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A Different Twist of Fate

JesseCompton — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 00:42:21 CST

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Title: A DIfferent Twist of Fate	Author: JesseCompton
Date:10/16/09	Current location:
Rated (T, M, MA): R	Content (E/S, S/B, etc.):S/B
Synopsis:What would it be like if more than one member of the Compton family was changed into a vampire, and Sookie Stackhouse had another brother just before her parents died. This is my version of the show.Two new characters, new plot lines, humor, and of course sex included.

Author's Note: i don't own anything all characters (except mine) and plot lines (except mine) belong to Alan Ball, Charlaine Harris, and HBO. this is my first time writing fan fic so pleaz message me or post comments of what you think. Feed back is wanted! And now I present......A Different Twist of Fate.

Chapter 1

Merlotte's was having its usual night, full but not crowded,and as usual too Sookie Stackhouse, a 25 year-old telepathic waitress, was taking th steps to stay out of the patron's minds.

Leave a review or comment on my story in the thread below

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Bon Temps Cemetery Season 2

fang_lover — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 21:35:46 CST

◄ BACK TO TRUE BLOOD SEASON 2

Visit the Bon Temps Cemetery and pay your respects to the town's recently departed...

ARE YOU A BON TEMPS SLEUTH? Click EasyEdit above to contribute to track the deaths in True Blood Season 2.

NEW TO WIKIS? ViSIT THE HELP SECTION FOR TIPS ON GETTING STARTED!

REST IN PEACE ... DEATHS IN TRUE BLOOD SEASON 2

● SEE ALSO: TRUE BLOOD SEASON 1 DEATHS

NAME: AISHA HINDS
aka MISS JEANETTE

AGE: UNKNOWN

OCCUPATION: CON-ARTIST, also worked at De Soto Pharmacy

EPITAPH:
"Just b/c Ms Jeanette ain't real doesn't mean she can't help people...Faith is a powerfull thing"

Died in episode: 201 "Nothing but the Blood"

Last seen at: De Soto Pharmacy

With: Tara

Known associates: Lettie Mae and Tara Thornton

Crime scene: Somewhere in the woods

Body Found: Andy Bellefleur car; backseat; Outside Merlotte's Bar and Grill

Cause of death:Stabbed in the heart

If murder, suspect(s): Maryann Forrester

If murder, murderer(s): On episode 212 we discovered that Maryann infuence Egg's to kill Ms Jeanette (he did this while he had a blackout)

NAME: ROYCE

AGE: UNKNOWN

OCCUPATION: UNKNOWN

EPITAPH: 'I GOT MY BUNKMATE TO SUCK MY D***"

Died in episode: 201 "Nothing but the Blood"

Last seen at: Dungeon under Fangtasia

With: Lafayette Reynolds

Known associates: Wayne, Chuck

Crime scene: Dungeon under Fangtasia

Cause of death: Ripped to shreds by Eric

If murder, suspect(s):

If murder, murderer(s): Eric Northman

NAME:Daphne Landrey

AGE: Unknown

OCCUPATION:Waitress at Merlottes

EPITAPH: "Im a Shapeshifter and proud of it"

Died in episode: 207 "Release Me"

Last seen at: The pond

With:Maryann and Eggs

Known associates:Maryann

Crime scene:The pond

Cause of death: Stabbed in the heart/lung

If murder, suspect(s):
Maryann is suspected of controlling Eggs into stabbing Daphne, he seem to be under a "zombie state"

If murder, murderer(s): Maryann used Eggs to stabbed her

NAME: Gabe

AGE: Unknown

OCCUPATION: LODI Instructor

EPITAPH: I believe in tha FotS purpose to eliminate vamps

Died in episode:208 "Timebomb"

Last seen at:Fellowship of the Sun Church

With:Hugo, Sookie, Godric

Known associates: The Newlins

Crime scene: Fellowship basement

Cause of death: Broken neck

If murder, suspect(s): none

If murder, murderer(s): Godric

NAME: Luke McDonald aka "The Lukenator"

AGE: Unknown

OCCUPATION: LODI Soldier of the Sun

EPITAPH: "I Am God's Flaming Sword"

Died in episode: 208 "Timebomb"

Last seen at: Godric's Nest

With: All the vampires of Area 6 and some humans

Known associates: Steve Newlin

Crime scene: Godric's nest

Cause of death:Suicide Bomb

If murder, suspect(s): N/A

If murder, murderer(s): Himself

NAME: Stan

AGE: Unknown

OCCUPATION: Godric's second in command

EPITAPH: "This is not a movie, its a War!"

Died in episode: 208 "Timebomb"

Last seen at: Godric's Nest

With:All the vampires of Area 6 and some humans

Known associates: Godric, Isabel

Crime scene:Godric's nst

Cause of death: Suicide Bomb

If murder, suspect(s):N/A

If murder, murderer(s): Suicide Bomber Luke

NAME:Godric

AGE: 2000 yrs old

OCCUPATION: Sheriff of Area 9 in Dallas

EPITAPH: "I dont think like a vampire anymore"

Died in episode: 209 "I Will Rise Up"

Last seen at: The roof of Hotel Carmilla

With:Eric and Sookie

Known associates:Eric, Isabel, Stan

Crime scene:The roof of Hotel Carmilla

Cause of death: Burned by the sun

If murder, suspect(s):N/A

If murder, murderer(s):Godric ended his Vampire Life by suicide

NAME: Karl

AGE: unknown

OCCUPATION: Maryann's servant

EPITAPH: I serve for a great cause

Died in episode: 211 "Frenzy"

Last seen at: Sookie's yard (at the moment its Maryann's yard)

With: Maryann and Lafayette

Known associates: Maryann

Crime scene: Sookie's yard

Cause of death: Bullet meant for Mayann's head, Lafayette wanted to shoot Maryann and she block it, bullet hit Karl in the head by accident

If murder, suspect(s): none

If murder, murderer(s): N/A

NAME: Maryann Forester

AGE:Ancient

OCCUPATION: Social Worker/Origy Host/Maenad

EPITAPH: "The horned god demands his sacrifice"

Died in episode: 212 "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'"

Last seen at: Sookie's Driveway

With:Sookie and Bull (Sam)

Known associates:Karl

Crime scene:
Sookie's Driveway

Cause of death: Horned by the Bull (Sam)

If murder, suspect(s):

If murder, murderer(s): Bull (Sam)
Maryann thought that the bull was her long waited god, but it was a diversion. Sam shifted into the bull to get close to Maryann that was in awe

NAME: Benedict "Eggs" Talley

AGE: unknown

OCCUPATION: unemployed

EPITAPH: Were here to have a good time

Died in episode: 212 "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'"

Last seen at: Merotte's Bar Parking lot

With: Andy Bellefleur

Known associates: Tara

Crime scene:
Merlotte's Bar Parking lot

Cause of death: Shot in the head

If murder, suspect(s):

If murder, murderer(s): Jason Stackhouse
Jason thought he was attacking Andy

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True Blood News - Issue #22

Boadicea — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 11:43:16 CST

True Blood News - Issue #22

Did you miss something from last week? Go back to: True Blood News - Issue #21
Want more news? Check out news hot off the wire: True Blood News Feeds
Check out what you missed in True Blood News Search the News Archives
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NEWS

Have your own commentary? Post it here: True Blood News Commentary

NEWS

Thanks Dallas! From Current.com:

Vampires: Hollywood Bloodsuckers

The vampire craze goes unchecked in Hollywood, until a ragtag team of long lost action heroes (lead by Sylvester Stallone) take matters into their own hands.

Boadicea | 11/21/2009 | Post Comment

From Dread Central:

True Blood Busts Coming from DC Direct

DC Unlimited, which has been bringing you those World of Warcraft figures and just about everything else in the DC comics universe through DC Direct, now takes aim at the top of the food chain on cable TV. Get ready for "True Blood" mini-busts in 2010!

Anna Paquin, aka Sookie Stackhouse; Stephen Moyer, aka Bill Compton; and Alexander Skarsgard, aka Eric Northman, are first up. Eric comes in at 7.25 inches high with Bill slightly below him at 6.75 inches, and Sookie measures 6.125 inches.

What's shown below is not final product. It's worth noting that these busts are manufactured to order, which means once all the orders are in, that's how many they'll be making so don't wait! Each piece will set you back $69.99 US, and the onsale date is July 21, 2010.

In addition, you can simulate Sam Merlotte's bar in the comfort of your own home with a miniature neon sign replica just like the one that sits atop Merlotte's Bar and Grill. The price of the sign, which is packaged in a 4-color box and measures approximately 16 inches wide, is $89.99 US; and it will also be available July 21, 2010.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/21/2009 | Post Comment

From Sweden's The Local:

Zombie and vampire flu in Sweden. Alexander Skarsgård and Ann-Sofie Back infected.

A terrible virus that turns people, mortals in this case, into mindless zombies or bloodsucking vampires has become a threat in Sweden. It is still unclear as to how the virus came to the country but the virus has become left an imprint on Swedish culture, showing up in TV shows, movies and even on the runway.

The well-known actor Alexander Skarsgård was already infected in 2008 when he began playing evil vampire Eric Northman in the TV-show “True Blood,” which recently aired on Swedish television. It appears that he is in the recovery process, as his normal complexion has returned during the breaks in between shooting.

Alexander Skarsgård in “True Blood”. Picture: John P. Johnson.

Ann-Sofie Back, one of Sweden’s most successful fashion designers, also suffers from the zombie flu. Her autumn/winter collection was presented at a runway show in London in February, displaying obvious indications of the dangerous flu: pale faces, empty eyes and lavish clothing.

In October the zombie and vampire flu also reached Stockholm, resulting in congregations of thousands of zombies on the streets of Sweden’s capital. The next big outbreak is predicted to hit the country soon. On November 20, “New Moon”, the sequel to the teen vampire hit “Twilight”, was released in Sweden.

Due to the fast spreading of the virus, vaccinations are in short supply at the moment. Therefore it is important to protect yourself! Here are some tips:

1) Don’t leave the house without garlic or silver!

2) Sneeze and cough in your arm or a tissue to prevent catching the virus.

3) Avoid people with pale skin, bite tracks on the neck and strong bleeding wounds.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/21/2009 | Post Comment

Love the music - from Celebuzz:

VIDEO: Evan Rachel Wood Says "Love Me, Chase Me"

True Blood actress Evan Rachel Wood has stepped far, far away from Bon Temps, Louisiana, for her latest project.

Wood co-stars in "Love Me Chase Me," a new video from the band Carney. The video follows the life and death of a fictional character named Mr. Green, played by frontman Reeve Carney—who will also be co-starring with Wood in the upcoming Broadway production of Spider-man.

We don't want to spoil the ending for you, but let's just say Evan has a nasty little surprise in store for the unfortunate Mr. Green.

Shot on the Riverside, California, set of HBO's Carnivale, the clip was directed by Timothy Garrett.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/21/2009 | Post Comment

Wikigirls' video - New Orleans 2009!

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

Ryan Kwanten to lend voice to animated film - from GeekTyrant:

Zack Snyder’s GUARDIANS OF GA’HOOLE Full Cast Line-up

Zack Snyder is currently in the process of developing his next feature called, Guardians of Ga’holle, which is going to be a CGI animated film. This is a big-budget animated film that is currently in production in SydneyAustralia. The full cast for the film has been announced and it’s a pretty good one.

Sam Neill, Geoffrey Rush, Hugo Weaving, Jim Sturgess and David Wenham(300) will topline the voice cast. It will also feature the voices of Emily Barclay(Prime Mover),Abbie Cornish(Stop-Loss), Emilie de Ravin(LOST), Ryan Kwanten(True Blood), Jay Laga’aia(Revenge of the Sith), Miriam Margolyes, and Helen Mirren.

The story follows a young owl named Soren who is kidnapped by owls of St. Aggie’s, ostensibly an orphanage, where owlets are brainwashed into becoming soldiers. He and his new friends escape to the island of Ga’Hoole, to assist its noble, wise owls who fight the army being created by the wicked rulers of St. Aggie’s.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

From CNN:

Follow Friday: Tweeting with the vampire

The character Sookie Stackhouse, played by Anna Paquin on HBO's "True Blood," has her own Twitter feed.

[Read entire article]

	@sookiebontemps ("True Blood" character Sookie Stackhouse) As part of its viral marketing campaign, HBO's "True Blood" has a whole coven of its characters on Twitter, tweeting away as if they're real people. (Well, at least as real as people you only know on the Internet). From Viking vamp Eric to sassy Merlotte's Bar cook Lafayette, they're all there. One of the most active is this one, from the perspective of the main character from Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse novels, on which "True Blood" is based. Followers: More than 12,000 Sample tweet: Pullin' into the @MerlottesBar parkin' lot and it's already lookin' pretty full for a Wednesday. Tweet y'all once I get settled in.

	@MdellW (Meredith Woerner) Woerner is the author of "Vampire Taxonomy," a new book that amusingly addresses how to best relate to the vampires in your life. She's also an editor at i09.com, a site devoted to science fiction where she writes about vamps and other creatures. Just some basic, irreverent chatter about vampires, science fiction and the like. Followers: About 330 Sample tweet: Is it weird that all the shirtlessness in New Moon makes ME want to hit the gym?

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

From The Houston Press:

The Music of True Blood, Episode 1.6: Cobra Verde Helps Sookie "Play With Fire"

By Jef With One F

Alan Ball was known for his masterful use of music in Six Feet Under. He's lost none of his touch when it comes to his current HBO series, True Blood - which happens to be set in the Louisiana swamps, not terribly far from Houston. With Season 2 just completed, Rocks Off is now working our way backwards through the episodes we missed as HBO begins reruns.

Episode 1.6, "Burning House of Love"

"You're playing with fire" is one of those phrases you hear all the time that doesn't really make any sense. If nobody had ever played with fire, there'd be no iPods or McRibs., would there? The intended implication is of course the inherent danger of jerking around with a hazardous substance, which is why we do it in the first place. So hold the image of deliberate endangerment for the sake of the thrill as you let the tale of a rich girl's runaround with a rogue steal molecules of air from your ears as told by Cleveland indie band Cobra Verde in their song "Play With Fire."

The song, a cover of the Rolling Stones' 1965 B-side to "The Last Time," is sinister, there can be no doubt, never quite delivering on a horrifying end, but leaving you certain that somewhere past the end of the song someone is going to end up in a ditch. It's a great little tune from a band that is making quite a mark in television these days.

In addition to being the featured credit song on this week's True Blood (And track six on the official soundtrack), the band's music has made it onto Entourage, The OC, and Sons of Anarchy. As the band approaches its 20th anniversary next year, they remain a quiet, yet vital underground voice of glam and gloom that often serves as a perfect backdrop for naughty goings-on.

And how does playing with fire tie in with this weeks rerun of undead fun? Well, two ways. The first is nice and symbolic all around. Can Sookie's hot vampy sexcapades be completely without consequence, or will there be a price to pay for commingling with a bloodsucking fiend.

The second is simple, so yokels torch a local vampire nest where Bill is staying, ending the show with a group of burned and blood-filled coffins. Playing with fire, get it?

True Blood airs Saturdays at 8 p.m. on HBO2.

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

Alexander Skarsgard GQ Men of the Year (video)

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

Ryan Kwanten landed the Actor of the Year - from Contact Music:

WORTHINGTON IS MAN OF THE YEAR

SAM WORTHINGTON has been named Man of the Year at the annual GQ magazine awards in Australia.

The Terminator Salvation star was handed the honour at a glitzy ceremony in Sydney on Thursday night (19Nov09).

Worthington was humble in accepting the trophy, telling the assembled crowd, "I think it would be arrogant to say these are the qualities you should have as a man and I think that other people should be able to assess where you are in life and your good qualities. So, as long as you can make people happy, that's what you should be aiming for."

True Blood star Ryan Kwanten landed the Actor of the Year award, while Empire Of The Sun was named Music Act Of The Year.

Soul singer Daniel Merriweather earned the Breakthrough Star of the Year honour.

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

Thanks to The Vault & True Blood Guide:

Alexander Skarsgard on cover of Swedish Magazine Cafe

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

The English undead hit Embassy Row - from Washington Times:

ENGLISH UNDEAD

By James Morrison

Is there something inherently evil about an English accent?

The British ambassador doesn't think so, but he is seeing what he calls a "cinematic trend" in Hollywood where the latest, chic vampire movies feature English actors.

Rather than complain about the typecasting, Ambassador Nigel Sheinwald welcomes the exposure for young, talented British actors and expects the trend to continue.

"It seems an immutable law of Hollywood that the finest baddies in American film are always played by Brits. I'm not sure exactly why - there is nothing inherently menacing, I think, about an English accent," he wrote on his blog at http://blogs.fco. gov.uk/roller/sheinwald.

He was inspired to muse on the fame of British bloodsuckers with the release of the second installment of the vampire saga, "Twilight." British actor Robert Pattinson plays the young vampire,Edward Cullen, in his star-crossed romance with Bella Swan, played by American actress Kristen Stewart.

"This spectacular teen drama ... has attracted, in some circles, as much attention as the current health care debate (although being undead would still presumably be classed as a pre-existing condition?)," Mr. Sheinwald quipped.

He also noted that another English actor, Stephen Moyer, has "proved a tremendous hit" as vampire Bill Compton in the HBO series, "True Blood."

Continue reading....]

Boadicea | 11/20/2009 | Post Comment

From Elmwood Park Leaves:

Dominican University: Vampire popularity, a panel talk Dec. 8

Dominican University will present a program titled "Fangs A Lot: The Vampire in Myth, Movies, and Popular Culture" at 7 p.m. Dec. 8 in the Martin Recital Hall, 7900 W. Division St. The panel, featuring Dominican faculty, will examine the current mania in literature, film and television for vampires and other supernatural beings.

The panel will cover such pop culture phenomena as Anne Rice's vampire novels of the 1970s and '80s, the current "Twilight" series in books and movies, the "True Blood" and "Vampire Diaries" television shows and the upcoming Tim Burton feature film treatment of the 1960s television show "Dark Shadows."

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

Levi Johnston in True Blood? From OK Magazine:

Levi Johnston: “I Don’t Do Porn”

November 19th, 2009 11:14 am / Author: OK! Staff

Instead of waiting to take his clothes off, Levi Johnston has skipped the typical fame cycle by going ahead and getting (almost) naked in Playgirl right at the outset. So why didn’t Bristol Palin’s baby daddy go for the full Monty? “Because that was never the plan. I’m 19. I’m not looking to do porn,” Levi told OK! at last night’s GQ 2009 Men of the Year party at L.A.’s Chateau Marmont. “That’s not what I’m looking to do.”

Now that the whole nudie magazine angle is covered, what’s next for Levi?

“[I want to] get some acting gigs going on. And move on after this Palin thing,” he explains to OK!, adding that a show like True Blood or an action movie would be up his alley.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood's kink wear - from Official Wire:

Stockroom Names 'Kink' Legend Shae Flanigan As Project Manager

[Read entire article]

Joel Tucker founded Stockroom, Inc in 1988 and took it online in 1989. The company is celebrating its 21st anniversary this year. The company operates from a 30,000 square foot three-story workshop and retail space on Sunset Boulevard in L.A. The vertically integrated facility combines leather and latex production, shipping, receiving and warehousing with design, executive and sales offices and a retail boutique that was awarded "Best Fetish Store" by Los Angeles magazine. The company's main retail site, Stockroom.com, was recognized as Web Retailer of the Year in the 2009 XBiz Awards. Stockroom's sexy fetish gear has appeared on television shows like HBO's "True Blood"; Playboy TV's "Foursome"; and TMZ.

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

From Canada's National Post:

Graphic: Vampire rules explained

Garlic? Wooden stakes? Blood drinking? The rules around vampires sure are confusing. The graphic below looks at some of the crucial differences between some of today's most popular vampires.

[Click to enlarge image]

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood Cast Interviews HBO Hungary

Alexander Skarsgard Interview - HBO Hungary

Stephen Moyer Interview - HBO Hungary

Rutina Wesley Interview - HBO Hungary

Sam Trammell Interview - HBO Hungary

Nelsan Ellis Interview - HBO Hungary

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

*Minor Spoilers*

From The Hollywood Gossip:

Alexander Skarsgard Teases Nudity, Sex on True Blood

Warm weather aside, Alexander Skarsgard is giving True Blood fans around the country another reason to look forward to the summer of 2010. That's when season three of the HBO hit returns - and when viewers will see a whole lot of this gorgeous actor.

"There's a lot of nudity," the actor, who plays vampire Eric Northman, told Radar Online. "As far as Eric goes, there's going to be a lot violence and a lot of sex - with women and men! So it should be interesting."

As for rumors that he's dating Kate Bosworth, Skarsgard said there's only two women in his life: "my mom and my sister."

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

From MTV:

'True Blood' Star Stephen Moyer, Brittany Murphy And Luis Guzman Answer 'The Caller'

The vampires of "Twilight" aren't the only bloodsuckers making the rounds this week. "True Blood" star Stephen Moyer is earning a name for himself on the big screen as well, first with "Priest" — an adaptation of the TokyoPop manga series — and now with a thriller called "The Caller."

According to The Hollywood Reporter, Moyer is joining the film alongside Brittany Murphy and Luis Guzman, making for one of the strangest casting round-ups that I can think of in recent memory. "The Caller" is directed by Mathew Parkhill and written by Sergio Casci.

Bloody Disgusting has a rundown on the film's plot, which focuses on a woman named Mary Kee. Shestarts receiving mysterious phone calls on her old antique phone from an unknown caller named Rose, and her fears are only heightened when she learns that Rose is reaching out to her from the past. When Mary threatens to end contact with Rose, the mysterious woman threatens to harm Mary in the past, forcing the protagonist to try and put an end to the caller —but how can she kill someone that lives in the past?

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

*Minor Spoilers*

From RadarOnline:

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: Alexander Skarsgard Denies Romancing Kate Bosworth; Says Expect More Nudity & Sex On True Blood

[Excepts below... Read entire article]

[Click images to enlarge - HQ]

	Relax ladies, Alexander Skarsgard* is still on the market. At Wednesday night's GQ Men of the Year party at the Chateau Marmont Hotel in Hollywood, the* True Blood star told RadarOnline.com exclusively that he and Kate Bosworth* are just friends.*

	"I'm not dating anyone, those are just rumors," he laughed. When asked if there were any special women in his life, the hunky actor replied "my mom and my sister." Skarsgard was one of the night's special guests; he was honored as one of the "Men Who Saved HBO". For the record, Kate also attended Wednesday night's party but avoided the red carpet, sneaking quietly into the hotel instead.

	Skarsgard, 33, who plays brooding vampire Eric Northman on the HBO hit series True Blood, will begin shooting season three along with the rest of the cast later this month. The actor told RadarOnline.com* that fans can expect a lot more from Eric this time around.* "There's a lot of nudity," he said. "As far as Eric goes, there's going to be a lot violence and a lot of sex -- with women and men! So it should be interesting." At 6-foot-four, Alexander's model good looks are just as striking in person as they are on the small screen. Last season, he had to get up close and personal with True Blood co-star Anna Paquin* -- who in real life is engaged to co-star Stephen Moyer. But Skarsgard says there's no tension on set.*

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood's Allan Hyde @ EyeCon 2009:

	Allan Hyde @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 1

	Allan Hyde @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 2

	Allan Hyde @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 3

	Allan Hyde @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 4

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood's Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009:

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 1

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 2

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 3

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 4

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 5

	Sam Trammell @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 6

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood's Ashley Jones @ EyeCon 2009:

	Ashley Jones @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 1

	Ashley Jones @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 2

	Ashley Jones @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 3

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

True Blood's Todd Lowe @ EyeCon 2009:

	Todd Lowe @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 1

	Todd Lowe @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 2

	Todd Lowe @ EyeCon 2009 Pt 3

Boadicea | 11/19/2009 | Post Comment

Kellan Lutz talks about working with Alexander Skarsgard in Generation Kill - from Thomas Attila Lewis:

Interview with Kellan Lutz from "Twilight"

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From Fangoria:

ELVIRA'S MOVIE MACABRE: LEGACY OF BLOOD/THE DEVIL'S WEDDING NIGHT (DVD Review)

I didn’t experience the phenomenon of Elvira until much later than most. Her horror movie package wasn’t aired in the area where I lived and it wasn’t until she started making the rounds of some of the national programs that I had a chance to sample her charms and humor. I always found her to be funny and sexy, a couple of attributes that I find irresistible, but never really saw the work that first brought her to fame.

So when an ELVIRA’S MOVIE MACABRE DOUBLE FEATURE arrived in my mailbox, I was intrigued to say the least. The two movies contained were LEGACY OF BLOOD and THE DEVIL’S WEDDING NIGHT and each offers you the opportunity to see the movie uninterrupted, or with Elvira’s cut ins intact. These were obviously packaged to give you the feel of watching an actual telecast, just without the commercials.

Allow me to suggest watching the movies with the interruptions as neither movie is that great on its own and the occasional wise-cracking Mistress of the Dark breaks becomes a welcomed intrusion.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From The Birmingham News:

Sink your teeth into vampire lore: What's best way to handle the blood-suckers?

By Mary Colurso -- The Birmingham News

Who’s the perfect boyfriend in 2009? That pale, courtly guy who longs to drink your blood.

In pop culture, this has been the year of the vampire, with TV series such as “True Blood” and “The Vampire Diaries” making a splash — a crimson one, of course — and anticipation over “The Twilight Saga: New Moon” film reaching a fever pitch.

Each new incarnation of the vampire concept has its own peculiarities and mythology, swooping in where Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” left off. Although fangs continue to be a requirement, today’s charismatic plasma slurper may lure his lover with skin that sparkles like diamonds, blood that heals human wounds or diary entries that reveal his sensitive side.

[Click image to enlarge]

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From My Fox Atlanta:

FoxSexpert: Why We're Obsessed With Vampire Sex

You can’t escape them.

Fangs are everywhere these days, hoping you’ll also want a taste of the bloodthirsty fervor that has gripped the nation.
Between the best-selling books-turned-movies "Twilight Saga," HBO’s wildly popular "True Blood," and the CW’s "The Vampire Diaries," vampires have become a serious pop culture obsession.

"New Moon," the second installment of the "Twilight Saga," hits theaters this weekend, and it literally has teens and adults all over the world lusting after the movie’s lead vampire, Edward Cullen (played by British heartthrob Robert Pattinson).

So why have these folkloric creatures made such an amazing comeback? In two words: vampire sex.

They’re hot.
When "Dracula" was produced on stage in 1924, Bela Lugosi made vampires irresistibly handsome for modernity. But beyond hot bodies and good looks, it’s the male vampire’s depiction as the James Dean of Goth that holds the greatest appeal.

In desperate need of rehabilitation, these rebels are far from pure in thought and deed. Women can’t help but be drawn to these mesmerizing, misunderstood, moody bad boys.

Vampires are made all the more seductive because these soulless seducers with superpowers act as her protector, and they have the propensity to do good. Their story is usually as follows: she’s trying to "save" him, yet he gives her an excuse to be bad.

She has someone to blame for being so naughty, especially when it comes to her sexual desire.

They’re kinky.
Vampires became noticeably sexual with the start of the modern vampire era about 200 years ago. Yet vampire depictions throughout the centuries have involved subtle storylines of sexual deviants flirting with fetishes, for a killer mix of sex, romance, and violence. Since the 1950s, stories have become more overtly "sexplicit," with more recent movies and TV shows depicting or alluding to frenzied, frantic sex with aggressive appeal, which brings us to the next point about vampire appeal.

They’re into S&M.
Vampires like it rough. They like to bite. And their victims love the bites, scratches and handcuffs as depicted in shows like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Sometimes sadomasochists attract what are known as "fang bangers," (a term frequently used in "True Blood"), people who have a thing for manhandle-me vampire sex role playing. The bondage, domination and submission themes mixed with "true love" are perfect reason for stripping off your scarf or turtleneck.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From Canada's Metro News:

Vampire mania: It’s all about sex

The J Spot by Josey Vogels

FOR METRO CANADA

There’s still time to get your New Moon duvet cover or your Bite Me Edward tote bag before Friday, which is the official release date of the much-anticipated second installment in the Twilight series, The Twilight Saga: New Moon.

Unless you’ve been hiding in a bat cave, you’ll likely have noticed that vampires are hot these days. The television drama True Blood is HBO’s most popular series since The Sopranos and Sex and the City. The CW’s The Vampire Diaries is becoming equally popular. And, depending on your sources, as many as 33 vampire movies were produced in 2008/2009.

So what’s got us all so bloodthirsty? Some would say it’s all about sex. In fact, True Blood creator Alan Ball has been quoted as saying that vampires are a metaphor for sex. Certainly, the whole seductive, neck-biting, blood-sucking thing has a not-so-subtle sexual undertone; but when Bram Stoker brought the vampire to the masses in 1897, his novel Dracula was also a thinly vampire-cloaked metaphor for the repressed and conservative sexual mores of the time.

Giving into the count’s temptation turned women into dangerous seductresses, the opposite of the unrealistic Victorian ideal of women as virgins or mothers.

Unlike the brutish, macho vampires of yesteryear, today’s young vampires reflect a more modern young man. Sort of like Vampire Metrosexuals, they’re sensitive, pretty boys with tortured souls and perfectly mussed hair.

But today’s vampire tales still seem to act as a metaphor for society’s sexual mores and some of them haven’t changed much.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From JustJared:

Alexander Skarsgard: Chateau Marmont, Here I Come!

A solo Alexander Skarsgard — he plays hottie vampire Eric on True Blood — arrives at LAX airport in Los Angeles on Tuesday night (November 17).

The 33-year-old Swedish stud is expected at tonight’s 14th annual “Men of the Year” celebration, thrown by GQ editor-in-chief Jim Nelson at the Chateau Marmont Hotel. Hopefully JustJared.com will run into him on the red carpet! The last time we spoke to him last month, he was headed to Sweden to shoot his new movie Puss.

[Click image to enlarge.]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

Interview With A Vampire's Kirsten Dunst loves True Blood - from PopSugar:

Kirsten Dunst Opens Up About All Good Things

Kirsten Dunst got back to nature for the cover of December's Allure. She's out and about discussing her upcoming film with Ryan Gosling, All Good Things, which we caught a lot of them filming last year in NYC. Kirsten sat down to chat about her occupation, her thoughts on Twilight after starring in Interview With the Vampire, and her romantic status. Here's more:

On loving vampires: "I watch True Blood. I love vampire stuff—it’s sexy. There’s a danger element, and it’s sensual, what they do. I love the movie Twilight. It satisfies the 14-year-old girl in you."

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Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

Charlaine Harris & True Blood - from Publisher's Weekly:

Romancing the Recession

At a time when the sour economy has many readers going on book-buying diets—and, in some cases, outright fasts—the romance category’s famously voracious readers continue to indulge in a diverse feast of books. Proving yet again that it’s a recession-proof genre, romance is offering readers options that range from adventure with supernatural creatures to high drama in the Regency period to love against an Amish backdrop, and all at mass market price points. Editors say that it’s no surprise grim times call for lots of comfort reading.

“For people worried about finances and job security, delving into a romance can be a great way to escape that stress for a little while,” says Dorchester editor Leah Hultenschmidt. “And since most romances are priced at $7.99 or less, it’s much more cost-effective than a tropical getaway—or at this point, even a movie.”

