Шарлин Харрис: Dead Reckoning

Akiro dropped his sword to pluck at his throat, and I nipped in to seize the weapon so he couldn’t retrieve it. The sword was long, and not as heavy as I had anticipated. I stepped back to get it farther away from his groping hands, and just then Victor knocked Eric to the wall and pushed Pam down on her back, throwing himself on top of her right in front of me. He bit her neck, his hands locking her shoulders down.

She looked up at me, her face eerily calm. “Do it,” she said.

“No.” I might cut Pam.

“Do it.” She was absolutely compelling. Her own hands flew up to grip Victor by his upper arms, locking him down.

Eric was staggering to his feet, blood dripping from his head, his wounded arm, and his side. He’d bitten Victor at least once, going by his reddened mouth. I looked down at Pam, who was holding on to our enemy with everything she had. She nodded, turned her head to the side. She closed her eyes. I wished I could do the same. I took a breath and swung the sword down.

Pam shoved Victor off and leaped to her feet. I’d been so scared I’d kill Pam that I hadn’t been forceful enough. I hadn’t cut all the way through Victor, though I’d severed his spinal column. The sword stuck on the bone and I couldn’t remove it. Horrified at myself, at the sensation of cutting into Victor, I backpedaled and covered my mouth.

Pam yanked the sword out of the wound and decapitated Victor.

“Surrender,” Eric said to the gravely wounded Akiro.

Akiro shook his head. The wound in his throat prevented him from speaking.

“All right, then,” Eric said wearily. He grabbed Akiro’s head and broke his neck. The audible snap was deeply disgusting. I turned away, my stomach heaving while I told it to sit down and shut up. While Akiro lay helpless, Eric staked him.

And it was over. Victor and all his vampire attendants — and his human attendants, too — were dead. There were enough flaking vampires to change the quality of the air.

I sank down on a chair. Actually, I lost control of my legs and a chair happened to be underneath me.

Thalia was weeping over the pain of her amputated arm, but she was struggling hard against this display of weakness. Indira squatted on the floor looking exhausted but gleeful. Maxwell Lee, Parker, and Rubio had lesser injuries. Pam and Eric were covered in blood, both their own and Victor’s. Palomino walked slowly over to Rubio and put her arms around him, drawing Parker into the embrace. Colton was kneeling by the dead Audrina, weeping.

I never wanted to see another battle, large or small, in my life. I looked at my lover, my husband, and he looked like a stranger to me. He and Pam stood facing each other, holding hands and beaming through the blood. Then they simply collapsed into each other, and Pam began laughing in a breathless way. “It’s done!” she said. “It’s done. We’re free.”

Until Felipe de Castro comes down on us like a ton of bricks because he wants to know what happened to his regent, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. A, I wasn’t sure I could. B, we’d already wondered what would happen, but Eric’s opinion was that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Mustapha was on his cell phone, which was about as big as a cricket. “Warren, no point in you coming in, man,” he said. “The deed is done. Good shot. Yeah, we got him.”

Parker said, “Sheriff, we’re leaving for home unless you need us.” The weedy young man was supporting Palomino, and Rubio was on her other side. They were all pretty battered in one way or another.

“You may go.” Eric, smeared with blood, was still very much the ruler. “You answered my call and did your jobs. You’ll be rewarded.”

Palomino, Rubio, and Parker mutually assisted each other to the back door. From their expressions, I was sure they hoped Eric didn’t call them in again for a long, long time, no matter what the reward might be.

Indira crawled over to Thalia to apply Thalia’s severed arm to its shoulder with force. She held it there, beaming. Indira was the happiest person in the club.

“Will that work?” I asked Pam, nodding at the shoulder-arm conjunction. Pam was wiping the bloody sword on Akiro’s clothing. His throat was almost gone; wounded parts disintegrate more quickly than uninjured parts.

“Sometimes,” she said, shrugging. “Since Thalia is so old, there’s a chance. It’s less painful and time-consuming than regeneration.”

“Thalia, can I get you some blood?” I didn’t think I’d ever been brave enough to address Thalia directly, but I could sure bring her some bottled blood and be glad to do it. She looked up at me, her eyes full of involuntary tears. It was obvious she was forcing herself to hold still. “Not unless you want to donate yourself,” she said in her heavily accented English. “But Eric wouldn’t be pleased if I drank from you. Immanuel, give me a mouthful?”

“All right,” he said. The skinny hairdresser looked more than a little dazed.

“You sure?” I asked. “You don’t quite seem yourself.”

“Hell, yes,” Immanuel said unconvincingly. “The guy who killed my sister is dead. I’m feeling good.”

He didn’t look it, but I was sure I didn’t, either. I’d said as much as I could, so I sat by while Immanuel crouched awkwardly before Thalia’s chair. The height differential was not in their favor. Thalia wrapped her good arm around Immanuel’s neck and sank her fangs in without any further discussion. The expression on Immanuel’s face went from bleak to blissful.

Thalia was a noisy eater.

Indira squatted beside her in her blood-drenched sari, patiently holding the severed limb to its source. As Thalia drank, I noticed that the arm looked more and more natural. The fingers flexed. I was astonished, but it was only one more extreme event during an evening of them.

Pam looked a little put out once her victory celebration with Eric was over and she saw that Immanuel was offering his blood to someone else. She asked Mustapha if he’d give her a drink, and he shrugged. “Comes with the job,” he said, pulling down the neck of his black T-shirt. Pam looked incredibly white against Mustapha, and Mustapha’s teeth bared in a grimace when she bit in. He, too, looked happier after a second.

Eric came over to me, beaming. I had never been more undilutedly glad that our bond was broken, because I didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, even a little bit. He put his arms around me, kissed me with enthusiasm, and all I could smell was blood. He was wet with it. It was getting all over my dress and my arms and my chest.

After a minute he drew back, frowning. “Sookie?” he said. “You’re not rejoicing?”

I tried to think of what to say. I felt like a big fat hypocrite. “Eric, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Victor anymore. And I know this was what we planned. But surrounded by dead people and body parts is not my idea of a good place for a celebration, and I’ve never been less horny in my life.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like my raining on his parade. Understandable.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? I found all of this understandable . But I still hated it, hated myself, wasn’t too fond of anyone else. “You need some blood,” I said. “I really am sorry you were wounded, and you go ahead and take some.”

“You are being a hypocrite, and I will take blood,” he said, and he struck.

It hurt. He didn’t make it feel good, an action almost automatic for a vampire. Tears ran down my face without my wanting them to. In an odd way, I felt the pain was merited, justified — but I also understood this was a turning point in our relationship.