Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (64 page)

“You trust me?” Eric sounded surprised.

“Yes.”

“That’s . . . crazy, Sookie.”

“I don’t think so.” Where that surety had come from, I didn’t know, but it was there. I pulled on a thigh-length heavy sweater I had brought out with me.

Shaking his blond head, his trench coat drawn close around him, Eric opened the door to his red Corvette. I would be arriving at the orgy in style.

I gave Eric directions to Mimosa Lake, and I filled him in as much as I could on the background of this series of events as we drove (flew) down the narrow two-lane. Eric drove with great zest and élan—and the recklessness of someone extremely hard to kill.

“Remember, I’m mortal,” I said, after going around a curve at a speed that made me wish my fingernails were long enough to bite.

“I think about that often,” Eric said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

I didn’t know what to make of that, so I let my mind drift to relaxing things. Bill’s hot tub. The nice check I would get from Eric when the check from the Dallas vampires cleared. The fact that Jason had dated the same woman several months in a row, which might mean he was serious about her, or might mean he’d run through all the available women (and a few who shouldn’t have been) in Renard Parish. That it was a beautiful, cool night and I was riding in a wonderful car.

“You are happy,” Eric said.

“Yes. I am.”

“You will be safe.”

“Thanks. I know I will.”

I pointed to the little sign marked FOWLER that indicated a driveway almost hidden by a stand of myrtle and hawthorn. We turned down a short, rutted gravel driveway lined with trees. It canted sharply downhill. Eric frowned as the Corvette lurched along the deep ruts. By the time the drive leveled out into the clearing where the cabin stood, the slope was enough to render the roof a little below the height of the road around the lake. There were four cars parked on the beaten dirt in front of the cabin. The windows were open to admit the sharp cool of the evening, but the shades were drawn. I could hear voices drifting out, though I couldn’t make out words. I was suddenly, deeply reluctant to enter Jan Fowler’s cabin.

“I could be bisexual?” Eric asked. It didn’t seem to bother him; he seemed, if anything, amused. We stood by Eric’s car, facing each other, my hands stuffed in the sweater pockets.

“Okay.” I shrugged. Who cared? This was make believe. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone was watching us through a partially raised shade. “We’re being watched.”

“Then I’ll act friendly.”

We were out of the car by that time. Eric bent, and without yanking me to him, set his mouth on mine. He didn’t grab me, so I felt fairly relaxed. I’d known that at the very minimum I’d have to kiss other people. So I set my mind to it.

Maybe I had natural talent, which had been nurtured by a great teacher. Bill had pronounced me an excellent kisser, and I wanted to do him proud.

Judging from the state of Eric’s Lycra, I succeeded.

“Ready to go in?” I asked, doing my best to keep my eyes above his chest.

“Not really,” Eric said. “But I suppose we have to. At least I look in the mood.”

Though it was dismaying to think that this was the second time I had kissed Eric and that I had enjoyed it more than I should, I could feel a smile twitch the corners of my mouth as we crossed the bumpy ground of the clearing. We went up the steps to a large wooden deck, strewn with the usual aluminum folding chairs and a large gas grill. The screen door screeched as Eric pulled it open, and I knocked lightly on the inner door. “Who is it?” Jan’s voice said.

“It’s Sookie and a friend,” I answered.

“Oh, goodie! Come on in!” she called.

When I pushed open the door, all the faces in the room were turned toward us. The welcoming smiles turned to startled looks as Eric came in behind me.

Eric stepped to my side, his coat over his arm, and I almost hooted at the variety of expressions. After the shock of realizing Eric was vampire, which everyone in the room did after a minute or so, eyes flickered up and down the length of Eric’s body, taking in the panorama.

“Hey, Sookie, who’s your friend?” Jan Fowler, a multiple divorcée in her thirties, was wearing what looked like a lace slip. Jan’s hair was streaked and professionally tousled, and her makeup would have seemed in place on stage, though for a cabin by Mimosa Lake the effect was a bit much. But as hostess, I guess she felt she could wear what she wanted to her own orgy. I slid out of my sweater and endured the embarrassment of receiving the same scrutiny Eric had been given.

“This is Eric,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing a friend?”