But while the allure of the guaranteed happy ending can’t be denied, Jennifer Enderlin, associate publisher for St. Martin’s Paperbacks, says she believes that part of romance’s continued appeal is the high quality required to achieve such healthy sales. “In addition to providing escape, romance is so competitive that the writers who get published are really good,” she says. “Readers are so satisfied by the quality of the books, they come back for more. Readers crave plot, characters, and emotion—romance delivers that.”

Many readers also still crave something a little out of the ordinary, as the paranormal craze continues to stake its claim into the category’s beating heart.

The Dominant Paranormal
That’s no surprise given that the pop culture pulse is racing for paranormal-themed content. According to Variety, ratings for the second season of HBO’s True Blood, based on Charlaine Harris’s megaselling novels about psychic waitress Sookie Stackhouse, gave the network its highest numbers since The Sopranos, averaging some 12.4 million viewers for each episode. And the recent movie box office hit Paranormal Activity has now raked in tens of millions to become the season’s surprise hit (even snagging an EW cover), while Twilight sequel New Moon waits in the wings.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From Zap2it:

'Twilight' to 'True Blood,' 'Buffy' to 'Vampire Diaries': The Vampire Powers That Be

By Eric Almendral
Perhaps you've heard that vampires are all the rage these days. The stylish undead with a hunger for hemoglobin have conquered all forms of media and can currently be found holding court everywhere from TV to bookstores to multiplex screens. With "New Moon," the second movie in the "Twilight" series, opening Friday (Nov. 20), fang fever shows no signs of abating any time soon.

Not all bloodsuckers are created equal, though. From the original Transylvanian Count to the Volvo-driving Cullens, popular vampires have sported a variety of supernatural abilities, Achilles heels and other characteristics. Here we take a look at what makes some of the best-known nightwalkers different from the rest.

"Dracula"

In Bram Stoker's novel, the titular Count Dracula is a master of black magic who transforms himself into a vampire as a means of escaping death.

Powers: Super strength and enhanced speed, though you can usually spot him creeping up with his cape dramatically held open. Can climb walls and crawl across ceilings. Hypnotism and mind control. Control animals. Generate mists. Create storms. Transform into animals and mist.

Weaknesses: Strength and abilities are lessened in the daytime. Repelled by garlic, crucifixes, Communion bread/wafers. Can only rest near Transylvanian soil (as in dirt). Can only cross running water at certain times. Wolfsbane. Garlic. Must be invited into a house in order to enter it.

Sunlight: Has no effect.

Misc.: Casts no reflection or shadow. Lives in a castle with a trio of vampire lady friends.

For the Kill: The archetypal vamp can be killed with a wood stake through the heart. If you want to be absolutely sure though, decapitation followed by staking will do the deed. In the novel, he's knifed through the heart which seemingly kills him. But probably not.\

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "Angel":

In the Buffyverse, vampires are a demon species, though they may be the result of demon/human hybrids way back in the ancient days. Given seven televised seasons of "Buffy" (and an eighth in comic book form), five of "Angel" and various novelizations, comics and other appearances, the B-verse contains many varieties of vampire with different abilities and weaknesses.

Powers: Super strength and enhanced senses, speed, reflexes, stamina and healing. Immune to psychics. Don't need to breathe. Very old and powerful vampires seem to have acquired the ability to hypnotize, control and cloud the minds of humans. "Buffy" version of Dracula and a coven of Japanese vampires are capable of transforming into various animals and mist.

Weaknesses: Amputation (limbs don't grow back). Can be burned and repelled by crucifixes and crosses, holy water and Bibles. Angel has a soul, which leaves him emotionally vulnerable and causes endless navel-gazing and guilt issues. Must be invited into a house in order to enter it.

Sunlight: These vampires have inconsistent sensitivities to the sun. Angel and Spike can go out in daylight; they just need to stay in the shade or in a car with tinted windows. Angel often walks around in buildings during the day without concern for light from windows. Other vamps flame up as soon as exposed. The Wolfram and Hart offices had special tinted glass windows.

Misc.: They cast no reflection. Gem of Amarra (magic ring) gives them immunity to most weaknesses.

For the kill: Wood through the heart, though the force and amount of wood seems to vary by the age and strength of the vamp. Immolation. Vamps can burn to death, though it's not the quickest way to dispatch them and they can recover if not fully consumed. Ingestion of sufficient quantities of holy water. Full exposure to the sun for the requisite amount of time. Decapitation.

"True Blood"

The undead vampires in the HBO adaptation of Charlaine Harris' novels are of unknown origin. Unlike most others in the genre, their existence is public knowledge, though all their abilities and vulnerabilities are not.

Powers: Super strength and speed. Enhanced healing and senses. Stealth. Can heal humans by feeding them vampire blood. Hypnosis, or, as they say, "glamour." It's not quite as powerful as full mind control, more of a strong influence, Jedi mind trick sort of thing. Some vamps possess the ability to fly -- not "turn into a bat" flight but "fly like Superman" flight. Vamps possess a number of psychic links to their makers, progeny, those who drink their blood and those from whom they drink. Immune to pesky, mind-reading psychics.

Weaknesses: Wood. They need to rest during daytime. Wolfsbane. Silver will burn them and can be used to restrain them. Fire. Hepatitis D. No kidding; it's a strain to which humans are immune but which weakens vampires. Must be invited into a house in order to enter it.

Sunlight: In contrast to "Buffy" vamps, the older ones in "True Blood" are more vulnerable to light. Younger vamps burn, but do not immediately combust.

Misc.: In an ironic twist, vampire blood is sought after by some humans for its hallucinogenic and aphrodisiac properties.

For the kill: The classics: wood stake through the heart, exposure to sunlight and burning.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

Gotta love Seacoast Online's pick: Alexander Skarsgard:

Sorry, Johnny! People picks wrong Sexiest Man Alive (again)

By Gina Carbone • November 18, 2009 11:33 AM

Hey, at least it wasn't the “Twilight” kid! That was the false People magazine Sexiest Man Alive cover making the rounds yesterday.

Nope. Turns out it's Johnny Depp, who has already been SMA and probably didn't want it the first time. (According to People, only Brad Pitt and George Clooney have also been two-time winners.)

I love Johnny — everyone does, it's mandatory — but he has officially made my Hanging By A Thread List in terms of Sexiest Men Alive. (And not just because he's become our Seacoast Bigfoot with so many mythical sightings in the area.)

I often feel like I have to help People in these ways, so I don't mind doing it again by letting them know — gently — that we already have a Sexiest Man Alive:

Alexander Skarsgard.

The Viking Vampire on “True Blood.” All 6'4” of him.

It was so obvious, Sweden even did the work for us — voting him their sexiest man several times over.

For once, Sweden spoke for the world, but their wisdom fell on deaf ears. (I bet The Swedish Chef is in tears right now. Nice work, People.)

So that was a major ball dropped on the lead guy, but there's still the rest of the Sexiest list.

At People.com, the mag listed Ryan Reynolds (check), Jake Gyllenhaal (no way), Bradley Cooper (NO way), Robert Downey Jr. (I accept), David Beckham (I'm tired of this guy), Gilles Marini (dear God yeah), The “Glee” guys (please, cute maybe), Nick Cannon (another one for cute), Adam Lambert (he's prettier than I am, that makes me insecure), John Cho (nah), Chris Daughtry (I like how they're thinking, but no), Jerry O'Connell (I'll accept this), John Legend (big yes), Robert Pattinson (NO NO NO).

That list should've been easier for them to make since, over the summer, Seacoastonline readers and I did half of People magazine's work for them.In June People issued its Hottest Bachelors list and embarrassed itself by putting the “Gossip Girl” child Chace Crawford, 23, on the cover.

The rest of the list was equally silly — and young — but we rectified that with a better list, including men over 23. (See related story)Here is my list of top 10 Sexiest Men Alive, plus people who may be dropped from subsequent lists if they don't prove themselves, and people who no longer belong on any Sexiest list.

I always forget someone important so, in keeping with tradition, I will take your suggestions and add them to my list. Send your list (including your name) to gina_carbone@comcast.net.

TOP 10 SEXIEST MEN ALIVE
1. Alexander Skarsgard, 33 — ASkars. Already shared my love for the man who plays Eric Northman. Can't wait for “True Blood” season three.

[Continue reading...]

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

Zap2it takes a look at vamp books:

If you like the 'Twilight' saga books, try...

[Read entire ariticle...]

"Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance - Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem!" by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame Smith
Doesn't the title say it all? England has been overrun by zombies for 50 years, so the wise Bennets have sent their daughters abroad to train in deadly combat. But what about "a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife"? Well, Mr. Darcy is still stuffy and reluctant, but how can he resist Lizzie's spunky nature and zombie slaughtering skills? And from the same publisher, check out "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters"!

The non-zombie works of Jane Austen

The "Twilight" books often border on -- and more than occasionally tip over into -- self-parody. If you like your satire a little more intentional but still need the longing, the chaste romance and the aloof but nonetheless mercilessly attractive leading man, you could do a lot worse than "Sense and Sensibility," "Pride and Prejudice," "Mansfield Park" et al.

The Blue Bloods series by Melissa de la Cruz
This young adult series by Melissa de la Cruz blows "Twilight" out of the Forks-sodden water. Schuyler Van Alen is a social misfit in her snooty New York City private school, but when she turns 15, she suddenly gains the attention of the most popular boy in school and is accepted into Manhattan's most powerful social circle. Why? Well, it turns out she and the ancestors before her are all part of the inhuman group of Blue Bloods. But hey, what's with the rival Silver Bloods?

The Anita Blake Series by Laurell K. Hamilton

If "True Blood" is the R-rated "Twilight" of TV, Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series is the R-rated (sometimes X-rated) "Twilight" of literature. In fact, Anita Blake has been trapped in a love triangle with a vampire and a werewolf since Bella Swan was just a twinkle in Stephenie Meyer's eye. Anita also has the extra added angst of being a vampire hunter called The Executioner.

We have to warn you: the Anita Blake series is NOT for children or young adults. It veered off too far into Bodice-Ripper Land for a few books, but overall is a solid series that runs the gamut from mystery/crime-solving to angsty romance, all while throwing in healthy doses of the supernatural. It truly is a Buffy-meets-Bella for adults.

Southern Vampire series by Charlaine Harris

The Southern Vampire series (on which HBO's "True Blood" was based) revolves around bodacious Bon Temps waitress Sookie Stackhouse, who's afflicted with reading people's minds, which makes dating a little difficult. Throw in some vampires who've gone public, ever-changing love interests and a slew of other beings who are still in the supernatural closet, and you have the makings of romance, adventure and mystery ... all with a generous helping of Southern charm.

In addition, Ms. Harris also offers up the "Grave" series featuring Harper Connelly, a lady who makes a living by locating the dead and determining their cause of death through psychic powers that she gained after being struck by lightning.

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

"Eric, you want to spend all night with." Another great review of Meredith Woerner's book - from CNN:

From Dracula to Edward: The changing face of vampires

By Doug Gross, CNN • November 18, 2009

[Read entire article...]

In movies like "Near Dark" and "Forsaken," vamps were defanged, literally. In "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" they walked, talked and dressed like the rest of us.

"And it doesn't hurt that all these characters just so happen to be devastatingly handsome men and women," Woerner said. "They're beautiful and mysterious."

She contrasted early movie vampires with Eric Northman, the tall, Nordic bad-boy vampire from HBO's "True Blood."

"You want to be scared by ['Nosferatu's'] Count Orlock, and then you want him to go away," she said. "Eric, you want to spend all night with."

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

Ahhh... the love scene Ep 106 - from Houston Press:

The Music of HBO's True Blood, Episode 1.6: Making the Two-Backed Beast to Cat Power

By Jef With One F

Alan Ball was known for his masterful use of music in Six Feet Under. He's lost none of his touch when it comes to his current HBO series, True Blood - which happens to be set in the Louisiana swamps, not terribly far from Houston. With Season 2 just completed, Rocks Off is now working our way backwards through the episodes we missed as HBO begins reruns.

Episode 1.6, "Cold Ground"

Have you ever noticed that no one on television loses their virginity in silence? Are we the only one whose first sexual experience soundtrack was the sound of the dog licking itself under the bed? To judge by TV, everyone sets up their stereo to bring this pivotal, life-changing event to its utmost apex. If we had done it, though, we'd follow Sookie Stackhouse's lead and used"Half of You" by one of my favorite train wrecks, Cat Power.

Born Chan Marshall in Atlanta, Ga., Cat started playing music simply as an excuse to hang out with all her musician friends, drink and do a nice amount of drugs. After a move to New York, Cat's bizarre and often highly improvisational shows - one set consisted solely of her singing the word "no" for 15 minutes accompanied by a two-string guitar - drew her to the interest of Liz Phair and Steve Shelley of Sonic Youth.

When you give half of you
I want all of you.
When you give half of you
I want all of you.

When you go back window
You see shadows
When you’re shopping for me

‘Cause when you give half of you
I want all of you.

Sadness is a gentle mind
But a good women
Has her hands to use

Empty package of chips will tell you
What can be sold market
And what can belong to you
When you give…

When you give half of you
I want all of you.

Shelley became a kind of mentor to Cat and played on her debut album. She gained a following, but quit touring after her third album, disapearing to work as a babysitter in Portland. A nightmare and a sleepless night restarted her songwriting. A severe drinking problem made her shows erratic and full of rambling confessions, but she continues to slowly claw up as a passionate indie artist.

"Half of You" is a perfect slice of her work, full of sparse arrangement and her trademark breathy vocals, as sad as it is sweet. The sparsity of the notes makes each one leave a mark and a ripple in your conciouness. It is, in fact, the perfect soundtrack for Sookie's first time in Episode 6 "Cold Ground."

Sookie's telepathic powers are enhanced by physical contact. Touching another person makes it almost impossible for her to not hear their thoughts. You might think that this would make sex great, but pay attention to your own thoughts for a second next time you make the two-backed beast, and you should be able to see the kind of buzzkill it would be if your mental babbling was transmistted live to your partner... or partners.

This is the reason for Sookie's initial attraction to vampire Bill Compton. She can't hear his thoughts, and thus his touch is met with that wonderful thing... silence. So why not set up the loss of your virginity to "Half of You"? If there has ever been a better example of something so empty and so full at the same time, we haven't heard it yet.

True Blood airs Saturdays at 8 p.m. on HBO2.

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From JustJared:

Stephen Moyer: VMan Vamp

True Blood star Stephen Moyer sizzles in Issue #16 of VMan magazine.

The 40-year-old British actor spoke about what he did on vacation, escapism, what he’d love to do next with fiancee and co-star Anna Paquin…

On his vacation: “I’ve been out at the beach surfing, skateboarding, running around with the dog. I got out of Bill’s vibe.”

On escapism: “True Blood is the apex of a pop-culture crazy for vampires. It’s people having no money and choosing to spend it on things that are truly escapist. There’s nothing more escapist than our show.”

On what he’d love to do with Anna in the future: “I love working with her and I’ve wanted to direct her for ages.”

VMan is on newsstands tomorrow (November 17)!

Boadicea | 11/18/2009 | Post Comment

From Alexander Skarsgard Examiner:

'Twilight' vamps rate Skarsgård #1 male vampire

November 13, 2:31 PM Melissa Zaro

Mario Lopez of Extra TV recently interviewed the The Twilight Saga: New Moon cast and played a vampire trivia game between the Cullens vs. the Volturi. When asked to name 5 male actors who have played vampires, the top of Elizabeth Reaser and Nikki Reed's list was Alexander Skarsgård.

Often enough, the members of the True Blood cast are asked their opinions about The Twilight Saga, but rarely the other way around. While the question wasn't directly about True Blood, it seems that some of the female cast members have a soft spot for the vamps on the HBO hit series.

You can watch the entire video below:

Boadicea | 11/17/2009 | Post Comment

From True-Blood.net:

E! Entertainment Names 10 Vampires We Love

Mel
Issue date: 11/15/09

E! Entertainment has a new special called 10 Vampires We Love hitting the airwaves Monday, November 16 (check local listings for times). True Blood’s Rutina Wesley and Sam Trammell were interviewed for this special. Set those DVRs!

glamoured | 11/15/2009 | Post Comment

From True Blood's Nest:

True Blood in Australian WHO magazine

ZZ
Issue date: 11/15/09

This week’s issue of WHO has a huge spread of the world’s sexiest people. Stephen Moyer and Anna Paquin have a full page spread and an article plus a smaller article which says the “Vampires are the new rock stars!” We have seen this photo before, but it is gorgeous!

Also in this issue is a half page Alexander Skarsgard and a third page Ryan Kwanten.

glamoured | 11/15/2009 | Post Comment

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What is a spoiler for True Blood?

Speculation tied to spoilers about TB.
Anything you have heard, read or KNOW that the rest of us don't.
Information from unofficial channels before an episode airs.

What is not a spoiler for True Blood?

Anything seen in an episode preview or commercial.
Anything you have read about TB in publications like TV Guide.

What is a Minor *Spoiler* for True Blood?

Interviews or videos from the actors themselves.
"Hints" from existing books that are more anecdotal to the news item than the rest of the content.

Minor *Spoilers* are headlined as such

What is a Major ***SPOILER*** for True Blood?

Pre-released reviews, pre-released scripts, pre-released videos, casting-calls
Non-HBO True Blood set photos.
Full-fledged existing books or future books only news.

Major ***SPOILERS*** are headlined as such with the entire article's background color in red.

ANSWER THE CALL!

GIVE INTO THE URGE!

JOIN US NOW!

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BON TEMPS'

DEARLY DEPARTED

Pay your respects to the recently departed: Visit the Bon Temps Cemetery

Byzantine

Erullisse — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 20:48:50 CST

Byzantine

BYZANTINE (Two Worlds, One Choice)	Author: Erullisse
Date: 11/20/09	Current location:
Rated (T, M, MA): MA	Genre: E/S
Synopsis: Cold, black water claimed the lives of Sookie's Parents, but she was not the only one who suffered. Another child lost everything that night, and her search for truth leads down a twisted road of fairy tales and friendship, lies and love.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Disclaimer = I do not own SVM and no money is made from this story. It is purely for fun. All OC’s and the AU I have created are mine and I do not share – sorry no fondling – fantasies only!

Notes = This story is set approximately 2 years after book 8 and does not include the content of book 9. There are vague references which were simply very good guesses on my part since this story was started over a year before it came out, LOL! Rated M for language, lemons, limes and violence.

BETA = Special thanks to the squamateous members of the LC writer’s board for their support and inspiration – Randy you ROCK, and kisses to Iggie! My fondest thoughts to kasey1921, Nareen and mrstulipmn for always being so supportive. Exclusive embroidery designs of my characters designed by kasey1921 can be found on her HBO TrueBlood WIKI site under her penname KRAUSIE, along with unbelievable designs of all the main TB characters too. Give her a shout out – she’s one highly talented chick – just amazing!

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

Chapter 1 – The Dead Will Rise

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

“Sheriff Northman, just what do you think you’re doing?”

Sookie’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief and her nose crinkled in the most adorable way when she giggled, and Eric repaid her by claiming her mouth in a lush, plundering kiss while firm hands smoothed under the rounded cheeks of her ass to lift her from the floor.

“I’m going to make you forget that headache you’ve been complaining about for the past few days,” he told her. The luscious human body curling beneath his fingertips was enough to drive even a thousand year old vampire into a frenzy, and Eric licked his lips, more than ready to indulge in the pleasures Sookie Stackhouse could provide as he guided her legs around his waist and carried her to the desk. A satisfied sigh was Sookie’s only protest when he eased her onto the scarred wood.

Innocent floral prints on thigh grazing dresses made Eric’s groin heavy with interest, and he used her clothing choice to his advantage. One hand ghosted up the silky length of her bare leg while the other pulled her plunging neckline even lower. He smiled, leaning into her hand as she played in his hair, fighting back the growl that tickled his throat when she pulled it. A hand casually slid down to cup her breast, and Sookie bit her lip, squirming as he began feathering his thumb back and forth. Eric could not help the lift that tugged the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you know sex is the best thing for a headache?”

“You might be an old Viking, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna throw me down on this desk and have your way with me!” Sookie complained. Her hands landed right on a big pair of juicy red lips when she playfully put them in the middle of his tight black Fangtasia t-shirt to push him away, and he arched a sleek brow in mock warning.

“I bet I can talk you into it.” His voice was husky, and he shoved her dress up to her waist, anxious to make good on his promise.

She gasped and grabbed at her hemline, wrestling his hands for it. “Eric! My head is about to explode. You can’t really think we’re gonna do this!”

We’ll see about that. Slipping his hands under hers, Eric walked teasing fingers up her thighs and Sookie melted beneath his touch, wrapping her long legs around his waist to mold their bodies together. Her scent was an intoxicating pleasure of camellias after a spring rain, and he nuzzled into the creamy flesh of her delicious, plump breasts, appreciating the warmth of her human skin as it enveloped his face. Her protests transformed into helpless whimpers as his tongue delved into her bra, and she reciprocated by sliding her hands under his shirt to find his nipples. His jaw clenched when she began to pull and roll them just as he taught her, and his fangs slid out when she moaned softly, obviously enjoying it as much as he was.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to take you right here on this desk,” he said, measuring her reaction. Sprawling Sookie’s naked body over his business papers and pounding into her while standing up was a favorite daydream of his while he pretended to work – but it was one that Eric had not been able to make reality yet – although admittedly it might be more fun if she resisted just a little.

Almost as if she sensed his devious train of thought, Sookie gathered his face in her hands and pulled him up. Eric reluctantly complied, but the reward was worth it – she pushed her hair back and arched her neck, offering herself to him. The heat in her gaze was enough to make him admire the seamstresses at Levi Strauss, because it was a miracle he didn’t split the crotch of his tight black jeans right there.

The skin of his left thumb split as he dragged it over his fang, tiny drops of blood spilling onto her dress as he pressed it to her lips. The heat of her mouth closed over his bleeding finger as he gently sank his fangs into the curve below her ear. Sookie shuddered slightly, her legs clenching so tight around his waist it almost hurt – then she was taking from him, every erotic suck of her lips and mesmerizing lick of her tongue coming atop helpless, throaty sounds that were nearly his undoing.

Eric fed from Sookie pulse by pulse, her earthy-sweet blood absolutely perfect as it danced down his throat, yet something threw off his enjoyment. Somehow he suddenly felt unclean, and a prickle of rare apprehension scattered his thoughts. Unsettled, he quickly withdrew his fangs and took a step back. Turning toward the door, he listened intently. His ears detected nothing amiss, no sounds of a fight or sirens to indicate yet another sting operation was going down, yet his very bones told him something was terribly wrong.

Baffled, he looked back to Sookie. She had not protested his absence, and one glance told him why. His blood should have cured her headache in an instant, yet she clung to the edge of his desk hunched over like she was in terrible pain. With one hand clamped around her middle and the other over her mouth, Sookie looked like she was about to deposit her dinner on his carpet.

Confused, and certainly never one to enjoy being puked on, Eric hesitated and eyed her warily - but when she grabbed her head and began to whimper, he immediately returned to her side. “Sookie, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you?” he asked.

“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve felt funny for a while, then tonight it’s like somebody’s been watching me all night. And now . . . now . . .” The beautiful blue eyes that met his concerned stare were clouded with confusion. For two days straight Sookie had indeed felt odd. It seemed as if something had been desperately trying to connect with her, nagging at the far reaches of her mind, but lingering just where Sookie couldn’t quite grasp it. Then tonight, it felt like something very dark and powerful was drawing closer and closer with every minute that passed – then suddenly the connection was made. Like a lightning strike to the brain, the power of fairy blood seared a permanent mental conduit between two human girls who had never met, and the deranged creature in the parking lot put his plan of death into action.

Tears began to slip down her now colorless cheeks as Sookie squealed and fell forward into his arms. “Oh dear God, she’s dying!”

Eric’s quick grab was the only thing that kept her off the floor. “Who?” he demanded. “Tell me, Sook! Who is dying . . . and where?”

Sookie honestly did not know, and her overflowing eyes darted frantically around the room as she struggled to make sense of the wild array of sensations and images tearing through her mind. His fangs were tearing into her arms, her face . . . Focus Sookie, focus. The face . . . a girl . . . no one she had seen before, but someone that felt so familiar . . . there was a black Escalade . . . and lots of gravel. Her eyes flew to Eric’s. “The parking lot out back! There’s a girl and a vampire’s killing her!”

Without another word, Eric plopped Sookie on the couch and tore open the door. “Pam! Pam!” he yelled, racing for the back exit.

Had someone dared to come into his own parking lot and attack an innocent girl? Had someone dared to infringe on his territory and come after his own girlfriend?

Indeed they had.

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

Thursday nights in September did not draw many tourists to Fangtasia, but people were coming and going at a regular pace - humans, vampires, werewolves. Some staggered or ambled out while others wandered in, pausing to light a cigarette, adjust lipstick, or chat with friends as they made their way to the entrance. They were completely unaware, but every single one was under scrutiny from a venomous gaze.

He peered from the crowded jumble of fat oak trunks, restless fingers absently outlining the burnt scars patterning his chest before impatiently dropping to his waistband. The war blade hidden there was adjusted before errant strands of glassy black hair were impatiently flipped from his eyes. Whatever had been gnawing at the edges of his mind for the past three days refused to relent, dragging him from hiding and luring him back to Shreveport like a chum line promising sinful treats. He could not identify the call, but he had answered.

Every sense was on high alert as he scanned the various creatures, snorting in amused disgust at the tawdry scene of supernatural arrogance willfully mingling with human admiration. Mortals loved the illusion of danger and death yet shrank from the reality. Abominations! A hand went to his temple, working little round circles with the pads of two fingertips as his worn boot pressed against the lifeless face of the fairy guardian crumpled at his feet, pressing it deeper into thick, black mud. He drew the unforgettable stench of Louisiana muck deep into his lungs and realized in some strange way he had missed it.

“Bastard!” Dermot hissed. Bone crunched under his boot heel as he stomped the fairy again.

The Fey King who was his father may have exiled him for his efforts to restore purity to the fey race, but that only made this cat and mouse killing game more entertaining. Niall Brigant’s insistence to guard these human mongrels provided additional incentive to succeed, and the game stakes had been raised. There would be no more relegating to underlings, no more abstaining from direct involvement. Tonight, Dermot was going to send a distinct message that he had returned - by sending one mixed blood fairy mongrel to her death in the most gruesome way possible.

Suddenly, a creature caught his eye and he tracked him through the parking lot. The beastly vampire was alone and Dermot suspected immediately that this was one he could use. He called to the breeze, demanding it bring him the scent of that creature and the wind complied, speaking volumes as it wafted against his nose and confessed the vampire’s secrets - young, arrogant, hungry – and perfect.

Wide ancient oaks cast inky shadows over the back lot of Fangtasia as Dermot slipped from the trees. He approached the vampire who looked at him warily. “Hey, can I bum a smoke?”

Vampires do not smoke, nor did this one speak, only gazed at him, sizing him up. Dermot knew he could sense something but also knew the vampire could not be sure what. Corpses with dead brains – powerful, but magically ignorant. Suspicious eyes narrowed, but before he could move, Dermot grabbed the startled vampire in an unbreakable grip, ignoring his cries as he dragged his captive out of the faint light and into the lingering brush.

Crushing the larger being down against the unforgiving bark of a stump with unbelievable strength, Dermot crouched over him and began chanting. The full moon overhead flickered then dimmed as he commanded a storm to rise, thunderheads summoned by elemental magic forcing curtains of leaves and withered limbs to dance on a vile wind. Sapphire flames glowed against the ancient runes branded on his skin as Dermot's hatred spilled from his lips to drown the vampire’s mind.

“Qualmë nottelmannar. You will make her suffer,” he hissed in Caleb's ear, a cruel hand around the nape of the vampire's neck.

“Why?” Caleb gasped, struggling against the fey spell binding his mind. “Humans are not evil.”

Dermot lifted the much larger creature and slammed him against a convenient tree. “Nalyë indolóra! Your heart is dead, bloodsucker!” he snarled.

Thick tendrils of fairy fire began to slowly twine around the vampire’s body, unbreakable vines of death magic singeing his pallid flesh as they slithered up his nose and into his eyes to take control. The vampire’s body stiffened like a puppet whose strings were being drawn, an unholy shriek tearing from his lungs as Dermot seized his soul, forcing his most primal instincts to unfurl and succumb to the burning hunger blossoming in his gut.

“Haryal hórë. On my command, you will torture then kill her,” Dermot spat, tepid winds swirling as he sucked the fire back to himself.

He shoved the enchanted vampire to the ground, making Caleb sit like a well-trained dog as he effortlessly leapt into the low hanging branches of a sprawling oak. Dermot’s gaze locked on the red Corvette parked by the back door, watching for the pair who typically decorated the seats to come out. The long-standing grudge he harbored against the meddlesome Northman vamp would be personally avenged while his new pet tore Sookie Stackhouse’s stinking human flesh to shreds.

Sick chuckles of anticipation were interrupted when a black Escalade selfishly parked cross-wise in the back lot, blocking his view. Rock music blasted from its open windows to entertain the single female occupant inside, and Dermot stretched out a hand, commanding the wind yet again. “Tell me,” he whispered.

Thick night air sweet as molasses draped across Dermot’s tongue when the scented tendril returned, tangerines, sunshine and salt rolling through his senses as the girl climbed from the truck, yet the moment his eyes made contact, smell no longer mattered. Nothing else mattered. The girl’s bronze flesh and raven hair mirrored his own, mocking him, and Dermot’s spine stiffened against memories of an execrable bargain struck years ago. His head began to buzz, the sight of a petite body echoing the undeniably familiar shape of the one lover he would have given his very life for – the mage who gifted him with the dark magic that now ruled his life – the one creature who had eventually cost him everything.

It is not possible . . .she is dead!

A carnal jolt of long forgotten need tore through his gut to weight his groin, recollections of a murdered lover filling his cock until it threatened to burst. His sight went red then black as a bone deep rage boiled, oft savored memories of betrayal providing a toxic mixture of pleasure and pain that cut through his soul like a double-edged sword. A blink of his eyes ignited the black magic that lived in the runes Mikita herself had branded into his flesh and an insatiable need for revenge exploded. Instantly, his arms were outstretched, calling upon the power of the earth beneath him, the tree he stood upon, the strength of the air he breathed.

“Show me.” His words were a wolfish growl, sending a shadow of hate to prove him wrong.

Cold sweat beaded his forehead as venomous eyes tracked an invisible trail of sparkling obsidian slithering toward the girl. His breath came in impatient snatches as it silently slipped under the back tire of her truck, sliding through the darkness underneath to creep up her back. The girl was studying herself in the side mirror, and just as she straightened and turned around the shadow smoothed itself across her flesh.

Gebo.

Dermot stared in utter disbelief. It simply could not be possible! No wonder he had believed his grandchild dead all this time. That damn mage he reproduced with had obviously transferred her magic to the child to hide her, because right there – right there on that girl’s forehead shimmering bright as the moon herself, was an “X”. A protective black magic rune spell of hiding. Laurel Grace was not dead. Dermot Brigant had a grandchild, and she was standing in the parking lot of Fangtasia in Shreveport, Louisiana.

“Black truck . . . kill her,” he spat out hoarsely.

Caleb’s fingers curled into claws as he sprang to his feet, obedient steps quickly working through tangles of dead vines and naked limbs that dipped to the ground. Dermot slipped from limb to limb, seeking a higher vantage point before settling against the massive tree trunk to watch. Thoughts of Mikita forced his mouth to flood with unanswered longing as his thighs sprawled, and he groaned when trembling fingers fisted his erection - even as a thick revulsion threatened to make him retch.

