The Guily Ones

A little Party...

The first thing I noticed was how incredibly soft the bed felt beneath me. But something was off. Had my arm fallen asleep? Why was it tingling?

I wriggled my nose. My dream clung to me, refusing to let go, as reality and fantasy blurred together. Behind my closed eyes, snowflakes continued to dance, and a fresh, cold breeze brushed against my face while I strolled through the woods under the bright sunshine. Despite the deep snow, I could still smell the resin from the fir trees. I had the distinct feeling that someone was walking beside me, but I didn't dare turn around, afraid that if I did, they would disappear. I liked their company.

I sighed, turning over and snuggling deeper into the pillow. I nestled closer to him. My arm tingled again as my cold nose burrowed into the fabric of his T-shirt.

Wait.

Stop.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. All I saw was black. Not because the room was so dark that I couldn't see anything—it wasn't. My eyes were good in the dark. No, I saw black because I was mere inches away from a broad chest covered by a black shirt. The remnants of sleep quickly gave way to other emotions.

Disbelief, anger, comfort, desire...

I looked up at the peacefully sleeping face of the Viking.

"Eric!"

My curse came out as a whisper. It didn't occur to me to shout in the darkened room. Eric grunted disapprovingly, then pulled me closer.

I gasped in surprise.

What he did wasn't inappropriate—not exactly. Sure, he had wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, but his fingers remained on top of the fabric, moving protectively up my back.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured, sighing softly, his eyes still closed.

I opened my mouth a few times, trying to say something, but quickly shut it again. I must have looked like a fish out of water.

How did he end up in my bed?

And how had he even gotten into my room? I had locked the door! Didn't this guy have any boundaries? Clearly not, if he was using me as a human teddy bear. I should probably extricate myself from his grip and make a scene... right?

Yet somehow, it was strangely comforting to be lying in his arms, and I found it hard to make that decision. I was still so incredibly tired. My arm tingled again, and I turned my head to investigate. My battered shoulder was burning and tingling; the painkillers must have worn off. And it was burning hot. I inhaled sharply.

Eric, still half-asleep, opened one eye and watched as I tried to find a new position for my shoulder. The blue of his eyes shone brightly, even in the darkness. Without breaking the silence, he removed his hand from my back and placed it on my shoulder, gently pushing me onto my back. His arm lay heavily across my chest, while his slender fingers served as a cooling pack. Instantly, the pain subsided, and the weight of his arm on my chest calmed me. Relieved, I closed my eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered, already drifting back to sleep. Eric's approving grunt was the only response, and as silence once again enveloped us, I slipped into slumber.

---

The next time I woke, I shot upright.

"Eric, wha—?"

I fumbled for the bedside lamp, nearly knocking over the almost-empty fruit bowl. When I finally found the switch, I paused. I was alone in the bed. It took a moment to get my bearings. The room was unfamiliar, but memories of the past few hours and days slowly returned. I was in Dallas, not Bon Temps. I was in the house of the vampire Godric, the... holy hell, the maker of Eric.