A/N: I have taken artistic license and changed the order of the dialogue from the first show, in order to tell a story.

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Disclaimer: Bill and Sookie are not mine. I have not read the books, and my interpretation is based solely on the 24 episodes of Seasons 1 and 2 of True Blood, written by Alan Ball and his talented team.

CHAPTER 3

"Mah name's Mac. Rattray," He was short and bald with a straggly goatee and close-set, beady eyes. I could imagine Gollum stroking a ring and cooing for his "precious," but I suspected that I might be the treasure that he sought. Was he a fangbanger, or was I just a novelty? Did he want to be the first on his block to have a vampire? His heavy twang and rudeness toward Sookie suggested questionable breeding and worse education.

"This here's mah wife, Denise." His equally repulsive spouse leered at me. To say she looked "cheap" would be an insult to cheap women. Everything about her screamed "wanton:" lips, nails and hair in various shades of hellfire, drug-store red; micro jean shorts designed for a girl half her age and suitable for one who earned her living on her back; a low-cut, clingy, sleeveless top that barely contained her breasts, its bright red and silver fabric making her look like a dime-store Christmas ornament.

"Hell-llo," she purred, like a stalking wildcat, making me wonder who the real vampire was in this establishment. It reminded me of an expression my Mama used to like: Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. If it had been possible, I would have blushed. I hoped that I had never looked at any woman the way Mac's wife was looking at me; she made me feel like I was dinner.

"Good evening," I replied, turning back to watch Sookie's departure. These two were not what I had in mind for companionship, but I did not wish to be rude; I meant to make this town my home, so I cared what people thought.

"You're new in town, aren't you, Darlin'?" the woman asked, surely already knowing the answer. Bon Temps was a tiny place, where neighbours knew each other's business intimately. A stranger, especially one as pale as I am, would be noticed immediately. "Why don't you come and join us?" she offered. I reasoned that I was less likely to jump on Sookie while in close proximity to others. They might be a distraction, a chance to regain my composure. I walked over to their booth, and Denise scooted over to make room. Mac smiled a nasty, lecherous grin. I tried not to shudder – who was scaring whom? But repulsive as they were, they might prove useful. While their company was not what I desired, I had other, more pressing, needs I suspected they might be willing to fulfil.

Ah yes, my needs. I had not felt this out of control since I had first been turned. Why did that waitress have such an effect on me? Was there something so different about her, or had I simply gone too long without tending to my physical requirements? I knew better than to let things get this out of hand, but my judgement had been impaired by my return to the Compton house. It had been two days since I'd drunk TruBlood and three weeks since I'd last had real blood or sex. The donor clinic I usually visited in Monroe had closed down for renovations, leaving me dependant on that synthetic swill or live feeding. Yes, I toed the party line on TruBlood: You get used to the taste, it's not so bad, it fulfills all our nutritional needs…blah, blah, blah. I drank it, but I did not like it, and some days, it simply was not sufficient. Besides, it only fed one type of hunger, and that was never enough for a vampire. For the rest, one needed a partner. I stayed clear of sex with other vampires; in fact, I tended to stay clear of other vampires, period. I found many of my kind cold-hearted and cruel, to humans and to each other. The politics and brutal justice I could not escape, but I certainly did not need – or want – to socialize with the undead. It inevitably led to pressure to join a nest, something I had resolved to avoid – Liam, Diane and Malcolm had cured me of that desire, forever.

Human interactions posed their own set of problems. Before TruBlood and the Revelation, I had had little choice: vampires took what they needed and covered their tracks. The cruel and reckless killed; the more prudent and benevolent glamoured. But I had largely given up on glamour, too. It seemed only like a kinder, gentler rape, if such a thing were possible. I always made sure to provide pleasure to my "victim" (after 143 years, I had become quite skilled at that), but I still felt that the lady deserved a choice. I had, on occasion, met brave and curious women who guessed – and accepted – what I was, and I had managed to find some mutual enjoyment with them: Juliet*, in particular, came to mind. But these relationships always ended in heartbreak. I could inspire love in humans, care about them, long for them, but I could not love them back – at least not the way they needed me to. That part of me died over a century ago, its memory erased by decades in purgatory, enslaved by the devil herself. I was a generous – but cold – lover, in all senses of the word, and I hurt the humans who trusted me, as much as I tried not to. The more I looked and acted like a human, the more they had expected me to be one. But I am NOT human, not anymore; I am vampire, my reluctance notwithstanding.

