Figsandpomegranates - Pomegranate

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 1

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 4,471 Tags: 18+, NSFW in later chapters, it's gonna get real nasty Summary: Sookie's cousin returns to Bon Temps, and Eric wants her... to work for him.

When Camila Reyes steps out of the taxi, she is met with a billowing cloud of cigarette smoke, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots, and thick, humid air unlike anything she’d ever felt in Chicago. She takes in the old farmhouse, her home for much of her childhood, and feels guilt and regret settle over her when she remembers the last time she set foot in Bon Temps—the day of Gran’s funeral.

She pays the driver, tips him well even though he chain-smoked the entire ride from the airport, and lifts her bags from the inside of the trunk; when he drives away, leaving her standing in a cyclone of dust, she takes a deep, fortifying breath and strides to the front door.

Confident is the last thing she feels—helpless, dejected, and unmoored are the first things that come to mind—but she pastes on a self-assured smile and raps her knuckles on the metal frame of the storm door. A short woman with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail looks at her quizzically through the screen, and then gasps and throws the door open, nearly knocking Cam off her feet.

“Camila Reyes, is that you? I haven’t seen you in, what, ten years?” the woman asks, wrapping her arms around Cam. They’re around the same height with similar builds, but whereas Cam has dark hair and naturally tanned skin, she is all bright yellow curls and skin like a porcelain doll, the gap in her teeth as endearing as it was when they were teenagers.

“Sookie! It’s been a long time, a really long time. You look so lovely,” she says, pulling back so she can look her over at arm’s length. She wears a pair of yellow gingham shorts with a flowy white tank top and white Keds, and something about that is so quintessentially Sookie that it immediately fills her with fondness. Sookie grins.

“So do you – and you’ve even lost your accent,” she says in a way that’s almost accusatory, but she’s smirking playfully. “Now you sound all classy and sophisticated and I’m the only one with the podunk twang.” Cam shrugs and laughs; she didn’t set out to lose the accent at first, but it became clear that her colleagues in the big city didn’t find the Louisiana drawl as charming as television had led her to believe.

“Ten years will do that to you,” Cam says lightly, doing her best not to reflect on the last of those ten years and how everything she’d worked so hard for circled the drain. “Now, I know you weren’t expecting me, and I hate to do this…” she begins, but Sookie brushes her off with the wave of a manicured hand.

“Don’t you even start,” she says, and then she reaches down to grab one of Cam’s bags and holds open the door. “This is your home too, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, you know that.”

Cam grabs the other bag and follows her through the house, up the staircase that had seen better days many days ago. “I brought wine, if that’s any consolation,” she says, though she knows Sookie means it, that it’s really no trouble for her to stay with her in this big, empty house, “and now you can borrow my shoes any time you want.”

Sookie glances back and smiles at her.

“Wine is always good, and your shoe collection is even better, I know that for a fact.” They stop outside what is now a guest room, but which used to be Cam’s room, and she is grateful to see something other than the pale purple wallpaper of her childhood adorning the walls. The room is now bright and airy, painted robin’s egg blue, and its look suits Sookie more than it ever suited Cam. “But the best part is having my favorite cousin back home after all these years.”

Sookie walks into the room, sets the suitcase on the chair beside the bed, and Cam does the same. Her returning smile is sad; she knows it had to be difficult for Sookie to be here… not alone, but without one of the few people in Bon Temps who really understood her, who saw her for the girl she was instead of what they thought she should have been. Guilt makes her stomach twist.

“I’m sorry you didn’t see me at Gran’s funeral,” she says—because technically, that’s true. Sookie hadn’t seen her, because she hadn’t made it past the front seat of her rental car. She never even told Sookie or Jason she was there. Sookie frowns, but it’s sympathetic and kind.

“That’s okay. I know how hard funerals are for you. What matters most is that you’re here now… and that there’s someone I want you to meet.” Cam is grateful for the change of topic, and the flirtatious smile Sookie sends her way has her suddenly very, very curious.

“Is this someone a man?” she asks, eyes wide and faux-incredulous. Sookie slaps her arm gently and nods her head.

“Yes, it’s a man… his name’s Bill, and he’s my… Well, boyfriend doesn’t feel like the right word, but I guess that’s what he is.” Her hands move to her hips, and she looks over Cam’s hair, her outfit, and apparently deems it suitable. “Why don’t you freshen up a bit, and I’ll treat you to dinner at Merlotte’s so you can meet him. It’s near-dark anyway.” Cam smooths the hair at the crown of her head, certain she’s got frizz and flyaways no hairspray can contain, and nods. Sookie starts toward the door when Cam calls out after her.

“You’re treating—does that mean he’s a modern man who lets his lady pay for the meal? How progressive,” she teases—Gran never liked boys who took them out and didn’t offer to pay, and it was a joke between them and their friend Tara; Sookie chuckles like she’s holding in a joke of her own.

“No, he’s really old-fashioned, actually,” she says thoughtfully. She taps on the doorframe before she steps into the hall. “It’s just that, well, he never eats a meal.”

Bill is a vampire because, obviously; Sookie wasn’t exactly being subtle, but it took Cam nearly the entire drive to Bon Temps’ finest bar and grille to put the hints together anyway. She blames it on the jet lag, even though she never actually left her own time zone.

They meet him inside, and he’s already seated comfortably in a booth, but he stands to greet her when she and Sookie approach him. Cam is all but attacked by Tara, who hugs her more tightly than even Sookie did, and they make a promise to catch up later when the bartender’s not up to her neck in two-dollar drafts.

