Evil Love (An Eric Northman/True Blood Fiction)

Prologue

"Elsa! Kör!" : Elsa! Run!
Knut barricades the doors, piling tables and chairs atop each other. I run over to help him, bending an iron bar around the handles.

"Jag behöver få arvegods!" : I need to get the heirlooms!
I search around the room with desperation, all I need is the key.

"Det finns ingen tid.  Du måste lämna nu." : There's no time. You need to leave now.

"Eric kommer att döda mig om jag lämnar dem!" : Eric will kill me if I leave them behind!

He charges from the door, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me, "Du dör här om du bor, och din död kommer att krossa Eric långt mer än förlora några jävla artefakter!" : You'll die here if you stay, and your death will crush Eric far more than losing some fucking artefacts!

Our enemies' voices grow louder, the menacing chanting almost at our door, "Knut, vi kan kämpa." : Knut, we can fight.

"Nej!" He shouts, "Det finns för många. Jag hjälper de andra. Du behöver gå till Eric." : There are too many. I'll help the others, you need to go to Eric.

My eyes flit to the door in hesitation, Knut raises his voice to a shrill cry, "Nu!" : Now!

I squeeze my eyes shut, envisioning my Maker. Come on, Eric. Where are you? Where are you?

Shreveport, Louisiana.

The location flashes in my mind like a personal GPS and I'm instantly travelling towards the destination as if I've been there before. I'll be half way there by sunrise, maybe even closer if I feed along the way.

... ...

I reach the street of Eric's Paris apartment block before sunrise. My nose twitches, the scent of human blood surrounds me, I can see the beat of their jugular veins as I pass them. Damn, I'm starving. My journey will be doubled if I don't feed now.

I take a right into an alleyway, stalking in the darkness like a vampire cliché. A young man stands under a street lamp, a cigarette perched languidly between his lips.
Ugh, smokers' blood is the worst. But feeling this hungry, I can't afford to be selective. As of right now, he's an easy target and I don't have the energy to be looking for another opportunity- travelling from Sweden to France in one night took all the effort I had. He's alone, he's young, and the bitter taste of the tar in his  blood will stop me from draining him completely; I can't afford to leave any tracks behind.  I'll just have to find someone else when I'm finished with him; I'm going to feed and feed until I'm fit to burst, the next part of my journey is going to be a marathon.

Heels clicking on the pavement, I approach him, "Parlez-vous anglais?"

"A little. Can I help you?"

"I believe you can. I'm looking for some... satisfaction."

My eyes wander to the vein pulsating in his neck, I don't have the patience to wait for him to answer, nor do I have the patience to drag him somewhere more private. In my 800 years as a vampire, I have never been able to truly describe the pleasure of drinking straight from the vein, the rush of adrenaline as the warm blood pools around your lips, slithers softly down your throat. That "Tru Blood" bullshit will never compare to this. I plunge my fangs into his flesh, drawing his life's essence into me, absorbing it. His heartbeat begins to slow and I retract my fangs before it stops altogether.
When I look up, I see a strange calm cover his eyes, "Why didn't you scream? Struggle?"

"We all need to eat, no?"

"I'm still going to glamour you." I stare deep into his eyes, deeper and deeper until I can physically see the swirls of his soul, his delicate human soul... "You have no memory of this event."

"I have no memory of this event." He repeats, his voice monotone.

"You are going to walk away now. And you will not look back."

"I am going to walk away and I will not look back."

I allow his soul to be released and watch as he stumbles along the cobbled street. A glance at the sky tells me I have maybe one hour until sunrise. I need to hurry.

3 glamoured humans later and it's time for me to go to ground for the day. Letting myself into the basement of Eric's apartment block, I pull the blackout curtains across before the sun can catch my skin. I need to rest. Tomorrow will be the first time I see my Maker in 300 years.