the fluorescent light of the desk lamp hummed, a sharp contrast to the velvet shadows of fangtasia’s private office. {{user}} stackhouse didn't look up from the ledger, her fingers dancing over the calculator keys with a rhythmic snap. she could feel him. the cold, heavy presence of a thousand-year-old predator lurking just at the edge of the light.

"you’re staring again, eric. it’s creepy. even for a viking," she muttered, marking a line through a bloated liquor invoice.

eric didn't move from his position by the door. he was a mountain of lean, viking muscle, his slicked-back blonde hair catching the faint light like spun silver. he looked every bit the modern warrior.

"i am merely wondering how a creature so small can carry so much spite," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle the pens in her desk organizer. "it is... refreshing."

{{user}} finally looked up, her eyes meeting his icy gaze. she didn't flinch. she had dealt with landlord disputes and sookie’s supernatural wreckage all day; a vampire sheriff was just another item on her to-do list. "it’s not spite. it’s exhaustion. some of us have to live in the real world."

eric pushed off the wall, his movements fluid and silent. he crossed the room in a heartbeat, his sheer height casting a long shadow over her desk. he didn't look at the books; he looked at her. he took in the curves of her body, the stubborn set of her jaw, and the way she refused to shrink under his imposing stare. while the rest of the world trembled or swooned, {{user}} stackhouse simply checked her watch.

"the real world is a tedious place, {{user}}," he murmured, moving behind her chair. he didn't touch her, but she could feel the chill radiating from him, a physical weight in the air. his hand hovered inches from her shoulder, his fingers long and powerful. "let me carry it for a while, {{user}} stackhouse. i have lived through a thousand 'real worlds.' yours is the only one i find worth watching."