Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse #4)(49)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"That confirms my bad opinion of humans in general," Eric said. He pulled my coat off my shoulders, looked at it with distaste, hung it on the back of one of the chairs pushed in under the kitchen table. "You are beautiful."

No one had ever looked me in the eyes and said that. I found I had to lower my head. "You are smart, and you are loyal," he said relentlessly, though I waved a hand to ask him to quit. "You have a sense of fun and adventure."

"Cut it out," I said.

"Make me," he said. "You have the most beautiful br**sts I’ve ever seen. You’re brave." I put my fingers across his mouth, and his tongue darted out to give them a quick lick. I relaxed against him, feeling the tingle down to my toes. "You’re responsible and hardworking," he continued. Before he could tell me that I was good about replacing the garbage can liner when I took the garbage out, I replaced my fingers with my lips.

"There," he said softly, after a long moment. "You’re creative, too."

For the next hour, he showed me that he, too, was creative.

It was the only hour in an extremely long day that I hadn’t been consumed with fear: for the fate of my brother, about Hallow’s malevolence, about the horrible death of Adabelle Yancy. There were probably a few more things that made me fearful, but in such a long day it was impossible to pick any one thing that was more awful than the other.

As I lay wrapped up in Eric’s arms, humming a little wordless tune as I traced the line of his shoulder with an idle finger, I was bone-deep grateful for the pleasure he’d given me. A piece of happiness should never be taken as due.

"Thank you," I said, my face pressed to his silent chest.

He put a finger under my chin so I would raise my eyes to his. "No," he said quietly. "You took me in off the road and kept me safe. You’re ready to fight for me. I can tell this about you. I can’t believe my luck. When this witch is defeated, I would bring you to my side. I will share everything I have with you. Every vampire who owes me fealty will honor you."

Was this medieval, or what? Bless Eric’s heart, none of that was going to happen. At least I was smart enough, and realistic enough, not to deceive myself for a minute, though it was a wonderful fantasy. He was thinking like a chieftain with thralls at his disposal, not like a ruthless head vampire who owned a tourist bar in Shreveport.

"You’ve made me very happy," I said, which was certainly the truth.

Chapter 10

10

The pond behind Jason’s house had already been searched by the time I got up the next morning. Alcee Beck pounded on my door about ten o’clock, and since it sounded exactly like a lawman knocking, I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt before I went to the door.

"He’s not in the pond," Beck said, without preamble.

I sagged against the doorway. "Oh, thank God." I closed my eyes for a minute to do just that. "Please come in." Alcee Beck stepped over the threshold like a vampire, looking around him silently and with a certain wariness.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked politely, when he was seated on the old couch.

"No, thank you," he said stiffly, as uncomfortable with me as I was with him. I spotted Eric’s shirt hanging on the doorknob of my bedroom, not quite visible from where Detective Beck was sitting. Lots of women wear men’s shirts, and I told myself not to be paranoid about its presence. Though I tried not to listen to the detective’s mind, I could tell that he was uneasy being alone in the house of a white woman, and he was wishing that Andy Bellefleur would get there.

"Excuse me for a minute," I said, before I yielded to temptation and asked him why Andy was due to arrive. That would shake Alcee Beck to the core. I grabbed the shirt as I went into my room, folded it, and tucked it in a drawer before I brushed my teeth and washed my face. By the time I returned to the living room, Andy had made his appearance. Jason’s boss, Catfish Hennessey, was with him. I could feel the blood leaving my head and I sat down very heavily on the ottoman sitting by the couch.

"What?" I said. I couldn’t have uttered another word.

"The blood on the dock is probably feline blood, and there’s a print in it, besides Jason’s boot print," said Andy. "We’ve kept this quiet, because we didn’t want those woods crawling with idiots." I could feel myself swaying in an invisible wind. I would have laughed, if I hadn’t had the "gift" of telepathy. He wasn’t thinking tabby or calico when he said feline; he was thinking panther.

Panthers were what we called mountain lions. Sure, there aren’t mountains around here, but panthers – the oldest men hereabouts called them "painters" – live in low bottomland, too. To the best of my knowledge, the only place panthers could be found in the wild was in Florida, and their numbers were dwindling to the brink of extinction. No solid evidence had been produced to prove that any live native panthers had been living in Louisiana in the past fifty years, give or take a decade.

But of course, there were stories. And our wo

ods and streams could produce no end of alligators, nutria, possums, coons, and even the occasional black bear or wildcat. Coyotes, too. But there were no pictures, or scat, or print casts, to prove the presence of panthers… until now.

Andy Bellefleur’s eyes were hot with longing, but not for me. Any red-blooded male who’d ever gone hunting, or even any P.C. guy who photographed nature, would give almost anything to see a real wild panther. Despite the fact that these large predators were deeply anxious to avoid humans, humans would not return the favor.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, though I knew damn good and well what they were thinking. But to keep them on an even keel, I had to pretend not to; they’d feel better, and they might let something slip. Catfish was just thinking that Jason was most likely dead. The two lawmen kept fixing me in their gaze, but Catfish, who knew me better than they did, was sitting forward on the edge of Gran’s old recliner, his big red hands clasped to each other so hard the knuckles were white.

"Maybe Jason spotted the panther when he came home that night," Andy said carefully. "You know he’d run and get his rifle and try to track it."

"They’re endangered," I said. "You think Jason doesn’t know that panthers are endangered?" Of course, they thought Jason was so impulsive and brainless that he just wouldn’t care.

"Are you sure that would be at the top of his list?" Alcee Beck asked, with an attempt at gentleness.

"So you think Jason shot the panther," I said, having a little difficulty getting the words out of my mouth.