“It’s so nice to see you comfortable here,” Cam comments to Bill later, when he is handed a bottle of Tru Blood by a smiling, if slightly neurotic looking red-headed waitress. He seems familiar with the clientele, greeted Sam and Tara like friends; she has to hand it to her hometown: she would have guessed they’d be way behind the national average when it comes to human-vampire relations. Bill takes a sip and offers her a smile.

“Thank you. That’s mostly Sookie’s doing,” he admits, and then he glances over at her, at her lovestruck smile. The two of them are so cute it actually makes Cam’s teeth ache. “People weren’t exactly welcoming me with open arms at first, but she has this way of making people listen to her, even when they don’t want to.”

“It’s a gift,” Cam says, dropping her own hint, but Sookie shoots her an unreadable look and she takes a sip of her beer instead of following up on that. She changes tracks. “I don’t know if Sookie told you, but I’m a lawyer, and I specialized in vampire rights back in Chicago. If you ever need something, legal advice or support, you have my number now.”

“That’s so kind of you; I will keep that in mind,” he says gratefully, fingers wrapped around the glass bottle. “And I have to say, I appreciate you doing that kind of work. I know not everyone is progressive when it comes to vampire rights, and I’m sure it’s a difficult occupation.” Cam nods.

“It has its moments. I’ve experienced more than my share of tragedy, had many clients executed by radical humans before we could attempt justice.” She suppresses a shiver at the thought of some of the things she’s heard, things she’s seen. Across from her, Sookie tuts and shakes her head.

“Executions. What a terrible thought,” she speaks through a frown. She takes a sip of her iced tea, and after a moment, Bill stiffens in his seat beside her. Cam, familiar with vampire microexpressions, clocks the change in his disposition, and so does Sookie; she tilts her head in confusion like she wishes she could hear his thoughts.

Just then, a man approaches their booth, tall and broad, with short blond hair and a peaked complexion that outs him as a vampire immediately. Dressed all in black, he looks especially pale, and shadow falls over the three of them as his hulking silhouette blocks out the overhead light.

“Sorry to interrupt. Hello Sookie. Bill.” The man turns to Cam, his lips curving up into a polite smile as he gives her a tasteful once-over. She can see that his eyes are silvery blue, a cool, icy, complex color that captivates her instantly. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Sookie’s cousin, Camila. She’s visiting from Chicago,” Bill says with a tone that indicates the man is unwelcome at the table they share. He pays it no mind and reaches out to take her hand, to lean in and place his lips there in the semblance of a greeting kiss. It makes Cam flush hot, and she hopes it doesn’t rise to her cheeks for all to see.

“I’m Eric Northman. What a pleasure it is to meet you,” he says, eyes drifting over her face now that there’s less distance between them. He pauses there briefly to look into her eyes, curiosity in his stoic gaze. “I see some of Sookie’s features in you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Eric, thank you,” she replies, though with her dark hair and complexion no one has ever drawn a similarity between her and her fairer cousin. Cam’s mother was Gran’s daughter, Sookie’s aunt, and Cam’s father was of Cuban descent, fresh off the boat he rode in on—and out on, just as quickly as he’d come. “Will you be joining us?”

“He will not,” Bill supplies in the same clipped tone he’d used previously. He looks incredibly serious, more now like the vampire he is than when it was just the three of them; Eric stands, drops her hand, and flicks an irritated glance in the other vampire’s direction.

“I do not wish to impose, but I do need a moment with Bill here, if you ladies don’t mind. Business deal,” he adds, and then he looks back to Cam and Sookie, his features more polite. He winks at them. “I promise it will only take a minute.”

Bill thinks it over—though it doesn’t seem like a request to Cam—and seems to decide it best to accept the invitation and step away from the table; he glances over at Sookie with a brief apology and walks toward the door, and Eric follows him, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he goes.

“Now there’s a man that makes me think terrible thoughts,” Cam murmurs when she expects he’s out of range. “Over and over and over.” She says it partially because it’s true, but also to earn the scandalized laugh Sookie shares as she slaps Cam on the arm.

“Oh my god, Cami!” Cam laughs back, playing indignant. Not that you’re wrong, but…

“Well he does, all climbable and big and strong. And those eyes—you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s handsome.”

After a brief stare-down, Sookie huffs a sigh.

“Objectively, yes,” Sookie says, with a playful roll of her eyes, “but he’s also Bill’s sheriff, and… I don’t know, rival, I guess?” Pain in the ass is more like it, she thinks, though she’d never say it aloud.

Cam drains her beer and narrows her eyes at Sookie, leaning in. The objectively shit doesn’t throw her for a second.

“Sookie Stackhouse, do you have both of those gorgeous men battling for your attention? I swear, sometimes it feels like blondes do have more fun.”

She rolls her eyes again, chuckles like the thought of earning Eric’s attention is laughable. She probably still sees herself as the awkward teenage girl Cam remembered her as and not the Southern bombshell she is now.

“I think Eric is interested in things he can’t have, that’s all—not me in particular. And he really likes getting Bill’s goat.”

“So you’re saying I should play hard to get?” Cam teases, but despite the lightheartedness of her comment, the atmosphere changes drastically and Sookie’s face becomes serious.

“I’m saying you should stay far the hell away from him. He’s–he’s, cold-hearted and mean. Cruel. He does underhanded things to get what he wants.”

