Dead Reckoning (Sookie Stackhouse #11)(37)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"I want you to move in with me," Eric said. "You can stay in one of the upstairs bedrooms if you want. The one we usually use. You don’t have to stay down in the dark with me. I don’t want you to be alone. I don’t want to feel your fear one more time. It makes me crazy to know someone is attacking you, and I’m not there."

We had gotten into the habit of making love in the largest upstairs bedroom. (Waking up in the windowless room downstairs gave me the heebie- jeebies.) Now Eric was offering that room to me permanently. I knew this was a big deal for Eric, a major deal. And it was huge for me, too. But a decision this big couldn’t be made at a moment when I was not myself, and tonight I wasn’t myself.

"We need to talk," I said. "Do you have time?"

"Tonight, I’m making time," he said. "Are the fairies at your house?"

I called Claude on my cell. When he answered, I could hear the noise of Hooligans in the background. "I’m just checking to see where you are before Eric and I go to the house," I said.

"We’re staying at the club tonight," Claude answered. "Have a good time with your vampire hunk, Cousin."

Eric followed me over to my house. He’d brought the car, because as soon as he’d known I was in danger, he’d known it had passed and he could take the time to drive.

I poured myself a glass of wine–unusual for me–and I microwaved some bottled blood for Eric. We sat in the living room. I pulled up my legs onto the couch and swung around with my back against the arm to face him. He angled toward me on the other end.

"Eric, I know you don’t ask people to stay in your house lightly. So, I want you to know how . . . touched and flattered I am that you invited me."

Right away, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. That sounded way too impersonal.

Eric’s blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, think nothing of it," he said coldly.

"I didn’t say that right." I took a deep breath. "Listen, I love you. I . . . feel thrilled that you want us to live together." He looked a little more relaxed. "But before I make up my mind whether to do that, we need to get some stuff straight."

"Stuff?"

"You married me to protect me. You hired Terry Bellefleur to spy on me, and you applied pressure where he couldn’t take it, to get him to comply."

Eric said, "That happened before I knew you, Sookie."

"Yeah, I get that. But it’s the nature of the pressure you applied to a man whose mental state is so wobbly. It’s the way you got me to marry you, without knowing what I was doing."

"You wouldn’t have done it otherwise," Eric said. As always, practical and to the point.

"You’re right, I wouldn’t," I said, trying to smile at him. But it wasn’t easy. "And Terry wouldn’t have told you things about me, if you’d offered him money. I know you see this as the smart way to do business, and I’m sure a lot of people would agree with you."

Eric was trying to follow my thinking, but I could tell he wasn’t making any sense of it. I kept struggling upstream. "We’re both living with this bond. I’m sure sometimes you would rather I didn’t know what you’re feeling. Would you be wanting me to live with you if we didn’t have the bond? If you didn’t feel it every time I was in danger? Or angry? Or afraid?"

"What a strange thing to say, my lover." Eric took a swallow of his drink, set it down on the old coffee table. "Are you saying that if I didn’t know you needed me, I wouldn’t need you?"

Was that what I was saying? "I don’t think so. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’d want me to live with you unless you felt like people were out to get me." Was that the same thing? Geez Louise, I hated conversations like this. Not that I’d ever had one before.

"What difference does that make?" he said, more than a trace of impatience in his voice. "If I want you with me, I want you. The circumstances don’t matter."

"But they do matter. And we’re so different."

"What?"

"Well, there are so many things you take for granted that I don’t."

Eric rolled his eyes. A total guy. "Like what?"

I groped around for an example. "Well, like Appius having sex with Alexei. It was not a big deal for you, even though Alexei was thirteen." Eric’s maker, Appius Livius Ocella, had become a vampire during the time when Romans ruled much of the world.

"Sookie, it was what you call a done deal long before I even knew I had a brother. In Ocella’s time, people were reckoned practically grown at thirteen. They were even married that young. Ocella never understood some of the changes in society that came with the centuries. And Alexei and Ocella are both dead now." Eric shrugged. "There was another side of that coin, you remember? Alexei used his youth, his childlike looks, to disarm all the vampires and humans around him. Even Pam was loath to put him down, though she knew how destructive he was, how insane. And she’s the most ruthless vampire I know. He was a drain on all of us, sucking the will and force from us with the depth of his need."

And with that unexpectedly poetic sentence, Eric was done talking about Alexei and Ocella. His whole face turned stony. I recalled my main point: our irreconcilable differences. "What about the fact that you’re going to outlive me for, like, forever?"

"We can take care of that easily enough."

I just stared at him.

"What?" Eric said, almost genuinely amazed. "You don’t want to live forever? With me?"

"I don’t know," I said, finally. I tried to imagine it. The night, forever. Endless. But with Eric!

I said, "You know, Eric, I can’t . . ." And then I stopped dead. I’d almost insulted him unforgivably. I knew he felt the wave of doubt emanating from me.

I’d almost said, "I just can’t imagine you sticking around after I start to look old."

Though there were a few more topics I had hoped we’d cover in our rare t?te-?-t?te, I felt the conversation was teetering on the edge of Disaster Canyon. Maybe it was lucky there was knocking at the back door. I’d heard the car coming, but my attention had been so focused on my companion that I hadn’t really registered its meaning.

Amelia Broadway and Bob Jessup were at the back door. Amelia looked the same as ever: healthy and fresh faced, her short brown hair tousled and her skin and eyes clear. Bob, not much taller than Amelia and equally lean, was a small-boned guy who looked kind of like a sexy Mormon missionary. His black-framed glasses managed to look retro instead of geeky. He was wearing jeans, a black-and-white plaid shirt, and tasseled loafers. He’d been a very cute cat, but his attraction as a guy escaped me–or rather it showed itself to me only now and then.