Savage growls crawled his throat as a hooded gaze lingered indulgently on the girl.
Dermot’s frozen heart registering no love – no sympathy - nothing but burning revulsion for the putrid concoction of blood he helped put in her veins. His consciousness narrowed as the sick, satisfying screams of Mikita’s death reverberated through his mind, and a cruel smirk teased his lips as he flexed his hips in remembrance, eagerly tracking the vampire’s course.

Nothing was more erotic than death, and rough bark raked his back as he began to stroke himself, impatiently waiting to taste it again. The mage’s gentle nature had made her so easy to deceive, but even magical contracts signed in blood could be broken and allowing the offspring of their trade to survive was never part of the bargain.

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

Grace popped her gum in agitation as she peered into the side mirror of her truck, trying to smooth her windblown hair into some form of submission before taking another hard look at the neon “Fangtasia” sign far on the other end of the parking lot. Red lips perpetually opened to reveal sharp white canines then closed demurely, a glowing blood droplet hanging precariously from one corner, blatantly telling her what she would find inside. Of all the brochures I could’ve picked up, it just had to be a vampire bar didn’t it? Is any drink really worth looking at these things?

After the afternoon she had? Yes it was, so she flicked the last remaining wisps of grass from her favorite denim shorts, prayed the dribble of drink she spilled on the front of her black tank top on the ride back didn’t show, and shoved the keys in her purse. Images of beautiful creatures with very pointed teeth flashed through her mind, and she wondered if her knees would buckle before or after her brain turned to mush. Crap, I’m glad I live at the beach. Vampires hate the beach. They hate the sun. They die in the sun. I love the sun. We don’t have vampires on the Isle of Palms. I can’t wait to go home tomorrow. God, I hope all the shit that blonde vampire woman says on TV is true.

Throat begging for that much needed drink, she shoved her doubts aside and took her first steps toward the door. They were met by a hateful, slurred voice. It cut through the stillness, scraping her already raw nerves.

“Going somewhere?” the masculine rasp inquired.

Wrenched from the murk of her thoughts, Grace turned toward the back of her truck to find a tall, pasty-faced man standing there. Instinctively, her hands hit her hips and she snorted under her breath while raking him with a sour glare. Stringy dark hair accented dark under eye circles hovering over thin, unappealing lips, and Grace frowned - harder. Bad mood plus no beer never equaled civility, and here she was barely out of her truck and a charter member of the Psychos-R-Us team was accosting her in the parking lot!

He looked very drunk, and certainly nothing like the creatures on television. Not a vampire, her exhausted mind sighed in relief.

“You are mine,” he slurred, a bleary-eyed gaze returning her assessment.

You are a drunk asshole who better not be leaning on my truck.

The stranger’s stumbling speech seemed to confirm his inebriation, and Grace jerked with surprise when he appeared in her face, moving too fast for her eyes to see. She nearly choked on her gum and dropped her purse, causing it to break open and dump its contents on the ground. Edging back from him, she quickly stooped to retrieve her things, but before she could scoop up her keys and wallet he stomped a heavy brown boot into them. Her cigarette package crinkled in dismay as it sank into dirty, grey gravel.

Snatching her fingers away, Grace scowled at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snarled, jerking upright while attempting to hold her rising anger. He wasn’t close enough, but one more step, and she was gonna knee this obnoxious prick in the nuts!

“You’re going to give me everything I want,” he said loudly.

You’re gonna wish you were wearing a protective cup in a second. Grace tried to sidestep him, only to find herself pressed against her truck and one pace from his long legs ate the space between them. He leaned over to plant huge, threatening hands on each side of her head, boxing her small frame against the door.

Her pulse accelerated as she searched the lot, quickly realizing her error in parking around back. It was entirely empty of everyone but her and this crackbrained loon. She tilted her head up to look at his face. Fear skittered down her spine as she realized how very pale and haggard he looked. Her narrowed eyes carefully flicked over the bulging biceps and sprawl of chest surrounding her, noting the obvious strength he possessed. Amorous males were nothing new, but the predatory hunger in those lustful eyes now peeling her clothes off was peculiar in a very disturbing way.

She turned her head to prevent the rancid stench of his breath from touching her and tried not to panic as she realized just how dangerous her situation was. Her keys were under this asshole’s foot and her Escalade was locked – she couldn’t set off the alarm, nor could she get back inside – and there wasn’t a soul in sight to intervene. It was like being confronted by a wild animal deep in the woods, so she decided to approach it the same: keep eye contact, move slowly, keep your voice low and firm – then haul ass the first chance you get.

“This is what we southerners call a serious invasion of personal space, so why don’t you go sleep it off.” She clenched her teeth, rage bubbling through her fear.

“I’d rather get off,” he said, crudely rotating his hips to press an obvious erection against her stomach.

“Get the fuck off me you drunk bastard,” she growled, slamming her hands against his shoulders.

His body felt stronger and more solid than she had ever imagined a man’s body could as sinewy arms came round to capture her, an iron grip pressing her small breasts to his chest as he slammed their hips together. She tried to scream but he tightened his hold and squeezed, stealing her breath. Tears bit her eyes as she gasped, and he stopped. Time stood still when her frightened gaze locked with his, and her heart stuttered. Grace prayed that was sympathy or regret she saw creeping across his face, but an intoxicating scent suddenly filled her nostrils and her breath turned to mist as the shadows began to creep together and wrap around them.

The temperature plummeted fifty degrees as the struggling moon collapsed into a shroud of clouds and a huge clap of thunder shook the air. All sound cut out as if switched off by an unseen hand. Grace felt smothered as a chilling wind sprang from the ground to whip her face with his stringy brown hair, but every nerve ending in her body sprang to life when her ears picked up a faint, lyrical chant floating against the eerie silence – a chant that was oddly familiar.

Her mouth turned to cotton as alarm bells louder than tornado sirens blared through her mind, then everything began to happen in slow motion as her private nightmare returned to life. Knots braided her stomach as the absolute power of black magic crept over her flesh, ugly syllables flowing from her grandfather’s own lips to consume her. Phantom fingers of blue shadow twisted around her feet and her sandals fell to dust. They skated higher, an unwanted heat teasing her thighs as a thick numbness spread through her limbs, turning her blood to a boiling torrent of fire.

The feelings were overwhelming. She needed to throw up. She needed to scream, but her body was frozen. Dermot slid his poisonous grasp through her skin like a thief in the night, peeling away the warm blanket of her grandmother’s protection that had held her close so very long. Her soul was stripped bare one layer at a time, the scars on her back searing deeper into her flesh as the very molecules of her existence were brutally rearranged.

Die! Die like you were supposed to with your mother and that wicked mage Mikita!

The evil voice from her nightmares was so clear Grace could feel the hot dampness of his breath curling in her ear but as the last wisp of sacrificed love was stolen and crushed, waves of blinding sensation crashed over her. A surge of freedom drowned the sharp stabbing pain of loss as light and dark flared. They fought then fused, a symphony of magic pulsing through her veins to throw off the chains that had bound her spirit for over twenty years. Raw power that could only be born into the blood of an elemental unfurled through her like a flag in a stiff summer breeze, a point of fire starting in the center of her forehead and rushing downward to pour through every fragment of her being.

A vibration of awareness tore through the fabric of the fey, echoing through Fangtasia to slam into Sookie Stackhouse and ripping through the fairy realm of Nárthea to put Niall Brigant on his knees. Dermot’s malevolent incantation had certainly done its work – it had stolen her protection but it had unknowingly offered deliverance in return. For the first time since she was five years old, by his own hand Laurel Grace was free. Her spirit was truly free – but all she wanted to do was make the spinning stop.

With a brain like jello and insides quaking, for one fleeting moment Grace was actually thankful to be sandwiched against her truck. The cool metal held her up as clarity returned, but what seemed like an eternity had only been a few seconds, and as her eyes focused they provided a harsh reminder of her position. She was once again looking at that face – the brutish face of a deranged drunk man with shifty eyes and a wide, flat nose.

The eyes glinted and hardened, all compassion gone, and pain shot through her ribs as he tightened his hold. Tears bit her eyes as she frantically twisted and jerked, then a vague phosphorescence began seeping beneath her skin. Suddenly blue fire flew from her fingertips and two chunks of his shirt dissolved to grey ash where she still gripped his shoulders. The sick smell of burnt flesh filled the air and Grace gagged as she fought to keep from folding, stunned by what she had just done.

The drunk man did not flinch. Instead, he chuckled cruelly and slid a hand up to cradle the back of her head, cool fingers sliding through her tousled hair to wrench her head back. He leaned in close to sniff her like a horny dog, then ran his tongue up the side of her neck to flick her earlobe. The dance of her ladybug earring seemed to please him, and he did it again.

Grace cringed and squealed, batting at his chest as she squirmed to get away, but the arm clamped around her waist held firm. “You can’t hurt me, little girl. I’m already dead and you’re about to die too,” he said in a trancelike tone. “After we play for a while.”

Bile clogged her throat and panic stole her voice at his words. She opened her mouth to scream but only mewed like a frightened kitten – then he lifted his head to reveal stone cold eyes and long gleaming white teeth.

Vampire!

A wall of ruthless flesh flattened her against the truck door, forcing a strangled cry from her chest as the vampire’s mouth claimed hers. His crushing lips drank every disgusted gasp like a fine wine as his fingers dug into her scalp, fangs cutting her lips as his cold tongue thrust and plundered, trying to force past clenched teeth to violate her mouth. Grace was imprisoned, hands like steel claws groping her ass as he kneed her legs apart and ground his bulging erection against her.

“I can’t wait to suck you dry.”

His voice was like gravel, as hard as the stones digging into her bare feet, and sheer rage filled the adult now standing where a helpless child once did before. The hell you are! Determination to survive boiled through a creature that had suffered too many nightmares for one lifetime and with a fierce burst of will, Grace’s hand landed against his cheek with a crack that echoed off the concrete blocks of Fangtasia’s back wall and as he tried to claim her mouth again, she sank her teeth into his chin.

Sinfully pleasant vampire blood filled her mouth and Grace swallowed without thinking. The euphoric feeling of invincibility came instantly and she spit in his face as her hands went for his crotch. Victorious fingers clamped around the vulnerable piece of flesh he had been eagerly rubbing against her and Grace tried to tear his dick off, following her best grab-twist-pull from defense class with a resounding knee to the nuts.

The vampire staggered backwards as his eyes crossed. “Bitch!” he gasped, only to trip over her purse and hit his knees.

Without hesitation, Grace planted a bare foot in his groin with every ounce of strength she possessed, sending already throbbing organs on an elevator ride toward his nose. “Blood sucking pervert!”

Taking full advantage of his temporary incapacity, she scrambled in the direction of Fangtasia’s front door - but a shadow fell over the world. There was no moon, no overhead lights, nothing but an impenetrable obsidian darkness so thick it sucked the breath from her lungs. The land itself seemed determined not to let her go, laden clouds throwing drizzle in her face as gravel sucked against every step.

Holy shit, this can’t be happening . . . not again.

Her breath came in short little pants as Grace tried to fight off the insanity of a panic attack. It felt like she was running through pudding and after only a few steps, a hard hand caught her waistband. The merciless fingers digging into her shoulder warned what was coming and she tried to twist from his grip as the vampire jerked her around. “Leave me alone,” she screamed, swinging at his face, but fangs met her arm midair, raw animalistic power sinking them to the bone. A fist slammed into her jaw as their bodies crashed to the ground in a violent tangle, and fangs began to tear her flesh as the vampire overwhelmed her.

Cruel fingers closed her throat with lethal precision - ensuring her silence - but Grace refused to go quietly. She had no control over the secret strength just unleashed within her, but that mouthful of vampire blood had worked wonders and a surge of fervor tore through her as she gagged against the lack of air. Wild hands tore out strings of long, dark hair and her hands left vicious burn marks as she tried to claw the sadistic expression off his glowering face. Grace tried to knee him again, to curl into a ball so he could not grind against her, anything to keep him away - but the vampire greedily dragged her back, unforgiving gravel tearing her skin as he ripped her shirt in half and drove her into the ground.

Fangs felt like heated spikes as they claimed her neck, and Grace writhed desperately beneath him. She curled her fingers and dragged burning furrows under the vampire's eyes, blood streaking like war paint, yet the vampire didn't flinch – he didn't even seem to feel it. Instead, she felt his fangs as they latched onto her body again and again, razors tearing her apart as he shook her like a dog with a bone. She screamed, pain becoming fire as dark smoke licked the edges of her vision, his growling and moaning filling her ears as she watched her own blood spill from the mouth above her.

Feeling herself being devoured alive, Grace begged for mercy, but there was none to be had. Minutes felt like hours as he ravaged her, and eyes colder than death itself met hers when the vampire finally raised his head, merciless hands returning to her neck even as she slapped him one last time. Grace whimpered as he squeezed, her hand sliding through her own blood as his brutal fangs drove home one last time. Threads of oblivion tightened around her soul as she fell toward the thick relief of unconsciousness, death reaching out with welcome arms as her life soaked the ground.

A river of sapphire sparks split the sky as Grace’s flesh went dark and her eyes closed, and Dermot threw his head back and roared, hot streams of seed spewing from his flesh as the crushing weight of the ensorcelled vampire forced the last air from her lungs. He opened his soul, greedily waiting to harvest the twisted pain of his grandchild’s death but to his disbelief a brilliant flash of silver suddenly cut the night as an elven war blade sank to the hilt in Caleb’s skull.

Snatched from his ultimate victory, Dermot leapt to the ground, but just as he prepared to burst from the trees, more elves and fairies appeared – then metal shuddered and Eric Northman exploded from the back door of Fangtasia, fists clenched and fangs bared. Cursing violently at his failure, Dermot wisely faded away . . . but this was far from over.

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

On the other side of the parking lot, Eric Northman stood fuming. The vampire had come roaring outside intending to look for an intruder. Instead, he entered a whole new world.

A smothering blanket of darkness hugged the ground, and flashes of brilliant blue lightning made Eric squint as he searched for their source. There was indeed a black Escalade parked behind the bar, although he knew from the unique decals it did not belong to Logan, and there was no girl in sight. A freezing wind bit his skin as he stepped closer, electricity tingling in the air till his hair stood on end. He scented the air and listened, filtering out the wind, the lightning, the smells of magic. His ears picked the sound of muffled voices nearby, and the musky aroma of fey teased his nose – although it seemed tainted and less desirable somehow.

Swift and silent, Eric crossed the parking lot, but when he snapped to a halt even his ancient soul could hardly digest what he saw. He cautiously eased closer, soaking in the disturbing sight of a crumpled human female with blood spread beneath her in a grim shadow – but that was the most plausible part of the picture. A man – or supernatural creature he surmised – clothed in opulent silken garments that would rival any kings hovered over the damaged girl. Another step, and he glimpsed the unbelievable presence of a crown nestled atop his cloak of waist-length raven hair. He strained to hear the words of two heavily accented masculine voices.

“This cannot be possible. It simply cannot! I would have sensed her, I would have known Grace was alive!”

“She is of fey blood . . . there is no doubt, but are you certain it is that child?”

“It is Grace, I feel it in my soul.”

Having confirmation that fey were indeed involved, Eric wagered a guess the man was one of Lord Niall’s relatives and tried to get a better look at the second form partially hidden behind him. He worked toward the left, but as his line of sight cleared the tree between them, he discovered a much larger problem.

“Don’t!” Eric cried out when he realized the man’s intentions, but it was too late. Even as he raced to intervene, the creature ripped a thick serrated blade from a man’s skull and skewered him in the throat, severing his head with one stroke. Eric skidded to a halt just in time for blood to spray across his chest, yet the executioner paid him little attention as he cast the body aside then raised the dripping head to his face.

The killer’s striking silver hair shimmered like newly minted coins as he tilted his head and studied the fangs curiously, and Eric easily recognized the victim. It was Caleb – a young male vampire turned only some six weeks earlier. And just what had that ignorant fledgling done? Eric did not know, but whatever it was did not grant permission for someone to enter his territory and kill one of his subjects. The Vampire Sheriff of Area 5 bristled with indignation.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?” Eric demanded, planting himself in the creature's face.

The executioner’s cold gaze shifted, seeming to compare Caleb’s teeth to the ones in the mouth speaking to him. With obvious strength and skill, he hurled the head away, spiking it onto a nearby branch without ever breaking eye contact. A pale bicep rippled when his hand tightened on his gold knife hilt, and Eric knew he was ready to do it again. Their eyes dueled, each making a quick assessment of the other.

Clothed in unrelieved black leather, the creature’s lean, honed body boasted the scarred muscles of a warrior, and obviously pointed ears verified fey ancestry. His vest showcased etched silver fittings studded among a hand tooled pattern the likes Eric had not seen in centuries, while the wide weapons belt riding his narrow hips bore not only an array of artfully crafted blades, but a heavy medallion engraved with a tree symbol. Eric estimated it to be a royal crest of some type, and the burning stare coming from the almond shaped sapphires decorating his aristocratic face left no doubt he would die to defend it.

“Who the hell are you?” Eric repeated.

The executioner declined to answer yet again, and Eric became aware of a second presence materializing on his heels. He glanced over his shoulder, and found yet another fey warrior. Nearly matching his height, rimless sulfur eyes peered from a hard face of bleached skin offset by tightly braided hair the color of a nacreous pearl. He carried his black leather ensemble on a threatening aura that seemed to emanate in physical waves, and now sandwiched between them, Eric’s every muscle tightened, ready to spring should either of them twitch.

An authoritative voice rang out in intervention. “Hold!”

The warriors remained frozen, and Eric turned to the man who spoke. It was the creature in the robes, and he was Fey Royalty – there was no doubt. From the precious jewels glittering against the molten silver and slate hues of his extrinsic clothing to the delicately pointed ears, right up to the platinum colored circlet atop his head flaunting more of those tree symbols, the creature exuded nobility and power. He met Eric’s inquisitive look with a dismissive glance, then turned his attentions back to the blood stained human sprawled on the ground.

Eric’s gaze followed, running down pools of shimmering silk to scrutinize the wounded girl. The damage Caleb inflicted was impressive, and Eric worried what could have driven the new vampire into such a rage of bloodlust. The crowned fey shifted, and Eric’s worries increased exponentially when the identity of the remaining creature involved in this was revealed – the one cradling her head in gently wrinkled hands of silken alabaster. Eric’s mind shifted into slow motion as the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened and he was confronted by a sea green glare colder than the ocean depths themselves.

Recognition was immediate.

“Niall?” Eric blurted out, startled to see the ruling Fairy Lord himself elegantly folded onto the dirty gravel of his parking lot. “What has happened? Who is that girl?”

Niall did not answer. The fairy was focused on the girl and the man crouched at his side. The two seemed to be working together, Niall’s hands cradling her head while the other’s hands rested on her chest. It appeared they were reading her somehow, very much the way Sookie did when she placed her hand on someone and touched their thoughts. As every second ticked past, their faces grew paler and Eric could easily surmise from the glances being exchanged that a rampant telepathic conversation was being held. It irked him to no end, and he cleared his throat pointedly.

“Who is that girl? Tell me what happened here, Niall!”

Niall’s naturally expressive face was taut with grief and outrage when his head snapped up, and his ashen pallor did him no favors. His stare cut Eric like a warm knife through butter, daring him to speak again, then he turned to his crowned companion. “Elrond, please you are a healer . . . tell me she will not die.”

Elrond gave an impatient snort as fingers traced with strange white flames began sliding along Grace’s blood soaked skin. His expression tensed then turned somber as he examined her wounds, and strange murmured incantations in a hurried tone followed. Goaded by the negative reaction, Niall sprang to his feet.

Even climbing from the ground, the fairy looked dignified and imposing, but the look he leveled at Eric held an animalistic fury that vibrated the air. “You dare stand and demand an explanation from me, when the sharing of evening tea with my own brother was disrupted by your subordinate attacking my great-grandchild?” Niall’s back was straight as an arrow, the accusing finger pointed toward the human on the ground steady as rock, yet a haunting pain shadowed his face and his voice caught on the word “great-granddaughter” as if he could not believe he uttered it.

Eric’s gut twisted, mind reeling as it tried to decide which revelation to be more stunned by – brother or second great-granddaughter – because until that moment, Eric was unaware Niall possessed either one. His attention flew back to the injured girl Elrond was steadily touching and chanting over. She certainly didn’t look anything like Sookie, but it was hard to tell under all the blood and dirt. It covered her, and he knew immediately if she’d lost that much, her condition was dire. He hesitated to think what repercussions her death might bring.

“I don’t know what happened here Niall, but I would never condone such a thing and you know it! Now, if you don’t want that girl to die, you’re going to need my help.”

Eric’s tone was conciliatory and his intentions admirable as he closed the space between them, but the moment gravel bit his knees the smell hit. Dermot’s planted fey essence was specifically designed to send a vampire into bloodlust, and it did just that. A primal thirst maddened him and suddenly Eric was on the verge of finishing the girl off himself, but the chill of a war blade already damp with vampire blood at his throat and a fierce grip on his hair stopped him, but where being touched in such a manner would have typically resulted in the offender’s certain death, Eric’s body now refused to respond. He felt as if he had been encased in concrete.

“The girl has been scented,” a gravely rasp noted. “It has taken this one too.”

Four supernatural stares converged on Eric Northman’s swollen pupils, but he was too mesmerized by the rose flush that stained Niall’s cheeks to care. His mind hummed to a silent melody, begging for instructions. He burned to be set free, his stomach felt empty as a scorched desert, his fangs ached to tear flesh.

Elrond’s impatient snort came much louder that time, and his voice grated with irritation. “Gods of Nárthea, then remove it, Niall! And lasto – hurry! If the creature can offer assistance, it will be most welcome because the girl is not responding to me. Her blood is mixed and resists my healing.”

“What?” Niall exclaimed. His head jerked toward the warriors. “Kalen, you summon as many guardians as you need! There is but one who would do this, and I want him found – Now!”

The fairy guardian nodded obediently and quickly strode away as Niall tilted his head back to study the sky. Abruptly, he shuddered, shifting from his earthly guise of an elegant man wearing a beautifully tailored dark suit to his true fey appearance – an omnipotent being of light. Sprays of opalescent dewdrops floated on gossamer robes, while every inch of his flesh glowed with a heavenly luminescence. He lifted outstretched arms to the sky, calling streams of energy from the universe herself as he commanded the dark magic to subside.

His gentle voice caressed the wind, almost as if it captured the rain to play its melody as he spoke, forcing the dark clouds above them to whirl, hunting one another as they tried to flee. Chaotic wisps of fire sparkled and pranced, a swarm of shimmering fireflies rose and danced up to the sky, filling it with light. With every dip and spin, the shadows lifted, a blanket of stars sharing their light as the beautiful full moon beamed brightly again, illuminating the dark lot below. Knowing his work was done, he trembled again, returning himself to his earthly appearance as a gentle, summer breeze caressed his flawless face, laying a thin layer of Louisiana heat on his skin - and Grace was scented no more.

The instant it was over, Eric’s sanity returned and the grip on his body was removed. He wanted nothing more than to flip around and tear the throat out of that silver haired executioner behind him, but the fey’s intervention had been warranted. Eric had never felt anything take hold of him like that in all his years - he never wanted it to take hold of him again – and in no small way, he was very thankful his head was still attached.

Forcing himself to remain steady, Eric focused on the root of this horrid scenario and made a cold, calculated assessment of the injured girl. Her shallow breathing was thready at best, and the grey pallor of her skin told him she was far beyond any mortal medical assistance. “Fuck!” he snarled, ripping open a wrist to pour his healing blood into the worst wounds of her mangled neck. “I’m going to try to stop some of the bleeding, but if this girl doesn’t take in some blood fast, she’s dead.”

“Well it most certainly will not come from you!” Niall announced harshly, teeth clenched as he watched vampire blood pour onto Grace with unveiled disgust. “Sookie being bound to you is revolting enough, but never will you possess both of my great-grandchildren!”

“My blood can save her life!” Eric snapped, raking the fairy with a look of condemnation he gladly reciprocated.

“Stop this trivial drabbling!” Elrond ordered harshly. “Do neither of you see the vampire blood is not working either? This child is fading!”

The bitter threat of failure tainted the air as Elrond studied wounds that had only closed a fraction, almost as if he were struggling to decipher some endless enigma – then understanding broke over his winsome face and he shoved Eric’s arm away. “Grace is obviously elemental like Dermot. Her blood will fight that of any other, so only the blood of another fey will help - yet mine is too powerful, as is yours, brother. It would kill her.” His gaze flicked to the only available donor, settling on the silver haired executioner. “Haldir, come.”

Eric scrambled to place the name “Dermot” as he watched obvious dismay paint the countenance of the warrior hovering nearby. Haldir’s body had stiffened, his jaw clenching until it visibly twitched, but after a steadying breath he sank to his knees beside Eric. His determined indigo gaze met the vampire’s inquisitive one studying the delicate maze of scars decorating his temples.

“You know how to do this, vampire?” Haldir asked.

“Yes, fairy,” Eric quipped sarcastically. “Blood is my business, so don’t doubt I’ll get it in her.” He had already shifted to Grace’s head and was gently collecting her limp face in his hands when Haldir reached to the pocket of his thick leather pants and slipped out a small blade.

“I am not a fairy,” Haldir offered, slicing open the palm of his hand with no thought or hesitation. “I am an elf.”

Eric could not help his curious glances as he manipulated the limp muscles of Grace’s jaw. He eased her mouth open and held it there, as Haldir slipped his dripping palm between her pallid lips. Elrond placed firm hands on her chest, infusing Grace with his healing spirit as the blood filled her mouth. The powerful fey spoke directly into her mind. Swallow child, swallow, he repeated again and again, telling Grace’s oxygen deprived mind to fight its way back to consciousness and respond. The unique group watched closely for any reaction, and finally it was there, a shift of her throat accepting the blood as limp lids fluttered.

“Come on girl, swallow,” Eric encouraged, trying to hold her focus. “Come on, come on! Look at me!” A wretched moan was Grace’s reply, but when Eric tightened his hold on her face he managed a brief moment’s success in which a pair of luminescent grey eyes opened and locked with his. They were the oddest color – like a violent summer thunderstorm with shifting hues of pewter and charcoal highlighted with silver flashes – and they were a color that sent the chill of déjà vu tearing down his spine.

Leaning over a dying human was no time to reminisce, however, and the fleeting thought was brushed away by her falling lashes. Unforgiving in their determination to save her, the group rallied. Encouraged by Grace’s shred of reaction, Elrond intensified his mental demands and Niall joined in, the two brothers working together to animate her weakened mortal mind. Lord Elrond was pouring his healing power into her now, the white flames of his aura shifting from gentle traces to roaring flames as they slithered and danced through the blood covering her body.

Eric felt his hands begin to burn and jerked them away. Forced to move aside, he rose to his feet and Haldir slipped into his place. With a firm hand behind Grace’s neck, he heaved her into a sitting position, catching her body in the crook of his arm. Her mouth had closed, so sucking blood from his palm, he closed his mouth over hers and forced it open with his tongue, then spit the blood inside. Grace again managed to swallow, but it was obvious the unique transfer would be slow and arduous – and that this was most certainly not the place for it to be happening.

Elrond quickly came to his feet, gesturing to Haldir as he did. “Lasto! This is not acceptable!” he announced firmly. “Collect her! Such injuries cannot possibly be tended under such terrible conditions.”

“What do you intend, brother? Tell me,” Niall pressed.

“We will transport the child to my home,” Elrond answered, hands fluttering as he rushed Haldir. “I will tend her injuries and she will be safe there.”

Tides of welcome relief eased Niall’s strained features at his brother’s unexpected suggestion, but as Haldir rose with Grace cradled in his arms, his face had darkened like thunder. He bristled at Elrond. “My Lord, you cannot truly intend to bring a mortal into the walls of Lommírie!”

Lord Niall’s brows furrowed at the insolent behavior, and Elrond growled a warning. “My word is law, and that human is my family, so you will take her there and devote yourself to her care just as you would any other fey!”

Haldir opened his mouth as if to offer a rebuttal, but wisely closed it again, offering nothing more than a polite inclination of his head before disappearing with Grace and a soft “pop”.

Few things surprised Eric Northman, but he could do little more than stare after Haldir and the injured human disappeared, leaving nothing more than air in their place. That disbelief increased when seconds later Elrond did the exact same thing. The vampire had heard Sookie describe such actions by Niall, but never had he seen them firsthand, and it was both astonishing and disturbing. His malcontent increased when he turned and suddenly realized Niall must have cloaked their position, because he could no longer see Fangtasia – instead only swirls of strange purplish fog surrounded the expanse of shadowy gravel.

He prepared to defend himself, suspecting that Niall intended to seek revenge for the night’s events, but the fairy stepped away to consult with the braided haired warrior he addressed as Kalen. Other identical ashen-faced creatures had joined him and were silently moving about, and Eric watched them carefully as he eavesdropped. A duo of them emerged from the woods carrying what appeared to be a dead body then quickly disappeared, while yet another pair silently and efficiently collected spilled belongs from the ground, then swiftly occupied the black Escalade and drove it into the night.

Eric noted the tag number as he listened to Niall end his conversation with Kalen. “He is not answering my summons, so something else is amiss. Find him and make him aware of this! I want this handled – now!” The fairy lord turned on his heel and stalked back to where Eric stood and readily continued his rant. “And you will locate the putrid excuse for a being responsible for creating that rogue monster and you will secure him for my punishment. Are we clear?”

Niall gestured toward the now ashy puddle of vampire remains in the gravel, but Eric did not hesitate to meet his fierce scowl. “You may be lord in your world, but you’re not in mine,” he answered. “So the best thing for you to do is tell me what really happened here tonight, because I already know that vampire was not in control of himself when he did this!”

“If my great-grandchild dies, I will fill Fangtasia with so many fey you will swear Armageddon has arrived before I am finished here,” Niall seethed. “So while you are praying for her safe recovery, not one word will cross your lips about this loathsome occurrence. You will not so much as breathe of this to Sookie, or I will personally cut your tongue out before I seal you in a silver coffin for eternity. Do you understand me? The news of my second great-grandchild will be delivered by me, and me alone!”

You outdated, stuffy, pompous, stuck-up, swollen-headed asshole! Eric remained carefully stone-faced as he stared back at Niall, silently cursing him in ten languages while relishing the fact that his dead mind was unreadable. He and Niall typically got along, but Eric knew dating Sookie was not a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” so far as her great-grandfather was concerned. Niall Brigant was extremely dangerous, particularly when in such a state of anger - and now there was this brother and these elves to consider – not to mention whatever the hell scent spell took hold of him a few minutes ago. This whole situation sucked.

Eric feigned calmness while trying not to strangle on his diplomatic response. “Niall, I certainly hope the girl recovers and of course I won’t mention any of this to Sookie, but you seem to be forgetting this is my territory. As Sheriff, I deserve to know what happened tonight and if there’s a threat – especially a threat to Sookie – then you better tell me who or what it is so I can stop it!”

“The matters of the fey are none of your concern, Northman, so do not try to involve yourself where you are not welcome! You have but one task in this, and it would behoove you to do it quickly!” The venom in Niall’s livid snarls left little doubt he would see every threat carried out if his demands were not met, and he passed Eric a final heated glare that nearly reduced him to ash before disappearing.