Cam has always found herself amused by Sookie’s naivety, but hearing her speak so judgmentally about Eric, about vampires, gives her pause.

“I’ve been in the company of vampires, Sook, I know how some of them can be.” Sookie sits back, tilts her head to the side, and Cam narrows her eyes. “What?”

“You’ve been in the company of vampires?” she asks, brows raised, and for a moment she is that naive teenage girl again. Cam simply waves a hand.

“Chicago is very different from Bon Temps, or even Shreveport, so yes, I’ve been in the company of vampires. Plus, they’re the only ones that truly quiet my mind, you know?” she adds as an aside, and Sookie shushes her, looks toward the door and back with wide eyes.

“Keep it down. I haven’t told Bill you’re a telepath too, or anyone, for that matter. Next thing you know you’ll be dragged into vampire business, and that is not somewhere you want to be, trust me.”

She can sense the sincerity in Sookie’s voice, so she does soften to a murmur, unable to be heard among the din of the chattering crowd.

“It’s my secret to keep, or not keep—and it was a big help during some of my trials, even if my colleagues didn’t know all the details. I get that you’ve always hated your ability, but it’s an important part of me. I don’t try to hide it anymore.” The thing about Bon Temps, love it or hate it, is everyone knows everyone else's business, and although Cam’s never felt fully herself in this town, she’s not about to hide for anyone else’s comfort. Sookie frowns, contrite.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… not something I’d be doing, if it weren’t for Bill. Eric holds things over him and I’m stuck in the middle trying to make peace.” She doesn’t say any more, because the vampires walk back in, and when Bill takes his seat Eric claps a hand on his shoulder firmly, in a way that could seem friendly but that looks more like a show of power than anything.

“Told you I’d bring him back,” Eric says to Sookie, who suddenly becomes very interested in her manicure; she drags the edge of her nail through the condensation left behind by her glass. Eric pays her no mind and looks to Cam again. “Before I leave, I want to extend an invitation to you. I own a bar in Shreveport called Fangtasia, and I would love for you to come by for a drink some time so we can get to know each other better.”

The word drink makes her think of the vampire’s unique diet—something completely normal, not usually something she’d normally fixate on anymore than she’d be intrigued by a pescetarian—and she quickly tamps down the flash of interest that jolts through her body at the associated imagery.

“That sounds nice, Eric, I’ll be sure to take you up on that,” she says with a smile, and as she does something tugs at the back of her mind arbitrarily, something she can’t quite put her finger on. She clears her throat. “Bill has the details, I’m sure.”

Bill appears grateful for her inclusion of him—she figures he’s probably feeling emasculated by the more senior vampire, the way he speaks with a double meaning under his tongue—and he assures Eric he will pass on the information.

“Well then, I’ll let the three of you get back to your evening. Thank you again, Bill,” he says without inflection, and he looks over at Sookie, then Cam. “I look forward to seeing you soon.”

He leaves, and Sookie looks Bill over, runs her hand up and down his back in a comforting gesture. Cam’s not sure if it’s meant for her eyes or not.

A few moments later, the red-headed waitress returns to take their dinner orders, and Cam orders a massive salad and another beer and asks Bill what he misses most about the 1800s. It proves to be a good distraction, and by dessert his features seem to have softened again.

When Sookie drives them back to the farmhouse, the twinkling stars in the cloudless blue sky remind her of the depth of Eric’s eyes.

As Cam walks into Fangtasia for the first time, she notes that it’s exactly what she expects: a small, dark, loud nightclub packed with the moving bodies of humans and vampires alike. Some of the humans are hoping to find a community of their peers, folks with tattoos up and down their arms and more piercings than one would think possible; some are there to see their first vampire or try to initiate contact with one; and some are there just to say they went, buying overpriced drinks and t-shirts and taking selfies with the crowd.

She feels about middle of the road in a navy silk camisole, black pants, and her most comfortable black heels, and she breezes over to the bar and buys herself a martini, finds a table toward the less crowded back of the room and slides onto the stool nearest the wall.

It takes all of five minutes for Eric to approach her, looking as gorgeous as he did when they first met; this time he is wearing a tight black tank, black jeans, and damn, if she thought she was climbable before…

He quirks a smile as he sidles up to the table.

“Camila,” he greets warmly, and when she stands he leans in to mimic a kiss on her cheek. She feels that same strange tugging sensation at the back of her brain that she did at Merlotte’s, but the memory leaves her as quickly as it had returned. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I had to see what all the fuss was about; your bar is very popular among the travelers passing through Bon Temps these days,” she mentions, thinking back to a strange vampire that had given Bill a hard time at Merlotte’s the other night as they were getting ready to leave. Apparently not everyone was as enamored of Vampire Bill as others.

“And how do you like it?” he asks, resting his hand on the table top, palm flat, fingers spread. She looks at his broad hand for a moment—a second longer than she should have, maybe—then glances up to look at his face.

“How embarrassing would it be if I said it’s… fangtastic?” she asks with a shrug of her shoulder. Her joke earns a laugh from Eric, and she feels silly for the warmth that flushes through her at his approval.

“From you, I’ll take it as a compliment. I’m sure the establishments you frequented in Chicago were a little different from this one.” She hums thoughtfully; she’s had her fair share of meetings in swanky hotel bars and fine dining restaurants, but vampire clubs aren’t hard to find anywhere in America.

