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When Eric was young, an infant to his new life, Godric used to hold him in his arms, as best he could, and sing to him. Songs that then where old, the langue long forgotten but that now would have fallen to myth and legend.
When Eric was young and his senses would overwhelm him, the sounds, the smell, the raw energy and power, he would always go to the one place that he knew was safety, was home. There, ensconced in his makers arms, breathing in the earthy scent that clung to Godric after over a thousand years of living on this earth and sleeping in its ground, Eric would feel at peace.
Godric was his home, his heart, and he knew, that no matter what came, what changed, Godric would always be his north star.
The grip on the back of his neck was tight and unforgiving, small nails pressed lines in the side of his neck and Eric winced, his face pulling tight into a grimace. The smell of the blood slowly seeping down the side of the near dead young woman’s neck was enticing, calling to him and making his stomach roll with hunger.
The hand on his neck pushed down sharply and Eric felt his muscles scream in protest, the strength in the grip a steep contrast to the deep calmness of the words being spoken above him.
Through the harsh beating in his ears, something that Eric would have chalked up to his erratic heartbeat had he been alive, Eric could hear the low tone of his maker whose words where tinged with a small amount of worry but where mostly filled with a quiet, exasperated pride.
Eric closed his eyes and held his breath, the pros of not needing air mixed with the cons of a lifetime of breathing telling his instincts that he was going to suffocate. If he could not see nor smell the blood, then he would no longer feel the pull to drink it.
His ears however, Eric could not close and as he shut out all other things around him the words of his maker started to settle into his mind. Stuck, here, with this demon child that now owned him, Eric did the only thing left to him.
His maker gave his neck another squeeze, fingers gentling slightly but grip no less sure as he swept the fingers of his other hand through Eric’s hair and inhaled deeply. “You are stubborn, my childe, but so am I, I did not bring you into true life to have your stubbornness take you to your true death.”
Eric felt the body behind him move closer and he shrunk into himself a little more, never mind that the one who held him down was far more than a head shorter than him, the power that came from the child, the depths of his makers eyes spoke to an age that Eric found himself incapable of comprehending.
And with that age, Eric thought, with that restless wild energy tightly contained but always straining to make its way out of it’s owners skin, with that, one had to be careful, because one could never tell when the trap would open and all that hidden within, crouching and waiting, would spring.
The smell of blood came closer and Eric’s eyes snapped open, his two enlarged incisors that had been out and wanting through this whole ordeal felt like brands in his mouth as everything in him screamed at him to eat, to let go.
“I will not go through this little dance with you each time you must feed childe and will feed much.” The calm voice whispered, soft in Eric’s ear. “You are an infant; you are clinging to your mortal values as a human babe clings to their mother and while I find myself endeared by your insistence, I also find my patience wearing thin.”
Eric’s still heart beat, just once, loud and heavy in his chest. He would swear it on his fallen family.
“My childe.” The fingers on the back of his neck removed themselves, the grip replaced by a hand in his hair, holding tightly, just on the wrong side of painful as his maker repeated himself, running a gentle finger down the side of Eric’s cheek, words sounding more and more possessive each time they were uttered. “My childe, you are nothing but a beginning, unbridled and potentially endless and I have much I am looking forward to as I watch you grow and so, if I must force you to suckle like a child to keep you from ending yourself before you start then that is what we will do.”
There was movement, to fast for even Eric’s new senses to pick up and then the sound of tearing flesh, the dead woman’s heart giving one last valiant beat before it received the message that this life was over. The body was tossed with little care, left to crumple on the dirty hut floor like so much useless packaging, meant to be taken out and turned into compost or feed for the hogs.
Eric had little time to mourn, steel arms wrapping around him and then he was lifted and held tight, his back to his makers front and his arms held fast at his sides and no amount of struggling would let him free, a realty he knew well, one that he fought regardless.
