**A/N: My you guys are a bloodthirsty lot! Sadly no blood is actually spilled but… Anyway, this is a short chapter – the guys were understandably in a hurry to get back home…**
Eric knew that if he and Sevrin hadn’t left when they did then they wouldn’t have left at all that night. One of his sweetest dreams – a nebulous dream he’d had even before he’d fully realized he had it – had just come true: his Sookie was finally, voluntarily, in his home. However, instead of spending the rest of their first night tending to her needs and pleasures – not to mention his own needs and pleasures – he had to go and fucking deal with darling Pamela.
Judging by the look on Sevrin’s face, the dark mountain felt the same. Things had apparently been progressing rather well between him and Willa and this interruption wasn’t making him happy, either.
Sookie and Willa had neither one appreciated their upcoming absence, either, but both had graciously understood.
Well, Eric amended to himself, if “graciously understood” was the appropriate way to describe Sookie’s “kick Pam’s ass for me and pick up some butter pecan ice cream and some Vidalia onions on your way back home”, then sure, his Sookie ‘graciously understood’.
Willa’s muttered injunction to make Pam wear cow-shit brown polyester may have been quietly seconded.
After calling Fangtasia’s head of security, Eric settled in for the long, silent drive to the bar. Sevrin was quiet by nature, which was just as well considering the many thoughts flitting through the Viking’s busy mind. He couldn’t help but remember how very desolate he’d become, and how it had been worsening exponentially, during the nights leading up to Sookie’s return to his life. That had truly been one of the lowest points in his life.
It never once escaped his attention that Pamela had been almost entirely responsible for every single second of it.
Granted he could have contacted Sookie at any time, could have gone to see her, written her a fucking letter, something, but he knew, or at least thought he knew, the kind of reception she’d have given him. Why would he ever have thought any differently? There was nothing remaining in their ‘relationship’ to even hint that she’d have seen him as anything but a negative reminder of the last few years of her life.
Their history together was tumultuous and passionate but there had been no true, stable foundation. Hindsight may be 20/20 but he could only work with the truths he’d known during that time, and those truths had not warranted yet another effort on his part. There had been too much stupidity and too much Compton…and too much stupidity over Compton. No matter how much he hated the fact, he had been right to let her go.
Discovering now that Sookie – generally recalcitrant, emotionally somewhat stunted, naive to the point of being backward Sookie – had extended her hand to him not just once but twice, and so long ago at that, was intoxicating…and ironic as fuck.
Knowing that Pamela had seen fit to deny him the knowledge of Sookie’s offers, to deny him the option, the choice, the chance, however, was indescribably infuriating.
She had in effect chosen to deny him the relationship that would most likely have come from that knowledge, and had thus allowed untold amounts of unnecessary pain and drama to cloud Sookie’s life.
Pamela was no Child of his.
If he could wish her out of existence in a way that wouldn’t make his Sookie feel responsible, he would do it in one of her heartbeats.
Slowing down, Eric snorted at the memory of Willa’s second, more quietly spoken, suggestion as he turned into the bar’s parking lot. Darling Pamela had best think to keep her snarky bitch-face shut, something Eric highly doubted the deceitful bitch was capable of even on the best of nights.
At least her cell for the time being was prepared. During the quickly placed call to Fangtasia’s head of security, the Were – who had never trusted or liked Pamela – had happily and with highly-suspect innocence informed Eric of a case of expired New Blood found conveniently placed near the incarceration portion of the bar complex’s lowest level.
It was amazing how waterproof titanium-reinforced walls and floors could be. It was also amazing how vampire-proof silver-lined, solid-walled cells within that reinforced portion of the basement could be. It was even more amazing just how much worse expired New Blood smelled and, although he’d never tried it, surely tasted than even expired True Blood did.
He parked in his reserved spot near the private back entrance then within seconds he and Sevrin were in the basement. Eric silently gestured toward Pamela’s current location then escorted the darkly fearsome mountain down the hallway to her future cell, prepared to his specifications, and waited while Sevrin plotted the upcoming transfer.
Eric had already warned him that Pamela could be a cunning snake and he was taking no chances.
Very soon thereafter the coldly pissed-off ex-Maker and the glowering Jailor stood with fangs bared before the standing coffin containing one suspiciously silent ex-Child. As previously strategized, fully half of the bar’s security personnel, Were and Vampire alike, were stationed to guard all basement exits, silver spray and netting at the ready.
Eric reluctantly opened the bond he still had with Pamela to determine her state of mind. If she appeared properly repentant, he would have a cot hauled into her cell; if not, he wouldn’t. The concrete flooring was certainly not comfortable, but it wouldn’t cause her additional harm. As he suspected, she was in downtime, but her emotions were as easy to read as ever.