“Not so different,” she tells him honestly, “though there were fewer eyebrow piercings. I like it here, though, it’s… comfortable,” she adds with a sip of her drink and a tilt of her head.

It is comfortable, despite the blaring music and the crowd of people talking over one another, because about a third of the bar’s patrons are vampires; she’s used to walking into a room full or half full of them and sighing involuntarily, the weight lifting from her shoulders when she doesn’t have to work as hard not to read the cacophony of their minds.

“That’s an interesting word,” Eric says, eyes roaming over her face. A pretty young waitress in a minuscule black dress steps up beside him, then, and places another martini on the table for Cam. She smiles up at Eric, who does not acknowledge her, and walks away before Cam can thank her for the drink. “On the house,” he tells her, and though she’s only half finished with the one she purchased, she lifts the glass and takes a long sip to show her gratitude.

“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me,” she adds, and when she looks up to meet his gaze she feels that mysterious pull again, then a faint buzzing like white noise on a television screen, or her ears popping at high altitude. “That’s you,” she says slowly, reality dawning on her, and though his features are frozen in surprise, she can see something curious shift in the set of his eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Sorry, I—I appreciate the drink, but I already know what you want from me. You want to know if I’m like her.” If I can hear what the humans are thinking, she doesn’t say, but she knows he understands. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’ll admit I am curious about that, but it’s not the only reason I invited you.” It feels like he’s telling the truth, but she’s still unfamiliar with him, and she’s met several vampires she believed to be honest until they showed their true colors at the end. The only reason humans don’t have the same effect is because she can hear their lies before they have a chance to really develop.

“Then why did you invite me?” she asks firmly, because while she’s not ashamed of her ability she does not enjoy being singled out for it, no matter how good looking the other party may be. Eric pauses, then sighs as though she’s forcing him to show his hand.

“I’ve looked into you. Heard about your reputation,” he says, and he takes another long look at her, lingering over her bare shoulders and throat. “You don’t look like a human rights—excuse me, people’s rights—attorney, I have to admit… unless I’ve just been doing business with the wrong attorneys.”

She takes another sip of his drink, because he’s done his due diligence and she’s always appreciative of someone who isn’t afraid to dig through some tough sources. Her firm had never exactly publicized the fact that one of their lawyers was taking vampire rights cases, so he must have pulled some strings to get the information.

“I was a people’s rights attorney. Now I’d be lucky to try a case in traffic court.”

“Because of your defense of vampires?” he asks, and she can understand why that’s the way he’d see it; she didn’t defend them, technically, because they weren’t and still aren’t able to be held accountable in a court of law, but she did advocate for their civil rights and against forced assimilation.

“Because I don’t treat vampires like animals or humans like they’re superior,” she offers in summary. She taps a finger against the tabletop. “Say I was like her. What would that mean for me? Would you threaten me until I agree to help you? Manipulate me so I do what you want?”

He sighs again, and this time it feels like an attempt to appear wounded by her question, though she can’t imagine there’s anything she could say to cause this man any type of emotional concern.

“I would ask if you would be interested in doing some… consulting for me. You would be under no obligation to do so, of course,” he says, showing his palms. “Sookie has helped me in the past, but she does not seem interested in continuing that relationship.”

His contrived description of their relationship forces a huffed laugh from Cam’s lips.

“You instigate problems between her and Bill – or Bill and you, and it puts her in the middle. That’s why she’s not interested.”

“Is that what she told you?” he asks, leaning in again, this time on crossed forearms. It brings his face closer, and despite her irritation, she kind of likes it. He’s not bad to look at, either way. “I tend to think of myself as a problem solver, if anything.” She leans in too, as much as she can, looks him directly in the eyes.

“I’m familiar with vampires like you—men like you. Everything’s a pissing contest, you’ll do whatever it takes to assert your dominance, and nothing else matters.” If he’s surprised by her assumptions, he doesn’t show it. “Sookie is my family and she has my loyalty. Flirt with her if you want to, that's your prerogative, but I’m not going to stand around and watch you toy with her to get under Bill’s skin. I’m sure you can find a way to do that all on your own.”

He stands tall at that, brow furrowed like she’s just said something insane.

“I don’t flirt with her, I just… enjoy exposing Bill’s weakness,” he explains with a shrug. Cam hums, unconvinced, takes the toothpick out of her glass and pulls the single olive off the stick with her teeth, eats it.

“Like all men, I can promise you he has more than just the one,” she says with a smirk when she’s finished chewing, and she downs the rest of her drink in one smooth sip. “That kid’s underage, by the way—the one by the bar with the pink streak in her hair? One of your bouncers didn’t do a very thorough ID check. She’s been freaking out about it since she walked in.”

Eric turns to glance at the girl, who is saying nothing aloud but does look almost comically on edge, and then back at Cam. She smiles politely, her professional smile, and stands, pushing in her chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll think about the offer, if you think about what I said. Thanks again for the drink.”

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figsandpomegranates

9 months ago

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 3

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 4,323 Tags: 18+, NSFW in later chapters, it's gonna get real nasty, Canon blood and gore Summary: Sookie's cousin returns to Bon Temps, and Eric wants her... to work for him.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

A week later, she gets her first call from Fangtasia—but it’s Eric's colleague Pam, not Eric, who makes the call. She says it’s urgent, but that she can’t give any details, so Cam throws on a pair of jeans and boots, a black high-neck tank, and drives to the bar. When she gets out of her car, Eric is standing there, waiting in the parking lot.

