DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, I'm just playing with Charlaine Harris'/ Alan Ball's characters.

"G'night, Sam!" I called over my shoulder, hearing a muffled "Night, Sook!" in return before I closed the door of the bar behind me. It had been a long shift of waiting tables; Fridays were always busy, but boy did my feet hurt after pulling a double. My job as a barmaid at the local watering hole, Merlotte's, wasn't fancy, but it got the bills paid.

I slid into my beat-up old car, sending up my cursory prayer that the engine would start—it did, and with barely any protest—before latching my seat belt and pulling out of the back of the lot where all the employees parked. The night was warm and humid, the pleasant scent of earth and summer foliage drifting through the open window.

I loved nature; the smell of rich loam, the vibrant colors of the flowers bursting into bloom, the way the birds called to each other sweetly between the trees…sometimes I could swear I could even feel the energy, the thrum of life, pulsing through the veins of leaves.

Plus, plants don't have thoughts. They're nice and quiet.

Life as a telepath isn't so bad, once you learn how to build a mental shield around your brain. As a child, before I figured out how to protect myself, day-to-day life could be unbearable. My mother's thoughts were always a little jealous—she loved Daddy so much that she just wanted all of his affection for herself. My older brother, Jason, was resentful of having a freak for a younger sister. He was teased for it, until he realized that if he helped them tease me, he would be spared, and he'd also have a handy outlet for all his anger. It was a win-win for him, really. He even gave me the nickname that followed me around to this day: Crazy Sookie.

Daddy and Gran's thoughts were always filled with love and concern. I got unconditional love from them, the only people who accepted me as I was, warts and all. They worried about how I was fitting in at school (I wasn't), how I felt about my little 'gift' (I hated it), and from Gran I always caught flashes of intense guilt, sometimes accompanied by the briefest image of what looked like my dad surrounded by a beautiful light; but it was faded, like an old photograph yellowed by time.

Eventually, with time and practice, I figured out how to stop the constant barrage of thoughts. I couldn't block everyone out forever, but I could shield myself temporarily. There were a lot of different factors that determined how long my walls could stay up—stress, exhaustion, mental capacity, and touch, to name a few—but I got by alright at work, and managed to graduate high school even if it was by the skin of my teeth. College, of course, was never an option, between the telepathy and being dirt poor.

And so I had settled into what I assumed would be my life. I was an uneducated waitress in a small town, lonely, unable to have a relationship thanks to my little curse, living with my Gran. The last part wasn't so bad; she was the light of my life, the only person left who didn't think I was nuts and loved me unconditionally. But crazy or not, I was still a woman, and I yearned for all the emotional claptrap I read in the romance novels I devoured like candy.

I was considering a run to the library the next day as I turned onto my pitted driveway, wincing at every big bump. I pulled around the back of the house where I usually parked, and after cutting the engine, sat back in my seat to relax for a minute. Gran was most likely asleep at this late hour, and we lived far enough away from other people that I couldn't hear anyone, so I slowly let my shields fall away with a deep with. Disassembling my mental barrier feels quite a bit like taking your bra off at the end of the day, or kicking off high heels after a night of dancing (or so I'd overheard from Dawn Green, a fellow waitress).

Feeling mentally relaxed, I climbed from my car and stretched, my hands reaching towards the inky sky. It was a new moon, and we didn't have street lights this far out, so only the dim glow of the kitchen light Gran left on for me illuminated the night. It was almost balmy out, with just a slight breeze carrying the scent of the woods surrounding our property and the sound of the grasshoppers chirping to each other. I'd just taken a few steps towards the back porch when I heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.

I whirled around and saw a figure approaching. I backed towards the house quickly, scared out of my wits and unable to see who it was. I sent a little tendril out, probing the person's brain and got nothing but static.

"Who the hell are you?" I yelled in a bit of a panic; no answer, just more shuffling forward. "I'm armed!" No, I wasn't. But they didn't know that. "Stop moving and tell me who you are!" I'd reached the few steps leading to the back porch at this point, and was carefully ascending them backwards, never taking my eyes off the figure approaching me.

"Don't make me call the police!" I threatened, my shaky hands reaching behind me, searching desperately for the knob to the back door. I'd just curled my trembling fingers around it when I saw the face of the man approaching—it was my brother, Jason. My panic level dropped, but the trembling in my limbs increased due to relief.