“Oh, the more the merrier,” she said with undoubted sincerity. Her eyes never rose to Eric’s face. “Eric, what can I get you to drink?”

“Blood?” Eric asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got some O here,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from the Lycra. “Sometimes we . . . pretend.” She raised her eyebrows significantly, and kind of leered at Eric.

“No need to pretend anymore,” he said, giving her back look for look. On his way to join her at the refrigerator, he managed to stroke Eggs’s shoulder, and Eggs’s face lit up.

Oh. Well, I’d known I’d learn some things. Tara, beside him, was sulking, her dark brows drawn down over dark eyes. Tara was wearing a bra and panties of shrieking red, and she looked pretty good. Her toenails and fingernails were painted so they matched, and so did her lipstick. She’d come prepared. I met her eyes, and she looked away. It didn’t take a mind reader to recognize shame.

Mike Spencer and Cleo Hardaway were on a dilapidated couch against the left-hand wall. The whole cottage, basically one large room with a sink and stove against the right-hand wall and a walled-in bathroom in the far corner, was furnished in cast-offs, because in Bon Temps that was what you did with your old furniture. However, most lake cabins would not have featured such a thick soft rug and such a lot of pillows tossed around at random, and there would not have been such thick shades drawn at all the windows. Plus, the knickknacks strewn around on that soft rug were simply nasty. I didn’t even know what some of them were.

But I pasted a cheerful smile on my face, and hugged Cleo Hardaway, as I usually did when I saw her. Granted, she had always been wearing more clothes when she ran the high school cafeteria. But panties were more than Mike was wearing, which was not a stitch.

Well, I’d known it would be bad, but I guess you just can’t prepare yourself for some sights. Cleo’s huge milk-chocolate brown boobs were glistening with some kind of oil, and Mike’s private parts were equally shiny. I didn’t even want to think about that.

Mike tried to grab my hand, probably to assist with the oil, but I slithered away and edged over to Eggs and Tara.

“I sure never thought you’d come,” Tara said. She was smiling, too, but not real happily. In fact, she looked pretty damn miserable. Maybe the fact that Tom Hardaway was kneeling in front of her smooching up the inside of her leg had something to do with that. Maybe it was Eggs’s obvious interest in Eric. I tried to meet Tara’s eyes, but I felt sick.

I’d only been here five minutes, but I was willing to bet this was the longest five minutes of my life.

“Do you do this real often?” I asked Tara, absurdly. Eggs, his eyes on Eric’s bottom while Eric stood talking at the refrigerator with Jan, began fumbling with the button on my shorts. Eggs had been drinking again. I could smell it. His eyes were glassy and his jaw was slack. “Your friend is really big,” he said, as if his mouth were watering, and maybe it was.

“Lots bigger than Lafayette,” I whispered, and his gaze jerked up to meet mine. “I figured he’d be welcome.”

“Oh, yes,” Eggs said, deciding not to confront my statement. “Yes, Eric’s . . . very large. It’s good to have some diversity.”

“This is as rainbow as Bon Temps gets,” I said, trying hard not to sound perky. I endured Eggs’s continued struggle with the button. This had been a big mistake. Eggs was just thinking about Eric’s butt. And other things about Eric.

Speaking of the devil, he snugged up behind me and ran his arms around me, pulling me to him and removing me from Eggs’s clumsy fingers. I leaned back into Eric, really glad he was there. I realized that was because I
expected
Eric to misbehave. But seeing people you’d known all your life act like this, well, it was deeply disgusting. I wasn’t too sure I could keep my face from showing this, so I wiggled against Eric, and when he made a happy sound, I turned in his arms to face him. I put my arms up around his neck and raised my face. He happily complied with my silent suggestion. With my face concealed, my mind was free to roam. I opened myself up mentally, just as Eric parted my lips with his tongue, so I felt completely unguarded. There were some strong “senders” in that room, and I no longer felt like myself, but like a pipeline for other people’s overwhelming needs.

I could taste the flavor of Eggs’s thoughts. He was remembering Lafayette, thin brown body, talented fingers, and heavily made up eyes. He was remembering Lafayette’s whispered suggestions. Then he was choking those happy memories off with more unpleasant ones, Lafayette protesting violently, shrilly . . .