“Camila. Come with me,” he murmurs, taking her arm; instead of guiding her toward the front door, his long legs head for the sidewalk, and he walks her down the block—away from the bar and, she guesses, prying vampire ears.

“What’s going on?” she whispers, curious, and he moves his hand to her back casually, like he’s hoping they’ll look more like any couple walking down the street and less like he’s abducted her or something. He leans in so she can hear him better.

“There is a group of nomads visiting from Florida, and they passed through another area on the way here. The sheriff of that area has reason to believe they’re holding a human against his will.”

Cam nods. Kidnapping a human is not a mortal offense in most areas, but it is frowned upon by those who wish to assimilate, live semi-normal lives. It’s certainly punishable here, if they can prove it.

“And if they are—what will you do?” Her eyes flick up to his face, and he appears bored by her question, maybe even a little irritated.

“We will glamour the human and send him home, then arrange for the sheriff to come and collect his prisoners. You can drive the human personally, if that would make you feel better,” he says, looking down at her; his tone borders on condescending, and she rolls her eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure justice will be served for the crime. You’ll have to get used to my inquisitive nature, if you plan to utilize my gift,” she reminds him, and he exhales slowly. He turns them around and they head down the street, back toward the bar.

“In time, you’ll find I’m a very effective sheriff. You don’t have to be worried about whether or not I punish those who deserve it.”

Despite her previous question, she has no doubts about that—but she remembers from experience that vampires tend to leave humans in the dark by default, and she needs to know what she’s getting into if she’s going to be such a powerful sheriff’s pawn.

“Who will I be listening to?” she asks, because he already knows vampires are pretty much a no-go, but he clearly thinks she’s going to be up to this challenge.

“There is an entourage made up of vampires and human companions alike. I’m hoping the humans will give it away.”

“And how will I let you know if I discover something? We haven’t discussed that part, and I like to be prepared,” she tells him, trying to keep up with his steps. It feels like they’re on The West Wing, or something dramatic like that. “Code word? Text message?”

“Let’s say text message, for now,” he decides. She can see the neon lights of the club as they approach the parking lot, and Eric removes his hand from her back and looks down at her. “I’m going to be walking around, so if you sense danger…”

“I’ll let you know. Telepath’s honor,” she says with a satirical tip of her head, and he opens the door, his expression unchanging. She walks a few feet inside the club, past bouncers who already know her as some kind of employee, and when she turns back to thank him for the briefing, Eric is gone.

Unconcerned by his swift and mysterious disappearance, she makes her way to the bar and orders a drink, perching on a stool as she waits for it. After the bartender slides it toward her, she makes a show of sipping it, tipping her head back so her throat is exposed, and a vampire beside her growls low. He’s got a shaved head and soft, pillowy lips, and if she were here for pleasure, she’d seriously consider it.

Since she’s not, she stands and heads toward the back of the bar, where Pam is playing hostess to the group of nomads. She takes stock of them—three men, two women, all supernaturally gorgeous—and infers from the way they’re watching over a group of half-naked, dancing humans that those are the companions she’s expected to listen to. She weaves her way into the crowd and sidles up to a young man with soft looking brown hair and clear green eyes, then hip-checks him. It’s not hard, but it gets him to look back, and she smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, hon!” she says, and he mouths no problem and reaches a hand out to her. She takes it, letting him spin her around, and when he releases his hold she leans in, her voice slightly raised so he can hear her over the music. “Hey, I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new in town?” He smiles and shakes his head.

“Not from here, just passing through. I’m Shane.”

“Cam,” she replies, and she glances around at the others, raises her eyebrows. “These your friends?”

“More like family,” he says, and his smile grows wide, fond. “We travel together, you know? We’re the family we chose.”

“That sounds awesome, actually,” she replies, adding a bit of wistfulness to her voice. “I’ve always been jealous of people like you—people who are brave enough to lay their own path, make their own choices.” Shane ducks his head like he’s embarrassed about what he plans to share next.

“It wasn’t easy. I had to completely cut ties with my homophobic parents, work two, sometimes three shit jobs to make enough money just to live. I was exhausted, depressed… and then I met Clive, and everything just kind of fell into place.” His gaze drifts to one of the vampires, a short, blond man with warm brown eyes, and the devotion he has for him is clear. And real, no glamouring or threatening or fear poisoning Shane’s thoughts.

“I can tell you really love him,” she says aloud. She scans the minds of the other humans surrounding him, and none of them are glamoured, either. They think a lot about blood and sex, but they’re here of their own free will, hedonism aside. More than that, they’re happy, well taken care of. Content.

“Yeah,” Shane says, something like yearning in his voice, and then he looks back at her, his eyes soft. “Do you want to come with us? We’re heading to Tennessee next. There’s always room for one more, and you seem really nice.” Surprised, she looks away from the group and tilts her head, shows him a gentle smile.

“No, I don’t think so, but it’s kind of you to offer. There might be more for me here than I think.” Cam reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it, just to be sure—and everything he’s said is true, from the pain to the pleasure. As she sifts through his memories more carefully, she’s hit with a warm rush of pride for this man she barely even knows. “Take care of yourself, Shane.”

“You too, Cam—good luck!” he calls out as she walks away.

She makes it to the bar, orders another drink, but she doesn't have a chance to pull out her phone to text Eric: he just shows up, arms folded in front of him, leaning against the stool beside her.

“You think the human wants to be here? That he’s… in love?” he asks, looking out over the crowd, at the visiting clan. Cam turns toward him, nods softly.

