood, serving a pretty large group of mixed vamps and humans, but Pam was facing us. She gave me a quizzical look at about the same time Quinn gave me a little push toward the door just behind the bar that read “Employees Only.”
The door opened into what must be Fangtasia’s main storeroom (a room I’d never had occasion to visit before) and Quinn crowded me in ahead of him. I hadn’t yet had time to formulate a protest, and when I did, it emerged as more of an, “Ow!” Something sticking out from the wall hooked the neckline of my habit, and Quinn was being a bit more forceful than was really necessary. If whatever hooked me hadn’t done so on the seam, I suppose I might’ve choked myself (or, more accurately, Quinn might’ve choked me by proxy). As it was, the seam tore, of both the habit and the lighter overtunic, so I didn’t get much more than what you’d call a rope burn.
“Sookie!” At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. “Damn. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I rounded on him, mad enough to spit fire. “What is the matter with you?” I demanded.
“Aw, Sookie, just give me a minute, okay? Please? I just want to explain.”
“I don’t need you to explain. We’ve already discussed it, Quinn. Your mom and your sister need you.” I raised a hand to my neck where the skin still stung from the pull of the separating seams. There was no doubt a red mark there, too.
“Frannie…” He shook his head, his expression troubled. He took a step back from me, leaned back against the wall beside some metal shelving containing boxes marked “True Blood” and “Maker’s Mark.” “She told me she stole the letter I sent you. She waited around by your mailbox for a couple of days until it arrived in the mail. You’d hurt me, she felt, and so she didn’t want me to talk to you and maybe patch things up.”
Fran was still just a kid, really, not that long out of high school. I suppose her behavior didn’t surprise me too much, although it wasn’t something that would have occurred to me to do, were I in her shoes.
“She took your invitation to this party, too,” Quinn continued, “because she knew I’d be here with de Castro’s group and she didn’t want us to run into each other.”
“Quinn,” I began, but then I stopped. “Do you smell smoke?” The odor was faint, and I couldn’t tell where it came from, but I thought it was definitely smoke. Something somewhere was burning, and I just hoped it wasn’t Fangtasia.
Before I could say anything else, the door to the storeroom crashed open. An angry Viking stood there, backlit. “Step away from her, shifter,” Eric ordered.
“She doesn’t belong to you, bloodsucker.” Quinn pushed off from the wall and took a step away from it. The three of us formed an irregular triangle.
I looked from angry vampire to irate weretiger. I realized it the instant Eric noticed the torn neckline of my costume and I knew without even being able to read his mind the assumption he made as to how it had gotten torn. He actually snarled. Quinn crouched into a kind of fighting posture and growled right back at him, low in his throat. They were like two dogs fighting over the same bone.
God save me from that Y-chromosome.
“All right,” I announced, pretty pissed off, myself, “you two cavemen do whatever you need to to work your issues out-”
My sentence wasn’t even finished when Quinn abruptly shoved past first me and then Eric (kind of a dangerous thing to do, under the circumstances). “I didn’t come here to fight with anyone,” he said from the hallway just outside the storeroom. “I’ve got to go.” His eyes met mine, imploring. “Frannie said our mother is…” he began, but then stopped, knowing those three little words (“Frannie” in conjunction with “our mother”) would not endear him to me. He shook his head and walked away. Without even meaning to, I picked up on a wave of regret, following after him like a cloud.
Which left me with Eric; I was no happier with him in this little tableau than I was with Quinn.
I took a step toward him, thinking that, like Quinn, I’d push past him and go back out to rejoin the party, or maybe just go home, but Eric frowned and stopped me with a light touch on my shoulder. “Do you smell smoke?” Without another word, he stepped further into the storeroom, his hand trailing down my arm (I’m not sure he was even aware of the contact), and headed toward the roll-up door and the more normal one beside it that led to the delivery area in back of the bar.
My curiosity got the better of me, mixed in as it was with a good dose of concern - I had a lot of friends in the bar. Eric pushed the back door open and I followed him out, the smell of smoke much stronger.
Fangtasia’s big Dumpster was ablaze. Or more accurately, the contents of it. Flames licked out of the open top, smoke and sparks flittering up into the air in an orange-gold haze. The air above it shimmered with the heat.
“Oh, my,” was about all I could manage. What can I say? I wasn’t really at my most creative at that particular point in the evening. Hello? Three champagne cocktails and a lot of unnecessary drama!
Before I could construct anything more intelligent to say, Eric began to laugh. Okay. I frowned. His fists rested on his hips, his arms akimbo, and his wool-and-fur-covered shoulders began to shake with it. After a brief moment, he threw back his head and shouted with laughter. For a minute there, the flickering light of the fire lending warmth to his face, I saw how Eric must have been when he was alive and my heart skipped a beat. Or two.
I stepped up beside him, my arm brushing his, to see what could possibly be so funny about his property burning. He looked down at me, still chuckling, and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against his side. “Those idiots,” he said and turned his gaze on the Dumpster again.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Fellowship of the Sun.”
Sure enough, now that he mentioned it and I looked closer at the side of the Dumpster, I saw spray painted onto it the trinity knot and shining sun the FotS people used on all their literature. The yellow paint actually stood out pretty well against the black of the Dumpster, now that I knew it was there. I reached out and scanned the area, but the only mental signatures I picked up were in Fangtasia; no FotS members were still running around outside and I doubted any of them had made it into the bar, even if Pam was no longer the one checking invitations and I.D.
“Aren’t you angry?” I mean, I could feel that he was, but he was more amused than mad, and that kind of surprised me. Especially when I thought of how angry he’d been at Quinn only a few minutes ago.