“Calm Eric, this is by far not the most terrible thing, be calm childe.” The words did little to stop the continuous struggle, even while it did much to calm the storm inside Eric, no matter how he wanted to deny it.
There is only so long one can fight when one is weak from hunger and fighting his maker was akin to fighting a storm, pride a strong nemesis to defeat and Eric could feel himself losing, the strength in him waning. He was so hungry.
His maker watched on, a small smile at the corner of his mouth only helping to paint the illusion of innocence on with a stronger brush, and should anyone come upon the two of them, here, in this long forgotten, rotting hut in the middle of a long forgotten, rotting village they would be hard pressed to reconcile the image before them.
Finally, Eric lay, energy spent and pliant in his makers arms, curling his back in as he tried to force his larger body to fit more readily into his makers embrace. If there was no one there to witness his breaking moment, then there was no one to judge and Eric no longer had the desire or strength to judge himself. He was tired and hungry and spent, and all things in him turned to the demon of his death for comfort, and so now, he would to.
A pale arm was held before him, blood already slowly seeping from the wound, and his makers voice was in his ear, “Drink now childe.”
And he did.
The night was cold, wind screaming as it made its way through the trees and rocks, the inside of the cave that was currently home was cool and dark, the silence stifling in its persistence and Eric was, for lack of a better word, bored.
His maker had spoken to him only once since moonrise, an order to stay within the rocky walls of their current shelter and had since been sitting, cross legged on the dirt, face passive and body still. Eric, though still young, only felt the very slightest bit of hunger run through him, more of a passing thought then a true earning, his maker always made certain that his progeny was well taken care of.
The unsettling restlessness in his bones, however, was a different story. Nowhere he could go and nothing to occupy him left Eric in a less than hospitable mood and given his current location, the only thing there to provide a distraction to the itching under his skin was the deceptively still boy sitting a few feet away.
Never one to back down from a terrible choice Eric made his move, crossing the small cave and tossing his body down right next to his maker’s. A small rise of dust and dirt sprayed into the air at his abrupt landing, but Eric paid it no mind, there was entertainment to be had and he was set on his course.
Godric, for all that Eric knew must have tracked his movement, gave no indication that he was aware that his childe was sat beside him and Eric felt a bit of irritation run through him. He did not appreciate being ignored.
Eric let out a loud and obnoxious sigh, raising his eyes to see of that would get a rise out of his maker and when it proved futile Eric set his lips in a harsh line. He had chosen his course, now he would walk it.
Eric leaned over, his mouth but an inch from his maker’s ear, and barked his maker’s name, the lack of reaction to his obnoxious only serving to fuel his determination like a grease to a fire.
And so it went, far longer then Eric thought it would, each action building on the other until Eric himself was edging on worried over annoyed, no matter how patience his maker was Eric new Godric would eventually snap and after his behavior this night, Eric was a bit scared of how bad the snap would be, but, never one to back down out of fear Eric persisted.
The sun would be rising soon, Eric could feel it, he always felt the pull before his maker did and while Godric had explained that it was because Eric was, for all intents and purposes, still a child and so was more susceptible to his body’s calling, Eric still found his inability to stay up till sunrise a blow to his pride.
Urged on by the suns quick approach, Eric tossed all reserve to the wind. Leaning over he jabbed his maker harshly, finger stabbing into the side of Godric’s waist and Eric felt the briefest moment of triumph as his maker’s eyes snapped open before it was replaced with a rush of vertigo, Godric snapping his arms forward and dragging Eric’s much larger body down and over, ending with Eric face down and, when the reality of the position he was in sank in, wildly struggling.
Eric’s whine of “Let me go!” Came out sounding far to petulant for his liking and it only served to up the embarrassment currently rushing through his body. Eric’s hands scrambled in the dirt of the cave, fingers searching for something to grab, anything to help him out of his current position.
