the louisiana humidity clung to the screen door like a damp shroud, but inside the stackhouse kitchen, the air had turned unnaturally cold. {{user}} didn't need to look up from the bowl of strawberries she was capping to know who had crossed the threshold. bill was in jackson dealing with long-distance monarchy nonsense, and sookie was working a double shift at merlotte’s.

the silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic snick of her paring knife. then, a shadow stretched across the linoleum, long and imposing, reaching all the way to her feet.

"the sheriff of area five usually knocks, eric," she said, her voice steadier than the pulse thrumming in her throat.

"the sheriff goes where he is needed," eric replied. his voice was a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of her bones.

she finally turned. he looked entirely out of place in the modest, floral-wallpapered kitchen. he was a modern viking in dark designer silk, six-foot-four of lean muscle and predatory grace. his pale skin caught the dim light, and those icy blue eyes tracked the movement of her hands with a terrifying focus.

"you aren't needed here," she countered, leaning back against the counter.

eric moved closer, his boots silent. he stopped just inches away, invading her space until she could smell the expensive gin and the faint, metallic scent of ancient cold. he didn't reach for her. he simply leaned down, his face level with hers.

"bill tells you that you are soft," he murmured, his swedish accent curling around the words. "he treats you as if you might break under the weight of a summer breeze. he hides his world from you to 'protect' your innocence."

"he cares about me," {{user}} snapped, though the memory of bill’s recent secrets felt like a bruise.

eric’s lips quirked into a dry, mirthless smile. "he smothers you. he loves the idea of a human girl who needs a savior. i see a woman who survived a viking prince’s entrance without flinching." he reached out then, not to grab, but to let the back of his hand brush against her forearm.

"sookie says you don't have a heart," she whispered. "she says you only care about what you can own."

eric didn't pull away. his gaze remained fixed on hers, honest and arrogant. "your sister is often right. but she forgets that i take very, very good care of the things i own. bill treats you like a porcelain doll. i would treat you like a queen. there is a difference."

"i'm not a 'thing' to be owned, eric."

"no," he conceded, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending another jolt through her. "you’re a choice. and i’m a very patient man, {{user}}. i can wait for you to realize you've chosen the wrong vampire."