Left standing in a rapidly dissipating fog to contemplate his future, Eric took a few minutes to settle himself. He brushed the dirt from his jeans, and rearranged the gravel with his feet so the blood stain was not visible – yet the ones on his shirt certainly would be. “Well shit,” he snarled, striding toward his Corvette. Eric jerked open the door and popped the trunk, thankful Pam picked up his drycleaning earlier. After making sure his pants bore no blood evidence, his ruined t-shirt was replaced with an identical one and the offending garment used to wipe off his bloody wrist before being hidden under the trunk contents.

The entire time his mind worked, planning out the fabrication he would be selling to Sookie when he walked back through the door. That blonde human might not be able to hear his thoughts, but so much blood had been shared between them, she had become quite excellent at reading him all the same. Sookie could accurately perceive when he was being untruthful, and she always knew when he was upset. This would not be an easy task.

Steeling himself, Eric headed to the front entrance in lieu of the back. He fended off advances from admiring Fangbangers as he collected a much-needed bottle of TrueBlood from the bar then dashed for the bathroom. The synthetic blood was quickly downed to restore what he had donated, then Eric went to work removing all traces of the last fifteen minutes. Hands were washed, hair combed, and a few stray blood drops wiped from his face. The new Fangtasia t-shirt was straightened and jeans checked for dirt one last time, then Eric exited. Heading into the crowd, he motioned for one of his closest underlings to join him. Logan could charm the pants off a snake if needed, and he was the perfect creature to confirm this lie.

The tall blond fell in beside him, and Eric spewed information under his breath as they threaded across the dance floor. “Logan, a girl was just attacked out back. I don’t know what’s going down, but the fey are involved. One of them is dead, and I just watched some badass cut that new vamp Caleb’s head off like he enjoyed it – and he seemed like the friendly one – so I want Sookie out of here and quick. She sensed what was happening and said she saw a truck like yours, so as of right now it was your truck and some ignorant drunks were outside roughing around it. You’re with me for the rest of the night, we’re going to take her home then figure out what the hell is going on. Got it?”

“Got it,” Logan answered, following on his heels as Eric moved down the hall toward his office.

“South Carolina tag BLUFIRE,” Eric said. “Pass a note to Pam and tell her to start tracing it as soon as we leave.”

Logan nodded and Eric opened the office door. Sookie’s face was still red from crying, but his girlfriend looked much better than when he left her. She now sat cross-legged on the couch sipping a beer while Pam entertained her, but as he assumed his typical position behind the desk, she locked him down under a curious stare.

“Eric what happened outside? Who was that girl?”

Her voice quavered with left over emotion, but Eric was unflappable. “False alarm,” he said casually. “I guess your headache was worse than you thought. There was a girl out back, but she was just talking with a few of the local drunks. Other than them rubbing themselves all over Logan’s truck, it was nothing exciting.”

Pam’s eyebrows hitched as Eric spoke, clearly telling him she sensed the deception, but thankfully Sookie did not. “You sure?” Sookie asked. “My head did start feeling better not long after you went outside, but what I saw sure did seem real.”

“Positive,” Eric lied. “Logan came out back same time as me and was just running them off. He’s got some fingerprints to scrub off that Escalade now, but that’s all – isn’t it?”

Perched on the opposite corner of Eric’s desk pretending to be interested in the latest newspaper crossword puzzle, Logan nodded his sexy blond head firmly in agreement and passed Sookie an imploring look. She was staring at him uncertainly, and Eric just lay back in his chair to watch. Few things were more entertaining than Logan playing a female – even if it was his own girlfriend – because they fell for it every single time.

Just as expected, Logan folded the paper to focus on Sookie like she was the most important creature in the universe. A carpet of honey lashes flounced over champagne eyes effervesced with sincerity as his squared jaw settled into his hand – intentionally turned to reveal the sacred mark of a paladin noble tattooed on the inside of his right forearm, reminding Sookie he was a European knight before being turned in the early 1500’s. And a knight would never, ever lie . . . now would they?

Sookie’s doubts quickly faded, and Eric had to lean over and pretend to pick something off the floor to keep from chuckling when Pam rolled her eyes in disgust. “Fingerprints or not, you’re not stealing one of my waitresses to wash that precious truck of yours,” Pam snapped, adjusting her immaculate pink tweed blazer as she came to her feet. “They drool over you enough, and quite frankly it’s disgusting.”

Logan clutched his heart. “Oh, Pam, you wound me. And to think, I was going to invite you and Eric to come to the car wash with me so we could spray each other then run naked through the woods to dry off.”

Now Sookie was the one rolling her eyes, knowing the trio had actually done that more times than she wanted to recall, while Eric gloated. Sookie couldn’t be glamoured, but Logan had still played her to perfection, redirecting her focus from the earlier event so thoroughly it was now forgotten.

Pam passed Eric and Logan both a look that spoke volumes, knowing exactly what they had done, then headed for the door only to be popped on the rear by Logan’s newspaper. Her fangs were in his face instantly, and he had the audacity to tweak her nose. “One of these days, you Austrian Ass,” she warned.

He responded with a smile that could warm a room. “Oh I do hope so, geliebte,” Logan taunted, handing her the newspaper. “But until then, if I promise not to bother the waitresses any more tonight, will you find the missing words for me? You’re better at crosswords than I am.”

“I hope you get briars in your dick,” Pam said. She snatched the paper from his hand and hissed over her shoulder as she left the room. “And I’m not your darling either!”

Everyone laughed, then Sookie turned her attentions back on Eric. “Are ya’ll really gonna go for a run tonight? I was hoping you’d stay with me.”

“If I stay with you till sunup, then you won’t get any rest . . . and you look like you need some,” Eric answered gently. He stood up and came around the desk. “Come on, let’s get you home.

“Don’t worry, Sook. You know I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Logan chimed in. “It’s just that the moon is full and the woods will be crawling tonight.”

Yeah . . . crawling with what? Eric wondered, as he pulled Sookie to her feet.

Sookie sighed and shook her head, experiencing a moment’s regret that she wasn’t capable of enjoying such supernatural pleasures along with her friends – but her head still pounded and she really did want to get home in bed. “Alright, ya’ll win but just tonight – not tomorrow. Ok?”

“Great! We’ll have more time if I grab my truck and drive you home. Besides, it’ll give you two lovebirds a chance to smooch on the way,” Logan teased, passing Eric a knowing glance. “I’ll pick you up in the front.”

Eric nodded, then caught Sookie in a lingering kiss before she could follow. Logan’s smooch comment was a direct hint, reminding Eric he needed time to get around front and move his truck to bolster their lies - because it had never been parked in the back lot as Sookie envisioned.

Thankfully, Sookie seemed worry free when Eric’s lips finally lifted, and he guided her out the office toward the main exit. Eric would coddle her as much as needed to make this lie stick, because he wanted Sookie home and tucked in bed so he could take a long look around that white farmhouse – only Eric did not know, he would not be the only creature looking.

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

Chapter 2 – Fairy In My Face

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

A strangled cry of death was just echoing off a jagged cliff to drown under the hiss of Pacific waves when Kalen materialized several feet from the commander of the Fairy Guardians. He bowed his head reverently to the creature kneeling in the sand. “Master.”

“Speak!” he snapped. His lilting voice contrasted the sick, sucking sound of a runeblade being pulled from the body he crouched over, and a ferocious crimson gaze studied the dead creature as he rose.

Towering palms shadowed the glint of a full moon, their fronds fluttering on salty air tainted by the coppery pungence of blood. Kalen knew instantly he was on the secret Fey island of Tûradell, an uncharted speck of land deep in the Pacific that housed the Fey’s earthly healing centers and facilities for their most private medical research. He took quick stock of the scene and found three dead fairies strewn brokenly on the beach. “How many?” he asked, concerned.

“Five – all dead. Some of Dermot’s minions, which I do not understand. He has been silent for nearly a year, then emerges to wage war against a healing place where he himself has been tended? Obviously his dementia has grown.”

“Dermot knows the dangers of the Nether Realm, yet he has chosen to take refuge in the Undercities and Shadow Swamps since his exile. Perhaps it is the stagnant chaos that drives his insanity – he carried out another attack tonight in Shreveport,” Kalen informed.

“Six attempts in the past four years against that damn human! What of the guardian responsible for her? How close did they get this time, and was the vampire involved?”

Kalen cleared his throat. “Soren is dead and the attack was a successful one. The girl was torn to pieces, and yes, Northman was involved but only in an effort to save her . . . but the girl attacked tonight was not Sookie. There is another.”

Red eyes instantly shifted to emerald green, narrowing in displeasure as a pale muscular chest heaved from the exertion of killing. “Another?”

“Niall names her as a great-grandchild. She was scented, no doubt to lure the vampire who attacked. So much black magic hung the air itself was thick . . . it was done by Dermot personally.”

“How do you know this?” he snapped angrily, knuckles whitening as he clenched the short spear in his hand.

Kalen dropped his eyes from the piercing gaze, not liking his position of news bearer. “The scent was unmistakable. He found pleasure as he watched from the trees.”

A fierce scowl creased his porcelain face in reaction to the putrid revelation, a demanding glare telling him to continue.

“The girl lives for now,” Kalen said. “Niall was with Elrond and sensed the attack. They arrived in time for Haldir to intervene, and I was summoned when you did not answer. The scene is now secure, Soren’s body retrieved and the damaged girl transported to the elf lands in Elrond’s care. I have three now stationed at Fangtasia and another trio at Sookie’s home, although for now she is with Northman.”

Fiery blond hair shimmered in the moonlight as the supreme leader of the fairy guardians glanced around in deliberation. “Additional guards will be needed here as well. No doubt Dermot ordered an attack against this place assuming the injured girl would be brought here for treatment – to assure her death. What girl is worth such a risk?”

“One of mixed fey blood bearing raven hair and bronzed flesh,” Kalen answered, waiting for the outburst he knew would follow – and it did.

Foul, guttural curses in the dark language flowed as his master bristled with fury, slamming his spear into a nearby palm tree so hard its fronds trembled and tiny monkeys quickly scrambled down vines to move away. The sound of a coconut plunking into soft sand and the agitated shrieks of the little mammals only seemed to stoke his ire. “Dermot has a descendant?” he growled venomously. “Get to Lommírie and personally guard over her until I arrive. Haldir and Fin will protest, but I will handle them later.”

Kalen bowed his head reverently in acceptance of his orders. “Master, what do you intend to do?” he asked cautiously.

“I am going to Shreveport and I hope Dermot is ignorant enough to be waiting,” he snapped, silently fading into the shadows.

Kalen quickly faded as well, telepathically calling fairy guardians to report to the secret fey island while he transported to the Fairy Realm. Nárthea was home to the two Isles of the Blessed – Avallon, home of the elves and Tír na nÓg, home of the fairies and other fey species. Each Isle possessed its own unique security force and intrusions were frowned upon, so Kalen did not know what reception would greet his arrival. He appeared in the southernmost gardens, crouched deep in a mixed hedge laden with roses and peacebloom. Intent listening revealed only the gentle sound of cricket chirps and crested angelbird warbles, so he straightened and headed down the path.

The elven masterpiece that was Lord Elrond’s home sprawled before him, an endless edifice of opulent marble and gilded stone. Lommírie truly deserved her name – haven that glitters like a jewel – Palace of the Silver Moon. Kalen resisted the bewitching performance of prismatic fountains as he darted across scrolled floors of vivid mosaic murals. Silent steps breeched one graceful stoned archway after another, then threaded through a maze of wide corridors inlaid with mithril and gems as he honed in on the Fey King he served.

His presence was not noted when Kalen unobtrusively slipped into the shadows of a royal guest suite, its occupants much too preoccupied with saving the girl he was sent to protect. Lord Niall stood shoulder to shoulder with Gandalf, the great wizard, their resonating rumbles delivering protective chants in accord. Niall’s voice pitched higher and Gandalf’s staff slammed to the floor, commanding the power of Nárthea herself to coalesce. Thousands of sparks streamed up the four posters of the bed dominating the room, every vibration of their voices commanding tendrils of magenta lightning to burn brighter, a twinkling cage of magic suspending time itself so Haldir and Elrond could save the human girl laid out inside.

Divested of her clothing with a few deft flicks of a blade, her mauled body now lay clad in panties and a filthy bra as Haldir bent over her. Grace’s unfocused eyes refused to stay open as the elf worked her with both voice and mind, fighting to keep her conscious as he pressed his gashed palm to her lips. His blood-smeared mouth demanded she swallow those precious crimson drops – and live. “Swallow, Grace. You must swallow!”

Haldir’s urgent demands were punctuated by the rapid movements of Lord Elrond on the opposite side of the bed. Steam swirled from a heavy bowl of bloody water as the elven lord quickly dipped and wrung pieces of cloth, cleaning Grace’s flesh to reveal her wounds. Undeterred by her body’s resistance to his general healing spells, runic incantations of binding played under his breath, steady fingers burning with the power of fey fire as they pressed each vicious gash closed. Delicate as the breath of a butterfly, yet strong as the rock foundation Lommírie herself rested upon, tiny threads of flame eased their way across jagged ribbons of flesh, diving into crimson rivers to form unbreakable magic stitches and close her wounds.

Every cinch of broken skin was met by an agonized groan of pain, yet time could not be spared to even wipe away her tears. Elrond quickly shifted from gouge to gash, leaving a strange pattern of ugly red puckers and dots littering her body, but the bleeding was stemmed. His deep voice thrummed a soothing melody of relief, telling the pain in her body to subside as he carefully smoothed each wound with a potent mixture of healing herbs, then tenderly bound them with soft linen strips.

The determined pair worked tirelessly within their magical shelter, and Haldir looked pale and exhausted when Elrond finally waved him away, satisfied the warden had done enough. He then took Grace’s head in his hands, thumbs brushing away the sad trails of water from her cheeks before coming to rest at her temples, sliding her into a deep, restful sleep.

Blows to her jaw hid the true appearance of Grace’s face beneath shapeless, busted lips while her damaged body was darkening under the bloom of blue and purple bruises. “Gods be merciful, no creature deserved to be treated thus,” Elrond lamented as he swiped his hand over a sweaty brow.

“Is she going to survive?” Niall asked.

His voice shook with emotion, and Elrond tore his gaze from the bed to face his brother. Niall had been the vision of steadiness in the parking lot of Fangtasia, yet now, he seemed like little more than an empty shell. Elrond offered him a reassuring smile.

“I have learned much of Grace during my treatment. She appears to be marked with a shielding rune, yet the spells have been stripped – no doubt the act that revealed her to us this night. Her body resists the full remedial power of our spells because of her mage blood, but worry not. My knowledge of the archaic healing incantations is quite solid, and no mixed blood is immune to them. They have set her mending process on its way, and Grace is young and strong, so saes, please rest your mind. She will be well again, brother,” Elrond assured him.

“How can my mind possibly rest after this night’s revelations?” Niall said dismally. He turned away and went to stand in the gracious arch of an open window. Its diaphanous curtains threw fire from their metallic embroideries as a tepid breeze teased them, beams of moonlight reflecting through stained glass bezels to join in the dance. Happy rainbows caressed the flaxen hair flowing around his shoulders - yet his head hung in sorrow.

Hoping a breath of fresh air and a moment’s privacy would soothe his grief stricken brother, Elrond silently summoned servants who made quick work of tidying the room. Stained bed linens were changed and Grace carefully covered with the softest of elven linens, then platters of refreshments and crystal decanters of a rich burgundy wine were set around the room as lanterns were dimmed before they slipped away.

“Elrond, you are the most thoughtful of healers, but you have needs as well,” Gandalf noted softly. “Now the child is stable, Kalen is here on guard and Haldir as well, so please sit and speak with your brother. I will be in my chambers if either of you should need me.”

Taking a thorough look around the room for the first time since arriving, Elrond was surprised to find the intimidating form of Kalen planted by the doorway. His burning citrine gaze was locked on Grace, while Haldir had settled into the corner closest the bed. Their combined expressions left little doubt that only a fool would try to claim the girl in it.

The elven lord nodded his appreciation to them all, then bid Gandalf goodnight and went to his brother. “Niall, come let us speak,” Elrond said firmly, nudging him toward the balcony.

Niall turned from the window, but instead of leaving, headed for the bed where he slipped to sit beside Grace. The fairy sighed deeply and Elrond reciprocated, feeling the night’s emotional strain as he cast off his ruined robes and secured his tousled hair in a careless plait. He settled heavily into a comfortable leather chair and gratefully accepted the brimming goblet Haldir pressed in his hand. The Master Warden prepared one for himself and took a few gulps before resuming his watchful post, while Elrond eased his own parched throat, relishing the bite of pungent elven wine while searching for the correct words to address his brother.

The resplendent glow of protective magic illuminated a face rigid with regret as Niall grasped Grace’s bruised fingers in his own, yet he managed a tense smile when slight white flickers began flowing from his flesh into hers. “She pulls strength from me,” he noted. His wistful gaze fell to study the maze of bandages that held Grace captive. “I never got to touch her as a child.”

Elrond’s mouth drew tight with concern as he offered a comforting pat to the melancholy pixie who had snuck through the window to perch on the arm of his chair. Its opaline wings drooped as it sniffled and played with a stray lock of his hair, and he stroked its pudgy green belly, causing it to giggle in spite of itself – but nothing about what his brother had to say was humorous in the least.

Niall’s whispers were haunted, and a single tear threaded down his silken cheek as he shook his head sadly. “Dermot never told me he had a grandchild, but a spark was born inside my soul the moment Grace drew her first breath. Fintan did such a good job of hiding his children from me, but Dermot made no such attempt. I had watched Laurel for years, although Mikita made it clear I was not welcome. Then Grace came, but they harbored her so close, I did not dare approach her.”

His dulcet voice took on a painful monotone as Niall continued, a pensive gaze lingering on the scars he was tracing along her arm where they threaded back and forth between the plague of bite marks. “Grace was this chubby, little raven-haired babe and her favorite plaything was a pink ball . . . I used to hide in a mass of wisteria I seeded with magic because she always laughed when the butterflies played in the flowers. She would chase the ball and scamper up close and I would imagine she saw me there, then one night her spark went out. It took me a bit of time to realize what was happening, but by the time I arrived, the house had burned to the ground. Never did I suspect she had escaped under a mage’s spell of guarding.”

“Brother, saes, please do not sit and torment yourself this way,” Elrond offered gently. “My heart breaks along with yours for the condition of this child, but tonight’s events were beyond your control just as those were. How could you possibly protect one that you did not know lived? The important thing is that we arrived in time, and Grace was saved so stop these regrets and rejoice in the fact that she is with you again.”

Niall gave him a hard look, but could not hold his gaze. “And should I rejoice in the death of my grandchild who was her mother as well? Or pretend I do not see these horrid marks on Grace’s flesh? Is the Fey King himself to be proud of being tricked by a simple mage into believing his own great-grandchild dead, only to discover her two decades later when his own child attempts to murder her - again? My heart is broken! You have touched her mind this night. Tell me you did not feel Grace’s emptiness. Tell me you could not taste the pain of her nightmares!”

“Nightmares that no longer hold power!” Elrond exclaimed. “The child I touched is a compassionate being who searches for her true family, and that family is you, Niall! It is me, and it is every beautiful thing that is Nárthea. Grace has come home – it may be in the worst possible way, but Grace has been returned to her family from the dead.”

“Yes, and what am I to tell her of the rest of her family?” Niall snapped. “How can I ever compensate for what she has endured?”

The keen burden of the past combined with Dermot’s growing evil twisted and gnawed at Niall’s beleaguered mind, staggering Elrond when he reached out in compassion and they joined thoughts. His brother’s self-judgment and guilt was unforgiving, and it stirred a biting anger Elrond could barely contain. He slammed his goblet onto the table - wine splattered over the lace scarf and dripped onto the floor.

“You can compensate by telling her the truth – if you will dare to acknowledge it yourself after all these years of avoidance!” Elrond growled. “Because you know well as I that Dermot is a repulsive blight on the fey race. Not only did he trade his seed to a desperate female in return for being trained in the art of death magic, he then used that magic to slaughter the same female, their innocent child and Sookie’s parents as well - and his killing has never stopped. Soren died by Dermot’s hand tonight, and he intended Sookie to die as well. Tonight could easily have brought the death of both your great-grandchildren, and you know well as I, he will only try again. Dermot must be stopped!”

Niall’s brow furrowed as his head hung lower, luxuriant strands of blond hair hanging limp as they brushed against a second pixie who had slipped onto the bed and begun sympathetically stroking his hand. “If I order the death of my own child, how then am I any better than him?”

“A King is forced to make hard decisions for the good of his people . . . and his family,” Elrond said gently. “You are a noble man who respects life as all creatures should, but we both know the time has come for Dermot’s deranged war to end. I am sorry, brother, but if you cannot find the strength to give the command, then I shall.”

The sound of Elrond’s chair pushing backwards scraped the stillness like fingernails on a chalkboard and Niall flinched when he softly squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room. Flickers of light played over Grace’s face, emphasizing the fang marks, and throwing an unwelcome reality in his face. Niall knew Eric’s observation in the parking lot had been true as Elrond’s. The vampire who attacked Grace was out of his mind and unless Dermot was stopped he would most assuredly do this again. His vengeful son was unpredictable, and the next vampire used as a weapon could be anyone – including Eric Northman.
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

Fortunately, no one was more aware of their current vulnerability than Eric Northman himself. The odd episode of insanity he suffered through earlier made a lasting impression and he spent the ride to Bon Temps trying to figure out how to best protect the human being cradled in his arms. He did not know just what in hell he was up against, so for now Eric would take no chances.

His hand was firmly on Sookie’s waist and every sense strained for information as he escorted Sookie onto the porch of her antiquated farmhouse. “You coming inside?” he asked Logan, politely opening the door to take a discreet look around. The house smelled vaguely of cleaning products and scented candles with no trace of that strange musky fey scent. Eric opened the door wider, and gestured Sookie inside.

“I’m going to hang out here,” Logan said, providing the expected answer. “Just don’t laugh if you hear me howl at the moon.”

He winked at Sookie, and she was laughing when she stepped through the door, but Eric passed him a quick whisper. “Five minutes max. If I’m not back out or you hear one thing out of place from inside this house, you come get me.”

Logan nodded, anxious to hear Eric’s explanation for his sudden case of paranoia. He slipped to the end of the wide porch and casually leaned his lithe body against the peeling white paint of a thick, turned wood column. Amber eyes feigned disinterest, but in actuality he was studying his surroundings with ferocity. The full moon and yard lights provided good illumination, but Logan knew what he sensed lurked beyond their reach, resting in the shadowed trees of the surrounding forest. His ears graphed the night sounds, sketching out three distinct gaps where the forest lay silent – no crickets chirped, no katydids sang their melody. Obviously, they had company.

Mindful of Eric’s timeframe, Logan glanced at the Presidential Rolex on his left wrist and grimaced. Shit! Four more minutes! What the fuck was out there? He began to drum his fingers impatiently then brushed at the pleats of his silk trousers in mock irritation, putting on a careful display for whoever was watching. He had to alert Eric, but it needed to seem natural.

Three minutes, two minutes, one minute . . .

Logan was just turning toward the door when Eric emerged. “You ready to go?” he asked, shielding a subtle eyebrow waggle with the hand he raked through his hair.

Alarm ratcheted up Eric’s back. “Geez, slow down would you!” he answered smoothly, gliding down the porch steps to take a seemingly casual look around. He saw nothing out of place. “Just how many girls are waiting on you to get you so riled up tonight?”

“Three,” Logan informed coolly, “but you know I’m always careful to keep them apart . . . one at the front bar, one at the back and one tucked over by the dance floor. Keeps it interesting.

Eric’s eyes flew to the woods like a lion hunting zebras at a water hole. Oh, it was about to get interesting all right, but three targets did present a unique problem. As displayed for him earlier tonight, these slippery fey fuckers could translocate themselves with a thought. Even if Logan took out one while he grabbed another, that left one to slip inside and grab Sookie – if that’s what they were there for. These lurkers might have bad intentions, or be nothing more than a trio of guards Niall sent to protect her – but either way, Eric Northman was about to introduce himself.

“Three, huh?” Eric verified.

“Four actually,” an autocratic voice corrected.

Both vampires snarled and flashed fangs in the direction of the sound, only to watch in disbelief as a speaking shadow slithered up the bark of an oak across the driveway as if a dark angel was ascending from the underworld to solidify into a bare-chested fey warrior fisting a short-staffed spear. It was one of the damndest things either of them had seen in centuries – and quite frankly, so was he.

Crimson eyes glowed red as hot embers in an arrestingly masculine face, while unfettered hair like summer sun with an undersheen of fire hung halfway down his back. His pale, lissome muscles reflected a raw, elegant power in the moonlight as he stepped closer, parading their swirling obsidian markings through swaths of fresh blood. An air of menace emanated from the creature with every tense breath, and it seemed as if the night itself had gone silent to let him speak.

“Suilaid, mellyn nín,” he said curtly, focusing his attention on Eric. “You choose wisely to have yourself accompanied, and you would be wiser still to heed my words. Sookie Stackhouse is safely under guard by the fey and so she will remain. I respect any creature’s desire to protect their mate, but you have no defenses against the one responsible for this night’s events. Any presence by your kind poses a danger to her, so when you leave this place it would be better to excuse yourself for a time until these matters are settled.”

Eric choked back a burning desire to spit in his arrogant face, then for the second unbelievably irritating time in one night he asked some intimidating asshole to identify himself. “Who the hell are you?” he grated, staring at the pointy-eared intruder like a cat considering a newly retched hairball.

The fey said nothing, simply shifted his vermilion gaze pointedly toward Logan’s truck in a not so subtle suggestion they use it – and leave.

Eric’s anger spiked off the charts and his temples began to pound with murderous ideas. “You fucking flatter yourself to think a few words from your mouth are going to make me just walk off and leave Sookie! Now who the hell are you?”

An almost infinitesimal twitch lifted the corner of the referenced mouth suggesting the fey thought he was comical, but as Eric tensed to spring Logan took a step forward. It was a tragic error met with a crushing response. Before his expensive black leather dress shoe had fully depressed the freshly mowed grass beneath it, the warrior met him nose to nose, pressing the tip of his weapon to Logan’s squared chin just hard enough to draw a pin prick of blood – and he was not alone. Not one sound or trace of fey scent betrayed their appearance, yet the three fey guardians from the forest now surrounded them: one at Logan’s back with a blade to the base of his skull, the other two on each side of Eric with knives to his throat and spine. They might very well have been ghosts, if not for the bitter tang of death wafting from the blood streaks marring the leader’s chest.

All trace of humor was gone when his piercing crimson stare shifted from Logan to Eric, and the grave look held a very distinct message – the two vampires could listen or die. “I am not your enemy, Northman. I am your ally, but while I will state yet again that I respect your desire to protect Sookie Stackhouse, I do not possess the time nor patience to humor you this night.” A subtle shift of clenched fingers raised the tip of his spear, tilting Logan’s head back to an uncomfortable angle and Eric’s stomach dropped to his knees. He wondered if the creature intended to imitate Haldir and turn Logan’s head into a soccer ball.

“Now . . . the guardians you see swear allegiance to Lord Niall Brigant,” he informed. “They are under my command and as you can see are quite proficient at their duties, so I ask you yet again to leave this place and allow the fey to handle this matter.”

“And was the dead guardian I just saw dragged from the woods behind Fangtasia proficient too? Or was the damage done to that girl in the gravel just for fun?” Eric growled, his words restricted by the blade still lingering under his own chin.

One blink commanded the three guardians to step away, then the warrior dropped his spear and took a step back as well. His voice was clipped, but the hard edge had faded slightly when he spoke again. “If you bore witness to this night’s events then you know the things a vampire can be forced to do against their will, and admirable as your intentions are, you cannot deny your inability to protect Sookie during the sun’s hours. We seek the same goal, so there is no need for such hostility between us, but I must insist you leave.”

Defiant possessiveness boiled his blood as Eric looked toward the old white house containing the woman he loved, yet the truth of the fey’s words doused his anger like a bucket of ice-water, replacing it with the sick, unfamiliar feeling of helplessness. He turned to the three fairy guardians, sizing them up, evaluating their ability to protect Sookie. His blank vampire facade was firmly in place, yet his insides churned like a washing machine. Sookie had been in danger before. The human he loved had been through so much, but he had always, always been there for her. Eric Northman had always been able to protect Sookie Stackhouse – and it seemed his leaving was the only way to protect her now.

Eric’s eyes held a grim acceptance when they returned to the warrior’s, but if the fey sensed his inner turmoil he tactfully did not acknowledge it. “If three are not sufficient, then I shall send thirty,” he assured.

A tangible aura of protection seeped from the very pores of his skin, and something deep inside Eric told him this creature was not only a force to be reckoned with, but one that held his duty before anything else – most likely above his own life. He flicked another brutally assessing glance over the fairy guardians. They looked like poster pinups from a horror-action flick with their braided white hair and black leather clothes, and he’d already seen a small dose of what they were capable of. This whole situation still sucked to monumental proportions, but if he had to have someone without fangs watch his back – and Sookie’s – they seemed like a damn fine choice.

“I’ll keep my distance from Sook for a few days, but I’m not out of this,” Eric finally said. “If anything with pointed ears and bad intentions shows up anywhere near me or any of my people, it dies. No questions asked. And I don’t think I need to tell you what’s going to happen if so much as one blonde hair on Sookie’s head gets touched before this ends – do I?”

A true smirk tweaked the warrior’s mouth that time. “You are indeed far from out of this, Northman. Lord Niall expects a tribunal as penance for your underling’s deeds, but for the rest saes, please trust my abilities and leave the fey to their work.”

Eric’s struggle for diplomacy returned as he fought the raging urge to rip that shit eating little grin off the warrior’s face. “There’s only one creature on this earth whose abilities I trust more than my own, and it’s not you.

The fey inclined his head slightly. “Then perhaps I shall have the honor of becoming the second . . . although I fear I am most certainly not of this earth.” He faded into a dark mist, and the trio of fairy guardians disappeared as well, resuming their diligent watch over Sookie Stackhouse’s home on Hummingbird Land.

“Not of this earth, huh?” Logan muttered. “No shit.” He flicked a finger under his chin and drew away a thin streak of red then turned to Eric. “Fairies and a frigging tribunal? Jesus Christ, Eric, what the hell happened tonight? Who was the girl that got attacked?”

Who was the girl that got attacked? It is Grace . . . she is of fey blood . . . my great-grandchild . . . this cannot be possible . . . are you certain it is that child?

Every detail of the night raced around Eric’s brain, twisting tighter and tighter like a coiled spring ready to explode. The unanswered questions, the threats, the revelations . . . those eyes. “Let’s go,” he told Logan, turning on his heel and stalking to the truck. “That creature might not be from this earth, but the girl who got attacked sure as hell is. Judging from the welcome wagon around here, whoever’s after her is after Sookie too so we’re going back to Fangtasia. I intend to know everything about that little Escalade driving, dark-haired South Carolinian I bled for tonight right down to what color panties she prefers before the sun rises again.”

Pine trees blurred and the speedometer in Logan’s Escalade crept past one hundred miles an hour as Eric Northman headed down the interstate toward Fangtasia, but the bare-chested fey warrior was already there – hunting. His first stop? The oak tree Dermot used for his sick voyeurism earlier that night.

Like a bloodhound scenting prey, he absorbed the distinctive musky odor leeching from a stream of ejaculate clinging to the bark. Perverted bastard. Anger rose as he stepped off the branch and dropped to the spot where Soren lost his life, then shifted to the place where Grace’s blood stained the gravel. He glanced to the ashen vampire remains nearby. Nothing would have pleased him more than to trade them for those of an exiled fairy.