His writhing was abruptly stilled as a harsh pain swept through his hindquarters and Eric felt his mind short-circuit as it caught up to what had just been done to him. Eric lay there, his body limp over his maker’s lap as Godric sat, crossed legged on the ground, one arm around his childe and the other softly resting on Eric’s back.
The words, when they came, where drenched on amusement and that only served to deepen the fast-growing feeling of humiliation in Eric and he dropped his face to the ground, forehead hitting the dirt with a soft thud.
Godric let out a soft chuckle and patted his back, “Did you not spent the entirety of the night attempting to get my attention? Why then are you upset that you have managed to achieve your goal?” Godric smiled behind his Childe’s back as Eric’s only answer was to kick one of his feet back.
“Childe, it is no one’s fault but your own that you are here now, one cannot predict the response to an action, but I know you were aware that the repercussions of your behavior would not be favorable. If it is positive attention you seek then watch your actions to make certain that that is what they will create.”
“Now,” and here Godric paused, tapping Eric on the shoulder, “if you do not like the avenue of my rebuttal to your childish actions then do not act in a way that I will go down it, if you are done with your petulance then I would say that it is near sunrise and far past time to make a bed for the night.”
Godric moved, lifting Eric up and off him and no matter that Eric had been with his maker now for the better part of one year, he was still constantly surprised by the strength that resided in the small body before him. His maker moved, intentions set on digging them a resting spot for the day and Eric’s hand shot out, grabbing his maker by the flimsy cloth of his pant leg.
Godric stopped, one eyebrow lifting just barely. His childe looked up at him, eyes rimming red just a bit, face downcast and Godric knew that this was more than the sun's effect, his childe was hurting.
More than a thousand years roaming this earth had not sufficiently prepared Godric for this moment and to his surprise, he found himself floundering. What was the correct action here? Godric’s human life had been short and filled with terror, his vampire life long and filled with hardship, neither had given him a blueprint to base his actions on and comfort was a foreign concept, but, his childe, his progeny, was hurting and Godric felt himself fill with an emotion he had forgotten existed.
Empathy flooded through him and Godric felt his knees grow weak, not enough to waiver but enough to startle him. Before him was a life, a life that he had created, a life that he was responsible for, to provide for but more than that, to care for.
Godric crouched down, one hand going to Eric’s and removing it from his leg, his childe’s grip growing stronger in the assumption that his maker was trying to shrug him off. Godric reached out with his other hand and smoothed it through Eric’s hair, his low voice coming out soothing as he drew his childe up and into his arms, moving the two of them to the back of the cave.
He would have to make safe their sleep space later, right now, he had more important things to do.
Eric moved with him, exhaustion making his body heavy and his thoughts muddled, there was very little that mattered in his world at the moment, the universe narrowing until the only thing that filled his mind was his maker and the way that Godric was drawing him down until the two of them were pressed together, a strong arm around him and his maker at his back.
There was a deep rumbling in the air, like a cat’s purr and, as the very slightest bit of light stirred into the inky blackness on the horizon, Eric fell into sleep, mind calm and heart warm as he was held in the safety of his makers arms.
He wasn’t supposed to be here, not here, in the middle of this village, people all around him, so much yelling and fire overtaking his senses.
He wasn’t supposed to be here, alone, surrounded by screaming humans.
Godric had told him, that night when he had woken to find his maker standing over him, Godric had told him, “I will be gone this night childe, you must stay here. There is a danger in the air and while I would be glad to not leave you my errand cannot wait.”
Godric had looked at him then, had reached out a hand and gripped Eric by the chin, pulling his face up and looking straight into his eyes. Eric did not dare to look away.
“Promise me childe, that you will not leave here.” And Eric had promised, and in that time, he had meant it.
But the night was long, the cave still and cold and Eric, never one for inaction, grew bored, far to bored to sit still, left to his own devices for the night. His maker’s words rang round his head and Eric hesitated, should he? He had made a promise. But no, it would be alright, he wouldn’t go far, Godric would never know.