And now there was a whole new breed of humans: the fangbangers. They should have made my existence so much simpler, but they were an entirely new torment. I am a product of my upbringing; Lorena had never managed to drain the Southern gentleman completely out of me. I still yearn for some connection, even if love remains impossible for me. The fangbangers crave the vampire that I long to escape, the feral monster that I never want to be. They feed me their blood and their bodies, but I am the one consumed and devoured; they suck the spirit out of me, glorifying everything I hate about myself. Sex with a fangbanger leaves me feeling full but dissatisfied, my deepest hunger unsated.

This is my dilemma, the dichotomy of my unlife: play "human," deny my inner beast, and break some poor soul's heart, or play the brute, deny what little humanity remains in me, and sink deeper into darkness. I am two beings battling within one mind; if I cannot accept myself, how can I expect a human to? Coming back to Bon Temps had only intensified these feelings; it made me want so badly to be human, and forced me to admit that I am not.

So, I had relied on TruBlood and distraction for the past three weeks, since moving back to my human home. I buried myself in my work, the hard physical labour of renovating the house. The task satisfied me on so many levels: it kept me busy, it taxed my strength and it allowed me to pretend that I was rebuilding part of what I lost so many years ago. But a man can deny his needs for only so long and a vampire even less so. If humans are servants to their desires, vampires are slaves to theirs, something I had foolishly chosen to forget. Well, my masters were angry with me now, and they were demanding retribution. My Sookie-fantasy-gone-wrong was the final proof I needed; the beast within was hungry, and it was demanding to be fed.

"Ah mean, people have always discriminated against me," Denise drawled, using what I guessed was her "come hither," voice, drawing suggestive circles on my shoulder. I noticed that one of her fingernails was broken, its jagged edges catching on my jacket.

"Oh boy, have they ever!" her husband winked. He seemed tense, anxious, and I detected a slight tremor, but I dismissed it as anticipation of the sordid tryst I assumed he was trying to orchestrate.

"And just because ah never felt like being what society wanted me to be, you know?" she whined. I found myself siding with "society" at that moment; it probably had merely asked her to stop being such a whore and bitch. My mind's language shocked me. I was brought up to treat all women with respect, to assume their virtue even in the absence of its proof. But this creature clutching at me was making it almost impossible. It was not just her attire or the way she was throwing herself at me (in front of her husband, no less!) that was revolting me. Malevolence seemed to be radiating off her in waves. This woman was colder, harder stone than I could ever be; she was clearly used to taking what she wanted. "So we know what it's been like for you," she cooed.

I doubted that, most sincerely.

"We thought you might like a little … company tonight," Denise breathed in my ear, her husband grinning like an idiot across the table. She licked my earlobe and stroked my thigh; her breath smelled of onion rings, beer and – ugh! – garlic. This meal would repeat on me for days. She noticed my erection and mistook it for a compliment. "Oh… ah see that ah was right."

"Have you ever had sex with one of my kind?" I asked her gruffly, posing it as a warning more than a question.

"Ah read in The Enquirer that everyone should have sex with a vampire at least once in their lives," she flirted, batting Wal✭Mart eyelashes in my direction. Her taste in reading material did not surprise me.

"It can be quite violent," I cautioned, lust and repulsion turning my voice into a growl. If we were going to do this, I wanted them to go in with eyes wide open. She licked her lips and leered. Clearly I had not misjudged them.

"That's all right, Mister," her husband smirked. "She likes it rough. And ah like watching someone give it to her that way." I shuddered, my gorge rising – and it takes a LOT to make a vampire gag! What kind of man does this to his wife? Even she did not deserve such disrespect. I understood that this encounter would not be pleasant, but I wasn't looking for pleasure, just release. The inner beast needed to be fed, then to be locked safely away again. As for the husband, perhaps I could put the fear of G-d in him, or at least fear of the vampire. I hoped that when I was through, he would never again want to turn her over to another man.

Sookie returned with our drinks, looking very dismayed with my new companions. "Can I get y'all anything else?" she asked. She meant to sound cheerful, but I heard the strain in her voice. She looked as if she was listening to a conversation I couldn't hear, like she was reading our thoughts. Don't be ridiculous! I told myself. Mind reading is science-fiction – she's not a Vulcan or a Betazoid! But then again, one needn't be a telepath to read the sexual tension in this room, or to have a vampire's sense of smell to pick up on the pheromones I'm generating. I felt ashamed – I did not want her to think that it was the loathsome Mrs. Rattray who was having this effect on me.

Denise was pawing at my thigh and positively salivating, her eyes pure lust. Ordinarily, I do not mind a woman looking at me with desire – in fact, I find it quite arousing. But there was not a shred of goodwill in her gaze, no sign of anticipation of the pleasure to be shared. It was a look of possession, of rapaciousness and greed. I felt like she was measuring me, sizing me up, calculating how much this bull would bring at the auction. Only one other person had ever looked at me that way: Denise's resemblance to Lorena at that moment made me cringe.