Tepid autumnal air trembled and he materialized at Stop Two - the rear parking lot of a modern eight-story steel and glass office building in the most affluent business district of Shreveport. A guardian stepped from a lush pocket of scarlet and salmon cannas to bow his greeting as a cloaking spell dropped to reveal Grace’s black Escalade.

“What do you have for me?” the warrior demanded as he began to circle the Cadillac.

“As requested, I have collected all items of identification and her cell phone. They are inside an accordion file I found hidden under the front seat waiting your inspection.”

He peered into the truck bed. Empty. He checked the undercarriage for tracking devices. Clean. Then he smelled the death magic Dermot’s shadowy servant left behind. It explained a great deal – and it was traceable. “Anything else?”

“A collection of tourist brochures that suggest the girl’s appearance at Fangtasia may have been coincidental, and a small cluster of flowers that emit a tainted aura. I did not touch them, they are on the dashboard.”

He circled the Escalade’s aggressively customized exterior again, ignoring the impenetrably tinted windows and custom black rims to study the rear license plate. South Carolina. This girl traveled too far for her appearance to be a coincidence. Conjuring the keys, he stepped to the driver’s door and opened it.

The delicately feminine aroma of tropical flowers and tangerines drifted off cream leather as he collected the half-dead roses and put them in his pocket then picked up the accordion file. He slipped the elastic closure and skimmed neatly labeled contents ranging from tax map records to seemingly endless printouts of internet searches before retrieving her driver’s license: Laurel Grace, Isle of Palms, twenty-seven years old. The dark pixie like curls and bronze skin tone were both familiar, and his jaw tightened in recognition of thunderstorm grey eyes identical to Dermot’s. Definitely his descendant. Dermot will come after her again.

He closed the door and turned to survey the exclusive fey owned complex sprawled in the background, settling his attentions on the trio of brick and stone luxury apartments nestled against high barbed wire topped fencing and visually impenetrable red tip hedges to his left. Constructed for Lord Niall and Lord Elrond to use when entertaining supernatural business associates or shelter any fey in need of respite, they were currently vacant – and absolutely perfect.

“Take the girl’s purse and place it on the counter in the top apartment of the center building. Leave the lights on and start some music, then park this vehicle out front and be sure to down the windows a bit so her scent can escape,” he instructed.

“Do you intend to bring the injured girl here?” the guardian asked. “Should I also prepare a room?

“No. She will remain under protection in Avallon, but we are going to use her possessions as bait,” the warrior answered, already fading into the shadows.

His third appearance was in the historic Pierremont District - Sheraton Hotel suite 412 where two fey guardians awaited his arrival. “Report,” he demanded.

“Secure, Master,” one of the guardians replied. “No evidence of Dermot or any previous visitors outside of the single female guest. All possessions have been collected and placed on the bed. There is a laptop computer.”

“Take it along with this to headquarters in Los Angeles. I want full reports in thirty minutes.” He handed the accordion file to the guardian and watched him collect the computer and disappear before beginning a methodical study of the belongings neatly displayed on the ruffle edged celadon coverlet.

Cut off jeans and sweatpants mixed with logo t-shirts and tank tops were wholly unsuitable for nightlife or dating, yet a roll of cash indicated Grace had financial means. His brow furrowed as he considered the hotel’s location. The Historic District was far removed from Shreveport’s bustling downtown scene and oriented toward business travelers or affluent shoppers. Either this girl has secret antiques addiction, or this trip had a hidden agenda yet to be discovered.

“Separate her things between the two cases, then deliver the clothing and toiletries to Kalen in Lommírie. All extra items such as these books, shopping bags and spare shoes go to the Shreveport property. The guard knows which apartment to place them in. Once emptied, this room is to be sterilized and all records of her stay erased from the hotel computer system.”

The remaining guardian nodded and set about packing Grace’s suitcases, while the fey warrior stepped through the French doors onto the balcony. Sparing no time to admire the neat cobblestone walks or inviting shopfronts cradling the sweeping river below, he pulled the small cluster of roses from his pocket and held them in an outstretched palm, offering them to the moon’s silver beams. Show me from whence you sprang forth. One blink later he arrived at Stop Four - and the scent of old death threatened to smother him.

Thick tendrils of the antique rose bush responsible for creating the blooms in his hand fingered through waist high grass, pointing to the forsaken remnants of a house foundation, while whispers floating on a warm night air gladly shared their secrets. Within seconds he knew Grace had been there earlier that day. Not only had she lingered and explored, something had stirred a reaction strong enough to make her physically ill – and she had been to this place before – a long time before. Dermot had most certainly been in this place too, and the warrior bristled with indignation. Why is this place unfamiliar to me?

Ignoring the tangles of limbs grabbing his skin, he crouched amidst an overgrown stand of hawthorns to press his palm against the warm soil, calling to the grains of dirt beneath his feet, the roots of trees with centuries of memories to share, the wisdom of the very air he breathed. Nature answered, weaving a sordid tale of two lives lost amidst a treacherous storm of hate and fire. Charred timbers buried under years of overgrowth sang of their torment, yet somewhere deep within the tangled vines and weeds ran an undercurrent of joy. Ashes of a trapdoor murmured of one life saved, and the crumbling remains of the farthest foundation pillar echoed their melody.

A mere thought shifted his position and he pressed his fingers to the blackened bricks, then closed his eyes. Speak to me. As if a dam had been breeched, the pain of a terrified little girl spilled from the stones, washing over him in fierce waves as the tragic odor of burning wood and singed flesh rose from the ground under his feet. Withered branches anxious to be rid of a burden carried too long rustled on a sudden breeze, dead leaves and dancing wisteria blossoms releasing the sounds of evil incantations and wretched laughter in a familiar voice. Dermot was responsible for this . . . he murdered his lover. He killed his own child.

The warrior’s lids lifted to reveal a decades old trail of effervescent magic meandering into the distance, and an owl screeched encouragement for him to follow. Determined strides carried him on a silent trek through what once had been a tidy back yard, past the broken stumps of long dead fruit trees and into the thick forest beyond. Following one small footprint after another, he slipped over rotten tree trunks and skirted overgrown clumps of biting holly, then pushed through a draping swathe of honeysuckle vine to finally reach his destination - the massive base of an oak tree that could not be spanned with the breadth of his outstretched arms.

Such a magnificent specimen could not go so long unscathed by weather and time. A severe lightning strike far in the past had ripped down its eastern side and left a hollow at the base nestled between the thick twines of two roots, and it was there the trail ended. The ghost of past terrors resided within that cramped opening with such strength even a spider dared not enter it again, yet in that dark, rotted pocket of oak wood a frightened child had hidden from the deadly intentions of her own grandfather. And from that pitiful sanctuary someone – or something - had plucked her to safety.

An intensity of fury he rarely felt scorched his soul when he drew his gaze away and glanced back toward the desolate clearing where a happy home once stood. No one will ever need to be saved from Dermot Brigant again. His next breath was of pleasantly cool air as feet previously buried in a thick tangle of briars sank into an antique Persian carpet. Riveting hues of scarlet and navy silk sprawled the floor of his final destination - Stop Five - a glass encased office sitting atop the downtown Los Angeles skyscraper that was center of Lord Niall’s earth based businesses.

Kicking aside a black leather executive chair, he stood behind his gleaming mahogany desk and began snatching up reports. A threatening scowl of dissatisfaction creased his face, and he transported to the ground floor – Center of Operations for Nárthea’s fairy guard. Reeking an authority that could not be hidden by filthy pants or blood streaked flesh, he stalked across the raised promenade spanning the room and a hand picked staff of the most highly trained operatives in eight realms instantly fell silent.

His orders echoed off walls lined with floor to ceiling monitors flashing everything from satellite terrain images to supernatural maps of the Underworld, and guardians went scurrying like ants. “I want records of every accident, death and adoption that took place in Shreveport, Louisiana beginning twenty years ago and going back seven years. The search of this girl’s house in South Carolina is dragging – someone free yourself and go assist, and I am still waiting on an update of the surveillance setup on the Shreveport apartments. The reports on my desk were not complete, but in five minutes they better be in my hand and my team assembled upstairs with every shred of information on that girl and Dermot’s activities I requested . . . and somebody better get me a damn glass of Crown Royal because Niall is giving me a fucking headache!”

~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~
Back in Shreveport, Eric Northman’s head also pounded and he showed no more patience for information than the fey warrior did. “Pam, where the hell is that fax?” he yelled down the hall of Fangtasia, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry over the pounding music.

He made no attempt to shield the IPhone pressed to his ear and the involuntary recipient on the other end protested. “Eric, must you act as if you are still on a battlefield?” Godric griped. “I may be twice your age, but my hearing is quite proficient. If the bar is too loud, might you go to your car so we can speak civilly?”

“My apologies, but a battlefield is exactly what I feel like I’m on tonight,” Eric growled back. He crossed the room to slam his office door, then resumed pacing the perimeter in agitation. “Please continue.”

“Well obviously all those blows to the head affected your memory or you’re more shaken by tonight’s events than you’re admitting if you forgot who Dermot is,” Godric chided. “Sookie is descended from Niall Brigant’s son Fintan – correct? Well, Dermot is his younger twin brother.”

“Fuck me! How in hell could I have forgotten that?” Eric exclaimed, resisting a sudden urge to put his fist through the wall. He did not appreciate making an ass of himself under any circumstances, and certainly not to his maker!”

“I realize you don’t want Felipe de Castro aware of tonight’s events, but this sounds serious enough that you need to reconsider. Your King is well aware of your relationship with Sookie, and Felipe has even extended his personal protection to her. Now you know I’ll gladly assist in any way possible, but my territory along the coast of Texas is just not close enough for me to provide the help you may need before this ends. What have you done about the tribunal Niall demands?”

“I didn’t call to beg for help. I called to pick that genius memory of yours, and of course you didn’t disappoint.” Eric answered. “As for the tribunal, I’ve already put a call into Judge Malachi Villalobos. He’ll be here tomorrow night, so I’m going to give myself a few more hours to figure out who this girl is and what I’m in the middle of, then Logan and I are going hunting. I’ve got to find Caleb’s maker and hand him over, even though I know Caleb wasn’t responsible for what happened earlier. I swear Godric, I’ve never felt anything like that. I would’ve torn that girl to shreds if they hadn’t stopped me.”

“Then you best take the fey warrior’s advice and stay clear for a time. From the information you’ve relayed to me, it certainly sounds as if the fey are capable of keeping Sookie safe.”

“Oh bullshit! Since when am I not capable of keeping Sookie safe?” Eric raged. “Fuck the fey and their damn secrets! If Niall would just come clean then maybe I could help him. As it is, I’m starting to think there’s some kind of fey revolt going on and Sookie’s in the middle of it. I don’t know if I need to warn my crew and put everybody on alert, or if I’m going to walk out to my car later and have some damn fairy standing there waiting to put a frigging hex on me. And don’t even get me started on this elf crap - that damn warrior sheared Caleb’s head off with a move that would’ve made you proud.”

A deep sigh came across the line. “I haven’t heard of living elves outside of mythological fables, but I do remember rumors circling some twenty years or more ago about discontent among the fey. The story at the time was that a group splintered and was exiled after turning kinslayer. Now if that was true and they’ve come back, you might very well have an interspecies war brewing in Louisiana. What about the injured girl? Any news on where she came from? That should help tell you what’s going on.”

Eric snorted. “I’m waiting on Pam. She’s been on the phone with the head Sheriff of South Carolina promising sexual favors that could script a porn flick trying to get him to fax her some information. We met at the last conference and he was real taken with her, so let’s hope she comes through. For now all I know is the injured girl is Niall’s great-grandchild and it seems his son was involved in trying to kill her . . . and added to what you just told me, that equals a shit load of trouble for all of us.”

“Hmmph. Well my friend, I wish I could offer assistance, but my contacts are primarily to the west since that’s where my business interests lie. If there was time to travel, I’d come stand with you for the tribunal tomorrow night but it is simply not possible, but I hope you’re not in for a fight or worse. I have people available should you need them, so do keep me abreast.”

“Take care, Godric,” Eric answered, clicking the phone off. He glanced at the clock and made a mental note to call Sookie and break their date for tomorrow night, then had begun to yell for Pam again when Logan opened the door.

“Anything?”

“I’m giving Pam until 2:00am to squeeze something out of Sebastian Ruthven, then we’ve got to go. You got information on Caleb’s maker yet?”

“Isaac Bargen, a loner and known trouble maker whose been squatting in your territory for about six months since being helped out of Arkansas by his former nestmates. Tonight he’s holed up at a dive off I-20 near Bodcau, and I’ve already made some calls. If he tries to go anywhere, they’ll let me know.”

Eric grunted, positive Isaac would be going alright – to a dramatic fey inspired death come tomorrow night. “Pam! Pam!” he yelled again.

The blonde vampire streaked in, hands on hips and face blazing. She waved her cell phone at him threateningly. “Stop rushing me, Eric, or I swear I’ll make you do this yourself. If you think I’m going to let that skulking redneck pervert do a fraction of the things he’s said to me just to get some paper faxed you’ve got another thing coming! Sheriff or not, this is ridiculous!”

“God you’re sexy when you’re pissed,” Logan oozed.

He draped himself against the bookcase like a master’s painting on display, and Pam launched into a rant of multi-lingual curses all pointed in his direction. Eric came from behind his desk and guided her out the door. “Logan and I have to go take care of some things. Just be sure to have something for me when we get back,” he told her. Eric smirked when she flipped him off, and gestured to Logan. “Come on. No use wasting time sitting here. We’ll get this Isaac secured at the warehouse and see what Pam finds when we get back.”

Logan nodded and the two vampires headed back to his Escalade thinking they were beginning to get this strange night somewhat under control, but little did they know the most unexpected news imaginable would be waiting for them when they returned.
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

In Bon Temps, Sookie Stackhouse fought dark dreams in her sleep, stubbornly clinging to a pillow as she threw off a worn cotton quilt in a useless attempt to rid herself of the invisible connection haunting her. She had no way to know the mental connection forged earlier tonight with a cousin she had never met was responsible for the gnawing discomfort in her limbs or the fear she could almost taste on her tongue. In response to some intangible need, Sookie huddled against the cool wood of her grandmother’s old headboard, hoping it would soothe her sweaty skin – unknowingly mirroring the position of Grace as she lay tucked tight against the delicate etchings of an enormous four-poster bed in the elven sanctuary of Lommírie.

Prisoner to an elven sleep spell, Grace was oblivious to the emotions she was mirroring back to her cousin in Louisiana, just as she was unaware of the frenetic search being carried out for information into her background. Like Sookie, she lay curled in a ball clutching a pillow to her chest - one of many she had amassed during hours of sleep. For so long Grace had been denied her inherited fey talent of telekinesis, yet like a rambunctious puppy anxious to please its owner, the newly restored ability responded to her every subconscious desire.

Under the watchful gaze of two powerful fey lords and two fierce guards, the invisible fingers of Grace’s mind had played fetch, dutifully gathering every fluffy pillow within reach. Elrond even joined in, sipping wine from his comfortable chair while using his matching ability to effortlessly open the room’s armoires and feed Grace’s need. One pillow at a time, she had methodically recreated the protective cocoon of a hollowed out oak tree where she sought refuge decades before. She now lay hidden deep in a pile of feathers and linen like a baby bird hiding behind a leaf from the wind – but it was time for her to wake regardless of the discomforts it would bring.

Grace come to me child. Open your eyes and know that you are safe again.

Niall slipped into Grace’s mind soft as an afternoon breeze, yet his words echoed like crashing cymbals, making her ears ring and head pound as they freed the magical chains that bound her. She fought the intrusion by burrowing deeper into the pillows. The dark current she drifted on felt safe, and after years of unanswered prayers her soul felt blissfully whole again. Grace did not want the feeling to end. “No,” she grumbled through swollen lips.

“Grace, you must wake up now,” Niall said aloud, prodding her toward consciousness.

He began pulling away pillows and tossing them to the floor. She tried to roll away from him and groaned. “Hurt.”

“We are going to give you something to make you feel better which is why you must open your eyes, Grace,” Niall encouraged. “You may go back to sleep in a moment.”

Niall gently squeezed her arm, but the simple touch threw Grace back to the reality she was facing when consciousness left her - back to the agonizing nightmare of a vampire who would not stop. Instant panic jerked her eyes open as Grace snatched her arm away. “Stop! Stop!” she choked out, kicking the blankets as she tried to squirm away.

Fear combined with the bandages restraining her movements left Grace feeling like prey trapped in the coils of a constrictor, and she began to fight. She gagged and hissed out garbled curses while trying to strike out with the little strength her damaged body could manage, but when Kalen and Haldir stepped forward to assist, Niall waved them away. Careful of her injuries, he gently contained her struggles, all while speaking to Grace in entrancing tones. “Hush, child. Be calm. It is over now and you are in a safe place,” Niall told her. “That creature will never touch you again, now feel my presence. Let me comfort you.”

Through the lightest brush of his fingertips, Niall touched her aura, and Grace went limp as an electrifying tingle of comfort and love rushed through her body, sliding so deep it seemed to soothe the very marrow of her bones. “Shhhh, that is right Grace, you are safe,” he tenderly promised while holding her close. “Now do not fight me. I am only going to help you sit up.”

Strong arms pulled her upright in the bed, and waves of nausea and dizziness swirled, causing Grace to grab the sheets as the world cartwheeled around her. Her battered chest heaved for air and warm tears flooded her cheeks as she fought not to pass out, but with each reassuring stroke of his hand, the spinning slowed.

“Take your time, child,” Niall soothed. “This will pass.”

His voice was like a peaceful symphony singing to her soul - and her body listened. It took time, but the pounding of her heart slowed, the pressure in her head eased and finally the pain settled into a manageable ache. Shaken and frightened, Grace opened her eyes, blinking against the rainbow of spots that blurred her vision. Where am I? Hospital? No. She had been in one enough with her adopted father over the past year to know this place was different. There was none of that acrid antiseptic smell hospitals reeked of, no annoying beeps or whines, and the owner of that lovely voice was not poking at her – but Grace remembered enough to know she had already been poked plenty.

Her body felt violated in a primal way, and she let out a choked whimper when her wandering fingers found one pair of damning welts after another. The sick feeling in her belly grew as her hand climbed higher, finally settling on the mass of bandages grouped over the left side of her neck. She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like she’d eaten used cat litter and the hard lump in her throat refused to budge. Grace did not know how to decipher why this was done to her . . . or who was truly responsible.

“Who? Where?” she murmured.

“Shhhhh . . . somewhere safe with people who care for you, Grace,” the voice answered. “Here, drink this. Miruvor will help steady your thoughts.”

The thick rim of a goblet was carefully eased to lips obviously swollen far out of proportion, and a warm, fragrant liquid that smelled of gardenias and amber poured into her mouth. A good bit dribbled down her chin, but Grace’s damaged throat greedily swallowed as her tongue delighted in the exotic fruity taste. With each messy sip, the pain eased and her vision sharpened, and when the glass was taken away she felt much stronger.

A cloth was dabbed to her face with the care of one handling priceless glassware, and Grace looked up to meet her Samaritan – only to find Prince Charming reincarnate. Sea green eyes the exact color of a Caribbean Lagoon under the summer sun watched her, the corners crinkling with the smile he offered like a burst of laughter. Warmth and safety radiated from his very being, an ethereal light framing features flawless as that of a Greek God while turning shoulder length hair to a halo of liquid gold.

“Hello, Grace,” said the comforting voice of her dreams.

Grace blinked several times and watched sparkling lights flicker all around him. She wondered if she was dead. “Angel?” she murmured questioningly.

His charismatic smile widened, eyes twinkling with humor. “My name is Niall Brigant and I am your great-grandfather, Grace - and I am not an angel. I am a fairy.”

Fairy?

The word hit Grace like she had been thrown in ice water naked, the treasured missing piece to her life’s puzzle she had looked for so very long – and a piece of information she was not keen on accepting at the moment. Head pounding like a concrete slab under attack by jackhammers, her eyes ran over the unmistakable point at the top of one ear, then slid across his face to consider the other . . . then they bored down an immaculate black suit complete with a perfectly starched white shirt and matching black tie.

Grace began to shake uncontrollably. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, hoping for something different. A creature so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him still sat there, with an empathetic expression on his face and two very pointed ears. Why would a fairy dress like a funeral home director? OhMyGod . . . because he’s the devil come to claim me. Because he’s another vampire and he’s about to kill me. Because he’s the man from my dreams and he’s here to finish me off . . . OhMyGod because . . . because . . . because he’s not real.

Convinced she was delirious and imagining things,, Grace looked around the room - then immediately wished she hadn’t. Even in the dim light she could recognize a beauty that was surreal, and there was far more than just the one unearthly attractive man sitting on the bed with her. There was a whole collection of them - tall, muscular creatures standing around the room like an exotic display of romance novel covers with each one looking more attractive and intimidating than the next - one with silver hair, one with glowing white braids, and even one with a raven mane to his waist wearing a crown.

Wait a minute . . . A crown? Oh no. No freaking way. I’m in a hospital, and this is just another one of a thousand sick nightmares . . . I just lucked up this time and the boogeyman sent substitutes. I got a Halloween costume party combined with an Herbal Essence commercial. Definitely not real.

Grace’s eyes narrowed accusingly and Niall’s brow arched in surprise. “Laurel Grace, you are most certainly not delusional or passed on,” he corrected gently. “As I told you before, my name is Niall Brigant and I am indeed your great-grandfather – a fairy as real as the elixir you just drank. King of the Fey in fact.”

A faint sarcastic snort snuck out with her next breath. King Fairy huh? Sorry to break the news dear, but the dark haired dude over there’s got the crown and fairies have wings, wands and glittery little green costumes. Tinkerbell is a fairy. You are a phantom, and this is a dream. Not real, not real, not real.

“I believe the elixir might be responsible for this,” Elrond noted with wry amusement. “Although her thoughts are absolutely adorable . . . Perhaps you should try green next time instead of the black. The leprechauns would love it.”

Niall passed an admonishing glance over his shoulder. He had all ideas his brother was entertaining devious images of him stuffed in a green tutu – right along with Haldir and Kalen. It could take centuries to live this down. “Well, it would be better than those bed sheets you insist on wearing . . . but you are correct. She is adorable.”

He turned his attentions back to Grace, and captured her hands in his own to offer a reassuring squeeze. “I fear the drink I gave you before had affected you more than expected, but no worries. The effects will wear off in just a moment, so for now, let us share secrets shall we? That dark haired man is my brother, and I promise I not only have a crown bigger than his, I have a real wand as well, so perhaps you would like to see a magic trick – yes?”

Grace eyed him warily as he twisted the soiled cloth he used to wipe her mouth in his hands then spread it over his lap. The damp stains sprang to life, shifting and swirling, then a cloud of tiny fluorescent butterflies burst from the fabric, filling the air with a fluttering burst of brilliant coral – her favorite color. The poignant display was easily enough to snap Grace out of her temporary emotional respite from reality, and she gasped, staring at Lord Niall as if he were a bomb whose display was counting down its final seconds. He chuckled and passed her a mischevious wink.

“I know this is difficult for you, Laurel Grace, and I will do nothing to force you, but your injuries need tending so would you please talk to me? Tell me how you are feeling? Surely you wish to feel better, and perhaps later you can have a bit more of the drink I gave you before? But only a small amount this time.” He opened his arms in invitation. “Touch me, Laurel Grace. You are blood of my blood and no harm will ever come to you by my hand, so please satisfy yourself, for I would very much like for us to be friends.”

Friend? Something instinctive clicked in the back of her mind and Grace began to study the mesmerizing creature by her side with a ravenous intensity. There was a luring déjà vu in that bottomless gaze, and his smile radiated a familiarity that made her want to curl up next to him like a languid cat and bask in his presence. She looked at the tiny butterflies lingering on the coverlet . . . and she remembered.

The curiosity of a child glowed in her face when Grace reached for him, and Niall went still as stone as her bruised fingers trailed down his arm. “You used to watch me while I played . . . you made the butterflies dance for me.” Her voice broke. “I thought you died with Mother and Nana.”

A single tear of joy threaded down Niall’s silken cheek when Grace slid her hand into his own, yet it could not drown the pinpricks of joyful starlight dancing in his eyes. The trusting touch of his great-grandchild was everything the fairy had silently wished for during long years of watching Grace from the shadows, and now she was right there in front of him. Grace was alive and they were together. It was the perfect moment Niall Brigant had been positive he would never experience – then the materialization of another fey ruined it all.

Every head in the room snapped to look at the newcomer, and Grace wondered if her eyes would fall right out on the floor. For all the years she had spent wondering about the unseen boogeyman in her dreams, Grace was certain her wondering was over – because he just showed up.

“Why in hell have you never told me about that girl?” he growled.

The pissed off snarl came from a leather draped wall of muscle with eyes red as a demon, and when he pointed at the bed, Grace felt as if the displeased finger of God had just been cast in her direction. Panic rose with every room-owning stride that brought him closer, and when Niall rose to his feet, Grace scrambled in the opposite direction. Caring about nothing but getting away, she dug her heels into the downy softness of the mattress, but she pushed one time too many and went right off the edge. Haldir leapt from the corner to catch her, but Grace plopped to the floor with a strangled groan and a soft thud.

Sparring voices filled the room like a swarm of angry bees, and Grace crammed herself into the crack between the bed and table in a desperate attempt to hide. Her eyes were wild with fear when Haldir crouched in front of her. “No . . . no, please don’t hurt me,” she begged.

“Pinilyaer, saes, please do not fear me. No one here will harm you. Now please, allow me to help you back into the bed.”

Haldir reached for her, but Grace squealed and jerked away. “No, no!”

Pain seared her battered body and nausea reared its ugly head as Grace fought to hide. Positive she was either going to puke or pass out, she grabbed hold of the table leg to steady herself. Blue flames flew when her hand touched the wood and it exploded, sending screeching pixies into the air as the table careened forward. Its rounded corner smacked Haldir right between the eyes and the heavy stone vase it supported slid off to crown him over the head, sending a pile of pillows to their demise beneath two hundred twenty pounds of well-toned warrior ass as he fell backwards.

Coated in freezing water and fluffy yellow peaceblooms, he sat on a cloud of feathers, fuming and checking for blood. “Valar be merciful, what is wrong with you, human?” he exclaimed, glaring at the curious pixie who darted down to take a look.

It plucked limp leaves from his cheeks with tiny viridian fingers, and Grace stared in shock – but not at the man – at the naked green butt cheeks of the flying thing in his face. Iridescent wings hummed when another one flitted in her direction, violet eyes shimmering as bright red lips offered a big smile and cheerful chirp. It looked like a bloated bullfrog wearing lipstick, and Grace shuddered when it executed a graceful pirouette then swooped closer. Furious voices echoed off the ceiling as the argument on the opposite side of the room escalated and her eyes snapped shut, her overloaded mind praying for a swift return to the peaceful darkness she was stolen from. Grace needed all of this to stop – to go away – and she wanted it to start with the alien little creature and strange, silver-haired man in her face.

Her chin trembled, her mind boiled and a fierce gust of wind answered, scattering feathers like a snowstorm as the pixie hurled backwards. Its leathery skin impacted with the creature hovering behind it and they pounded into Haldir like a pair of boxing gloves. All that was missing was the bell as the unsuspecting elf received a one – two punch to the face, throwing him backwards with a nose full of giggling pixie belly.

Long, silky hair the color of moonlight slopped into a sad mix of wet feathers and flattened flowers when Haldir’s head smacked onto the unforgiving wood floor, and the pixies burst into tinkling laughter, delighted with this new game. One latched hold of a pointed ear for a quick nibble, while the other planted a sticky webbed foot on each of Haldir’s cheekbones, showering him in rainbows of sparkling pixie dust while performing an impromptu hip gyrating hula dance. “Woooooooo Hooooooooo,” they sang.

Haldir reciprocated with an outpouring of elven profanity that would make the Gods blush. “Den rhacho ni nuath! Curse you pestilent little varmints!” he spat.

Obscenities rolled as a half dozen more cheerful pranksters joined in, an entire flock jubilantly dive-bombing the disheveled elf while easily evading his attempts to squash them. The exuberant chirps and squeals forced everyone’s attention to the mêlée taking place on the opposite side of the room, and arguments were forgotten as the others rushed to help. Under typical circumstances, the conglomerate mess of sticky hair, shreds of yellow flowers and glowing grey feathers now covering the Master Warden of Avallon would have been hysterical, but when Haldir leapt from the floor like Rudolph with an attitude, slinging blood from a bright red nose while glowering at Grace like he intended to kill her, they knew this was anything but.

“You best wipe that glare off your face right along with the mess,” Niall snapped, passing warning looks from one warrior to the other. “And both of you should be ashamed! I dare you to frighten Grace further. As it is, I am certain she perceives us all as mannerless scods!”

Manners aside, it would have been difficult for any of the five supernatural creatures to frighten Grace more than she already was. Positive her demise was imminent, Grace now clutched a piece of the broken table as a weapon while debating how to stuff herself beneath the bed. The soft blue glow of a juvenile elemental fey had flushed her skin and her eyes were completely iced over, soft grey bleeding to an ominous silvery white - but it was the brilliant “X” glowing on her forehead and the red stains beginning to dampen her bandages that were most alarming.

A shadow of concern descended over Niall’s face as he murmured soothing words of comfort and slowly approached, but it was obvious the fragile trust Grace placed in him moments before was lost. As he stepped closer, the bed began to rattle against the floor, and when he had drawn within several feet, she covered her eyes and began to recite the faltering words of a spell. She was cursing him – not for the bastard or worse he had been called countless times before – Grace was actually cursing them all in a desperate attempt to protect herself from them.

“Ani ettulta, Ani nesta, Ani lehta.”

Her choked words were little more than barely audible squeaks carried across the room on waves of fear, but every panicked syllable was enough to make Niall’s breath hitch. The fairy lord exchanged a pointed look with Elrond, wondering how best to fix this, but assistance was already being delivered. When Grace’s voice faltered as she recited the protective blessing again, a masculine voice invaded her mind, telling Grace she was not alone. “Ani ettulta, Ani nesta, Ani lehta . . . shield me from them, heal my soul and protect me always in this home.”

The words called to Grace like a flower beckoned to the sun – words she had only heard while safely nestled in her grandmother’s lap – and her eyes cracked open. A surreal mix of fiery blond hair and bewitching facial features crouched before her, emerald eyes too beautiful to be real studying her with an intensity that almost seemed cruel, yet the expression was kind. “I apologize for frightening you,” he said sincerely. “My anger is not for you, but for the one I was not able to protect you against, so saes, please do not fear me. Ni meren an ngovaded vîn. I am Amarande Nuada, Guardian and protector of the Fey. Now no one in this room intends to harm you, so please, allow me to assist you.”

His tone clearly said he expected to be obeyed, and when he extended his hand Grace’s stomach somersaulted. She looked from the weapon’s handles protruding over each broad shoulder to what appeared to be a small butcher knife dangling at his side. Fear me not? The man looked like an angel of death who would cut her heart out and eat it for breakfast, and in comparison, the scary silver-haired one looked like a Sunday School teacher. Damn right she feared him, and she wasn’t sure what kind of assistance he intended to provide either – helping her, or finishing her off.