“Yeah, seems like it. I didn’t talk to that one directly, but from what I gathered, it’s his ex who's causing trouble with the sheriff. She wasn’t being kind to him, and the vampire in the red dress?” She takes a sip of her drink and gestures to a statuesque brunette, standing with a dark haired man she knows to be the human in question. “She convinced him to leave, to join them. It’s been six months, and he’s never been happier.”

“Interesting,” Eric murmurs, almost under his breath. “Humans never cease to surprise me, even after all this time.”

“What do you mean?” He looks over at her for the first time, and she raises her eyebrow, puzzled. “You didn’t think humans were capable of loving vampires?” He clears his throat.

“I knew they claimed it, but I assumed it had more to do with the high, the pleasure, than anything else. The way you describe it, their feelings seem deeper. Genuine.”

She’s not sure what he’s getting at—does he think humans are inferior, incapable of such emotion, or that vampires are simply unworthy of receiving it? Rather than start that kind of debate, with her employer, in a packed nightclub, she takes a deep breath and exhales long.

“That’s what I felt when I read their minds, and I’ve read love before. I know when it’s genuine.” She takes another sip of her martini, and slowly, like he’s carefully considering her words, Eric nods.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks, and again, not really a topic she wants to discuss with anyone, but especially not him…

So she’s not quite sure why she answers. “In hindsight, I’d have to say no. It’s not that I haven’t had relationships—I have, and I’ve been… infatuated, lustful, frenzied… but I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” He looks into her eyes, almost through them, like he’s trying to determine if she’s being honest with him—and she is, she really is. “Have you ever been in love?” she asks in return, but Eric straightens then, rests his hand on the bar, and looks back at the crowd.

“You did very well tonight. Thank you,” he says with just a glance in her direction before he strides over to the group of nomads. Because she can take a hint, she finishes her drink, pays her tab, and goes home.

When she checks her banking app the next morning, there is a $500 transfer from the Fangtasia account.

Not too bad for an hour of her time.

Cam goes to see Tara at work later in the week, sidling up to the bar in a leather jacket and jeans, a contented smile on her face. Even though Merlotte’s wasn’t around the last time she lived in Bon Temps, it still provides nostalgic, homey comfort somewhere in her mind. Sam nods at her and smiles.

“Well hey there, Cam. What can I get ya?” he asks, tossing a bar towel over his flannel-clad shoulder. Tara doesn’t turn at his greeting, because she’s concentrating on pouring a line of even shots, so Cam slides onto a stool and sets her phone down on the bar.

“Hi, Sam. I’ll take a Stella, please, and that hot bartender’s phone number.”

Her teasing tone finally gets Tara to look at her over her shoulder, her answering grin bright.

“I hear you over there, you little creature of the night,” Tara jokes back, “and if Sam would take these over to table four for me, I can get that beer for one of my best friends in the world, who I missed very much.”

She lays it on thick, clearly trying to guilt trip him, and Sam doesn’t need to be asked twice, just chuckles and takes the tray of shots from her hands. There’s a little bit of lingering eye contact there that Cam doesn’t think she’s imagining—and she’s definitely not imagining the way Tara checks out his ass as he goes.

Cam clears her throat.

“So, Cami Reyes, as I live and breathe,” Tara says when that moment is broken and her gaze returns to Cam’s. If she noticed Cam watching her, she doesn’t say. “You finally get a break from all that vampire business?”

“This week has been pretty light, actually. I took care of some daytime administrative stuff for the club, listened to a few minds, the usual,” she says with a smile. Tara grabs a glass and pours her a golden lager from the tap, capped off with a thick, white head of foam. Cam takes the glass appreciatively and sips it long and slow. “Mmm. Thank you. Have you been busy here?” she asks, looking around at the booming bar.

“Busier than I’d like to be, some nights,” Tara says with a sigh of exasperation. “We’re still lookin' for another bartender to cover Thursdays and Fridays—I’ve been workin' overtime as a favor to Sam.” Tara looks over at her boss, her eyes tracking him as he wipes his hands on a towel and walks back into the office area. Cam hums.

“That’s good of you. He seems like a great guy,” she says lightly, leading, and takes another sip of her beer. Tara purses her lips like she’s trying to hold back a smirk.

“Yeah, he’s real nice. Good guy to work for,” she responds; Cam narrows her eyes at her, and after a moment, Tara narrows hers back. “What, are you readin’ my mind or somethin’?” Cam’s palms go up instinctively.

“You know I would never… but asking me that question means there’s something in your mind to read.” She lowers her hands and raises her eyebrows, takes another drink. “Just saying.”

“Just sayin’ nothin’, Cami. I’m allowed to have secrets too; I mean, I’m not the one who up and left Louisiana and didn’t come back for ten whole years,” she says, hands moving to her hips. Her tone is wounded, and a little accusatory, and Cam sighs, guilt climbing up her throat.

“I know, and I’m sorry, Tara. I missed it here, I really did—but work got crazy, and I got sucked into some shit, and I’m finally out of it. I’m here now,” she reminds her, tone lightening, and she reaches out her hands to take one of Tara’s. Thankfully, her friend doesn’t pull away. “And I’m not leaving Louisiana any time soon, I promise.”

It hurts Cam to say it, even though she has no intentions of leaving the area again—enough people have failed Tara, disappointed her, and the last thing she wants is to be added to that list. She couldn’t bear it.