And so that is how he now found himself, terrified despite himself, with the knowledge that the sun would rise and he would still be here, in this village, surrounded by humans that had trapped him in a cage of silver in a perverse reflection of his own nightly hunting.
The humans, with their rapidly beating hearts and loud, loud voices, confused him. Where was the fear that always came with the acknowledgment of his kind? Where was the morbid fascination?
Why did they look full angered, their bodies fired up but with no surprise in their faces?
And how did they know? How did they know how to catch him, what to cage him in?
Eric felt his body tilt to the side, the nights events and lack of blood starting to wear him down, the sun would be up soon, he could feel it’s pull, could smell the ting of freshness in the air and Eric wanted to badly to be anywhere but right here.
He would die this day, he knew it, could feel it in his bones and then what? What would be left for his maker, when he came back to their little cave and found his child gone? When he felt the bond that tied the two together snap, when he would come looking for childe and would stumble over nothing but ash, what then would Godric do?
Eric hoped, selfishly, that he would be mourned, that his maker would burn these humans down in his grief, that he would give all the pain that losing his progeny caused back tenfold to these creatures that walked around his silver cage, laughing and jeering at him.
But maybe, Eric worried, Godric would come home, would find the cave empty, void of his childe that he had left safe they’re for the night, his childe who had broken his promise, had disregarded his words and instructions and had paid the price for it.
Eric could admit to himself that he wasn’t the perfect childe, he rebelled on a nightly bases, he teased his maker, ignored him when he was feeling put out and made fun of him for his old-fashioned ways of speaking and acting. Perhaps this it what he had coming to him, perhaps this is the way it should be.
He would be gone and Godric would be free, free of him and free to find a new childe to give his blood to, to save. Free to find a childe that would listen, that would treat Godric with the love and respect that he deserved, that wouldn’t take his maker for granted.
The edge of the sky turned the slightest bit lighter and Eric heard one of the humans let out a whoop of delight, the sound making its way around the small village and alerting the humans that had been in their homes for most of the night. Resting up for the morning’s festivities, Eric thought bitterly, one hand coming up to swat at his cheek.
His hand came back sticky and wet and Eric looked down in horror as he realized he was crying. Eric felt shame overtake him as the entirety of the night bloomed into realty, the truth overtaking his mind and felt his knees give way under him.
He was pathetic, even if his maker could save him, why would he? He was nothing more than a disappointment, kneeling here before humans, crying as he waited for his death.
It was a good thing Godric knew nothing of his fate, he could not bear to see the look in his makers face should he have been there.
The rising sun pulled at Eric’s body, his bones feeling like lead, dragging him down and Eric gave, laying down of the wood that covered the solid silver of his cage. He looked out, passed the screaming mob around him, passed the clearing that the little village sat in and out to the trees that made up the outer edges of the forest. This wasn’t a bad place to die, at least he would get to see the sun once more.
Eric shut out the sounds around him and kept his focus on the horizon, if this was to be his last moments on this earth then would not miss a second of it.
A scream broke Eric from his trance, one scream that quickly became two and then three and then the air was filled with shouts of agony and tearing flesh, the fresh scent of morning dew clogged with terror and blood.
The bars of his cage rattled, and Eric chanced a look, vision swimming, and made out the wild hair of his maker, his savior, and then, with all the fear vanished from his body, Eric passed out.
The next time that Eric woke, the transition from slumber was less smooth then it had ever been, and Eric slammed into alertness with a fervor that made his mind spin and all his muscles tense as one, staying locked for the second that that it took for him to register a small, cool hand on his spine and a soothing voice in his ear.
Eric could be dead and he would still know that touch anywhere, that voice the one that had carried him through the last two hundred years, his body that belonged just as much to his maker as it did him, and Eric could no more stop it from relaxing then he could stop the clouds in the sky from letting down rain.
