the wooden floorboards of the farmhouse porch didn’t even creak when he arrived. one moment there was only the heavy, humid press of the louisiana night and the rhythmic chirping of cicadas; the next, the air turned sharp and frigid, smelling of expensive leather.

{{user}} didn’t look up from her book. she felt the shift in temperature against her bare arms, a stark contrast to the stifling heat that usually clung to the parish. she knew that cold. it was different from bill’s. bill was a damp, subterranean chill, like a cellar. eric was the cold of a mountain peak, terrifying and clean.

"he keeps you in a cage of good intentions, {{user}}," eric’s voice drifted over her, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. she could hear the predatory tilt of his grin without even looking. "does it ever get lonely, being the only thing in this house he refuses to truly touch?"

{{user}} turned a page, her fingers trembling just enough to be noticed by an ancient viking prince. "he’s protecting me, eric. he's in jackson dealing with the authority so i don't have to."

in a blur of motion too fast for her human eyes to track, the space beside her was no longer empty. eric was there, leaning against the railing, his massive 6'4" frame casting a shadow that swallowed her light. his blonde hair caught the moonlight, and his blue eyes burned with a thousand years of boredom and sudden, sharp interest.

"no," he dropped his voice, leaning in until the frost of his breath brushed her cheek. he reached out, his large, calloused hand moving with surprising gentleness as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. his fingers lingered, the pads of them skimming the sensitive skin of her neck. "he is hiding you. there is a difference."