"Jason, what the hell is wrong with you?!" I whisper-yelled at him. He said nothing, just kept walking forward in a daze. Frowning at his odd behavior, I mentally poked at his brain a little harder and got more of nothing. This had never happened before; all minds are just a little different, but this complete nothing-ness was new to me.

"Jase? You okay?"

He came to a stop just inside the glow of the light, and I gasped at his face. He had some bruises blooming on his cheeks and his bottom lip was split. He looked like he'd been on the losing end of a fight, which wouldn't be surprising. He didn't know how to keep his mouth shut and he'd always thought he was the biggest dog in the yard.

"Sookie. I gotta show you somethin'." His voice was flat, just like his eyes were. I could feel my anxiety levels rising again, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. This was definitely not normal. "Come with me, Sookie."

"Jason, you're freaking me out. What's wrong with you?" I stepped toward him, something in me afraid to get too close. But, I reasoned, this was my brother. He was a jackass, but he looked like he needed help.

"It's out here a-ways. Not too far, Sookie. I gotta show you somethin'." Still nothing in his brain. I worried on my lip, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I didn't want to go out there; he was scaring me, it was dark, and it could surely wait til morning. I told him as much.

"No, it's gotta be now. Come on, Sook. Come with me. I gotta show you somethin'." His voice had a slight hint of urgency to it now, a little panic in his eyes. After a few more moments of hesitation, I stepped down from the porch. Jason turned instantly, in an indescribably creepy way, and started towards the woods again. I followed reluctantly.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trailing behind him. I was still leery, a little jittery. This didn't feel right.

When my brother didn't answer, I decided to listen to my gut feeling. "Alright, you can just show me tomorrow. I'm going inside and going to bed." I turned on my heel and started walking quickly back towards the porch again, surprised to see we'd gotten halfway to the woods from the porch.

I was still listening for anything to come from Jason's mind, my legs hurrying to get me to the house, when a weird…blankness?...showed up on my mental radar. It wasn't the 'nothing' coming from Jason, but another kind of void entirely, like a black hole had opened and was hurtling in my direction. I looked in the vicinity I felt it in, frowning, feeling it coming up quickly behind where Jason was now staring at me with that creepy blank stare.

I turned and moved faster towards the porch steps, officially panicking, when the blank spot seemed to rush towards me all at once. I barely got out a yelp before something had me tackled to the ground, a cold, firm hand pressed to my mouth and a very heavy thing pinning me to the ground. My hands grabbed at the hand muffling my yells of terror, trying to claw it away while my legs kicked and I bucked underneath whatever it was that was holding me down.

"Stay still!" A deep voice snarled in my ear—a man, then. I couldn't get any thoughts from his touch, just more enveloping blankness. Under other circumstances, I would probably have loved that feeling. Right now, it was petrifying. "If you keep struggling, I will hurt your brother further. Do you understand?" The man's voice was honey poured on sandpaper, slightly accented with something foreign, and incredibly sinister.

I stopped my flailing, my fingers still clutching at his, and I nodded, trying to calm my breathing down. Tears had started leaking from my eyes at some point, and my heart felt like it was going to burst right in my chest.

"I am going to remove my hand and turn you over. If you make any noise or try to run, you will regret it. Do you understand this?" I nodded again. "Good." The hand fell away and I was rolled roughly onto my back. The earth was damp, and I could feel moist earth clinging to my shirt as I was shifted.

If I hadn't already been breathless with terror, the face of my tackler would have stolen the air from my lungs. He was truly beautiful. His features looked like a master sculptor had carved them painstakingly from smooth marble, his eyes a striking sapphire blue. His mouth was just full enough to be called lush without being feminine, and his blonde hair was brushed back from his high forehead, the ends barely tickling the collar of his leather jacket.

Separately, his features were enthralling. But looking at his face as a whole, in this moment, it was fucking terrifying. His face was one of impassive smugness, the kind of expression you find on someone who knows exactly who they are in the world and feels superior because of it. He leaned in to my neck, his hands gripping my shoulders firmly, his knees planted on either side of my body. His eyelids drifted down as he took a deep, slow inhale.

He was smelling me!

Before I could muster up enough righteous indignation and tell him off, his lips pulled back in a feral smile, and protruding from his mouth where two normal, blunt teeth should have been were fangs. Two long, sharp, pointy, slightly-curved fucking fangs.

"Oh my God," My voice was barely above a whisper, "Oh my God. Oh my God."