Her petrified body remained locked in position and with every second that ticked past, Nuada’s jaw tightened. Grace watched his gaze snap from injury to injury and scar to scar in a microscopic visual inspection she was all too familiar with – because it was one she suffered through every single time she went somewhere. Typically, it made her want to scream and claw the person’s eyes out, but Nuada’s gaze did not hold that morbid curiosity or obvious disgust she was used to. His expression held a tender understanding that was clearly genuine - and when his voice slipped into her mind again, it was like a sanded velvet caress.

Never again are you to cower in a hole and hide – not in the hollow of a tree and not in the crook of a bedpost. You are safe now . . . you are safe, and you will never hide from anyone again.

Grace shivered from the unfamiliar mental intrusion and clutched a hand over her wildly beating heart. She nervously chewed her swollen lip, then her eyes came up to lock on him like that of a starved beast. Prove it . . . make me believe you, they both demanded and begged.

Taking full advantage of her focus, Nuada very slowly blinked. As the thick fringe of honey lashes brushed his porcelain skin, the air stirred softly and his armaments disappeared, then he very deliberately clasped his hands together, showing he did not intend to grab her. “My weapons frighten you, but they are used only to protect and you may rest well knowing that no creature will ever bring harm such as this to you again.” His gaze settled on her forehead. “Someone loved you very much and tried very hard to protect you, Erulissë. Will you trust me to protect you now?”

“Please Grace, do not be frightened of us. Let us help you,” Niall added.

The Fairy Lord now stood directly behind Nuada, lines of strain marring his face. He was waiting expectantly for her to answer and when Grace looked around, she found the others listening as well, all with kind expressions on their faces – even the silver haired one. Grace turned back to Nuada. The idea of placing blanket trust in any creature after the horrid circumstances she had endured during her lifetime was a monumental undertaking – yet Grace found herself desperately wanting to do it. For some inexplicable reason she found his presence strangely soothing, as if Nuada somehow recognized her damaged soul yet did not judge her for it - and deep down, Grace knew she could trust him.

Never had five fingers and one palm been more intimidating, but when Nuada extended his hand to her again, Grace dropped the shattered table leg and after some final hesitation took it. The moment their fingers met, the almost erotic heat of his aura poured through her body. She gasped as every muscle melted to a puddle, her body trapped in some unbelievable feeling that skirted orgasmic pleasure and shot straight to physical epiphany. The blue glow on her skin extinguished like a snuffed candle, the ice in her eyes shattered, and Grace folded like a deck of cards.

It was an intentional mental and physical domination delivered to perfection, so Nuada expected her reaction – but when he swept Grace into his arms, he was not prepared for his own. With each sobbed breath she took, images of that tree hollow flashed through his mind, and with every hot tear that dribbled down his neck Nuada felt the demons of her dreams claw at his soul. It was like being trapped in the jaws of a Nether Dragon, yet instead of making him want to walk away, the most ferocious need to protect Amarande Nuada had ever experienced stirred deep in his soul – so Nuada cradled Grace to his chest and did that very thing. He protected her.

Determined to stop Grace’s emotional torment, Nuada merged with her mind – and was not the least bit surprised to find the welcome wagon waiting. Like they were being delivered through a garden hose, twenty-two years of nightmares streamed into his subconscious, and Nuada responded by systematically stomping their ass. With merciless precision, invisible mental fingers far more powerful than the arms holding her body sprang to Grace’s defense, tongues of hellfire swallowing one haunted memory after another to shove them back to the fathomless void of misery they crawled out of.

Grace’s mind was a chiliad of bad dreams lighter when Nuada carefully settled her back into bed - and the guardian intended for it to stay that way - because while Laurel Grace did not realize it, the boogeyman just got his butt handed to him, and Nuada did not intend to see him crawl back out the closet anytime soon.

Remember, you are safe, Erulissë. Let them help you now.

Grace managed to nod, but everyone could plainly see the enormity and strangeness of her situation had taken its toll. She was still trembling and the occasional tear spilled onto the coverlet, yet she did not protest or argue when Niall and Elrond came to the bed. Instead her deeply rooted southern manners managed to find their footing, and to their astonishment, she offered them all an apology. “Sorry for the mess,” Grace sniffled in her thick drawl.

“Dearest child, it is us who should be apologizing for frightening you,” Niall answered kindly as he dried her tears.

The fairy lord exchanged a knowing look with Elrond, and with a mere flick of the elven ruler’s fingers, the room was restored: feathers disappeared, pixies exited through the open window, and a new table complete with fresh flowers was again by the bed. “Now, we must see that you are restored as well,” Elrond said as he approached the bed. He placed a hand over his heart and inclined his head to her slightly. “Mae tollen, Laurel Grace. Welcome to Lommírie! I am Lord Elrond, and it is my honor to have you as a guest in my home.”

Grace stared wide-eyed at the crown on Elrond’s head when he sat down beside her, and after a reassuring pat to her arm, Nuada stepped away so the elven healer could tend Grace’s injuries. His eyes were glued to her form when he posted himself at the foot of it, and vermillion bled across his pupils as each bloody bandage was peeled away. The swollen blue and purple face staring at him did not resemble the delicate creature he memorized from Grace’s license, and those tear-filled eyes dared him not to watch as a crystalline drop slid off the side of her chin and plopped into the gaping tears on her neck. Nuada’s need for vengeance burned hotter and spread with each bruise and bite mark he tallied. His nostrils flared, his jaw locked, then his face went ominously blank. That vampire tribunal was going to be a very brutal event . . . and when he found Dermot, the traitor’s death would be a slow and intentionally cruel one.

By the time Niall and Elrond headed for the courtyard table, Grace had received another – albeit much smaller – glass of miruvor to ease her pain and was tucked in bed snug as a bug in a rug. Her weary eyes fought to say open when Nuada slipped to sit beside her. “There are things I must attend to, Erulissë, but Kalen and Haldir will remain with you so rest now . . . sleep and know that you are safe.”

Grace blinked at him lazily. She felt far too poorly to care who stayed in the room with her at the moment, yet she could not help but note the battle raging in his eyes as Nuada slid them over her with meticulous scrutiny one last time. Somehow Grace knew the primal ferocity was not directed at her – and she was very thankful.

“Oltho vae, sleep now Erulissë . . . sleep and heal. There will be no nightmares, only rainbows and butterflies.”

Lethargy swept through her when Nuada continued murmuring a strange language under his breath and brushed his fingers over her forehead. Grace didn’t know what he was doing, but she could feel her mind and body going limp, her eyes closing of their own accord - yet as she succumbed to the welcome darkness of oblivion, a decadently wicked thought cobwebbed through her mind. Nuada had been cataloging her injuries so he could reinvent them – when he sought revenge on her behalf.

Nuada stayed with Grace a moment longer, then he exited the room. The guardian stalked across the terrace of Lommírie as if there was a burr imbedded in his backside, crimson eyes burning with the flames of discontent. The brothers seated at the courtyard table knew to prepare themselves for a verbal onslaught and Nuada did not disappoint.

“There are mistakes in judgment, then there are travesties of intelligence,” he snarled at Niall, “and I have seen ignorance and deception this night the likes of which I have not encountered in centuries!”

Niall’s perfect lips hovered just above the edge of a wine goblet. His gaze shifted from Nuada to Elrond and back again. He replaced the crystal glass on the table. “If you believe I am not suffering enough distress for this night’s events, then please, do not hesitate to add to it,” he answered in a careful monotone. “Explain to me why you have just come parading across this courtyard like a peacock whose tail feathers have been plucked by the brownies.”

Nuada slammed his fists on the table and glared at Niall. He had many differences with that fairy lord, but as the leader of the Fey Guard, he demanded that creature’s trust and honesty. He did not feel he had gotten either. “There is so much to choose from, I hardly know where to begin. Shall we discuss Dermot’s attack on Grace tonight or shall we start with the much more interesting fact that he first attacked her two decades ago when he murdered both her grandmother and his own daughter?”

Now it was Elrond passing a careful look from Nuada to his brother and back again as his goblet found its way to the tabletop as well. It seemed this night’s surprises might not yet be exhausted – and they certainly were not.

“Fintan took responsibility for guarding his human descendants, and I felt Dermot would do the same,” Niall reluctantly responded. “I had no reason to involve you at the time.”

“Just like you saw no reason to involve me afterward when you went behind my back and had one of your assistants purchase a piece of deserted acreage in Louisiana for you? How dare you disrespect me in such fashion, and to protect Dermot no less! If you had trusted me, I would have researched the property and you would not have been doomed to wait two decades to discover your great-granddaughter survived! Or to know who you have to thank for it.”

Niall went paler than virginal snow. “What have you discovered?”

“You dislike Eric Northman, do you not?” Nuada countered. “Have I not heard with my own ears how much you despise that he holds favor with Sookie, yet when I met him earlier tonight he was ready to fight me to the death to protect her. Is there a particular reason outside of his teeth you view him with such disregard?”

“What does my opinion of Eric Northman have to do with Grace?” Niall snapped, tired of this game Nuada was playing. He was never one for suspense, particularly where family matters were concerned, and quite frankly neither was Elrond. The elf lord knew Niall had never held back with his flowery opinions of the vampire sheriff during their conversations, but at the moment, it seemed to be a pointless discussion.

“If you intend to protest being involved in the tribunal Niall has requested, then simply say so,” Elrond said. “I have already ordered Glorfindel to return from holiday. The elves will handle this matter if you prefer and you can recluse yourself entirely.”

“I will recluse myself from nothing!” Nuada growled. “I will be at the tribunal and I will return the damage inflicted on Erulissë a hundred fold, but it will most certainly not be on Eric Northman . . . because if not for that particular vampire, Erulissë would be dead . . . which is why I would strongly suggest the next time you see him, you fall to your knees and thank him.”

The lazy chirp of crickets ceased as both Elrond and Niall snapped their heads toward Nuada. If the guardian had ever desired to have their undivided attention, he certainly did at that moment – and Nuada bled it for all it was worth, by remaining tauntingly silent. He knew Niall was suffering, but the fairy lord certainly deserved a few more moments of temporary misery for hiding all of these things from him.

“Explain,” Niall demanded.

The guardian snapped his fingers and flung a handful of papers across the table, his expression daring the fairy lord to read them. “Look for yourself.”

Niall stared at the papers as if they were a viper ready to strike, and his face creased into a terrible frown as he looked back at Nuada. “This is ridiculous! I am not some servant to have papers thrown at me, and I do not believe Eric Northman to have any involvement with Grace. There must be some mistake!”

“I do not make mistakes,” Nuada hissed, “but when trusted to do my job, I do make very intriguing discoveries . . . like finding a copy of the check Eric Northman wrote to the couple who raised Erulissë hidden in the safe one of my men pilfered about an hour ago in the bedroom of a South Carolina beach house. A payoff no doubt for taking her in.”

Lord Niall nearly fell from his chair when Nuada rolled out that tidbit of information, and his hands were shaking as he collected the papers from the tabletop. The idea of being indebted to Eric Northman for anything was enough to make him blanch, and he struggled to make sense of what the papers contained . . . and he was not the only one.

Sitting in his office at Fangtasia, Eric Northman was also struggling to make sense of things as he read the papers in his hand for the tenth time, refusing to believe what he saw. He laid them down, then picked them up again, convinced that the information would change if he repeated the action enough times. It never did.

“I don’t believe this shit,” he murmured, not acknowledging the curious stares Logan and Pam were passing him across that desk. There were very few things that shocked Eric Northman, but since the fairies and elves showed up earlier that night, it was becoming commonplace.

“May I?” Logan asked politely, accepting the papers Eric handed across the desk to him. He read them carefully, blinking his amber eyes oddly before reading them again, and yet again. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that,” he finally noted in a strained voice.

“Well somebody tell me what we weren’t expecting, because I’m the one who sold my body parts to get those,” Pam demanded from the window ledge. She was reclined in the wide shelf-like area as was her custom, taking a much needed break after hours of sexual negotiations with Sebastian Ruthven. The papers the two men were ogling contained the information he finally faxed on the girl who was attacked earlier, and Pam had not been able to make much sense of it.

There was a pregnant pause during which Logan remained silent and Eric’s jaw twitched. Neither man answered. The night both vampires were now thinking of was one of the more interesting outings they had ever shared together. “Pam, give us a minute,” Eric finally answered, watching her quickly leave the room and close the door behind her. While she was one of his most trusted confidants, there were many things Pam did not know, nor did she need to know - this was one of those things.

“I would never have believed it, but it seems things have come full circle,” Eric offered simply, tapping his fingers on the desk. “You see the parents last name? The age? It’s got to be the same girl.”

The papers landed back on the desk, then Logan sat back and stared at them for a minute - like he was expecting them to jump up and grab him. “Yeah, a girl who just happens to be Niall Brigant’s great-granddaughter! Jesus Christ, Eric, he’s asked for a tribunal. What if he knows? It won’t be Isaac’s head rolling tomorrow night – it’ll be ours!”

“The fuck it will be!” Eric snarled. “What happened that night will never change, and if Niall Brigant knows so what? We didn’t know who that kid was, and if we hadn’t pulled her out of that damn tree hole, she’d be dead right now so Niall better not come rolling up in here all pissed off because of what we did. If he wants to say anything, it better be a polite thanks or nothing at all.”

Logan’s eyes were shadowed as he looked at Eric, soft amber darkening to a deep ochre as emotion threatened to overtake him. His heart might not beat any longer, but he still possessed one, and the very thought of the blood covered human child they had rescued so very long ago would haunt him until the end of his days. That had indeed been one of the most unusual nights he could recall, and he had never imagined his eyes would rest on that human girl again – yet they would – and in a much shorter time that he imagined. “I don’t regret what we did,” Logan said firmly, “and I’d do it again, because it was the right thing to do. You’re right. If that damn fairy lord doesn’t like it, he can bite my ass.”

Eric looked at his friend and smiled slightly, but his eyes were firm, cold and emotionless. They were the eyes of a vampire who had seen too much killing and too little peace in his lifetime, and they were the eyes of a creature who for one night had allowed himself the luxury of feeling human again. That one night, Eric Northman had allowed himself to value life instead of death, and no - he did not regret it.

“You’re absolutely right, Logan. We did do the right thing, and if Niall finds out and gets a hard on over it, he can go fuck himself. We could’ve shared that kid with some crackers, but we didn’t, ‘cause no child deserved to witness that. I hope she’s had a good life and I hope like hell she isn’t too screwed up after what Caleb’s stupid ass did. I don’t know if she came to visit or if she’s come back to live in Shreveport, but so long as she’s in my territory, she won’t ever be hurt again and that’s a fucking promise. Now I’m going out back for a few – let me know if you need anything.”

Without giving Logan a chance to answer, Eric left the office to go stand in a patch of blood-stained gravel and gulp in the humid night air. The vampire did not need to breathe, but in that instant, he somehow felt that he needed to. He needed to remember what it was like to be alive, to remember the children he sired before he was turned, to remember their laughter and their smiles, and to know that he had offered them some penance for not being there to help them grow up by saving another child in their honor.

Closing his eyes, Eric stopped fighting against the memories that were determined to come, allowing them to wash over him just as the heated drops falling from the sky began to dampen his shirt . . . just as the heated drops falling from the sky that night had tried to drown him . . .

Eric had only been the ruling sheriff of Area 5 for a few months when the incident occurred. He had been brought in because there was a coven of rogue vampires terrorizing the locals, and the queen wanted it to stop. There was no harm in feeding from humans, or even killing one, but choices should be made with caution: take a homeless person, a drifter, a vagrant – but these vampires were attacking families in their homes. It was not acceptable, and it had been Eric’s job to stop it before the vampires got discovered and all hell broke loose in Louisiana.

That particular evening, Logan had been with Eric tracking the rogues deep into the night. The two friends had come up with a pattern the trio seemed to follow, and they were on the hunt to find their nest site before they struck again. Knowing it was somewhere far out of town with privacy, they were circling the outskirts of some swamp land when the storm hit . . . then they heard a gunshot and the screams began.

Their clothes were torn from running against tree limbs by the time they burst into the clearing, and Eric never hesitated, flying onto the porch to kick the door clean off the hinges. The smell of fresh blood was stifling, yet the undercurrent of a sickeningly dark musky fey odor kept it in check, as did the smoke pouring from the scorched remains of a closet. They knew instantly the girl on the floor was dead, and a quick look revealed pointed ears – a fey. Surprised, they slipped into the kitchen and interrupted what appeared to be the ritualistic dissection of an older human female by the three rogue vampires.

The second they were spotted, the leader leapt across the counter and tried to rip Eric’s throat out and the pair had tumbled backwards into the hall in a snarling mass of fangs and fists. Logan jumped over them and fell on the second creature, the pair skidding over blood soaked linoleum with wild abandon. Logan and Eric had emerged victorious in the bloody tête-à-tête, tearing the rogues to shreds, but during the fighting, the third rogue had fled by flinging herself out of a window. The two of them readily followed, ignoring the broken glass that imbedded in their skin as they leapt through the busted panes to go tearing into the darkness after her. They chased her for nearly an hour before finally cornering her in a swamp ravine, and after another hellacious fight managed to kill her.

Their wounds had quickly healed on the run back, and both vampires agreed they would burn the old farmhouse down and then their task would be complete. Eric found some gas in the storage building while Logan collected the bodies, but just as they were prepared to light the match a muffled sound cut through the darkness. A child was crying somewhere in the woods around that house, and startled, unsure looks were exchanged between them when they went creeping through the brush to find it.

It had taken a while to locate the source of the pitiful whimpering, but they soon did. Covered in dirt and hiding at the bottom of an oak tree, the little human child was terrified, but when the two men ripped back the branches and vines, she held her little arms up to Eric, begging him to take her. It had been more than even one so ancient as himself could resist, and after looking into that stricken little tear-stained face for a moment, Eric had collected her, instinctively taking the girl back in the house to the sink where he began to wash her clean.

Logan had dutifully searched the house, retrieving a bag and packing it with everything he could manage to stuff inside that seemed to pertain to the child – small toys, blankets and clothing. By the time Logan finished, so had Eric, and there they stood – two huge vampires fresh from killing – standing in the middle of a blood soaked house containing the ashen remains of two dead vampires, and the ghastly corpses of two human females holding a freshly washed little human child in a purple pony t-shirt with her overnight bag.

Eric actually chuckled at the strangeness of the memories, remembering the complete disbelief on the old couple’s faces when he knocked on their door just before sunrise. The human man had known better than to ask too many questions. The blood on their clothing warned him he did not really want to know the answers to the questions burning in his mind. He had listened to their extremely abrupt story knowing it was a lie, but he had taken that little dark headed child from Eric’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. His wife had always longed for a daughter, but they were too old now and she was not able, so yes, they would gladly take the child and raise her as their own – and they had.

As instructed, their things were packed the next evening when Eric arrived shortly after sundown, and the man had not said one word as he took the check from Eric’s hand. His wife was already sitting in the car with the girl on her lap and a smile on her face, and Eric had watched them drive away with a lightness in his chest he had not felt in centuries. Images of his own children had danced in his mind as he watched their taillights fade, and the death of the rogue vampires had secured his position as a powerful sheriff in Louisiana and cemented his rise to the top. In his heart he had always viewed that night as a personal victory . . . but now.

His blond hair was in spikes by the time Eric finished reminiscing, his fingers tired from running through it over and over again as he ticked off the similarities between that night and this one. He knew he’d seen those grey eyes staring up at him before, and now he knew where from . . . and he also knew where he’d smelled that sickly musky fey odor before too. Dermot must have been at that farmhouse before he and Logan arrived. The sick fairy bastard had obviously been behind that attack same as he was the one tonight, and for one of the few times in his existence Eric Northman tasted true fear. Sookie was in much more danger than he initially suspected, and Eric did not know how to protect her – something he found intolerable - and now there was this damn tribunal to deal with, not to mention Niall.

Urgency pounded through his veins with every step as Eric headed back inside. He was going to protect Sookie Stackhouse no matter what the cost, and he had a grocery list of things he’d gladly do to Dermot given half the chance . . . which was an interesting coincidence . . . because at that very moment Dermot was making his own preparations.

What trouble-making fairy could possibly resist the temptation of a vampire tribunal?
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~ Chapter 3 – The Kiss of Death ~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~
Sookie’s hand slid down ever so slowly, twisting slightly just the way Eric liked it. Her fingers slipped up the smooth shaft. It was slick and damp. She flicked her thumb over the opening and a drop of moisture trickled across her skin . . . so cool, so inviting. It felt like heaven and she licked her lips, imagining what it would be like to replace her fingers with her tongue. To lick every single glistening bead of . . .

“Miss?”

“Huh?”

Holy crap on a cracker! Sookie slapped the beer on the table with a basket of fries, trying to ignore the crimson flying across her cheeks. What the hell was wrong with her? She was standing in the middle of Merlotte’s giving a Heineken a hand job!

“You could bring me another,” he offered. “Since you seem to really like that one.”

His raven eyebrows slanted in amusement, making Sookie want to crawl under the table and die of embarrassment. She might have bolted if those hypnotic silver eyes had allowed it. They didn’t. The instant she opened her mouth to apologize, the seductive touch of a molten mercury gaze shackled her in place and the lingering appraisal that followed was so hot she went damp between her legs.

The man emanated a ferocity that should have sent her flying in the opposite direction, yet Sookie found herself strangling on a purr of contentment from his mere presence. By the time he finished looking her over, her head was tilted back to maintain eye contact, yet Sookie could not remember when the man stood up. Her hand shot out to grasp his forearm when he began to walk away. “Are . . .you leaving?”

Sookie’s stammering protest was not spoken aloud, yet her dark-haired admirer answered just the same. He leaned closer to tuck a stray curl of blond hair behind her ear, then traced his fingers down her cheek with a possessiveness that would have sent Eric Northman into a furor. “Do not fret, Mailëa. You will see me again soon enough.”

The promise dripped through her mind like melted wax, and Sookie stood mesmerized as he brought her hand to his mouth. The moist imprint of his lips made her skin tingle, and when he flicked his tongue across her palm, goosebumps erupted from her toes to her nose. She was still staring into space when Sam tapped her on the shoulder. “You working or daydreaming?”

Snapped out of her revelry, Sookie flipped around. “What?”

“Everything alright with you, cher? Cause you just brought a beer and fries to an empty table.”

Sam’s voice was barely a whisper, and Sookie’s hands landed on her hips as she glanced around confused. “Sam, that’s not funny! You didn’t see that man flirting with me? The man with the dark hair? Where’d he go? Did he leave?”

Sookie peered over his shoulder, and Sam frowned. He nervously shoved his hands into his jeans pockets then shook his head – no. There hadn’t been anyone sitting at that table all afternoon, and now people were staring. “Listen, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? Didn’t I hear you tell Arlene you’ve got a date with Eric tonight? So go take a nap, or go shopping and get yourself a new outfit. I’ll see you tomorrow. Ok?”

Not ok. Not ok at all. This was an OSM of monumental proportions – an Oh Shit Moment – and Sookie’s second one in less than twenty-four hours. Last night she imagined a girl was being attacked behind Fangtasia, and now she was bringing beer to invisible customers? Sexy male customers who made her horny as hell? What in heaven’s gates was going on!

Sookie took off for the bathroom and after slamming the door behind her, stood clutching the sink so hard she was surprised it didn’t crack. The image in the mirror was one she barely recognized. No wonder Sam thought something was wrong with her! Dark circles under her eyes, and skin so flushed it glowed? She looked like a sun-burned raccoon and if she hadn’t known better, Sookie would’ve sworn her blood was on fire. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that had absolutely nothing to do with the Louisiana humidity, and now her palm was itching like holy hell? I’m losing my mind or I’m starting the change of life twenty years too early.

After splashing cold water in her face, Sookie grabbed the soap, but the harder she scrubbed the spot where the man kissed her, the hotter and hornier she got. Her body felt as if it had fallen victim to an atomic explosion of lust, and with every slippery stroke of soapy flesh, her mind reciprocated with another scandalous thought of Eric. Sookie had never felt such an unquenchable sexual need before, and if Eric Northman had been in that bathroom, she would’ve been on her knees.

Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. No! More, More, More! Her brain screamed. Her mind adjusted. No - she wanted Eric on his knees with her legs splayed across his shoulders while that talented tongue of his made this sudden burning need go away. The soap hit the floor. Sweat beaded out on her forehead. Her stomach clenched. More, More, More! Her body argued. It wanted more. It needed more.

Sookie closed her eyes and threw her head back. She groaned and scraped her fingernails against the vanity top until they shrieked. She wanted Eric right now in that bathroom, bending her over that vanity so she could watch him in the mirror while he fed from her neck and teased her nipples with his fingers while riding her from behind until she screamed his name – and God did she ever want to scream. Standing in the bathroom of a bar in Bon Temps, Sookie Stackhouse had never wanted anything more than to scream until something sated this wild hunger gnawing her very bones . . . because in Imladris, her cousin wanted the very same thing.
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~

“Open . . . open . . . open!” Grace hissed, rattling the heavy window.

“Grace, if you are so warm you might be taking a fever,” Haldir attempted to soothe. “Saes, please unbolt the door. I will open the window, then fetch Lord Elrond for you.”

Grace fanned as frantically as her bruised limbs would allow, then hurled a crystal bowl against the thick wood slab separating them. It made a satisfying crash, and she managed a tiny, swollen lipped smile. “I’m not opening crap, you skulking, psychopathic brain leech!” she rasped back. “Not until you tell me how you’re reading my mind or what you’re doing to make me feel this way! Jesus, don’t you people have air conditioning in this place?”

Obviously not, because Grace had happily sprawled on the South Carolina sand in temperatures over 100 degrees and felt cooler than this, yet every time his satiny voice sounded, the heat in her veins - and her crotch - ratcheted up a few more degrees. Grace fumed. Even if she’d been home, she didn’t have a boyfriend to sate that kind of need. She didn’t date. Hell, she didn’t even have a male friend with benefits, but if the creature on the other side of that thick wood slab didn’t shut up soon, somebody was going to be dropping drawers or coughing up some batteries – and they better have a supersize pack!

She fanned harder . . . dropping drawers . . . god, I wonder who’s been looking at mine?

Grace tried to ignore the red creeping across her face, but it was mighty difficult. She’d spent far too much time in a bikini to be self-conscience, and with her scars, she got over being stared at ages ago – but while her small breasts were perky enough not to require Victoria Secret style restraint, she still held a very deep attachment to her assortment of lacy bras. And the one she had been wearing during the attack was MIA - missing in action.

Her eyes went to the door.

Who changed her clothes? Worse still, who took her bra off? The red deepened. Unless there were some ladies hiding in a closet somewhere, the list of likely candidates was entirely masculine: Lord Niall, Lord Elrond, Nuada, Scary Dude #1 with the Silver Hair or Scary Dude #2 Mr. Creepy Corner Guy. Fantastic! Nothing like being unconscious while a room full of Harlequin hunks stares at your bare boobs. Better yet, a room full of supernatural pointy eared fairies – one of which was your great-grandfather! O.M.G! A surge of self-conscious anger knotted her stomach, and Grace knew it would be a long time before she opened that door, but if there had ever been a bathroom to be trapped in, this was certainly it!

An intricate stained glass ceiling sprawled gentle rainbows over a floor to ceiling panorama of shimmering pink quartz decorated in a jewelry store meets rainforest theme featuring dozens of bejeweled silver and gold canisters happily sparkling among reams of lush green vines, bushels of aromatic little trumpet shaped flowers and a handful of lazily fluttering ruby and sapphire colored butterflies bigger than her head . . . oh and then there was the waterfall. Nope, she didn’t imagine it. An honest to God pristine cerulean waterfall danced down the far wall, ending with a melodic tinkle and splash of white foam in a raised marble cache pool far more reminiscent of a swimming pool than a bathtub. It was enough to shorten her breath and send her architecturally oriented mind into a tailspin. And it made her need to pee – worse.

“Grace, saes, please! Take care of your needs so I can return you to bed,” Haldir called out impatiently.

“If you do that one more time, I swear to God!”

Grace returned to scrubbing her insanely itching palm against the sill of the window, then gave into her temper and whacked the stubborn latch a few more times. To her surprise and satisfaction, it dissolved into dust and the window swung thankfully free. “Yes!” she exclaimed. Having her powers back was wonderful – having the same control over them she had as a five year old was not, but given her current circumstances, even that small victory was worth celebrating. The cool tiles of the window seat she was perched on had offered no relief, but the breeze now blowing across her sweat-drenched skin felt wonderful. What a sick joke to wake up in the most breathtakingly beautiful place she’d ever seen hurt, hungry, hot and now . . . horny? Wasn’t having her ass thoroughly stomped by a vampire bad enough?

Obviously not, because the bedroom she woke up in an hour ago came fully equipped with not one but two burly babysitters who nearly gave her a heart attack when her eyes popped open.
It might be every woman’s fantasy to wake up with two Harlequin Hunks at their beck and call, but all Grace had wanted was to be anywhere other than there – so what did she do? Exactly what any red-blooded female in desperate need of getting away from a man would do – she scrounged up every shred of energy possible, dragged her aching body out of bed and hid in the bathroom.

The solitude was wonderful, but everything seemed to be adding insult to injury. A cast iron skillet smacked over her head could not have made it throb more, her hand had obviously been invaded by the itch inducing cooties from hell, whatever glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth was a far cry from minty-fresh to say the least . . . and then there was the matter of that pissed off warrior hovering on the other side of the door. Alright, so she did slam the door in his face and refuse to open it again, but she honestly did have to pee. She had to pee so bad she was positive her eyeballs were floating in their sockets, but that wasn’t enough to brave perching her naked ass on the big carved stone thing she assumed was a toilet in the corner. Oh hell no! A thirty-foot Anaconda could be hiding in that thing, so she’d just hold it . . . or maybe she could just pee in the sink?

“Grace, delos!” Haldir bellowed through the door. “I absolutely dare you to do such a thing! There are no snakes in the bathing room. There are no snakes in the whole of Rivendell, so you will tend to yourself properly, then you will open this door because I do not wish to break it down!” And I do not wish to be stripped of my post and exiled to the farthest reaches of a snowy outpost for allowing you to trick me into this nonsense either!

Grace enthusiastically flipped him off. Well you can just break it down, brilliance, ‘cause I’m not opening that door! Rubbing her pounding temples, she fought to ignore the impatient foot tapping in the hallway and the gentle sound of rushing water filling the room. It was useless, so giving into desperation and grumbling for all she was worth, Grace gingerly padded over to the threatening chunk of dark stone in the corner. She tended to her personal needs as rapidly and quietly as possible, positive he was listening.

He was, and the very second her naked ass slid off that stone – Poof! - one scary silver-haired dude at your service. It was a double-whammy and Grace scrambled backwards. Not only did she feel like someone just flicked a BIC on her brain stem, she hadn’t quite caught on to the unique laws of pointy-eared physics yet. Seemed that impressively sturdy door she bolted shut meant absolutely doodle squat – and Grace was right. Elves and Fairies could translocate themselves with a simple thought, and since she refused to willingly open the door, Haldir decided to just come on in.

“Get out, you sneaky, mind-reading, clothes stealing fairy!” Grace managed to gasp. She followed up with a few curses that left little doubt what she recommended he do with his uninvited self, and ended with a warning glare that could have peeled paint.

Haldir blinked nonchalantly. The human girl was daring him to touch her, but he knew what to expect this time. There would be no surprises like last night – or would there?

