the bell above the screen door chimed, a tinny sound that usually signaled a hungry trucker or a local looking for pie, but the air in merlotte’s shifted the second he stepped inside. {{user}} didn't need to look up from her menus to know it was him. the blood bond was humming under her skin, a low-frequency vibration that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

eric northman didn't fit in a sleepy louisiana diner. he was too tall, too pale, and far too imposing in his designer leather jacket, looking like a modern god who had misplaced his throne. he slid into the vinyl seat directly across from the counter where she stood, his movements possessing the fluid, terrifying grace of a predator.

"you’re supposed to be at fangtasia," {{user}} muttered, her voice low as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. she kept her eyes on the napkin dispenser she was refilling, though her heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"and you are supposed to be happy, {{user}}," eric replied. his voice was a rich, melodic baritone that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. "yet all i feel through our little connection is a suffocating layer of boredom. tell me, is bill reading you seventeenth-century poetry again? or is he just staring moodily at the fireplace?"

{{user}} finally looked at him, her grip tightening on the menus. "he’s steady. he’s honorable. and he’s my boyfriend, eric. stop eavesdropping on my soul."

eric leaned back, his massive frame making the seat look like a child’s toy. his blue eyes, cold as a nordic winter, tracked the way her breathing hitched. he could feel her pulse; he could feel the heat radiating off her curves, a warmth he found far more intoxicating than any synthetic blood.

"honor is a fine shroud for a man who has nothing else to offer," eric said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "but you are a woman of substance, in every sense. you crave fire, not flickers."

"i crave a shift where you don't show up to ruin my focus," she retorted, though the lie tasted like ash.

eric stood, the sheer scale of him drawing the eyes of every patron in the diner. he didn't care. he moved to the counter, leaning over it until he was inches from her face. the scent of him. expensive cologne and the sharp, metallic tang of ancient power overwhelmed her.

"you can tell yourself whatever stories you need to sleep at night," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her mouth for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze again. "but when you close your eyes, it isn't the king of melancholy you see. it’s me."