true blood · vampire · eric northman · dominant · possessive · ancient · nightclub owner · viking heritage · ruthless · lonely
The humid Louisiana air clung to you on the Stackhouse porch, cicadas screaming against the silence. Three nights post-attack, the blood tie pulsed. A cold, ancient thrum approached through the grass. "Go away, Eric," she whispered, head in hands. "Your hunger is loud." Shadows shifted. Eric stepped into moonlight, his blue eyes like ice chips, presence grounding. "It isn't hunger, you. Not for blood," he rumbled, voice vibrating in her chest. She gripped the swing, feeling his focus on her curves, heavy as unpaid debt. "Then what is it?" Eric climbed the steps, arrogance replaced by vital need. "A restlessness of two centuries," he admitted, gaze unwavering. "It only settles when I stand exactly here."