Dead to Rites

It wasn't the undead monkey sex that was the problem.

Waitress Sookie Stackhouse mechanically went through her prep for the evening shift at Merlotte's Bar. A spot in her lower pelvis still thrummed with pleasure at the vivid memories from the night before. A bead of sweat snaked down the back of her neck from her smooth blond ponytail. Hadn't Sam paid his electric bill? Her snug Merlotte's T-shirt seemed to compress nipples that were suddenly too sensitive.

Her vampire lover Eric Northman, six-foot-four of Viking sex goodness, had paid a great deal of attention to those nipples last night. Sucking, nipping, and pulling. Her nipples had felt the center of all her sensation, pulsing and engorged; at least until Eric had moved…south of the border.

What that man could do with tongue and fang would make a whore blush, or scream with pleasure. As Sookie had, over and over, until she was pleading for relief-whether from the assault or for more she wasn't sure. Regardless, Eric had shown no mercy, probing and stroking, sucking, exploding her body into radiant splinters of orgasm.

Then Eric had plunged inside her slick vagina to take his own pleasure. He locked her hips to his, angling slightly upward with his cock so he pressed against her G-spot with each stroke, sending her shuddering to a second climax, and a third. Then he fell to the rhythm that signaled his own oncoming crisis, a primal slamming of his pelvis against hers, an urgent claiming that would accept no opposition, only ownership.

Eric triumphantly strained against her as he came, then flipped her over to her belly and slid in again, snugging her round bottom tightly to him. A new rhythm, a new crescendo in duet time…

"Sookie!" Sam called from behind the bar. "Help Arlene out with those frat boys from LSU, would ya?"

Sookie drew in a shaky breath, and waited a moment to be sure she would not fall over if she took a step. "Coming, Sam!"

No, the undead monkey sex was not the problem.

The vampire that entered Merlotte's and paused at the door had a cool, clinical air about him. He surveyed the room as if he were an anthropologist observing a backward tribe in its native habitat, engaged in inscrutable primitive rituals.

Sookie eyed the usual suspects comprising a Bon Temps Friday night in the bar and couldn't blame him. Some frat rats from LSU were playing pool, feeling up the local girls and downing Dixie drafts like there was no tomorrow. Of course, when you're young, healthy and privileged, tomorrow can go screw itself. Jane Bodehouse, the bar's regular drunk, was rapidly nearing the point they would cut her off and call her son to pick her up. Jane tried to catch the eye of one of the frat boys coming back from the john and only managed to look like she had a facial twitch. The boy hurried back to the safety of Team Testosterone. The parish road crew, along with Sookie's brother Jason, a newly minted deputy sheriff, played darts in the back, roaring with beer-fueled laughter at a dirty joke that everyone had heard before. Maxine Fortinberry and her hen party cronies finished up their chicken fried steak, making note of any incriminating actions to share at the church potluck on Sunday.

Just another night at Merlotte's.

The vamp, slightly under 6 feet and with a handsome, sensitive face the pale caramel color of the undead who had been dark skinned in life, seemed to decide it was safe to chance the natives and sat down in a booth.

Sookie sighed. That was Arlene's section. But Arlene was already overrun with fraternal love and was never hot on vampires at the best of times. "I've got this one, Arlene," Sookie called. The red-haired waitress wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, spotted the pale visitor and nodded gratefully.

Merlotte's drink list was already on the table. Their selection of vampire beverage brands had grown in the last couple of years as vamp traffic increased. Everything from the really cheap synthetic stuff that one vamp told her was the undead version of C-rations to an imported brand mixed with real human donated blood and sold only by the glass.

"What can I get for you?" Sookie queried in her best waitress style. Even with the hard-learned caution that was now second nature when she dealt with supernaturals, sunny politeness was her default setting. "Or do you need a few more minutes?"

"True Blood, AB negative, please," the vampire said with the slight musicality that Sookie associated with people from the Caribbean. "Sure, coming right up," Sookie replied. Upper middle price range, with a rarified taste, she noted. They only had 3 bottles in stock.

She retrieved the bottle and a glass; put the bottle in the microwave at the appropriate setting. She arranged the items on the tray with a coaster and napkins and walked over to the booth.

"Here ya go, nice and warm." Sookie said, transferring bottle and glass from her tray. "Enjoy."

The vampire gazed at her steadily from a pair of abyssal black eyes. "Thank you, Miss-."

"Just Sookie is fine," she said. Most vampires were all fire and brash confidence, sucking up the available oxygen in the room. This one was reserved, almost restful. "Are you staying in the area?" Since her former lover Bill had become King of Louisiana, more and more vampires were passing through Bon Temps to do business or seek assistance. The Compton place was spacious but could not provide light-tight shelter for all the vampires who sought King Bill's presence. A new Stay Suites catering for vamps had opened up just off the Interstate.

"I will not be here long," said the vampire. "Though, I do have an errand to complete." Sookie assumed he meant that since he was passing through Bill's territory, vampire etiquette required any visitor to see the King and pay his respects.

The vampire took a neat drink from the glass. Some vamps didn't care if blood dripped (or splattered) while partaking of sustenance. Sookie always appreciated good manners. "You seem more comfortable with vampires than most humans I encounter, Miss Sookie," the vampire quirked an eyebrow inquiringly, then paused. "I'm afraid it is rude to invite further conversation without introducing myself. Forgive me."

"My name is Anton Sejour." Sejour nodded his head toward her with such grave formality that Sookie wondered if she should curtsey. The vamp's dark eyes appeared depthless in the low light of the bar. "In life I was from Santo Domingue, what you know now as Haiti." Like most people, all Sookie knew about the country was its poverty and suffering, especially since the recent earthquake. She wondered what it had been like when he lived there.

There was a loud whoop from the pool table as one of the LSU boys won a bet; she could sense his elation-Take that Donnie! You can have Heather, I'll take your $300 bucks! Sookie took one look at Arlene's red face-it almost matched her hair-and it didn't take her telepathy to know an explosion was imminent. "Well, it's been real nice talking to ya, Mr. Sejour" Sookie said. "But I gotta go help Arlene or there'll be blood spilt. No offense," she tossed over her shoulder.

"None taken," murmured Sejour, fangs slightly extended as his eyes followed the sweetly rounded bottom of the waitress. "None taken, Miss Stackhouse."

Sookie noticed Sejour lingered over his bottle of True Blood for quite awhile but she stayed so busy she didn't think about him again for most of the evening. Until she felt a strange mental…tickle, was all she could call it. She'd never felt anything like it but it made her stop and look around. She saw Sejour standing to leave. She gave a friendly smile, all the while wondering what-or who-had touched her mind. Had she imagined it? Sejour raised his hand in a type of acknowledgement and she nodded back.

If she didn't know better, she could have sworn it was the salute of one duelist to another.