Sookie stared at her, shocked, then looked at me with panic. "I'm gonna bring y'all a free round of beer, OK? Don't you go anywhere," she stammered, looking directly at me. What was that all about? I wondered. Mac looked annoyed. Sookie ran back into the kitchen. Watching her, my excitement rose again, the painful bulge straining against my trousers. This was no longer hunger, but famine; there comes a point when nature simply cannot be denied. Lorena's blood called to me, her four-step mantra of predation ringing in my ears: "Find. Fuck. Feed. Forget." I knew that I would not be able to resist if I got Sookie alone, and the longer I waited, the worse it would become. But something about her made me feel protective, and the one she most required protection from was me. I needed to get away from her, fast, and these two monsters were my way out. We were gone before she returned.

"Where are we going?" I inquired, hoping it was not too far; I was growing faint with hunger, now.

"Ah can't wait; let's do it, here," the trollop said, pointing to the wooded area beside the parking lot. I did not argue – vampires are many things, but bashful is not one of them. We ducked behind some trees. I grabbed her long, stringy hair and pulled it back, exposing her thin, white neck; it bent easily in my strong hands. I bared my fangs and growled – this was a meal LONG overdue. "Wait!" she protested. "We'll get to that. But first, there's something Ah want to taste. Ever since I laid eyes on you, Mister, Ah've had a hankerin' for some vampire cock." She licked her lips and I moaned, despite myself. Very well, one hunger appeased was as good as another, at least for now. "Lie down and close your eyes," she directed. Ah'll tell you when you can open them." Stupidly, I did as she requested, blinded by my desire and need. And suddenly, the predator became the prey.

She leapt upon my chest and grabbed my arms, her speed stunning me, and she pinned me long enough for him to stretch the silver chain across my throat. She wound the ends of the long strand around both my wrists, immobilizing my upper body. The silver burned into my skin and began to sap my strength. I looked her deeply in the eyes and cleared my mind as best I could. "Denise," I intoned, slowly and calmly, "listen to me. Can you feel my influence?" Mac punched his fist into my mouth, burning my tongue repeatedly with three large silver rings I had failed to notice earlier. By the time I was able to speak again, I no longer had the strength to glamour. Did they recognized what a weakened state I had been in tonight, or was this simply the dumb luck of dumb brutes? On any other night, I could have easily killed them both.

"Why are you doing this?" I choked out painfully, but I knew even before she removed the equipment from her sack: the tubes, syringes and plastic bags removed all doubt. They were not just low-lives; they were Drainers – dealers in hallucinogenic vampire blood. It was the reason we hid the properties of "V," as the addicts called it, from the mainstream press. It made us far too tempting, too vulnerable to an attack. Buying V, even from a willing vampire, became a grave offence to my kind, and any human caught doing so faced a slow and painful death, as both a punishment and a warning to others. These two would not survive for long, but at this rate, neither would I. They attached the tubes to both my arms.

And so I lie here, fangs bared but impotent, feeling what passes for life drain out of me. It seems as if every human I ever killed has come back to watch my trial, to witness my final judgement and cheer on my execution. A fitting end, I suppose, to a brutish and violent journey. My hunger and arousal have drained out of me with my blood – I feel almost nothing but regret.

Should I have taken my chances tonight with Sookie? No, better this. I would have surely caused her harm, one more horror I could not bear to live with. The blood of innocents has turned bitter on my tongue, and I would rather be the hunted than the hunter. But I cannot fight my nature any longer, even if I do not embrace it. Perhaps mainstreaming is another lie I told myself, another myth we invented to hide behind. I never chose this existence, and I will not be sorry to see it end. I almost welcome the true death, but I am mourning my life, my human life, again.

"Hurry," Mac urges his wife, desperation creeping into his voice. He is grasping his temples with his stubby fingers, as if trying to clear his head.

"We should have taken him home," she complains, kneeling beside me and checking the tubes. She watches greedily as my blood fills up the bags. I find myself wishing that it will bring them nothing but grief.

"Too dangerous. Where are we gonna hide a dead vampire in our trailer." There is no doubt, then – they mean to drain me completely.

"Well at least we wouldn't be out in the fuckin' open like this," she spits at him. They are not exactly Romeo and Juliet, these two. Can I use their conflict to my advantage in some way?

