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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
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Chapter 22
Eric lies with his eyes closed on a hotel bed, dried blood streaking his face. The doorknob of the bathroom clicks and turns, the door quietly pushed open from the inside. Peia emerges, scanning the room with tired eyes. She tries to remember where she is and how she got there.
They were on the beach when the hallucinations started back in earnest. At first, she could observe them as if watching a film – leisurely taking in the details. But quickly they overwhelmed, blurring the distinction with reality. Growing concerned, Eric had carried her from the beach. In bursts and starts, she was able to insist he find the car she had been driving — in it were a few boxes of things she had collected from her old apartment and some new clothes from Daisy.
Eric drove the car to a vampire-friendly hotel in town. Once inside the room, he had been distressed when she dove straight into the bathroom and locked the door. Of course he could break through, but his instincts told him she needed the isolation. In truth, she was perhaps irrationally hoping that the confined space would limit the visions somehow, if only in scope.
Peia sees Eric on the bed, noting his lack of reaction to the door opening. She looks at the clock on the nightstand – 3pm. He must be asleep. She looks for her bag, hoping he found it on the beach and brought it. A sigh of relief escapes as she sees it sitting on the floor by the television. She walks over, rummages for a bag of nuts she had stashed yesterday and tosses a few in her mouth. It has been 24 hours or more since she had eaten. This would not be enough, but could help with the low blood sugar fogginess. She walks over to the bed, taking her time before letting her eyes settle on his face. It is always striking to her how dead he appears when he is resting on his back. She notes the dried blood and wonders how long into the day he stayed awake.
After a moment, she walks over to the sink, takes a washcloth and runs the water until it is warm. Returning, she sits on the edge of the bed and starts to dab at the blood that had pooled in his ear, next a dot under his nose and then on to the other ear. It takes almost ten minutes for him to stir. When he opens his eyes, she is just sitting with the damp cloth in her hand, pink with blood, watching him.
“It is finished now?” He says, barely as a question.
She nods. “You stayed awake too long. Why?”
“Memories. What you saw, I remembered. I do not understand why. I took no drug,” he answers, still groggy.
“We are connected, as you are so fond of bringing up when it suits you,” Peia responds.
“It was unexpected to be reminded of such things.”
“Unexpected is one way to describe it. Your mom was beautiful, by the way. Stunning in a way I didn’t think possible back then. Explains a lot. And it looks like I picked the right hair color,” she adds with a touch of humor (the henna had turned her hair a deep auburn red).
“You look at me differently now,” he frowns.
“How could I not? It was a jumbled mess, but I pretty much saw your entire human life.”
“And yet I am not human and have no aspirations to act so.”
“But the memories make the man. Perhaps I simply see you more clearly now.”
“Perhaps. Remember, I have many more memories,” he adds pointedly, defensive at the idea that anyone could believe to know him fully.
“Did you ever tell your dad about the dog?” She asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
“No. But I think he knew. Another cause for disappointment.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to them.”
He nods, not quite sure what to do with her sympathy.
“That has been put to rest. I have exacted revenge on their behalf,” he responds with a morose pride.
“Then I envy you. I have nothing but fate to despise.”
Changing the subject, Eric asks abruptly, “so does this mean your tantrum is over?”
“It was. Until you called it a tantrum.”
“I ask only to find out if you are able to speak rationally now.”
Of course it was a tantrum on some level and she knows it. Still, for Eric to point that out seems belittling. Luckily, she has no energy for anger. She sighs and tosses the washcloth onto the bedside table before nodding.
After a pause, Eric looks up at the ceiling and begins to speak. “Last night, you said you were confused by my attitude – at once both paternal and carnal. This is not unusual for vampires and their offspring. However, I must concede that our relationship is unique, as you remain human, and as such, confusion in these matters is likely. Clarification will sometimes be necessary and I will do my best to make my expectations clear.”
It took hours after the memories had stopped invading his mind before Eric was able to fall asleep. A combination of exhilaration inspired by the human life he had nearly forgotten and an unfamiliar obsession with interpreting his own feelings toward the woman who had elicited such things. By organizing his thoughts around the details of their argument last night, he seeks to regain control over any lurking emotions.
He continues in a slightly awkward tone, “Speaking of, I will make an effort to limit sexual activities with women in my employ if that is what you wish. And although I am unwilling to leave my position in Shreveport, despite your distaste for the place, I promise to take you somewhere cold for a holiday. There is a vampire retreat in Iceland that I think you would enjoy…”
It is unclear if he was going to say more, but Peia interrupts him.
“Listen to you, negotiating,” she says with a bemused smirk. “I am coming back with you, Eric,” said as if it were a foregone conclusion. Peia pulls her shirt over her head and quickly climbs on top of him, resting her bare chest on his, skin to skin. As always, the contact relaxes them both in tingly comfort. This time, she refuses to let her brain question the distinction between the physical and the emotional and lets the warmth seep in.
Wrapping his arms loosely around her, he whispers, “Because you want to or because you have nowhere else to go?” As soon as the words have left his mouth, he regrets asking.
“Both,” she responds, honestly.
Eric inhales and closes his eyes. “I find the smell of salt and earth extraordinarily arousing.”
“Really?” She asks in disbelief, feeling no sign of it.
“After more rest. Don’t shower,” he commands, sleepily.
“You know, I totally rock a fur hat.”
“I shall buy you a closet full of them.”
“Did you really get me that battle axe?”
“Of course. I would never lie about an axe.”
“Will you show me how to use it when we get back?”
“I believe it is fairly self-explanatory.”
“Fair enough,” she responds, giggling.
They lay there a while, fading in and out of sleep. As sundown approaches, Eric begins to stir. He is hungry, as is she by the sounds coming from her. He lifts his head enough to smell Peia’s hair before pulling her up from his chest and resting her on the pillow next to him. As her eyes flutter open, he kisses her, relishing the taste of salt on her lips. As the sleep leaves her, she responds in kind to his passion, kissing him deeply. He puts his hands to the sides of her head and abruptly breaks off the kiss, looking at her with wild eyes.
“I want you to bite me,” he insists.
“What?” She asks, breathless and disbelieving.
He kisses her again, then pulls back.
“Please.”
“But my teeth are blunt. It’ll hurt,” she responds with genuine concern.
“Never worry about hurting me,” he responds, kissing her again.
“Ok,” she agrees.
He shows her where and instructs, “Bite down hard enough to draw blood. Do not release your teeth or the wound will close. Drink.”
Nervously, she leans forward toward his neck – it is such a foreign idea, biting, but she wants to please him. She opens her mouth, finds his skin and bites down with force. Immediately, her mind starts to spin as his blood flows into her mouth. He grunts with pleasure and pulls her body back on top of him, spreading her legs and entering her. His fangs drop and he pierces her neck, sucking hard at the wound, which is compelled to heal by the magic of his own blood. They remain connected like this for long enough for them to lose track of the start or end of their own bodies, their thoughts wiped clean by the swirl of blood, the sublime pleasure of their complete embrace….
And then they f*cked like rabbits J
[Author’s note: I promise that upcoming chapters will have less talk and more plot! Just sayin’.]
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That's Not My Name