He shrugged, an interesting exercise from my current point of view. “Not so very much. We are insured, the fools have indicated exactly to whom we should send the police, and there is nothing in the container worth worrying about. Just wood pallets and cardboard boxes.” He smiled down at me again. “They lit us a bonfire. Don’t you find it just a little romantic?”
I couldn’t help it. I snorted. It just came right out, not the least bit romantic. And then I may have giggled. Eric turned toward me and put his arms around me, grinning all the while. I expected he’d kiss me then, all things considered, but he didn’t. He just held me. He rested his chin in my hair and we watched the flames and sparks dance over the Dumpster. Oddly enough, it was kind of romantic.
When the flames died down a bit, he released me and walked over to a stack of pine pallets between the Dumpster and the wall. He tossed several in to feed the flames and, when the firelight grew brighter again, he came back to me. I couldn’t take my eyes from him; he took my breath away. I stood transfixed.
He’d gone all predatory on me again. As he drew closer, I backed up. Not so much to get away from him, because I found that I didn’t want that at all. More just to keep the illusion that I had any kind of control over my body. I didn’t stop until my back was against the wall. He didn’t stop until his body was against mine.
Neither of us said anything. His eyes picked up just enough of the fire’s light that I could see them glittering blue in the otherwise darkness as he leaned down to brush my lips with his, once, twice. He breathed in, smelling my skin beneath the torn costume, confirming that Quinn hadn’t caused the damage to it, I expect; I felt his chest expand with the breath. And then he very deliberately licked the welt that had formed between my neck and shoulder. I thought I might explode.
He pulled back a bit, looked down at me, maybe judging just how much he could get away with. I found my eyes were on a level with his collar bones and that spot between, just below his throat, the smooth pale skin of that dimple. Almost without my willing it, I leaned in and licked that spot, just as deliberately as he’d licked me.
He lifted me then, effortlessly. Lifted me up until I was looking into those blue, blue eyes. His right hand stroked down my side to my bottom, supporting me, and I squirmed for a second, maneuvered myself so that I could wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders. The nun’s habit bunched up between us, leaving my legs bare, except where the fur and wool of his cloak covered them.
I couldn’t tell you if I kissed him then, or if he kissed me, but the next thing I knew, the only thing I knew, was the taste of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, his teeth, his sharp, sharp fangs. We kissed until I was breathless, until my heart was racing, my blood rushing through my veins.
And then the door from the storeroom slammed open and Eric accidentally bit my tongue. Since he drew blood, he wasn’t in any hurry to stop sucking on it, either.
“There you are!” Pam exclaimed. “What a creative place to light a bonfire.”
I pounded a fist against Eric’s shoulder and pushed as hard as I could away from the wall, trying to dislodge him. It wasn’t a graceful solution, but it did work. I was no longer pinned to the wall and was able to slide down his body (darn that Pam!) and put my clothing back to rights, even thought Eric didn’t entirely release me.
“Perfect timing as ever, Pam,” Eric observed, although he looked at me as he said it.
She shrugged, not the least bit repentant. “We smelled smoke.”
Pam, apparently, was only the tip of the iceberg. Behind her, costumed humans and supes poured out of the storeroom door. Several people expressed appreciation for the Dumpster fire and someone - it sounded like Amelia - shouted for marshmallows and skewers. I sighed in exasperation and Eric gave me a lopsided grin, even though I knew he was as frustrated by this turn of events as I was.
About the time Clancy (who I only just now realized, as he glittered in the firelight, was dressed up as a sparkly Edward Cullen from that teen movie all the girls seemed to be crazy for) and Victor dragged some speakers out so the partiers could dance around the Dumpster fire in style, Eric took my hand and held a finger to his lips. He pulled me quietly with him as he slipped behind the Dumpster and over to another, unmarked, door, at least temporarily concealed from the collective view of the crowd. From somewhere he produced a key and slid it into the lock, twisted it, and opened the door. It led into his office and he was quick to lock it behind us.
Although the harsh overhead lights were off, the lamp he kept on top of a filing cabinet was lit. He gave my hand a little tug and then I was in his arms and we picked up pretty much where we’d left off, his mouth hungry on mine, exploring each others’ tonsils with our tongues. He only broke away from me long enough to sweep the contents of his desk to the floor and to unclasp the cloak, letting it drop in a dark green, fur-trimmed (red fox, maybe?) puddle at his feet. Next thing I knew he picked me up and set me down on his suddenly clear desk. I was pretty sure he was going to have to replace his computer monitor.
“What about the couch?” I asked, still pretty breathless, even as I was unbuckling the strap that held the huge sword strapped to his back.
“Too cramped.” My habit was rucked up around my hips and he pulled me toward him, which bared my legs even further. He hooked his cool fingers under my panties and pulled them off me, lifted them up. “I knew it,” he crowed, triumphant, then flung the red, lace-trimmed satin panties across the room.
The sword dropped to the floor with a clatter as I finally got the belt undone. I must not have been moving fast enough for Eric, because he pushed my hands away and made quick work of his trousers on his own. I wasn’t all that surprised to find that he didn’t have any underwear underneath. Nor was I surprised to find that he was more than ready.
And then he was between my legs, the desk at just the right height for him to push into me, sliding inside me like he belonged there. I made some incoherent sound as he thrust into me and he growled his agreement. Supporting myself with one hand so he wouldn’t push me right off the desk, I met him thrust for thrust, with first my body and then my tongue when he leaned in to kiss me. He slid a hand between us, found that spot he’d learned drove me wild, so many months ago.
I was falling, breaking apart like shattered glass, clinging to him desperately when he bit into my shoulder, pulled blood from my veins and a cry of completion from my lips.
This might just be the best Halloween party ever.