Mac begins to shake. He laces his hands behind his head, a grimace on his face. He paces anxiously. "Ah just need some V juice and ah need it bad. Mah body is starting to hurt an' ah just need to git it in me." A dealer and an addict – no wonder he was willing to risk her safety for this! But this is another weakness to be exploited.

"Gawdammit, Mac, you're a fuckin' drug addict, you know that?" she snarls at him with contempt.

"Woman would you just shut the fuck up?" he yells. Good Lord! Do my final moments on this earth really have to be spent listening to the Rattrays spew their venom? Two deaths in one lifetime, both horrors: first Lorena and now these two. I suppose it is fitting retribution for my sins. I focus on the woods and try to tune them out. If I can clear my mind, I may find a way to escape.

What is that? My attackers don't notice, too engaged in their Jerry Springer moment, but my hearing is far superior to theirs. My night vision, too; I see movement, something creeping through the trees. Sookie! Has she been a part of this, all along? Have I so misjudged her? No, she nods to me, a signal – Keep them distracted. I turn back to Denise, who is fussing with the bags, and I pull against the silver to divert her attention. What is that in Sookie's hands – a chain? How will that help? Doesn't she realize I am in no position to protect her?

Mac continues to berate his dreadful spouse. "Sometimes, when you talk, this I what I hear: 'a'yidda, yidda, yidda, yidda.'" He is so engrossed in his twin battles, with Denise and his withdrawal symptoms, he does not hear Sookie approach him from behind. She folds the heavy chain in two, winds up and strikes him across the head and shoulders; she fells him with a single stroke.

"You crazy bitch," he yells, wheeling around to face her and pulling a knife from his back pocket. He lunges and thrusts the blade at her. I strain against my bonds, but I am going nowhere. Sookie throws the chain at Mac with all her might. It snakes around his neck, constricting like a boa, squeezing the breath out of him. Mac sinks back to his knees, gasping, and his weapon slips from his grasp. Denise ignores her husband's pleas for help, intent upon his discarded weapon. Sookie beats her to it and forces her away from me.

"This 'aint your business, you stupid cunt." Denise snarls at her. Mac claws at the tightening chain, gasping, his eyes wide in fear and amazement. Is this enchantment, or a fantastic stroke of fortune? I wonder. What is she? I ask myself again.

"Now that just proves how low rent you really are," Sookie taunts Denise. She seems completely at ease with the weapon in her hand and in control of the situation.

"You have any idea who you're messin' with?" Denise threatens Sookie."You don't want to be on my bad side."

"I'm not sure you even have another side, you no-count, backwoods trash!" Sookie bites back. I can do nothing but watch, in stunned admiration, as she backs Denise away. Mac is still on the ground, trying desperately to uncoil the metal links around his throat. Denise turns in disgust, resolving to salvage some dignity and their ill-gotten gains, but Sookie is having none of it. "Uh-uh," she threatens with the knife. "Do not even think of taking that blood." Does she want it for herself – is that why she risked her life?

"I will kill you for this," Denise promises, and for the first time this evening, I have no doubts about her sincerity. She drags Mac towards their truck, cursing him for his incompetence, while he begs for her help removing his choker.

Sookie peels the silver off my wrists and neck. It has burned deep gouges into my skin which smoke and smoulder. The respite from the pain is heavenly – I retract my fangs and close my eyes, resting for a moment. Sookie's reaction jolts them open again. "Shut…up!" she exclaims in amazement, marvelling at the speed with which I mend. This young woman has learned far too much about my kind tonight: silver, V, our power to heal quickly. I do not know if I can trust her. I will glamour the memory out of her once I recover sufficiently and hope it has no harmful effect on her.

Before I can say a thing, we are under attack again. The Rattrays' truck comes bearing down on us, headlights on high. Sookie grabs me under my arms to pull me back into the brush. "Push with your feet," she urges, and between both our efforts, we avoid the vehicle's tires by inches. "I'll get you, bitch," are Denise's parting words, flung out the open window like litter.

Sookie pulls me further up the incline, and rests my back up against a tree. "Oh bless your heart. I am SO sorry I didn't get here faster," she apologizes to me. "You'll be OK in a minute, right?" I look at her, puzzled. What does she have to apologize for? I cannot even think of a response, and the silence between us is awkward. "Do you want me to leave?" she asks.

"No!" I blurt out. She smiles at my reply. "They might come back, and I can't fight yet," I clarify. She seems disappointed with the explanation. What does this woman want from me? She looks at me with guileless innocence, and I feel a stirring, despite my weakened state. I fight for control; I might be in no condition to do her real harm, but I find myself reluctant to even frighten her. She reaches for the tubes and desire rips through me again; I yank my arm away. I do not trust myself with any physical contact.