Godric held him as Eric curled tighter into his makers arms, every emotion running through him adding themselves up to too much and letting themselves out in the form of tears and choked sobs.
Eric felt his world start rocking, softly and smoothly, accompanied by a gentle tune and he realized his maker was singing to him, soothing him and Eric felt his stomach roll because he knew, deep in his very heart, that he did not deserve this, this kindness that was being shown to him.
He did not deserve to be here, safe and so very loved. He should have burned with the sun, gone out in fire that would have cleansed Godric from his continues existence, he should have freed his maker from the burden he created by simply continuing to live.
Eric opened his mouth to tell his maker this very thing when a finger was placed, softly and carefully, over his lips. “Do you know childe, that you talk in your sleep?”
Eric shook his head no.
“I enjoy listening to it most nights, hearing your little mumbles, small things about your day or bits of the dream you are having.” Eric felt a hand wipe at his cheek, gathering up some of the tears that still ran down. “Sometimes you cry out in your sleep, and the sounds are always so sad that I can always hear them, even when I am deep in my own slumber, those times I gather you to me and hold you till you calm once more.”
“When you were so very young, not yet more than a few months old and still adjusting you used to weep, caught in memories turned nightmare of a life now lost to you and I remember, I used to sit and watch you, so worried. It was a fight each night to get you to feed and there you would be, your tears seemingly endless and I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. Why were you so unhappy.”
Eric felt his body shift and he startled as Godric moved him in his hold, an arm coming tighter around his back and Eric chanced a look up at his makers face, fear at what emotion he would see in Godric’s eyes, and he felt a new wave of tears build as Godric looked down at him, softer than Eric thought possible, and gave a little smile.
“Hello little one.” Had Eric felt anything close to his normal abrasive, petulant self, he would have wildly protested the use of this childish and frankly absurd nickname. As it stood however, currently, Eric felt small and scared and the nickname served to calm him even more.
Eric felt Godric smooth his hand through his hair before resuming with his story, voice still pitched low and words coming at a slow and steady pace. “This went on for many nights until one night, I could no longer take it, and I went to you, I put my hand on your back and you quieted slightly. I knew then that you where different to me, not better or worse, simply different, and that the ways that you required care would mean that I had to change the ways I gave it.”
Godric let out a sigh and Eric curled his fingers tighter into his makers tunic, “I was alone for nearly a thousand years before I made you, I had small interactions with others in that time, but I was alone. I had not realized how small my understanding of the world had gotten until you became my world and I have never, not for a moment, regretted giving you true life.”
“You are all things to me, no matter your actions. The rules I create are to keep you safe and I now see that I was a bit too optimistic in my belief that you were ready to follow them of your own violation but childe,” Eric held his breath, “there is no thing you could ever do that would make not care for you more than I do for my own continuation. And this is something that I will always have you know, because I do not ever want to be the cause of your nightmare tears.”
There was much that Eric wanted to say to his maker, so many feeling and thoughts that ran through him but the feeling of hunger, all consuming, was a driving force and Eric gripped his maker tighter and pointed to his mouth, his teeth already dropped and wanting.
Godric’s lip twitched, gentle amusement filling his face and he took his free hand up, thumb out, and slit open the skin to the side of his chest, right next to Eric face, and watched as his childe franticly shifted to fit his mouth over the wound.
There would be more to talk about, more to clear and more to enforce but for now, the two were safe, his child was safe, and they had forever to make it all alright.
When the sun rose on Godric, it set on all things that Eric had thought would always be sure.
It set on safety and home, memories that filled him, all bursting with lifetimes spent with his maker, now too painful to bear, and so Eric pushed them down and buried them. Gone was that space in his chest, the space that he had never even noticed before but that was now empty and cold, the space that had always linked him to Godric from the very first moment that he woken up as his.
The world seemed to lose color, the brightest red now muted by shades of grey and each interaction he had filtered in to his consciousness through a tunnel of moss.
