Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #3)(12)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"You’ve told me that what will happen to you if all this comes unraveled would be pretty horrible," I reminded him.

"True."

"You’ve told me you desperately need me to do this for you."

"True."

"That’s what I ask in return."

"You might make a decent vampire, Sookie," Eric said finally. "All right. Done. If anything happens to you, she’ll never f**k Bill again."

"Oh, it’s not just that."

"No?" Eric looked very skeptical, as well he might.

"It’s because she betrayed him."

Eric’s hard blue eyes met mine. "Tell me this, Sookie: Would you ask this of me if she were a human?" His wide, thin-lipped mouth, most often amused, was in a serious straight line.

"If she were a human, I’d take care of it myself," I said, and stood to show him to the door.

After Eric had driven away, I leaned against the door and laid my cheek against the wood. Did I mean what I’d told him? I’d long wondered if I were really a civilized person, though I kept striving to be one. I knew that at the moment I’d said I would take care of Lorena myself, I had meant it. There was something pretty savage inside me, and I’d always controlled it. My grandmother had not raised me to be a murderess.

As I plodded down the hall to my bedroom, I realized that my temper had been showing more and more lately. Ever since I’d gotten to know the vampires.

I couldn’t figure out why that should be. They exerted tremendous control over themselves. Why should mine be slipping?

But that was enough introspection for one night.

I had to think about tomorrow.

Chapter Four

Since it seemed I was going out of town, there was laundry to be done, and stuff in the refrigerator that needed throwing away. I wasn’t particularly sleepy after spending so long in bed the preceding day and night, so I got out my suitcase, opened it, and tossed some clothes into the washer out on the freezing back porch. I didn’t want to think about my own character any longer. I had plenty of other items to mull over.

Eric had certainly adopted a shotgun approach to bending me to his will. He’d bombarded me with many reasons to do what he wanted: intimidation, threat, seduction, an appeal for Bill’s return, an appeal for his (and Pam’s, and Chow’s) life and/or well-being – to say nothing of my own health. "I might have to torture you, but I want to have sex with you; I need Bill, but I’m furious with him because he deceived me; I have to keep peace with Russell Edgington, but I have to get Bill back from him; Bill is my serf, but he’s secretly working more for my boss."

Darn vampires. You can see why I’m glad their glamour doesn’t affect me. It’s one of the few positives my mind-reading ability has yielded me. Unfortunately, humans with psychic glitches are very attractive to the undead.

I certainly could not have foreseen any of this when I’d become attached to Bill. Bill had become almost as necessary to me as water; and not entirely because of my deep feelings for him, or my physical pleasure in his lovemaking. Bill was the only insurance I had against being annexed by another vampire, against my will.

After I’d run a couple of loads through the washer and dryer and folded the clothes, I felt much more relaxed. I was almost packed, and I’d put in a couple of romances and a mystery in case I got a little time to read. I am self-educated from genre books.

I stretched and yawned. There was a certain peace of mind to be found in having a plan, and my uneasy sleep of the past day and night had not refreshed me as much as I thought. I might be able to fall asleep easily.

Even without help from the vampires, I could maybe find Bill, I thought, as I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. But breaking him out of whatever prison he was in and making a successful escape, that was another question. And then I’d have to decide what to do about our relationship.

I woke up at about four in the morning with an odd feeling there was an idea just waiting to be acknowledged. I’d had a thought at some point during the night; it was the kind of idea that you just know has been bubbling in your brain, waiting to boil over.

Sure enough, after a minute the idea resurfaced. What if Bill had not been abducted, but had defected? What if he’d become so enamored or addicted to Lorena that he’d decided to leave the Louisiana vampires and join with the Mississippi group? Immediately, I had doubts that that had been Bill’s plan; it would be a very elaborate one, with the leakage of informants to Eric concerning Bill’s abduction, the confirmed presence of Lorena in Mississippi. Surely there’d be a less dramatic, and simpler, way to arrange his disappearance.

I wondered if Eric, Chow, and Pam were even now searching Bill’s house, which lay across the cemetery from mine. They weren’t going to find what they were looking for. Maybe they’d come back here. They wouldn’t have to get Bill back at all, if they could find the computer files the queen wanted so badly. I fell to sleep out of sheer exhaustion, thinking I heard Chow laugh outside.

Even the knowledge of Bill’s betrayal did not stop me from searching for him in my dreams. I must have rolled over three times, reaching out to see if he’d slid into bed with me, as he often did. And every time, the other side of the bed was empty and cold.

However, that was better than finding Eric there instead.

I was up and showering at first light, and I’d made a pot of coffee before the knock at the front door came.

"Who is it?" I stood to one side of the door as I asked.

"Eric sent me," a gruff voice said.

I opened the door and looked up. And looked up some more.

He was huge. His eyes were green. His tousled hair was curly and thick and black as pitch. His brain buzzed and pulsed with energy; kind of a red effect. Werewolf.

"Come on in. You want some coffee?"

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t what he was seeing. "You bet, chere. You got some eggs? Some sausage?"

"Sure." I led him to the kitchen. "I’m Sookie Stackhouse," I said, over my shoulder. I bent over to get the eggs out of the refrigerator. "You?"

"Alcide," he said, pronouncing it Al-see, with the d barely sounded. "Alcide Herveaux."

He watched me steadily while I lifted out the skillet – my grandmother’s old, blackened iron skillet. She’d gotten it when she got married, and fired it, like any woman worth her salt would do. Now it was perfectly seasoned. I turned the gas eye on at the stove. I cooked the sausage first (for the grease), plopped it on a paper towel on a plate and stuck it in the oven to keep warm. After asking Alcide how he wanted the eggs, I scrambled them and cooked them quickly, sliding them onto the warm plate. He opened the right drawer for the silverware on the first try, and poured himself some juice and coffee after I silently pointed out which cabinet contained the cups. He refilled my mug while he was at it.