Tara nods slowly, then puts her other hand on top of Cam’s and squeezes.

“I’m not mad, I’m just glad you’re back, is all. It wasn’t the same without you. Charlie’s Angels with only two just isn’t right,” she adds, calling back to the old nickname Gran used for the three of them. Cam fondly remembers the summers when they’d get up at dawn and run around town all day together, eating penny candy and popsicles from the ice cream truck until their teeth were sore and their tongues were blue.

Tara squeezes her hands again, then releases them and grabs a bowl of potato chips, places it next to Cam’s glass.

“So… vampire rights attorney,” Tara drawls as Cam plucks a couple of chips from the bowl, crunching on them. Cam raises her brow, chews, and Tara shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I think Bill’s okay and all, but do you really think they need our help? They can snap anyone’s neck they feel like; maybe you should be lookin’ out for the little guy.”

“Oh, I do that too,” Cam assures her, washing the salt down with another sip of beer. “But you might be surprised at how often vampires are falsely accused of crimes—then again, maybe you wouldn’t be,” she says pointedly, and Tara sighs, nodding like she gets it. Cam continues on. “They’re people too, and they need someone looking out for them. Not many of us are willing to stick out our necks—no pun intended,” she adds with a grin. Tara rolls her eyes, but it’s all in good fun, and then Cam’s phone buzzes on the table beside her.

“I know you don’t have a boyfriend, or I’d be hearin’ about him, so… vampire business?” Tara asks as Cam reaches for the phone. Her eyes flick over the screen.

“Vampire business,” she confirms as she reads over the text—it’s a set of coordinates, and clicking the link automatically opens her Maps app, its pin located in what appears to be the middle of the woods not far from Sam’s bar. She finishes the last glug of her beer and stands up, pulls a $20 bill from her pocket and lays it on the counter. Tara opens her mouth to protest, but Cam just raises a finger. “You’re the best bartender in the world, you deserve it—and you can use it to take me to dinner next week, somewhere you don’t work.”

“Alright, alright, it’s a date. But you better get goin',” Tara replies, waving a hand in her friend’s direction. “I’ll text you my schedule. Don’t get yourself eaten!”

Cam waves back and slips out the front door, holding her phone up in front of her so she can follow the app’s projected path. Her eyes quickly adjust to the dark, the soles of her boots making soft sounds against damp earth and foliage, but she stops in surprise about a mile in, when she sees a bright white beam of light, and then the repetitive flashing of police blue-and-reds.

Eric appears next to her, like always, and she grabs the sleeve of his jacket. “What are we doing here?” she hisses under her breath as she scans the area, clocks at least 10 officials who actually belong at what is clearly an active crime scene. Eric places his palm against the middle of her back and slowly guides her toward a plain-clothes cop.

“Detective Graham and I have an agreement. When he comes across an unusual death, he calls me.” As they approach the detective, a man in his fifties with sandy hair and late-night stubble, Cam notices a white sheet draped over an oddly shaped mound—a vaguely human-shaped mound, which leaves bright red splotches that soak and bleed into the sheet near the bottom hem. “Camila,” Eric says suddenly, which causes her to look up from the unknown mass like a spell broken, “I have to warn you: the victim here has been cut in half, and the police have only located the top half of her body. If you think you can’t handle it–”

“I can handle it,” she responds, her voice soft but sure, and he nods and reaches out his hand when he’s close enough to shake the detective’s.

“Mr. Northman, pleasure,” Detective Graham greets roughly, though he doesn’t sound as if he means it. His eyes move from Eric’s to Cam’s, and he scrutinizes her face. “This your psychic?”

“She is,” Eric replies coolly. “Her name is Camila Reyes… And, unfortunately, with the victim in this state, I’m afraid she’s going to need to touch the body.”

The detective heaves a deep, unhappy breath.

“You gotta know how this looks to the rest of the guys already, me bringin' in a vampire and a psychic,” Graham says, shaking his head. “But sure, why not. Let’s tamper with evidence while we’re at it.”

“I don’t intend to alter the scene in any way, Detective,” Cam assures, stepping forward and letting her eyes roam over the clearing, “and I assume your techs have already taken fingerprints, trace samples, if they found any.” Her gaze flicks over to a small group of tired looking officers wearing Crime Scene jackets and sipping coffee from a thermos; they clearly have nothing better to do at the moment, which means all that can be done has been completed already. “You can take mine to rule me out, if you’d like.”

“You a cop?” Graham asks gruffly, watching her as she appraises the scene, the unsettled earth around the body, the trail of blood that tells them she was cut in half elsewhere and dragged to this spot. Cam shakes her head, then crouches down and lifts a corner of the sheet to look at their victim’s face.

“Lawyer,” she answers, and she does her best to school her expression; the dead woman looks to be in her forties, white, with jet black hair and a set of golden eyes that are wide and unmoving. She’s naked, and her body is shredded at the torso—not a clean incision like she’d expect from a serial killer, someone with practice severing limbs. There are no marks on her face or arms, just ragged cuts along her weeping, empty midsection. “Imprecise, savage bisection, teeth marks, organs have been removed,” she notes, and she looks up at Eric, wondering if he’ll attribute this to the same killer she’s picturing.

“Werewolf,” he answers seriously, and she nods once, glad they’re on the same page. Graham splutters.

“I’m sorry, werewolf?” he asks, incredulous. “Don’t tell me those things are real too.” Cam just shrugs—she’s been on this end of many a supernatural revelation before, nothing you can say really helps—and presses her hand to the cold skin of the victim’s arm.