His own childe, his amazing, perfect childe, did her best to pull him out, to wake him up. But not even the fire that Pam brought could kindle in the space around him, so devoid of oxygen as it was, and after a while, she stopped trying so hard, the fire raging inside herself starting to dim as well.
Life and the world, as unfair as it seemed, went on like nothing had happened and Eric felt the unjustness of it all burn inside, how did these people not understand that nothing was ever going to be ok again.
Despite his years, there were very few individuals on the planet that Eric trusted, not with his life or with his what was in his heart and while there where those that he considered allies, they were not friends.
He supposed he could always go and talk to the Stackhouse girl, she had been there with him, after him, for Godric’s last moments, a fact that rankled more then Eric wanted to admit.
She had been there, with his maker, and he, Eric, had been in his room, crying and hoping that the door would open, and everything would make sense again. But no, so now here he was, alive despite himself and so, so angry.
He had been promised forever; he had thought that meant forever with his maker. He should have read the fine print.
There was a coven of witches wreaking havoc in Louisiana and Eric did not give a shit. There was very little that Eric cared about these days and a group of cackling hags stumbling around a pot throwing shit in and playing with people's lives simply did not make the cut.
The cup in Eric’s hand clattered as he set it down of the sticky bar, club music booming out of the speakers and people all around him, pressing in and making an already claustrophobic environment seem just that much smaller.
Eric hated it here, here with the stupid humans offering themselves up like cattle and the stupid vampires, grown lazy and slow. Godric would have hated it here too, no wonder he never came to visit.
Eric sighed and pushed a hand back through his hair, nostrils flaring as the scent of fresh blood wafted up into the air. He tilted his head, catching the eye of the closest bouncer and pointing to where the smell was coming from, fuck this shit, if he was miserable there was no reason everyone else shouldn’t be too. Go do your illegal blood sucking bullshit outside and not in his bar.
The glass, once back in Eric’s hand made him cringe, this fake blood crap was disgusting and any vampire who said different was stuck so far up the council’s ass they were lucky they didn’t need to breath anymore. When the fuck was this night going to be over? Eric’s lip curled and he sneered at a young woman that had been headed his way, her eyes wide and hopeful.
The girl came up and Eric wanted to laugh, why did humans do this? There were far safer ways to get an adrenaline rush, like tossing yourself out the back of an airplane sans parachute.
Eric heard the intake of breath and he raised his head, taking a good look at the pathetic creature in front of him, he stood up, tossing his putrid drink back and gave the pathetic creature in front of him a sneer and a harshly barked “No.” before standing up and pushing his way past her.
Damn did misery love company.
Freaking Bill, no, freaking ‘His Majesty the High and Mighty King Bill’, Eric kicked at a rock as he stomped his way down the road, out of everyone on the planet why did Bill have to be the one to become King? Where was the justice in that?
Eric kicked at another rock, smiling as he heard it break through something that sounded an awful lot like glass.
First step for tonight, go take care of the damn witches, second, go home, crack open a warm one, drink till he was nauseous and then lay in bed watching mind numbing reality TV till the sun rose.
Eric stuck one hand in his pocket, the other mindlessly playing with his cellphone as he spun it between his fingers. The night was nice, warm and just a little humid, the air still smelt like sunlight and Eric tilted his head up and he took in a breath, Godric always liked nights like this, nights where if felt like the whole world was alive but calm, like everyone was just taking the night to breath.
The pulse of pain in his chest made Eric’s breath stutter, a show of weakness that would have made him feel so much shame if he wasn’t so caught by the casualness that he had just thought of his maker with.
Eric felt anger course though him once more, no, he shook his head, he wasn’t ready for gentle reminiscing, he would never be ready. There was so much more mourning to do, so many more years of pain and hurt and loss to work through before he would be ready to think of Godric without that hurt/missing/pain feeling to flood and take over his senses.