“Do not fear me, Grace,” he soothed. “I have not been eavesdropping nor am I a fairy. I am Haldir of Lothlórien, Master Warden of Rivendell, protector of these lands and all who stay within them. Please forgive me. I was not attempting to frighten or intrude upon you. I wish only to assist you in returning you to your chambers.”

Even as that silky voice was slithering over her, Haldir was stepping closer, and by the time he stopped a whisper short of touching her, every feminine place she possessed was flaming. Grace needed assistance alright. She felt like she’d been thrown out of a frying pan into a seductive hellfire – and it didn’t take long for Haldir to realize he went right along with her.

Instead of taking her hand and gently forcing Grace back to bed as he intended, Haldir found himself frozen stock-still, literally melted in place by the unnatural warmth suddenly licking through his veins. A seductive incandescence tempting him . . . fascinating him. Like a moth drawn to the flame, his sapphire eyes began a traitorous exploration, skipping right over bruises and bandages to savor every dainty curve silhouetted through the nearly transparent linen of her nightgown. Everything in his immortal soul resisted the indiscretion, yet Haldir was powerless to stop, and by the time his gaze was happily caressing the darkened thrust of her taunt little nipple peaks, his entire body had gone stiff as they were – particularly the part between his legs.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as Haldir fought the bizarre urge to touch Grace in some rather risqué ways. He wanted to soothe every mark on that sun bronzed skin with his tongue, he ached to know what sounds he could pull from that filthy little mouth if she were laying beneath him. One illicit thought piled on top of another - then reality gobsmacked him in the face way harder than those pixies did. Haldir was an immortal 100% devoted to the strict moralities of elven existence and he was being physically puppeteered by a human? He thought not.
Haldir drew in a measured breath as a thick mix of suspicion washed over him. Mortals were typically offensive under even the most ideal circumstances while mages repulsed him on a nearly cellular level, yet Grace was giving him . . . a hard on? Something was deeply amiss here.

“Grace, whatever you are doing to me, I demand you stop this instant!” he growled, yet even those harsh words pushed the heat in Grace’s body up another searing notch.

“Good Lord,” she groaned, wondering where in hell they were hiding the space heaters. This was quickly getting ridiculous, and Grace wanted it to end – right now. A string of curses lay waiting on the tip of her tongue as her eyes flew up to confront the one she held responsible, yet when her gaze locked on Haldir’s face, she could do nothing more than stare dumbfounded.

The sodden, flower covered creature from the night before did not compare to the living masterpiece now standing before her, and Grace wondered if a star fell from the sky and reformed itself into that man. His body made the terms physically fit and handsome sound like insults, hair platinum as smelted moonlight framed depthless sapphire eyes one could easily drown in, and the delicate whorled scars decorating his temples showcased a flawlessly masculine face that could only be described as perfect. He was the most strikingly handsome creature Laurel Grace had ever seen – and he had a broken nose because she’d slammed a pixie into his face.

“Oh God, I’m sorry . . . I hurt you.”

Haldir nearly jumped out of his skin when Grace reached up and took his face in her hands, but all traces of anger melted helplessly away as each bruise was gently explored with a compassionate eroticism that threatened to roll his eyes back in their sockets. Without even realizing what he was doing, he leaned closer as her fingers skirted down the thick muscles cording his neck and Haldir’s breath shortened when Grace buried both hands wrist deep in that silky cloud of moonlit hair. What followed was a possessive, scalp tingling plundering that curled his spine all the way down to his toenails - then it got worse.

“H a l d i r . . . .”

When his name dripped off Grace’s tongue in that strange, southern drawl, Haldir felt it slide through his flesh like a seductive caress - and what she did next threatened to liquefy his entire body. After curiously fingering the beaded adornments securing the braids over his ears, Grace began to lightly tease their pointed tips – the second most sensitive area of a male elf’s body – and Haldir found himself fighting for sanity.

If Grace had stripped him naked and tongued his toys he wouldn’t have been more aroused.

Every heartbeat now echoed through the flesh of the other in a dangerously primitive synchrony, and Haldir knew if this didn’t stop soon the repercussions would be unfathomable - yet even as his sensibilities demanded he push this paltry human away, every drop of blood in his body screamed with an insatiable need to possess her. His fingers began to curl possessively into the fabric of her gown as the last shred of control he possessed threatened to desert him – then Lord Elrond’s words of warning from the night before came tumbling back: I do not know the possible effects this blood exchange may imprint upon either of you. Imprint? Imprison seemed far more accurate in light of the heat currently holding him hostage, and Haldir realized almost too late that one unsuspecting elf and one hostile human hybrid were receiving their very first lesson in Blood Bond Basics 101.

Lesson #1 = The Greenhouse Effect. A lesson that was already well under way. The closer you come to your blood-bonded partner, the steamier the sensations. Blood can’t honestly boil, but being incinerated from the inside out is a sure attention getter, so be prepared for spontaneous erotic eruptions.

Lesson #2 = Animal Magnetism. Touching will lead to loads of lust, so if somebody can’t control themselves then there’s no telling WHAT might happen . . . but whatever it is, clothing will certainly be optional. Fondle with caution.

Lesson #3 = Resistance is Futile. Well, not all the time but when a few billion blood cells decide they want to do the tropical tango, it’s pretty hard not to acquiesce to their request. In other words - the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak and while distance helps resistance, don’t ever be foolhardy enough to believe you’re above being sexually manipulated by your blood buddy.

Oh and last but definitely not least, there was that all important and very soon to be explored annoying Lesson #4 = Temperamental Tendencies. Having your body manipulated against your will tends to draw the participants into rampant bouts of aggression with unpredictable, albeit sometimes quite entertaining, results so keep your eyes and ears open because you just might have to break up a brawl.

Well needless to say, after that little epiphany, Haldir was ready to skip right to those temperamental tendencies. After some three thousand years of perfect elven control and confirmed forest dwelling bachelorhood, he found nothing about his current predicament acceptable, nor did he intend to voluntarily submit to this erotic absurdity. As Master Warden of Rivendell, he was not only responsible for overseeing the island’s protection forces. He was charged with the task of enforcing the laws of elven conduct – including morality – and he sure as hell did not intend to break them.

Or at least his brain didn’t.

Too bad for him, that 6’4” body Haldir had spent countless lifetimes perfecting his control over was ready to tell his conscious to go piss up a rope because the blood boiling in his veins was thoroughly enjoying being sexually manipulated by his new bonded buddy – big time – and his hands proved it by sneaking around her waist to pull Grace closer.

And did the hostile human from South Carolina who did not like to be touched by strangers throw a fit? Absolutely not. Floating on the wave of erotic euphoria currently controlling them, and running frighteningly low on resistance herself, Grace happily melted against him in a full body introduction that left Haldir positive his clothes would strangle him to death - but that was not the elf’s only problem. Grace’s attitude was indeed about to take a turn for the worst, and then there was the matter of that wild mane of blond hair silhouetted in the open window – and the flabbergasted elven owner watching this unfold.

Oh yes, things were about to get very interesting in Imladris indeed!

Grace succumbed first. If there had ever been a set of lips that begged to be kissed, Haldir’s rosy pout was it – and Grace wanted nothing more than to feel those tantalizing lips on hers . . . but Grace had felt that mouth on hers.

Alarm bells blared through her mind as she went perfectly still, straining to bring back anything intelligible from the night before. It was all a deep fog, but there were images . . . a hand, a voice . . . a pair of soft, bloody lips. Her hands jerked away. Had this stunning silver-haired creature helped hold her down at some point? Was he the one who took her clothes off? Had Haldir actually dared to put his mouth on hers while she was drifting in and out of consciousness? Only with the most admirable of intentions, but ahem . . . that would be a yes.

“You kissed me?” Grace gasped. “Get out!” Her finger pointing the way was a purely innocent gesture of anger – but it blew that thick oak door clean off the hinges. Wood exploded into the corridor, which had Haldir ducking for cover and Grace terrified out of her wits – but the more frightened she became, the worse it got. An assortment of potted plants went next, flying off the window ledge when she scrambled away from Haldir and tried to cram herself back into the corner, and bringing an impromptu foreign language lesson as the unsuspecting spectator caught a face full of fern fronds and butterfly guts. In the corridor, Nuada was more fortunate. He managed to avoid being cracked in the head when the bathroom door came flying at him, although he readily added a few choice words of his own, but Kalen was choking back squeals of sheer delight. “Oh this is getting good!” he said excitedly. “First she accused him of putting a snake in the loo, then it was stealing her undergarments . . . and now this! I wager two kilo of mithril and a week of holiday the girl throws him again.”

Nuada stepped over a few planks of shattered wood, then passed yet another disapproving look to his Warrior Captain. He had done it so many times over the past few minutes, he was on the verge of getting whiplash. “You should be ashamed for not assisting him you know - and you best be laying your lot with that elf, because if Erulissë tries to drown Haldir in the bathing pool, you are the one who will be retrieving him.”

Kalen grinned mischievously. “The human has made it plain she does not care for . . . but perhaps Haldir would stand a better chance if I distracted her with some pixies?”

The slightest hint of a smile feathered his mouth, but Nuada shook his head in stern warning. Fairies were always up for a good mischievous prank at anyone’s expense and if an elven victim was available all the better, but he had the feeling this situation did not need any further instigation. He was right, but even so he couldn’t resist whispering a single word as he stepped through the doorway – “ringwe” – the cold water command for the waterfall. Just in case.

Things inside were as entertaining as Nuada imagined but Haldir had little to worry about. While Lord Elrond’s magical healing had repaired Grace’s body enough for her to sling around a few simple things, her sharp little tongue currently posed more danger than her powers – and she was certainly using it.

Somewhat delirious from lingering blood loss and magical influences, Grace rapidly overcame her bout of fright as her internal mood-o-meter (that magic dial all females possess) adjusted again – and she came out of the corner after Haldir like one of Lord Elrond’s prized Persians after a pixie pulled its tail. “I swear I don’t know what you people are doing to me, but you better start coughing up some answers. I appreciate the help, but I wanna know why I feel this way . . . Did you give me some medicine or something? Is that why I’m so hot? And you didn’t actually kiss an unconscious person, did you? ‘Cause that’s really weird . . . but that might be the kinda stuff you people do here. Is that what you do here? What else did you do to me last night? Are you the one who took my bra off? Did you touch me? Did you look at me when you did it? Because . . . ”

Grace’s babbling rant continued and all the men could do was stare, wondering how so many words could come out of someone so small in such a short period of time. Did humans ever shut up?

Absolutely! And all it took was the sound of a deep voice being cleared behind her, because when Grace turned to look she almost swallowed her tongue. Sporting a misbehaving mane of tawny hair that would make a lion drool, a hulking wall of honey-gold muscle twice as broad as her body stood frowning with a face full of dirt. He had scars running down his chest that looked like huge claw marks, eyes so silver they could cut the air, and at a towering six and a half feet tall or better, a commanding air of authority that would take your breath away. The man was the most intimidating creature Grace had ever seen in her life, and he was staring directly at her.

Forgetting all about Haldir’s lips and the heat in her veins, Grace quickly retreated to the corner. Her head was still pounding, her hand itched, she was hot as hell, and her heart just couldn’t take the appearance of too many more of these creatures. Besides, the backlash of using powers she was not accustomed to had drained her dry. If she didn’t sit down soon, she was going to be on the floor . . . but if she’d managed to piss off that man, passing out was probably going to be a more pleasant option!

After giving Grace a reassuring look, Nuada stood contemplating bras and lips while the massive newcomer slid a keen gaze over the prominent protrusion in Haldir’s pants. They locked Haldir down under simultaneous stares. Seemed no one bothered to inform Nuada exactly how Haldir put the blood back in Grace last night, and seemed no one bothered to inform Glorfindel why he was summoned to return from his first vacation in decades . . . and an explanation for why the Master Warden of Rivendell was locked in the bathroom with Lord Niall’s great-grandchild and a raging erection wouldn’t hurt at the moment either.

Ahem . . .

As deeply insulted as he had been in recent memory, Haldir’s temper flared hot as his libido had, and he responded with a bone-chilling glare that dared them not to wipe those condescending expressions off their faces. They might be the only two warriors who outranked him in all of Nárthea, but he didn’t see either one of their butts showing up to hack off that vampire’s head or offer blood to save Grace last night. Somebody better be taking a step back out of his face - fast. “I have done absolutely nothing to dishonor Grace,” he growled before turning to face her. “You misjudge me, Pinilyaer. Your body is partially repaired now, but only through the efforts of many working together. The creature you fell victim to came very near to taking your life, so yes, in order to treat your wounds clothing was removed and I placed my mouth on your own, but I did only what was necessary to ensure your survival, and for that I will not apologize.”

Survival.

Grace could not remember much of the attack, but she had taken a few gut-wrenching peeks under her bandages and a very grounding look in the mirror. How much had it taken to save her life? Had she repaid her savior by throwing a flying frog in his face? Indeed she had, and it was definitely not a good example of her deeply rooted southern manners. Neither was locking herself in the bathroom. Haldir was not the one who needed to apologize – she was. Yeah, but he put his lips on mine. She HAD to apologize. He used his tongue too. Make yourself apologize! What about the bare boobs? Apologize now!

“An apology is not necessary, Grace,” Haldir interrupted, “but I do appreciate the thought.”

After plopping down on the window seat, Grace eyeballed him furiously – but she didn’t have the strength to argue. “Will you please stop doing that.”

“Very well. If it offends you, I will stop,” Haldir readily agreed. “But if you continue to hurl insults and refuse to leave the bath chamber, how am I to assist you? It is my duty to see to your needs.”

Grace nearly laughed. He’d been about to see to her needs alright! She had the sneaking suspicion if that scary dude and Nuada hadn’t shown up they’d be humping like rabbits on the vanity right now, but somehow, she also had the deep suspicion if she said that, Haldir was going to be in deeper shit than he could shovel his way out of in years. Let’s not screw the savior again, Grace decided, all while praying they weren’t all reading THAT from her mind. “Alright truce, but how do I know you’re not lying?” she asked.

“I do not lie, Pinilyaer,” Haldir told her firmly. “Truth is one of the most important foundations of my people’s existence . . . and truth be told not only did I save your life by sharing my blood with you last evening, I am the one who intercepted the creature attacking you and removed his head before he could finish you off.”

His words slammed into Grace’s mind like a brick wall. Knowing one creature killed another one in your defense would be enough to send anyone over the edge, but all things considered – like those bite marks and bruises all over her body – Grace wasn’t rushing to judgment. But the whole blood drinking thing? That was something else entirely. She’d spent all afternoon trying not to think about some fanged monster sucking her dry, only to be told she drank blood too? Was THAT the ick funking up her mouth? Grace bent double. “I feel sick.”

Nuada had enough sense to back up, but Glorfindel rushed to assist and stopped just in time for Grace to retch right on his feet – and he was not wearing shoes.

Emerald eyes danced with delight, but Nuada remained wisely silent as did Haldir, but Kalen could not resist. He dissolved in a fit of laughter that filled the room, and immediately found himself being tossed across it. The Golden Warrior was not without a sense of humor, but having his holiday cut short didn’t leave Glorfindel in the best frame of mind. It did improve however, when the fairy rolled into a bathing pool full of water so cold ice floated in it.

Kalen shrieked like a frightened child, but a very interesting problem remained: Who was going to get the hurling human? The expression on Glorfindel’s face certainly counted him out, which left Haldir and Nuada – and Haldir felt like he’d paid his dues for today, besides Nuada seemed to be the self-appointed “human handler” – Grace actually listened to him.

“I hope she does not toss you in with him,” Haldir offered smugly.

“Erulissë is like a delicate flower . . . treat her tenderly, and she will repay you in kind.” Nuada silently replied, although he was sure to incapacitate Grace with a sleep spell before collecting her from the floor and returning her to the bed chamber.

“Like poisonous nightshade,” Haldir grumbled. The heat in his veins thankfully extinguished the moment they were gone, leaving the elf to muse what strange chiaroscuro magic connected him to Grace. He paced randomly.

“The Pinilyaer weighs on your mind. Would you care to explain what was happening between you?” Glorfindel stopped scrubbing his toes to give Haldir a very hard look, and the warden subconsciously cast a glance to his hand – then froze. He stared at his palm, but could not believe what he saw: he sliced the flesh open himself, yet now only the faintest scar remained. The wound was completely healed.

Not possible! Haldir dashed to the mirror. What witchcraft is this? Not one dark blemish remained! Grace was touching my face . . . “That little hellion is a witch!” he exclaimed. “I knew she reeked of dark magic . . . I knew it the moment she touched me! That little sorceress had better . . .”

“Erulissë had better what?” Nuada asked coolly – right over his shoulder.

Haldir shut his mouth and eyed the Guardian warily. The Master Warden of Rivendell feared no creature, but then Amarande Nuada was not like any other creature the warden knew of. More legend than anything else, stories of Nuada had circulated for centuries: wild tales of exile, prison escapes from the realm of the Nameless Ones, demon spells and torture. He obeyed no laws, he swore loyalty to no king, and not one soul could claim the formidable blond warrior as a friend or ally – so Haldir certainly did not want to piss him off. The warden worried what any situation dire enough to involve the creature might bring.

He was about to find out.

“Erulissë is settled. She will not wake for many hours so now we must go. Golden Warrior, are you ready?” Nuada asked.

A mercury gaze rose. “The arrangements have been made?”

“The call just came and the Lords are waiting,” Nuada answered. “My contingent is ready, so we await you and yours.”

Glorfindel was on his feet instantly. “How many?”

“A dozen will suffice. Elrond and Niall wish a show of strength tonight, so we will give it to them.”

“And what of me?” Haldir bristled.

“Your blade is always welcome at my side, Haldir of Lórien,” Nuada answered in a surprising compliment. “But you show three shades too pale. It is clear your donation to Erulissë has cost you and even a quarter second lax can bring death against these creatures, so I would prefer you stay. Kalen will take perimeter watch, and my mind will be at ease knowing so long as you are within her walls, the interior of Imladris is safe.”

“If there is a threat, I demand to be informed,” the Master Warden answered.

“Dermot has returned and Erulissë is his grandchild,” Nuada answered matter-of-factly. “We can put nothing past him.”

Haldir turned to Glorfindel. “Select from my Elite Warden Squad. I will need Imladris’s private guard here with me and the girl.”

Glorfindel nodded before sliding a very discreet look down to Haldir’s groin then back to his face. “Are you certain the arrangement of overseeing the Pinilyaer is acceptable to you, mellon nín?”

“It is,” he answered, although it hedged as close to a falsehood as Haldir had come in centuries.

Glorfindel quickly disappeared to collect his sword and armor, but Nuada lingered. He ran a very knowing gaze over Haldir’s now perfect nose then traced it down to his hand. “You forget in your exhaustion, but Lord Auberon was a great elemental healer . . . same as his son Lord Elrond. Erulissë has done nothing more than share a natural gift passed from one generation to another, and it is a talent she is not even aware she holds. Erulissë is of the fey. She is elemental and obviously of a healing spirit, but rest assured she is no witch and you have not been touched by dark magic - but if you ever wish to discuss the art, do let me know.”

Nuada was gone before his words faded and Haldir headed for the opposite end of the compound where his guest quarters lay. With Kalen on watch and the entire Guard of Imladris on alert, Grace was safe – but he was mentally and physically exhausted. Surely nothing would happen if he took a short period of rest.
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~
Lord Niall’s fingers impatiently tapped the pale wood of a chair arm when Nuada entered Elrond’s study, but the look of anticipation on the Guardian’s face was enough to stop them. Amarande Nuada may have lived on earth for the past eight hundred years, but he was widely regarded as the most bloodthirsty mercenary in seven realms - and there was but one fey who rivaled him. The elf standing at his side.

Glorfindel the Golden Warrior laid claim to a past as illustrious as Nuada’s, a saga of wars survived, lives saved, and the remarkable distinction of being one of the only creatures in existence to slay a mighty Nether Dragon. He was the second most powerful elf in all of Rivendell, and he was the warrior Lord Elrond intended to formally introduce the elven race to earth tonight.

“Fin, is your contingent prepared?” Elrond asked, looking quite satisfied by the intimidating appearance his close friend presented in his loden green armaments with their sparkling gold trim and heavy gilded sword sheathed at his side.

“Mae, it is. We await your orders.”

Elrond smiled.

Vampires were well aware that fairy numbers were dwindling, so Niall had planned to use tonight as a teaching tool to impress upon the Louisiana vampires that the ones remaining were a force to be reckoned with – and Lord Elrond had decided to help. The elven race never inserted themselves into matters of the earth realm, but the Lord of Rivendell had a very personal interest in this issue. Sookie and Grace were descended from his bloodline, and after all, Grace was being housed in Imladris while he personally saw to her recovery. The time for standing in the shadows was officially over. It was his right to see this punishment carried out, and Lord Elrond did not plan for it to be through telepathic transfer. He was going to watch in person while standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother, because tonight in a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of Shreveport, an entirely new fey race was going to make itself known when twelve fairy guardians dressed to kill were joined by twelve elven warriors in full battle attire for a show of force those vampires would never forget.

Indeed they never would.

Already on edge from his encounter with Haldir and the fey guards at Sookie’s house, Eric Northman stood in a junk ridden parking lot with Pam at his side, apprehensively waiting for Lord Niall to appear. The past twenty-four hours had been a hell of worry and wondering for the vampire, and he had no idea what to expect tonight - but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the battalion of immortal muscle that confronted him.

Stepping from the shadows, Nuada was the first to appear, a true sight to behold in unrelieved black leather with the moonlight reflecting off his long, brilliant blond hair to dance over the evil spear nestled on his back. His guardians followed in rapid succession, the entire dozen stepping from the shadows in perfect unison. If Pam had breathed, she would’ve stopped, and it was enough to make even Eric’s eyes involuntarily widen. Had the Sheriff known this was the reception awaiting him, his conversation with Godric would have been a very different one, because given the undesirable position he was sinking into at the moment, it would have been very nice to have a friend that powerful at his side.

Then the elves showed up.

Surprise turned into downright shock when Glorfindel appeared with a soft “pop”, and when his troop of a dozen elven warriors appeared seconds later, Eric really did begin to wonder just how this night was going to end – and he hoped it was not with a game of vampire head basketball. Thankfully, Lord Niall and Lord Elrond were the final additions, although both wore palpable frowns. And while Elrond had changed from his traditional robes into a magnificently tailored dark suit, the glistening mithril circlet on his head was still in full reveal, telling everyone just how important he was. Lord Niall rarely wore his, but nothing was needed to delineate his status. Pure power emanated from the fairy, and Eric could feel it snaking his way like venom.

The vampire steeled himself for the worst, and bowed slightly because it never hurt to suck up to someone with a crown.

“Hello, Niall . . . and Lord Elrond, was it? I apologize that we are meeting again under such negative circumstances, but everything is arranged just as requested. I will take you in when you are ready.”

Elrond placed a hand over his heart and nodded in a traditional elven greeting, but Niall did nothing. He just regarded Eric coolly. The fairy had been deadly serious when he climbed in the vampire’s face behind Fangtasia and listed the repercussions of this tribunal not going smoothly, but deep down he knew Eric loved Sookie. Out of respect for his great-grandchild, he was going to give the former Viking a chance to redeem himself tonight and make this right – or at least he was going to watch Nuada do it.

Receiving a silent mental command, the Guardian stepped forward. Nuada already knew pretty much everything possible about Eric Northman, having had him under watch from the first moment he came into contact with Sookie, and thankfully after meeting him in person, he liked what he saw. Eric readily stood up to him to protect Sookie, he tried to heal Grace, and he was obviously filled with a warrior’s spirit. Nuada was positive Eric would be a powerful ally in keeping the girls safe, and he was actually looking forward to getting to know the vampire better.

“Suilaid, Mellon nín,” Nuada said with a curt nod. “There was no time for introductions last evening, but I am Amarande Nuada, Sovereign of the Fey Guard of Nárthea and Guardian protector to the girl attacked at Fangtasia. This is Glorfindel the Golden Warrior, Elven Noble, and Commander of the Elven Guard of Imladris. Is the responsible one here?”

Mind reeling under the weight of all those titles, Eric ran a quick look over Glorfindel. He’d been expecting Haldir again, but this elf looked far less sociable. And while he was about to bust wide open to grill Nuada for information on Dermot and Grace, this was not the time. His perfectly blank expression remained firmly in place. “Isaac Bargen is Caleb’s maker, and I retrieved him myself. The judge is hearing other cases, but as soon as we enter, the floor will be yours.”

“Very good,” Nuada said, turning to the others. “Ledhim hi. We go in now . . . assemble yourselves.” Glorfindel nodded, taking a place by Lord Elrond’s side as Nuada stepped to Niall’s right and the others fell in behind them.

Eric led the strange processional into the old tobacco warehouse through a huge hole in the wall. It was no more than an abandoned metal shell, old, dirty and in a state of great disrepair with broken windows and rusty things around it. The unappealing location was where the vampires of the Shreveport region held their monthly tribunals, yet this was not a scheduled meeting. It had been hastily called to satisfy Niall’s demands, because Eric would do whatever was necessary to keep peace with the fairies . . . and those elves.

The vampire had purely selfish reasons for not wanting trouble with Niall Brigant – reasons with blonde hair and really nice tits – but while he never desired trouble with any other race, Eric had never feared the fairies . . . yet that opinion was suddenly finding itself open to change. Eric didn’t have a family tree for reference, but obviously Niall had an elf – or half elf as it seemed – for a brother, and that brother with his gleaming crown was obviously as powerful to his people as Niall was to his own. Add that to the fact this previously unknown genre of creatures shared many of the same fey characteristics - including their unnerving ability to appear and disappear at will – then mix well with Haldir of Lórien’s deadly killing display, Glorfindel’s hulking presence, and that band of sword wielding elven warriors behind him and Eric was absolutely positive the vampires did not want any part of a problem with that pointy eared species!

Sending silent prayers for peace to the Pagan Gods, Eric threaded the strange ensemble of visitors toward the front of the building. The throng of vampires in attendance fell silent to stare, yet the imposing group of immortals seemed completely unconcerned as they reached the center of the warehouse. A crude stage of sorts had been set up, and a large chair placed in the center of it where a leathery skinned vampire with greasy red hair was seated. Though this was an emergency meeting, there were always vampires who needed to be punished, and the judge had used his time waiting for this special group dutifully hearing case after case of vampire misdeeds, then thoroughly enjoying his job by handing out one harsh punishment after another. The judge noted their presence, and quickly rendered sentence to the pitiful vampire before him, sending him off to be wrapped in silver chains for 6 months.

“Ouch,” Pam muttered, “that’s going to leave a mark!”

Glorfindel had the nerve to smile, but Eric remained silent with his normally stoic demeanor firmly in place as he impatiently waited for the area to clear. Once the screaming vamp was dragged away, Eric and Pam escorted the group toward the eerie fluorescent brightness of the stage, and a palpable silence fell as twenty-four immortal warriors silently assembled themselves, fairy and elf alternating to form a circle of intimidating strength with Eric, Pam and the judge trapped in the center.

Eric made the introductions. “Judge Malachi Villalobos, I respectfully present to you Lord Niall Brigant, his brother Lord Elrond and their two chief guards. As you are aware, a descendant of his bloodline was recently attacked in the parking lot of Fangtasia, and as her patriarch, Lord Niall demands swift and fair justice.”

Lord Niall and Lord Elrond stepped forward together, with Nuada and Glorfindel only a shadow behind, and Judge Villalobos pointed a gnarled hand to his right. “Bring him out!” he ordered in a clear, harsh voice.

A man of mixed descent who looked little more than twenty was promptly dragged out by two ferocious looking vampires and dumped unceremoniously at Eric’s feet. As the active sheriff of this area, he was the one ultimately responsible for Isaac’s actions, and it was his duty to physically hand the other vampire over for punishment or to render it himself. Eric’s blank expression did not change. “Do you admit you created the vampire known as Caleb Serrano, the newly turned one responsible for the attack at my establishment two nights ago?” he asked in a loud, forceful voice.

“I do,” Isaac hissed defiantly, his dark brown eyes glittering furiously as he met Eric’s cold blue eyed stare head on, “and I have no regrets. Humans are good for nothing more than feasting and fucking, and if Caleb was smart enough to find him a mixed breed fairy bitch to gnaw on then I’d say he had damn good taste.” Eric was unmoved by the outburst, but Niall began to shimmer slightly as he became completely enraged, and Nuada could feel his eyes begin to sheen with crimson as he bristled, remembering the broken way Grace looked laying in that bed. Elrond flushed with rage, and beside him, Glorfindel placed a huge hand on the hilt of his sword, more than prepared to use it.

Eric passed the obviously ignorant vampire a warning glare to shut up, knowing these fairies and elves could make his passing pleasantly simple or excruciatingly painful, then turned back to the judge. He nodded. They could have his stupid ass, and good riddance.

Judge Villalobos shook his head in disgust. He came to his feet and looked to Niall, his voice ringing clear against tepid fall air and rusted walls as he spoke. “Lord Niall and Lord Elrond, you honor us with your presence here this night. The vampire race desires to live in peace with your people, and on behalf of King Felipe de Castro himself, I offer you his apologies for this insult, and his sincerest hope that your descendant recovers quickly. He extends his personal assurance that the two humans of your line will be protected in his lands, and we gladly honor your request for swift justice. You may punish the creature as you see fit.”

Niall’s expression did not change. He simply shifted his burning green-eyed stare from the judge to Nuada. “Kill him, and take your time.”

Nuada’s eyes burned like fire as they locked on the insulting form of Isaac Bargen, who was still unbelievably muttering obnoxious phrases under his breath. The mercenary’s expression left little doubt that what was about to happen would not be pleasant, and Eric quickly took hold of Pam’s arm and moved them out of the way. This was about to get ugly, and while he loved a good fight as much as the next vampire, this particular one was thankfully not his. Glorfindel responded to Niall’s command as well, unsheathing his elaborate elven sword with a searing hiss of metal and leather.

The shimmer of sacred etchings and jewel inlays threw wild flashes of light into the air, and the silence in the warehouse became deafening. Only the gentle hiss of wind served to interrupt when Isaac spoke again, and not a creature present could believe his taunting words. “I hear Caleb tore that little fairy twit to pieces and damn near chewed her throat out! Has she died yet? Or is she lingering for a while? ‘Cause even if she lives, you know she’ll never be the same again.” He laughed. “Ain’t being scared of the dark a real bitch?”

Elrond snorted out a furious breath at the vicious taunt, but Glorfindel was already stepping forward. The massive elf watched in pure satisfaction as the vampire bared fangs and rushed him. He could have easily severed his head with one flick of his wrist, but the creature would not get off so easily. With visions of Grace’s bruised cheeks and busted mouth running through his mind, Fin deftly flipped his sword to the broad side and smacked Isaac straight across the face, sending him reeling backwards with a broken nose gushing dark blood. “The Pinilyaer most assuredly does live, nachuithron,” Glorfindel grated out while raking the vampire with a predatory glare, “but you most certainly shall not.”

The vampire brushed the back of his hand against his nose, slinging blood in a wide arc across the filthy warehouse floor. “Makes no difference, kill me and there will be ten more to take my place come morning. We outnumber the fairies a hundred to one.”

Glorfindel took another threatening step toward the vampire, throwing fire as he twirled his sword through the air. “Pe-channas, I am not a fairy.” Fin waited for the vampire’s lunge he knew was coming, and the blood drinker did not disappoint. Moving across the floor with lightning speed, the vampire blurred, thinking he was going to do some damage here tonight, but he would never get the chance. Glorfindel was ready; only this time instead of smacking him in the face with his sword, he met the rush head on and clamped a huge hand around his throat. Fin jerked Isaac clear off his feet.