Memories flash through her mind, some older, though the more recent ones are what she’s looking for. A man frequents those, someone tall and tan with copper-colored hair and a sweet smile, but he dissolves quickly into feelings of rage and sadness, loss, heartbreak. There is vindication, elation, and then abruptly, nothing. Cam pulls her hand away, covers the woman’s face, and stands.

“Her mate was killed, and she went after the pack for revenge. It seems like she killed one of theirs and they returned the favor. You’re going to want to rule this an accident,” she tells the detective as she walks toward them, and he crosses his arms in front of him, his expression closed off and irritated.

“Like hell—we have trace evidence.”

“And I can tell you exactly what your lab will find when they process it: no fingerprints, no fibers,” she lists, ticking off her fingers as she goes. “Saliva will be canine, hair will be canine. You won’t be able to match a weapon to the wounds, and either the DA will drop your case right there, or,” she adds, pausing for effect, “if you flip a coin and decide to go the dental impression route, the teeth will be canine, too. The ME will consult the Department of Wildlife and determine that your attacker is something larger than the local coyote population, but slightly smaller than a black bear.”

“We could interview her known acquaintances, find someone with a motive,” Graham counters, and though Eric looks like he’s about to step in, Cam continues, her tone more sympathetic.

“No offense, Detective, but you didn’t know werewolves existed five minutes ago. How do you plan to locate a pack, infiltrate it, and arrest whoever is responsible? And even if you did find the pack, any good defense attorney would destroy you in court if all you have is evidence of an animal attack.” She doesn’t need to use her ability to know that his resolve is waning, so she does decide to pull Eric in for backup, and she gestures to him. “Eric has power here, as sheriff. He can appeal to the werewolf council, provide them with the evidence. If they determine a crime has been committed, they’ll punish the offending parties themselves.”

“If they determine a crime has been committed?” the detective asks, pointing to the half a body. “I think it’s pretty goddamn clear that’s what happened here.”

“Werewolf law is more eye-for-an-eye than human justice,” Eric explains. “If they can defend the killing because she eliminated one of their own, everyone involved just moves on.”

“And as for getting answers for her family,” Cam adds, stepping back in, “believe me, they already know. I’d guess they already found the other half of her body, and they’ll take it up with the council too.”

Graham exhales, raises his eyes to the sky, and then drops them back to Cam’s face.

“You know a lot about werewolves for a big-city lawyer,” he says eventually, and then he looks to Eric and back to the victim. “I’m going to run those samples, and if you’re right, we’ll rule it an animal attack. I’ll keep you updated, Mr. Northman,” he says, reaching out a hand, and the two of them shake before parting. “And I appreciate your expertise, Ms. Reyes, even if I’m not too fond of the outcome.” He reaches a hand out for her as well, and she shakes it before watching him walk back to the bank of squad cars across the clearing.

Eric reaches out to touch Cam’s shoulder, and they turn, start walking back the way she came.

“Well done,” he tells her as they traipse through the underbrush. She looks up at him through the corner of her eye.

“Thanks… although, I know you were testing me,” she says. Eric hums, a thoughtful noise, and nods his head.

“I figured you’d catch on to that. I need to know I can count on you,” he admits, reaching out to lift a low-hanging branch so it doesn’t smack her in the face. “And because it seems that this area is in the middle of some kind of lycanthropic territory dispute, I wanted to see what you knew about creatures other than vampires.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” she acquiesces, taking the path in front of them. “For the record, I’ve dealt with vampires, werewolves, witches, shifters, druids, fairies… anything else we run across, you’ll have to give me the CliffsNotes version.”

Eric pauses and looks over at her, and she stops too, nearly holding in her breath; having his full attention on her, even in the dark, makes her head buzz and her stomach flip. She wets her lips.

“I’m not familiar with Cliff,” he says after a moment of scrutinizing her face, “but I am happy to give you anything you need.”

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figsandpomegranates

6 months ago

Okay so like stick with me but young Derek, alive hale fam au.

So like the Hale family finds out that Derek has a crush on Sheriff Stilinski’s delinquent son, and has mixed reactions. Talia is torn between amusement, worry and wanting to dislike stiles. Papa hale is very protective but thinks it funny that him and his son have the same tastes.

Peter is ecstatic, Stiles once beat him in chess when running from the cops. (stiles was running and sat down in the park around people for cover, turns out he interrupted a chess tournament. Peter challenged him to a game if stiles lost, Peter would turn him over to the police. If he won, stiles could use him as an alibi)

The rest of his siblings don’t really have an opinion other than using Derek’s crush to make fun of him EXPECT for Laura. Laura is in a one sided rivalry with stiles.

As the sheriff right hand deputy she was tasked with keeping an eye out for stiles and she constantly loses him. Which shouldn’t be possible because she’s a werewolf. She can never connect him to a crime he’s committed and can never prove anything. Can’t go to a judge a say “oh he left a scent trail which I followed because I’m a werewolf.”

Derek brings him home to dinner after they start dating. Unfortunately, the day that Derek brings him over, is also the day that Laura had to run around town taking reports of his crimes. She is fuming. Stiles looks her dead in her twitching eye and asked her how her day went.

The only crime she can connect him to is when he commit aggravated assault against a few of Derek’s teammates went to far with hazing. (Derek refused to fight back as not to hurt them) she lets him off.

2K notes View Post

figsandpomegranates

6 months ago