Eric wasn’t ready to let go yet, he didn’t think he would ever be ready, and, if he truly looked deep down into himself, he didn’t think he wanted to be ready.
He had been someone once, before Godric, but he couldn’t remember who. A thousand years spent crafted into his maker’s image and what was left of the human that used to hunt and fight and fuck, the human whose world had been so small right up till the moment of his death.
Eric didn’t really think there was anything, he was Godric’s creation, and sometimes, when it was so early in the day that the sun’s rays would be breaking over the horizon, Eric would lie in bed, fighting sleep and dream and he would feel such anger he was sometimes afraid that his body would burn with it.
How dare his maker leave him alone, how dare he promise him forever, how dare he lie.
The sound of a car horn blaring pulled Eric from his musings and he looked up sharply as a man in a truck flipped him the finger, fuck, he hated humans. Rude truck man might actually make a good dinner and Eric gave it half a thought before tossing the idea to the wayside, better to get this witch thing taken care of now so that Bill would stop having a reason to talk to him, besides, witches where usually tasty.
The scent of burning incense curling out onto the street was better than any house number and Eric bounced in his toes a little as he got his mind right for the hunt. No distractions, no mercy, and games, go in, get the job done and leave. Most witches where full of shit but every once in a while, you could stumble on one that wasn’t just an earth worshiping hippy dressed in rags and if there was anything that Godric had taught him it was this, don’t ever underestimate your adversary.
The door slammed open as Eric shoved it, plaster and paint falling from the wall with the force. He heard a few startled gasps and a shriek, but he didn’t care, he wasn’t here for the locals, he was here for the Ringmaster and he snarled as he heard her. So much bravado in such a squishy package.
A few thing happened very quickly, some of which Eric had planned on but most of which he had not and when he found himself bound to a large and heavy solid wood chair, skin sizzling as the silver burned his skin, he felt hard pressed to list exactly how he had ended up there.
The rush, the grab, hell, even the bite had gone as it was supposed to, Eric was old, he was fast and strong, there wasn’t that much that could take him by surprise and the fact that this frail, and, well frankly annoying woman standing in front of him talking his ear off had managed to take him down was an insult in and of itself.
And this woman, why the hell wouldn’t she shut up? Eric tried to kick out with one of his legs, a petulant and childish move? Sure. Satisfactory as fuck? Hell yah.
He scowled as his leg was stopped by the slim silver chain tied around it and he glared at the woman as she clucked at him and waggled a finger.
He was fucking a thousand something years old, the second he figured a way out of this chair he was going to rip her head off and drink her blood straight from the fountain that would create.
The woman clucked again, and Eric sneered, she hadn’t stopped talking at him since he’d been caught and the whispering of the others in her coven was doing nothing to help calm the rage burning in him, Godric would have been so disappointed in him.
The woman was still talking, and Eric was still tuning her out, something he planned on continuing to do until one word she said managed to penetrate his fuming thoughts. “You miss your maker, don’t you?”
Eric’s head shot up, a growl growing in his throat, how dare this blood bag talk of things she could never understand! He pulled at his bonds once more, anger tipping into desperation now, but the woman kept talking.
“It’s hard, isn’t it, loosing someone you love like that.” She tipped her head and Eric could feel her eyes burn into him, “But he wasn’t just your maker, was he? No,” she shook her head, “he was more than that.”
Eric felt cool slim fingers reach under his chin and he snapped his head forward, teeth closing on air as the woman let out a soft laugh. “So angry, so… hurt.” She pet the side of his head, “I’d like to help you, if you’d let me, but to do that you are going to have to stop trying to kill me for a half a minute. Do you think you could do that?”
Eric inhaled, holding the unneeded breath in his lugs and ground his teeth together. His lip flared as he looked at the witch, there was something in her eye, a light that pulled him up short. He nodded, there would still be time to kill her after whatever useless thing it was that she wanted to say.
