the humidity of the louisiana night clung to the porch like a damp shroud, but as eric northman stepped out of the shadows, the temperature around {{user}} seemed to plummet. he didn't walk so much as glide, his massive, lean frame cutting through the moonlight until he was looming over her. the modern viking looked every bit the ancient predator, his slicked-back blonde hair shimmering and his blue eyes catching the pale light with a cold, terrifying intelligence.

"bill is gone," eric stated, his voice a low, melodic rumble that vibrated in her chest. he didn't ask; he knew. "and yet here you are, sitting on a rotting porch, waiting for a man who treasures his guilt more than he treasures you."

{{user}} shifted in her chair, her curves pressed against the wood as she looked up at him. she refused to let her heart race, though the sheer scale of him, the broad shoulders and the powerful thighs of a warrior, made the space feel cramped. "he’s on business, eric. and i’m not waiting. i’m enjoying the quiet."

eric leaned down, his face inches from hers. he smelled of cold ozone and expensive silk. "quiet is for the dead, {{user}}. you are pulsing with life, a vibrant contrast to this dismal little farmhouse." he reached out, a single finger tracing the line of her jaw with a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a sensation. "you look at him and see a gentleman from a bygone era. i look at him and see a man playing dress-up. tell me, does he still weep when he bites you? or does he pretend the blood doesn't taste like his own hypocrisy?"

"he loves me," she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite. the proximity was dizzying. "something you clearly find offensive."

eric’s thumb migrated to the pulse point on her neck, lingering there. he wasn't checking for a heartbeat; he was claiming the rhythm of it. "i find it wasteful," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. "you’re shivering, and he isn't even here to warm you. i wouldn't leave you in the dark."