A moment later he silently warned to Sevrin to be on his guard. There would be no cot.
Sevrin stood ready, legs braced and core tense, and waited. The stench of an irate silver-scorched vampire permeated the basement and added exponentially to his foul mood.
He couldn’t stand a traitor – detested them even more than he did a coward – but when a Child betrayed their own Maker, especially a Maker as benevolent as the Northman, that loathing was quick to turn vicious.
Eric watched as Sevrin’s harsh features darkened further with disgust and was silently thankful that he wasn’t on the receiving end of such tacit loathing.
Feeling badly for Pamela never once entered his mind.
With an almost silent growl, in a blur he released the locks on the coffin and threw open the lid.
The action apparently startled Pam from her downtime and her eyes suddenly opened. Her line of vision was entirely filled with her first sight of Sevrin, and he was a frightening sight to behold. Eric watched impassively as Pamela’s eyes trailed up the other vampire’s unexpectedly tall build and he had to stifle a laugh.
Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at thick shoulders so broad they blocked the rooms harsh light, at dark hair and black eyes narrowed menacingly, at a muscular frame clad in black leather, at a fearsome expression seething with disgust and loathing…
Unsurprised, Sevrin’s long arm shot out immediately and in less than an instant his huge hand was cinched tightly around Pam’s neck. A moment later the coffin was in splinters as he slammed his prisoner through it to hold her by her neck against the wall behind.
The quiet fury of his low snarls adding to her fear, Pam, cow-eyed and with feet dangling at least a foot off the floor, wisely held her tongue. Eric could tell by the look on her face that had she been human she’d have pissed herself.
For the longest minute of Pam’s life Sevrin simply glared down into her eyes, his struggle against ending her right fucking then painfully obvious in the black depths of his eyes and the huge fangs that seemed to grow longer by the second.
After barely winning his inner battle and still squeezing her neck against the wall, he slid her up so that he could snarl directly into her ear, his voice low and ominous, “To me, you are nothing more than a filthy job. Your pride, your supposed wit, your fucking nails? Worthless.” A great rumbling growl escaped. “Obey or die. I care not,” he spat.
Sevrin reflexively gripped her neck even tighter as he fought the alluringly intense desire to rend her head from her body.
During the brief time after the Northman had opened the coffin and before the pathetic bitch had tried to run, he had studied his new job and found her very sorely lacking. Some vampires were simply stupid but could be retrained; others, not so much, and it behooved him to note the difference.
In his chosen line of work, it had been to his benefit to hone the ability to memorize and dissect the most fleeting of facial expressions as soon as possible, and this skill had served him well. He had therefore caught Pam’s initial expression before she’d realized exactly what was going on, and he was even less impressed. Her tendency toward self-pity, juvenile tantrums, and an unwarranted sense of entitlement would have made him ill had he been human. From the expensive piece of trash she was wearing to the ridiculous shoes to the ugly paint on her nails, her worship of the material world was overly blatant and very telling.
Things, not people…
This one was most unlikely to achieve any sort of redemption.
A fucking lifer…
He quickly tired of her presence. With a scowl of extreme distaste he hauled her by her neck down the hall to the waiting cell.
With a heartfelt grunt Sevrin summarily relieved himself of his vile cargo by tossing her to the floor in the center of the empty cell. He then slammed the silver-coated door shut and snicked the lock closed with a grimace of what could have been satisfaction, then stalked off while ignoring the faint sting of the already-healing silver burn on his thumb.
At floor level the solid cell wall had a small pass-through so there wouldn’t be a security risk in feeding a prisoner, so on his way out Eric paused to order the head of security to give the inmate two bottles of the expired faux blood an hour before sunrise. She would have to go into her dayrest with that fetid taste and stench fresh in her mouth and nose.
With a grin Eric blurred to the SUV. He had an all-night grocery store to visit.
Two minutes from the house, Sevrin finally broke the silence.
“Owe you a coffin.”
**A/N: I’m sorry…I know some of you gorgeously bloodthirsty readers-mine were angling for some, well, bloodshed (you know I love that about you, right?), but I just couldn’t see Eric going that route in this non-combative situation. Now, if Pam were actively attacking Sookie or Willa, etc., then sure, I could see him ending her as quickly as possible, but in a controlled situation like the one above I can’t see him choosing to physically harm her without proper pernicious provocation (say that three times fast, and yes, I”m so grinning over being able to use “pernicious” for no good reason). Besides…that’s what Sevrin’s for… *evil grin* Ok, so…reviews/muse…what did you think?**