Everyone watched in amazement as Glorfindel raised the helpless vampire nearly over his head, passing a cool look over toward Nuada. “Maetho vagol gîn, Nuada,” Glorfindel said with an evil smirk, then he threw the vampire toward Nuada like a doll.

Grace’s guardian had been nonchalantly watching, content to let the elf play with the vampire for a while, but as Isaac came hurtling at him, Nuada unsheathed his war blade. The mercenary was fairly positive he’d explored every way to torture and kill another creature, but he was always ready and willing to try and find a new one – and it was his turn now. Showing everyone why it was called the “art” of submission, Nuada clipped the vampire in one fluid motion, gracefully stepping aside as Isaac went skidding past with his face buried in the filthy concrete. He sprang to his feet, but Nuada was waiting. Shoving an unforgiving knee in his spine, the mercenary grabbed a fist full of hair and wrenched Isaac back hard enough to splinter his collarbones. “Let me see if I can remember what your Caleb did to the little mixed breed fairy bitch,” Nuada spat out.

Even Niall grimaced when Nuada took the curved edge of his war blade and unceremoniously sliced a chunk right out of the vampire’s neck, carving out the exact spot where Grace had been viciously gnawed. He tossed the chunk of meat to the floor with a sick splat and a splash of blood, unmoved by the vampire’s scream of rage and pain or the answering murmurs it sent rippling through the crowd. Snatching him to his feet, Nuada showed no sympathy, and pure evil seeped from his burning red eyes as he crawled in Isaac’s face. “The next time one of your kind wishes to feast on the great-grandchild of Lord Niall, they should remember what happens to the one responsible.” Moving faster than the eye could follow, the ruthless Guardian danced his blade down Isaac’s chest, laying open one gaping wound after another while reducing the vampire’s clothing to shreds. He finished with a foot to the gut that sent him barreling backwards . . . right into Glorfindel’s waiting arms.

It was a twisted game of cat and mouse that could go on for a very long time since the vampire was self-healing even as he was being wounded, so the two warriors were enjoying themselves. So were the two lords watching. Niall held the same appreciation for well-deserved torture as he did for mischievous amusement - Elrond typically did not. Elves held the deepest respect for all living things, and regarded swordsmanship as an art to be studied and perfected – preferably for entertainment, not killing – but tonight, he was making an exception, although he felt the game had gone far enough.

“Dago hon,” Elrond ordered loudly, “kill him.”

Tightening his grip on Isaac’s chest, Glorfindel squeezed until the sound of ribs snapping could be heard through the warehouse and blood ran from Isaac’s mouth. The vampire flailed wildly, fangs and fingers tearing at everything in sight, but when he managed to rip Fin’s sleeve and sink his teeth into the elf’s forearm, it just pissed the elf off that much more. Slamming Isaac to the floor with a resounding thud, Glorfindel stomped his boot into the vampire’s face hard enough to dislodge both fangs. “Garo hîdh nen gurth . . . have peace in death,” Glorfindel said matter-of-factly. Then he grabbed him by the nape of the neck and the seat of the pants, and sent him flying back to Nuada one last time.

Motions smooth as flowing water took Nuada across the warehouse to meet the vampire’s forward motion, a single murmured word – Olótëare - stirring secret sacred spells and instructing a dark realm weapon to deliver death. With a sick rasp, the war blade found its way into the center of Isaac’s forehead, an ancient hand gripping the hilt right between two disbelieving eyes while the glistening tip protruded from the back of his head. Had Nuada stopped there it would have been dramatic enough, but as everyone watched in stunned amazement, Nuada took a blade now burning with heat and ripped it downward, slicing through flesh and bone like butter, to split the vampire in half.

As if it were happening in slow motion, Nauda sheathed the glowing blade and snatched the evil looking short staffed spear from his back, severing the vampire’s head even as his body was falling, then expertly flipping the weapon to skewer Isaac’s heart with a soft crunching sound. Before the body hit the concrete, the Guardian had replaced it with nothing more than the gentle hiss of metal meeting leather, and his expression did not change when the vampire’s head went rolling across the floor and began to disintegrate into a puddle of bubbling black goo and dark ash.

Passing a spine tingling look of cold satisfaction over his work, Nuada turned to address the crowd of vampires in attendance. His message rang out in an evil tone, each and every syllable wrapped in a poisonous warning to all who could hear them. “I am Amarande Nuada, Dark Realm Guardian and Sovereign Protector of the Fey. I do not fear the dark – I own it. So leave this place knowing that any harm bestowed upon a descendant of Niall Brigant will be returned on you a thousand-fold, and never forget what you have seen here this night because I will be watching.”

The crowd was beginning to mill uncomfortably, but Judge Villalobos came to his feet and began to clap, accompanying it with a low, horrible laugh that echoed through the open metal building as the other vampires in attendance joined in. “Bravo! Bravo! You have indeed honored us tonight with this fine display of swordsmanship and fighting skills! Bravo! Do come back and join us again!”

It broke the tense mood, and Pam simply cooed as she returned to Eric’s side. “Ooohhh, I like these new elves and fairies already!”

The strikingly handsome vampire sheriff was not sure if he did or not. As a former warrior himself, he was truly impressed by the skilled performance given by both Glorfindel and Nuada, but his mind was far more preoccupied with the safety of his territory – and Sookie - than making new friends. He was now firmly convinced the vampires wanted no part of a war with this group – ever – and he was relieved this tribunal was over, but other dangers remained.

Eric wanted everyone to get out of his way, so he could corner Nuada and find out what was happening with Dermot.

Retaining his cool demeanor, he impatiently waited for the odd group to reassemble themselves, then silently led them back outside. Curious about these strange new creatures invading his turf, and perplexed by the strange language they used, he eavesdropped on the conversation Glorfindel and Nuada shared as they walked behind him. Eric worried perhaps they were planning another attack, but discovered they were doing nothing of the sort – they were chatting as pleasantly as if they’d just left a tea party, and Eric had to suppress a snicker when Nuada asked Glorfindel if he knew the proper English translation of the word “nachuithron”. Yes, the elf most certainly did - motherfucker.

Suddenly Eric realized these creatures were not so different than he was. How many times had he stood and watched in satisfaction when a vampire was hauled away to their torture or death because they had wronged another? Could he expect any less from the fairies or elves? What wouldn’t he do to protect one of his own? What wouldn’t he do to protect Sookie?

Nothing.

Standing in the grim parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, Eric came to the very clear realization that what Nuada said the night before was absolute truth. Any one of these creatures would die to protect one of their own, and Eric was thrilled they were on the same side.

Eric continued to record every detail of the intimidating group as they headed back outside. He was remaining aloof and quiet while waiting for the soldiers and Lords to hopefully leave so he could speak to Nuada – but Pam was feeling much friendlier. Blood in any form was the most erotic thing imaginable to a vampire, and she had been instantly attracted to both Nuada’s strange good looks and Glorfindel’s riveting power. The attractive blonde sidled right up between them without a moment’s hesitation, laying her hand on Nuada’s chest for a quick grope, before turning to Fin and sliding a few fingers into the waist of his pants. “So nice to meet you both,” she said in a sultry voice, flashing a hint of fang. “I do hope you’ll be coming to visit again.”

The remaining foursome from the elf realm passed Pam a unified look of surprise. Elves did not lend themselves to indiscriminate pleasures of the flesh, and Lord Elrond considered such forward behavior appalling. Fairies did, but Lord Niall certainly did not consider what he just witnessed to be an appropriate aphrodisiac, and gave the vampire a puzzled look. Nuada agreed. Killing a vampire did not make him want to bed one, and while the mercenary sampled regularly from the wide variety of indulgences life on earth could bring, this was certainly not the time for such things. Fin just stood there flabbergasted, but ever polite and well-mannered, he discreetly said nothing – probably because his mouth wasn’t working at the moment. Instead, he gently removed her hand from his leather legging lacings, and took a casual step back to remove his body from her grasp.

Pam offered him a seductive little pout, and Eric cleared his throat loudly. He needed information – not distractions! “How is Grace?” he asked.

Lord Niall stiffened instantly, and Nuada arched a brow wondering where this was going to lead. The moment was broken, however, when Eric’s phone began to ring – or sing rather – because the Dixie Chicks were serenading them from his pocket. Oh, was he going to choke Sookie for this later!

“Do you need to get that?” Nuada asked with thinly veiled humor.

He most certainly did not, but Eric did intend to make it shut up. He snatched the iPhone from his pocket and saw that it was Sookie. Dammit, of all the times to call!

Pam peeked over. “Eric, did you ever call her last night? You had a date tonight.”

Shit! He’d forgotten, but that was the least of his worries because things were about to head south fast. Haldir and Grace were not the only ones who dealt with the strong connection of a shared blood bond, and as he stood staring at his ringing phone, he felt his stomach drop to his knees. Eric wanted to scream and throw up simultaneously, but the emotions were not his own – they were Sookie’s.

Eric’s eyes snapped up to meet Niall’s, only to find the fairy had gone a shade paler. A hand clutched the lapel over his chest as the fairy turned to Nuada. “Something is terribly wrong.”

The words were barely out before Kalen appeared looking frantic, and another Fey Guard staggered from the shadows covered in blood. “Dermot returned and . . .”

Nuada caught him as he slid to the ground, dead. “Kalen?”

“Things are not good, Master. Dermot appeared in Bon Temps right after things began here. The guards were able to hold him off, but Sookie left for Shreveport during the fighting. She arrived at Fangtasia but Dermot followed, so they called for me. Several men were lost, and Sookie has left again. We are tracking her, and it seems she is headed for the Northman house . . . and Master . . . there is blue lightning on the horizon.”

Every eye widened as a sapphire bolt lit the distance. The sky over south Shreveport where Eric’s house stood was a boiling mass of thunderheads riddled with eerie purple and black tendrils. Eric’s phone rang again, and he quickly answered it. Logan was ranting before he could say hello.

“Man, we got problems. Sookie just tore out of Fangtasia like her ass was on fire. I swear, she acts like she’s lost her mind. Her skin is pale as paper, and her eyes are real dark. I tried to stop her, but she ran out and jumped in her car, screaming something about you standing her up and her hand itching like hell. I think she’s going to your house, so I’m headed over there now.”

Eric hit the off button and glowered at Nuada. “You told me this shit was under control, and if something happens to Sookie, I’m coming after your ass first.”

Nuada watched him go, then turned to Kalen. “How many came with Dermot?”

Kalen took a deep breath. “I believe they all did.”
~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~*~O~
Regardless of how many men Dermot brought with him from exile in the Shadow Swamps, Sookie was oblivious to them all. Eric Northman was feeling her physical discomforts – she was feeling his stress - and while for some unknown reason she could not cue in on his current location, Sookie felt in her very bones he was hiding something huge from her. She slammed her cell phone down on the console. The chicken wasn’t answering.

“Stand me up, don’t even call, won’t take my calls! His sorry dead self better hide!” she seethed, but little did Sookie know, she could not hide – and she was the one in danger of being dead next.

Sweating even with the air conditioner on, Sookie jacked up the radio and washed down two Tylenol with a Diet Coke as she headed across town. Her tires squealed when the traffic light changed and she hit the gas. Sookie’s heart said go to Eric’s house. For some inexplicable reason, her gut demanded she go in a different direction. Which way?

A car horn blared as she sat at the next traffic light, paralyzed by indecision. Her finger was on the blinker, her car sitting at the intersection that led to Eric’s housing development. Should she turn? Sookie scratched her hand and tried to ignore the irritated driver behind her. Her palm was raw to the point of bleeding she’d clawed it so much. The light turned red again, and she leaned her head against the steering wheel. Why was she so hot and nauseous?

When the signal turned green, Sookie hit the blinker and the gas. She headed toward Eric’s, but the minute she ignored the commanding feeling nagging her mind, the nausea became overwhelming. She pulled to the side of the road and retched out the open window. Her skin felt like a million ants were crawling over it. Weak and lightheaded, she wiped her mouth and took another sip of her drink. It was quickly becoming a matter not of if she was going to Eric’s, but could she make it to Eric’s.

I can do this!

Putting up every mental block she had, Sookie pushed against the strange urges calling to her and fought to clear her mind. The nausea and searing headache eased little, but she put the car back in drive, never seeing the shadow slithering around her tires when she did. It took a lot of determination and silent prayers, but only a few minutes later she was pulling up to the stately dark brick home that was Eric Northman’s private residence.

The creak of her car door when she opened it sounded loud – too loud – like every living thing was holding its breath and she was the only one ignorant enough to make noise. A huge flash of blue lightning lit the sky, and Sookie looked up. It was the blackest night she’d ever seen, but something about the swirling clouds seemed so pretty . . . so seductive . . . like they were calling to her. Thunder crashed and she jumped, then Lord Niall stepped from the shadows. He was not alone. Eric was standing beside him. What the hell?

“Great-grandchild, quickly come to me! Are you alright?” Niall asked.

That would be a big, fat no.

Sookie opened her mouth to say something very unladylike to Eric, but the shadowy fingers suddenly clamped around her throat stopped all speaking. A dark-haired warrior materialized, and Eric made a mad dash to intervene. “Sookie!” he yelled, but the vampire didn’t make it. He bounced off Nuada’s back when the Guardian appeared directly in his path, and the air began popping like popcorn as fey appeared everywhere. Elves, fairies - and exiles.

Fangs bared, Eric was going insane, handing Nuada all he could handle just to hold him back. “I’m going to tear your head off, if you don’t let her go!” Eric yelled. I'm going to tear your fucking head off when you do!

“Control yourself, Northman, and whatever you do, don’t let one of them touch you!” Nuada hissed.

Niall’s hand on Eric’s shoulder provided the voice of reason. Eric did not pass out, but everything got very heavy, very fast as the wretched concrete feeling returned. The vampire stayed put – but only because he didn’t have a choice – then Niall took up where he left off. Bristling with fury, the fairy lord locked his youngest son in a vicious, warning glare. “Your quarrel is with me, not Sookie. Let the child go!”

Dermot sneered and squeezed Sookie’s throat harder. She gagged, and Nuada took a menacing step closer. “Dermot, I would suggest you do as he said.”

The dark-haired fey laughed – loudly. “Oh, I think not. This pretty little mixed-breed is very happy right where she is. Aren’t you Mailëa?”

Sookie looked up into those hypnotic silver eyes and went limp. His hand slid away from her throat and ran right over a plump breast before wrapping around her waist, and when Dermot pulled her against him, Sookie snuggled into his arms like she was thrilled. Eric started gnashing his teeth, and Niall’s grip tightened. Cold rage washed over the fairy lord’s face. “Spelling humans? You truly have gone mad!”

“Perhaps I have. Perhaps exile has made me so,” Dermot answered. “And just what are you going to do about it?” He ran his tongue up the side of Sookie’s face, then cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Glorfindel was some fifteen paces or so behind him, but there were over a dozen exiles filling that space and Dermot knew those twenty-four loyal fey warriors now surrounding the yard weren’t going to move one muscle so long as he had hold of the girl – but Nuada was.

The Guardian was continually easing closer, while Kalen was working around the back of Sookie’s car, effectively capturing Dermot in a triangle – for a moment. No sooner had Kalen taken his second step than tires screeched and Sookie’s car whipped backwards and slammed right into him. The fairy didn’t even have time to grunt before he was sprawled over the trunk like a dead bug, although he was thankfully still quite alive – albeit with quite a few broken bones.

“Awww . . . I’m sorry,” Dermot mocked. “Sometimes I forget my own strength.”

The demented crossbreed laughed again, but it was short lived. Elementals might be a rarity in the fey world, but Dermot’s abilities came directly from Lord Auberon – and Elrond was just as powerful as his father had been. He was also hiding in a nearby tree. Robes flowed and tires exploded when Elrond leapt to the ground, and as his boots flattened the grass beneath his feet, Sookie’s car was crushed flatter than a pancake right there in Eric’s driveway. The elven lord finished up with a flick of his wrist that reduced the metal carcass to nothing more than a trickle of red dust.

One problem solved – one deranged nephew to go.

Feeling much more comfortable after his clothing change, Elrond stalked right over to where Dermot stood. “This is a war you will never win, so stop before you do something you cannot take back,” he reasoned.

“They’re both going to die,” Dermot spat icily.

Elrond exchanged an almost imperceptible glance with Nuada and Niall. “Sookie and Grace? Why are they going to die? What have you done, Dermot?”

Runes lit his bronzed flesh, glowing against the dim light from the street lamps. “You should all be thanking me! Everything I have done is to purify our race, to restore the fairies to what they once were!” Sookie bent double and screamed, then began to vomit wildly. Her skin flamed bright red, and Dermot let her fall to his feet writhing in pain.

“Dermot, tell me what you have done!” Niall demanded.

His words were muffled by the sound of rubber biting pavement, as Pam’s little Toyota screeched to a halt with Logan’s Escalade hot on its bumper. Vampires began pouring from both. If Eric Northman was going to face danger, his underlings were going to make damn sure he wasn’t facing it alone, and ten creatures with bared fangs began stalking up the driveway with Pam and Logan in the lead. One word from Eric, and they were going to start tearing fairies to shreds.

“Called in the Calvary? How gracious of you, Northman,” Dermot oozed. “I love a good slaughter!”

Can you retrieve Sookie? Niall silently posed to Nuada.

I can kill him . . . let me end this!

Save my great-grandchild.

Niall’s eyes shifted to Elrond, then his weathered hand slipped free from Eric’s shoulder. “Kill any of them, but stay away from Dermot. If he touches you, he controls you.”

Eric eased up beside Nuada. Logan and Pam were awaiting his command - those exiles were looking very antsy - and he was beginning to wonder if the soles of Sookie’s feet were going to come out of her mouth she was puking so hard. “You got some plan for this?”

Nuada’s mouth quirked, but his eyes never left Dermot. The fury rolling off the Guardian was palpable, and he was already spewing silent mental commands to every loyal fey in sight – particularly Glorfindel, who was already palming one of his blades. “I hear you like to make heads roll,” Nuada answered under his breath.

Eric smiled - and all hell promptly broke loose in that yard.

The vampires and fey guards fell on the exiles in a storm of swords and fangs, but reinforcements from the Nether Realm began pouring out of every shadow in sight. Niall hit Dermot with a surge of power that should have stunned him senseless, while Elrond simultaneously caught him in a crushing mental grip - but Dermot’s powers had increased dramatically during his absence. Unfazed, he reciprocated with a blast of energy that ripped the nearest oak up by the roots and crashed it right in their midst. Nuada misted to vapor and reappeared just in time to snatch Sookie into his arms and disappear before the trunk slammed onto the exact spot where she’d been laying, while Glorfindel went straight for Dermot. Unfortunately, when the elf burst through the tangle of leaves and limbs, his sword found nothing but air. The slippery sucker transported himself out of the way just in time.

Exiles held no respect for either Lord Niall or Lord Elrond, so Glorfindel kept right on going, tearing through the mass of downed tree until he reached them. The brothers were under attack from every angle, as each exile tried to outdo the other and claim the ultimate bragging prize of killing them. Nuada appeared only seconds later at his side, and heads truly did roll as blond hair flew and blades flashed, and one demented fey after another was sent to meet their maker in the Summerlands.

Screams of death filled the air, competing with the stench of blood infusing it as blows fell, necks were ripped open, and skulls shattered over the next fateful moments. Dermot reappeared on the roof to look down and gloat, but abandoned his minions to the death they were being so skillfully delivered. Niall and Elrond had thrown themselves into the fighting with a vengeance, and neither Glorfindel nor Nuada would dare leave them and give chase.

The sky soon cleared, and the moon once again beamed from her heavenly perch, but crimson stains splattered every inch of Eric’s driveway and yard when the fighting ended. Dermot had slipped away, but the exiles paid a heavy price. Bodies were strewn in every direction, and the vampires were enjoying a blood orgy, draining the dying drops of savory fey blood from the ones still breathing. The fey warriors weren’t about to interrupt. Where they had made quite an impression on the vampires at the tribunal, the fanged creatures had certainly proven themselves formidable killers this night, and one now held the deepest respect for the other.

Niall was wiping sweat from his brow, and Glorfindel was picking leaves from Elrond’s hair when Eric approached. His eyes glowed with pleasure, and blood ringed his mouth. “We roll enough heads for you?” he asked Nuada.

The Guardian wiped his blade on his pants to clean it, then slipped it back into its sheath. “You did alright,” he quipped with a snicker.

“You want to tell me where Sookie is?”

Nuada jerked his head toward the door. “She’s inside.”

“Of all the places on the planet, you stuck her in my house while all this was happening right outside?”

“What?” Nuada shrugged. “She’s safe.”

Niall arched a brow. “Nuada, where did you put my great-grandchild?”

Nuada took a hard look around. The two dead vampires were already reduced to black ash, and as the dead fey were finished off, they did the same - melting into piles of shimmering metallic dust. Everything was under control, and there wasn’t going to be anything to clean up save the tree. Elrond quickly took care of that. One glance and it was a dust trail, mixing with the trickle that remained of Sookie’s car. He blushed slightly. “I will be certain to purchase her a new one.”

Niall’s gaze remained on Nuada. “My great-grandchild?”

Nuada headed for the door, and the tired group followed: Eric, Niall, Elrond, Glorfindel and Pam. They were expecting Sookie to be in the bathroom perhaps, hopefully getting over her nausea or cleaning herself up. She wasn’t, and they all stared wide-eyed as Nuada headed for the fireplace – and the heavy iron insert.

“Surely, he did not,” Elrond managed to murmur.

He did.

“Sookie Stackhouse is going to slap that man,” Pam said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Thankfully, Sookie didn’t. But she was certainly grateful when Nuada opened the heavy door and gently helped her out. She was scared and covered with soot, but she was safe and to their surprise smiling. Sookie gave the insert a loving pat. “Iron! The man’s brilliant.”

Pam’s mouth fell open, and Eric chuckled. “I’ll be damned. And I thought the thing was ugly.”

With a shaking hand, Sookie wiped her face. “Well, I think it’s beautiful!”

She swayed on her feet, and Niall was there instantly, supporting her as he guided her toward the couch. Elrond came over, and began a gentle examination. There were dark bruises on her neck, and her skin was alarmingly pale. He noticed her hand, and gently took it into his own. “That . . . that . . . that man. I saw him before. He . . . he came into the bar today and I . . he.” She blushed furiously then looked to Eric. Her eyes fell to the floor. “He kissed my hand,” she whispered, as a tear streaked down her cheek.

Elrond wiped it away. “That man used magic on you. There was nothing you could have done to resist.”

Sookie nodded and tried not to stare at his crown while Elrond checked her over a bit more. The elven lord smiled at her kindly. “You are quite dirty, but healthy . . . and I am pleased to meet you at last.” He placed a hand over his heart and graciously inclined his head to her. “Suilaid, Sookie. I am Lord Elrond, the younger brother of your great-grandfather, Niall.

Sookie nearly fell off the couch, and Niall quickly took his place when Elrond slipped to the other side of the room. “There is much to explain, but we will wait until you are feeling a bit stronger,” the fairy informed. Sookie nodded again. She didn’t feel much like arguing at the moment, and even if she had, the strange men in that room would have sucked the feeling right out of her. She kept glancing toward Glorfindel. Sookie had seen a number of fairies – all breathtakingly beautiful and typically graceful looking creatures. He looked like a troll doll on steroids. She couldn’t help but stare.

Thankful her attentions were diverted, Elrond headed to where Nuada was leaned against the kitchen counter. He struggled to suppress his disgust when he spoke, but his face was shadowed nonetheless. “Dermot poisoned her with a dark spell. You removed it when you hid her?”

Nuada subtly nodded.

“It nearly cost her life. Could you tell what was done?”

The Guardian glanced apologetically toward Eric, who was casually leaning beside him. “Dermot used the same spell as Fangtasia, only instead of controlling the vampire, he has gone a step farther. He used magic to turn the vampire blood Sookie has ingested against her. It was tearing her apart from the inside out.”

Elrond paled. “Then his strength is far beyond what we had imagined.”

Another nod from Nuada, then the two exchanged a knowing look. The sooner Dermot was stopped the better. The elven lord eased away, as Eric’s fingers began to tap. The vampire wanted nothing more than to be on that couch with Sookie, but she undoubtedly had questions he was in no position to answer . . . and with what he just heard, things seemed to be getting worse by the moment. He reluctantly turned to Nuada. “So not only am I a danger to her, my blood is too?”

His disappointment was obvious, and Nuada turned to face him. “That particular threat has been dealt with, just as Dermot soon will be . . . but you know what needs to happen here, don’t you, Northman?”

“I believe after tonight, you can call me Eric,” the vampire responded. His pain-drenched eyes went to the door. “How long?”

Nuada contemplated the question for a moment. “Niall has given Dermot every opportunity to accept his punishment and quietly fade, but after tonight the command to end this is inevitable. I will have to track him through the Undercities of the Nether Realm, but I happen to be rather talented in that respect.” He offered Eric a tension easing wink. “A few days at the very most.”

“And if you take Sookie to this place . . . this Rivendell elf world, she’ll be safe? Just like Grace?”

Nuada nodded. “Not one hair on her head will be harmed, and I will return her to this very house and put her back in your arms, I swear it.”

Eric couldn’t help a slight chuckle. “I think I’ll let you tell her, or maybe that Glorfindel fellow can do it. Sookie seems real impressed with him.”

They both looked to the corner where Pam had poor Glorfindel pinned to the wall, flirting with him shamelessly. The elf looked mortified, but true to his elven diplomacy was trying his best to humor her – and to ignore the fangs clearly showing over her deep red lips. Nuada chuckled along with Eric. “Glorfindel is a mighty warrior with a heart of gold. Never doubt that he would do anything to protect Sookie, as would I . . . and while we are speaking of protection, I wanted to thank you for what you have done to help Erulissë. After the attack at Fangtasia, and when she was a child.”

Eric eyed Nuada suspiciously. The Guardian was perfectly serious.

“Niall shows his gratitude poorly at times, but he is deeply grateful. If you ever need anything . . .”

Eric shook his head. “After tonight? The way you saved Sookie? No, we’re on the same side, and we’re definitely even . . . but you can come help me break this news to Sookie. She can be a real handful sometimes.”

“Then there is no doubt she and Erulissë are related. You would hardly believe what that girl did to one of the elves last evening! I am sure the bond between them will only continue to grow.”

The two headed toward the couch, but Eric froze stock still. He flipped to Nuada. “You said they were bonded. That’s why Sookie felt so bad the night Grace was attacked - why she’s been feeling so sick. But Nuada . . . Sookie’s not the only one who’s had my blood . . . I gave it to Grace, too!”

Erullisse Fan Fiction Menu

Erullisse — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 20:34:56 CST

TITLE	Date Added	Rating	Content	Synopsis	Chapters	Last Update
Hot Chocolate	08/11/09	MA	MSC	When a friend comes to visit the Texas Coast, they get a rather unexpected visitor themselves!	1	08/11/09
Eric's Erotic Extortion	11/12/09	MA	E/S	ONE SHOT No is never an acceptable answer to Eric Northman, and all is fair in Love and War so what happens when a vampire decides to use seduction and sex as his weapons of choice to extricate the information he needs from Sookie?	1
Byzantine	11/12/09	MA	E/S	Two Worlds, One Choice Cold, black water claimed the lives of Sookie's Parents, but she was not the only one who suffered. Another child lost everything that night, and her search for truth leads down a twisted road of fairy tales and friendship, lies and love.	2	11/20/09

KEY
E/S = Eric & S
B/S = Bill & S
V = Vampwich
B/S/E

S/O = Sookie & Others
E/B = Eric & Bill
P/b = Pam & Bill
Back = Back story

Mx = Other combos
FB = Fang Banger
Msc = Other Vampire

Characters
S = Sookie
P = Pam
A = Amelia
L = Lorena

E=Eric
Q = Quinn
T = Tara
Sm = Sam

B = Bill
Lf = Lafayette
AL = Alcide
Js = Jessica

J= Jason
H= Hoyt
Ay = Amy

Back to Your Vampire Fan Fiction

Forum Rules, FAQ & Wiki How To's

Boadicea — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 11:41:18 CST

Not sure what to call this page. Different wiki's use different names. Some options are:

Forum Rules, FAQ & Wiki How To's
GUIDE to the True Blood Wiki
ABOUT the True Blood Wiki
Wiki WHAT, WHERE, WHY

Keep in mind, in other wiki's this is the FIRST menu item.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION [Needs proofing, approval, links]

WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL HBO
TRUE BLOOD FAN COMMUNITY

WHAT IS THIS SITE?

This is the official wiki for the HBO show "True Blood." Members create content, edit it, upload photos, chat, discuss the show, and make friends.

We want everyone to have a great time, so if you familiarize yourself with a few rules, everything will flow easily.

WHERE SHOULD I START?

Start on the navigation on the left side of the page. Start reading and clicking around. You'll see that thousands of members have been very busy! In the navigation you'll see many topics with little triangles next to them. Click a triangle and a subtopic menu will open, and from there you can get to additional pages.

READ POSTING AND DISCUSSION FORUM RULES

Where should I post first?

Search for an existing discussion thread.

Avoid starting a new discussion thread.

Why was my post deleted?

Rules on creating a new discussion thread.

BECOME FAMILIAR WITH THE CODE OF CONDUCT

Play Nice

Advertising/Promoting Other Sites or Charities

Canon vs. Canon vs. Fanfic

Censorship

Copyrighted Material and Plagiarism

Grammar, Spelling and Punctuation

Post Spreeing

Promote the Community Spirit

Spoilers and Speculation

Wiki FAQ's & HOW TO's

[In this area, I'd like to pull in some of the Wetpaint Central videos and how-to's including Easy Edit, keyboard shortcuts, importance of tags, color codes]

True Blood Fan Wiki

Patty — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 08:49:51 CST

WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL HBO TRUE BLOOD FAN COMMUNITY

You too can be a vampire!
Go Get-Vamped by HBO!

A wiki is a collaboratively written website created by the fans for the fans. That means YOU add the images, videos, and info about Alan Ball's inspired new HBO original series.

Enter at your own risk! You may stumble upon spoilers -- some lurking in corners, some in plain view -- in many areas of this wiki. If you post info that hasn't been covered in the show (about a Charlaine Harris book, e.g.), please note it as a "spoiler."

SUPERFAN(G) SPOTLIGHT

USERNAME:

msbuffy

WHY?

Most True Blood Wiki contributions last week!

LOCATION:

Pittsburgh PA

SLOGAN:

Steelers Super Fan

● SEE ALL MEMBERS

● SEE MORE: TRUE BLOOD LINKS & RESOURCES

Congratulations, True Blood Wiki!

Congratulations! Our site won the 2009 Golden Paint Can award in the Slave to the TV: Drama category!

ANSWER THE CALL!

GIVE INTO THE URGE!

JOIN US NOW!

FOLLOW TRUE BLOOD ON TWITTER

Tru Blood bottle Twibbon! Fun!:

Show support for "TrueBlood" and add a twibbon to your twitter profile image!

Can't wait for Season 3 of True Blood ?

♦ Catch up on the latest Spoilers
♦ Discuss Season 3 Speculation, Theories, Spoilers
♦ Explore Your Vampire Fan Fiction
♦ Hot off the wire RSS news feeds
♦ Read this week's True Blood News
♦ Follow the adventures of fellow Truebies in New Orleans LA at True Blood NOLA 2009