The woman smiled at him and held up a finger, turning to the others still in the room she gave them a smile, “Thank you all for joining me tonight, I’m sorry that we got interrupted, why don’t you all head home and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.” She smiled indulgently at the heated protest and waved them away with a soft, “Don’t you worry, I’ll be just fine.” And continued to herd them out the door until the only ones left in the little shop was her and Eric.
Eric watched as she pulled up a chair, dragging it over the floor and placing it in the space before Eric’s own.
“What is it that you think you could help me with?”
The woman smiled at him softly, kindly and despite himself, Eric was taken aback. This was not how he saw his night going.
She reached forward, resting her fingers on the side of Eric’s head and Eric held himself stiff as he felt her thumb brush over his temple. Soon, soon he would get out of here and then he would rip each of her fingers of one by one.
The woman clucked at him again, a twist on her lips as she chided him, “Such aggressive thoughts, so much sadness you’re hiding as anger.” She smiled again, softly, “He was your world wasn’t he, your constant. No matter what happened on this Earth, no matter how much time or space separated you, you knew you could always make your way back.”
Eric felt his body turn cold, he felt a stab of panic run through him as the woman kept looking at him, kept peeling him open and soon, he was scared, she as going to flay him alive.
A quick intake of breath made him look at her face again and the honest shock on it scared him more, what layer had she peeled now?
The hand cradling the side if his head lifted and then Eric felt it smooth over his hair once more, was she? Was she petting him?
But, it had been so long, so long since Godric that anyone had dared to touch him so softly that Eric couldn’t help the way he tilted into it. He still hated himself for it. The woman’s soft tone sounded again.
“Oh, you, you poor thing. You never had to make your way back because you were never without him, where you. You were still bound to him, a thousand years and still bound.”
She sounded awestruck and Eric pretended that his heart wasn’t breaking. To be honest, he hadn’t realized there was a piece left still large enough to break. She went on.
“I could feel your hurt when you came in, I could hear it in your mind, see it in the way you move, and it pained me.” She smiled at him. “I was going to offer to take the pain of memory from your mind but now I see, that would do no good. Your maker is as much a part of you as your blood is, taking him would take your life, but, I have a proposal.”
“Your maker met the true death with your sire/childe bond still intact and strong, so strong in fact, that there are still whispers of him in your soul.”
She looked at him now, face serious but hand still caressing hair. “If you allow me, I can send you back. Back to the very first moment your maker ever touched you, back to the second that his soul laid claim to yours. But it’s going to hurt, and it’s a one-way trip, there is no return flight. And for this to go smoothly you are going to have to trust me, can you do that?”
The rush in Eric’s head was deafening, the only thing his strung-out mind could focus on was the repetition of “I can send you back.” So, he nodded, once, sharply and the woman smiled.
The air was filled with the smell of smoke, the sounds that filtered into Eric’s ears where dim and muffled, he heard what he thought was the sound of someone choking but the whole world felt like it was under water.
There was a rustling sound above him startling him and Eric took in a sharp breath, his dying heart pumping as fast as it could, lungs burning. There was something on his mind, a thought or a memory that was just out of reach and it annoyed him to no end, ah well, if it was important, he would remember it.
He had to get up though, he had a business to run and a childe that would be banging on his door if he didn’t get his ass up and out off bed. Eric shifted, why the fuck was his bed so uncomfortable? He scowled, shifting again and then let out a wince as his body lit on fire. What the fuck was wrong with him? His breaths started coming quicker as his pulse picked up and for a moment Eric was sure that he heard a chuckle.
The something dancing around the corners of his mind winked at him, teasing.
Then, all at once, he remembered.
Eric’s eyes shot open, his pupils blown, the world around him dark and void and quiet, but Eric could not have cared less.
He looked up, up at the face that was hovering above him, at the blood slowly dripping down the side of a teasing smirk and over soft skin.
Eric looked up at death, and smiled.