Sookie misinterprets my response. "I reckon you're not too happy about being rescued by a woman!" she accuses me, annoyed. Good – it is better that she think me chauvinistic than to know the truth about the beast that I am battling.

"Thank you," I respond, removing the tubes.

"I can't hear you," she exclaims, surprised.

"Thank you!" I repeat, louder.

Sookie drops to her knees and peers in my eyes. "No, no, I can hear you but I can't…" She takes my face into her hands and closes her eyes; her face is a study in peace and contentment. I recoil initially at her touch, not trusting myself. But her hands are gentle and warm – so warm! – and I find myself surrendering to them. My desire is morphing into something else, something soft as her touch, something long forgotten. She gazes at me in wonderment. "Oh my stars!" she exclaims, mystifying me. She is standing far too close, and I long to brush her lips with mine.

"Aren't you afraid to be out here alone with a hungry vampire?" I ask, half hoping she will back away. I need some space, some "breathing room," that has nothing to do with air.

"No."

"Vampires often turn on those who trust them, you know," I warn her, with a growing sense of déjà vu.

"Well, humans turn on those who trust them, too," she replies, echoing my fantasy. Again I wonder if she is reading my mind. That thought alarms me – the fantasy is not one I would ever choose to share. She backs away, despite her proclaimed lack of fear, and wraps the silver chain around her neck. "I'm not a total fool," she says, defiantly.

I expose a bit of my darker to her; perhaps it will convince her to be more cautious. I lean towards her, my eye lids heavy and my voice gruff. "Oh, but you have other very juicy arteries. There is one in the groin that is a particular favourite of mine."

Sookie doesn't give an inch – she laces into me: "You just shut your nasty mouth, Mister," she rebukes me in no uncertain terms. "You might be a vampire, but when you talk to me, you will talk to me like the lady that I am!"

She is far stronger than I imagined. I find her fearlessness amusing. But it also arouses my suspicions again, and I decide to test her. "Want to drink the blood they collected?"

"No!" Sookie makes a face at the mere thought of it.

"I understand that it makes humans feel more healthy. Improves their sex life," I continue, making eyes at her. She dismisses the idea: "I'm as healthy as a horse, and I have no sex life to speak of, so you can just keep it."

"You could always sell it," I suggested, wondering if this was what she'd had in mind. "I wouldn't touch it," she replied, nodding as if to say "and that's that!" She appears a bit embarrassed and changes the subject: "So… silver, huh? I thought that only affected werewolves." Now I am alarmed. What does she know about weres, I wonder, and how? Who is she working for and what is her angle? "I'm not implying that werewolves exist." she backtracks, mistaking my concern for ridicule. "That's just what you always see in the movies."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't share this information with anyone," I instruct her. "We don't like for our weaknesses to be made public knowledge."

Sookie gazes at me, completely serious. "Oh. OK," she nods, and from her expression and tone, I believe she understands. She stands up, never breaking eye contact. "Well, see ya, Bill. I gotta' get back to work." She saunters away, without looking back, a far more self-possessed woman than I had originally judged her to be. She has passed all my tests with flying colours. I feel ashamed of having mistrusted her, but can you blame me? My survival has depended on deceit for most of the last century and a half, so I assume that most of what I hear is lies.

But tonight, Sookie has shown me something long absent and forsaken from my life – compassion. She put herself in danger to save me, asking nothing in return. She is attracted to me, I can feel it, but that was not her motivation, at least not the only one. Her kind-heartedness humbles and inspires me. I feel another stirring – this one in my chest – one that I have not felt in years. She makes me want to do far more than mainstream; she makes me want to be decent, righteous, and human again. I am beginning to care about this woman. I no longer want just her blood and her body, I want her very being. I look at her through William Compton's eyes – not Vampire Bill's – and I see a future I might not loathe to live.

What is she? For now, at least, I know. She is my saviour, and because of her, I will not die tonight. And – dare I hope? – she may well become my miracle, and my salvation.

END -

Mention of Juliet is a tribute to the wonderful fan fic story from one of my favourite authors, Redandsparkly (The Hunter), available here: .net/s/5780911/1/The_Hunter

A VERY special acknowledgement to my incomparable beta reader, TheNextBestThing36, without whom I would have lost my confidence, my mind, or both. She was a source of many wonderful ideas and touches, such as Denise smelling of onions and beer and looking like a Christmas ornament. You made the whole thing fun, sweetie, and so much better than it would have been. Thank you!

Thanks to Gaia1 for her honest and helpful review of Ch 3 – I rewrote it based on her critique, and I believe she made it a much better story. "Bless your heart," as Sookie would say!