“Sookie,” Eric said in my ear, so low that I don’t think another person in the room could’ve heard him. “Sookie, relax. I have you.”

I made my hand stroke his neck. I found that someone else was behind Eric, sort of making out with him from behind.

Jan’s hand reached around Eric and began rubbing my rear. Since she was touching me, her thoughts were absolutely clear; she was an exceptional “sender.” I flicked through her mind like the pages of a book, and read nothing of interest. She was only thinking of Eric’s anatomy, and worrying about her own fascination with Cleo’s chest. Nothing there for me.

I reached in another direction, wormed into the head of Mike Spencer, found the nasty tangle I’d expected, found that as he rolled Cleo’s breasts in his hands he was seeing other brown flesh, limp and lifeless. His own flesh rose as he remembered this. Through his memories I saw Jan asleep on the lumpy couch, Lafayette’s protest that if they didn’t stop hurting him he would tell everyone what he’d done and with whom, and then Mike’s fists descending, Tom Hardaway kneeling on the thin dark chest . . .

I had to get out of here. I couldn’t bear it, even if I hadn’t just learned what I needed to know. I didn’t see how Portia could have endured it, either, especially since she would have had to stay to learn anything, not having the “gift” I had.

I felt Jan’s hand massaging my ass. This was the most joyless excuse for sex I had ever seen: sex separated from mind and spirit, from love or affection. Even simple liking.

According to my four-times-married friend Arlene, men had no problem with this. Evidently, some women didn’t either.

“I have to get out,” I breathed into Eric’s mouth. I knew he could hear me.

“Go along with me,” he replied, and it was almost as if I was hearing him in my head.

He lifted me and slung me over his shoulder. My hair trailed down almost to the middle of his thigh.

“We’re going outside for a minute,” he told Jan, and I heard a big smacking noise. He’d given her a kiss.

“Can I come, too?” she asked, in a breathless Marlene Dietrich voice. It was lucky my face wasn’t showing.

“Give us a minute. Sookie is still a little shy,” Eric said in a voice as full of promise as a tub of a new flavor of ice cream.

“Warm her up good,” Mike Spencer said in a muffled voice. “We all want to see our Sookie fired up.”

“She will be hot,” Eric promised.

“Hot damn,” said Tom Hardaway, from between Tara’s legs.

Then, bless Eric, we were out the door and he laid me out on the hood of the Corvette. He lay on top of me, but most of his weight was supported by his hands resting on the hood on either side of my shoulders.

He was looking down at me, his face clamped down like a ship’s deck during a storm. His fangs were out. His eyes were wide. Since the whites were so purely white, I could see them. It was too dark to see the blue of his eyes, even if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t want. “That was . . .” I began, and had to stop. I took a deep breath. “You can call me a goody two-shoes if you want to, and I wouldn’t blame you, after all this was my idea. But you know what I think? I think that’s awful. Do men really like that? Do women, for that matter? Is it fun to have sex with someone you don’t even like?”

“Do you like me, Sookie?” Eric asked. He rested more heavily on me and moved a little.

Uh-oh. “Eric, remember why we’re here?”

“They’re watching.”

“Even if they are, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So we need to go.”

“Do you have any evidence? Do you know what you wanted to find out?”

“I don’t have any more evidence than I had before tonight, not evidence you can hand out in court.” I made myself put my arms around his ribs. “But I know who did it. It was Mike, Tom, and maybe Cleo.”

“This is interesting,” Eric said, with a complete lack of sincerity. His tongue flicked into my ear. I happen to particularly like that, and I could feel my breathing speed up. Maybe I wasn’t as immune to uninvolved sex as I’d thought. But then, I liked Eric, when I wasn’t afraid of him.

“No, I just hate this,” I said, reaching some inner conclusion. “I don’t like any part of this.” I shoved Eric hard, though it didn’t make a bit of difference. “Eric, you listen to me. I’ve done everything for Lafayette and Andy Bellefleur I can, though it’s precious little. He’ll just have to go from here on the little snatches I caught. He’s a cop. He can find court evidence. I’m not selfless enough to go any further with this.”

“Sookie,” Eric said. I didn’t think he’d heard a word. “Yield to me.”

Well, that was pretty direct.