Carla woke with a start, the surge of panic pressing at every cell and sinew of her being, making her body feel like it buzzed from a suddenly ignited machine within. With a burst of strength, she pushed her hands up then literally flew out of the casket, ripped the van door off and sped into a dark opening in the woods just off the road. She could smell the Spensers, knew they were there. With a sudden stop, Carla blinked and almost gasped, even though breath was totally unnecessary. She’d moved far faster than she ever dreamed she could, as evidenced by Ron Spenser’s surprised and amused expression. Ron’s father actually chuckled then sipped from a two liter bottle of Diet Coke.

“Oh … ah,” she looked around, shrugged. “I guess I’m not so scary.”

Ron smiled kindly and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, pretty baby vamp. You’ll get the hang of things.”

“Where’s Pam?”

“Scouting to the north.”

Carla rolled her shoulders, trying hard to shake the sensation of pending doom when she noticed Ron’s son, sitting on a log and tending to a nasty arm wound. “What happened?”

“Close your eyes and use your gift, Carla. You tell me what happened.” Ron sat beside the boy and opened a plastic first aid kit.

“Please, make this easy and just tell me.” She was tempted to give the kid some of her blood and get the healing over with, but there was something about that idea that crossed the boundaries of appropriate behavior. She did sit beside him on the log though, at least until the young man shivered with distaste. “Sorry.” She stepped away and leaned against a tree, closed her eyes then popped them open quickly.

“Don’t be afraid of it,” Ron whispered across the space, a distance that showed not only the differences in their races and abilities, but the hope for solidarity at this difficult time. “Just close your eyes. The gift will tell you what we need to know.”

But as she relaxed and let her lids drop, a voice came from the darkness behind her. Carla, the three Spenser Weres and the still hooded and handcuffed Regan Palmer, leapt to their feet, knees bent and ready for battle.

“I will tell you all what we need to know,” said the voice and after a moment, as though they had materialized from nothing, there stood three vampires. One was Pam, looking a bit ruffled and wrinkled but serious as a heart attack. One was the kind man Carla met the day she sought help to find Sam, a vampire named Gordric. The third was a vampire unfamiliar to her but in the span of a split second, she knew him for what he was.

This very old vampire was a kindred soul, another gifted one but a being with not only massive power gained from his centuries and centuries of life … but expanded through the use of his gift. His head bowed slightly to her and she returned the salute with suspicion.

“You guys made it,” Ron said after drawing in an audible sigh of relief.

“I told you we would be here, did I not? Now, proper introductions are in order.” The vampire was not tall but not unsubstantial. His shoulders were broad and legs squat, but he dressed elegantly, certainly not like a man about to go into battle. Even his Italian shoes were polished to a high shine, reflecting the moonlight. His face was pale as expected and there was brilliance in the depth of his dark eyes that crackled the air around him. He stepped forward and looked into Carla’s face. “Lovely, so lovely. Fear not. I am Antonio Devinicci, the King of New York … and we are bound by the influence of our mutual gift.”

Those were his words but Carla heard so much more. Between each syllable was a buried meaning she could hardly digest, as none of it was her will.

I will protect and guide you, young one. Protect you in ways your maker never could. I will bind you to me for eternity, bending the strength of our combined power into a force for good the world over. Together we will protect mortals and all supernatural races. You and I will save the world from itself.

“And what do you get out of it?” Carla whispered and only Devinicci heard.

He grinned. “The opportunity to fulfill the reason I exist as vampire.”

Not an answer she understood or cared to think on at the moment. Devinicci’s attention shifted suddenly, and now he was on the roll toward current issues. He turned to the group and what he said baffled her because every word he spoke was truth she herself knew.

“My friends, Eric Northman had been freed from a terrible bondage by this lovely vampire’s two-natured brother. Within moments they will emerge from the mine and face one hundred militant werewolves. How many have you arranged for, Mr. Spenser?”

“I’ve got sixty Weres hiding in caves to the west, not far from the mine. Ready, willing and able.”

“Good. And vampires?” He turned to Pam and she made absolutely no response. He shook his head, sneered and looked to Godric. “Call in as many as you can. Now,” he casually sat on the log, causing young Spenser to leap like Little Miss Muffet. Devinicci ignored him. “I believe we should follow the path of least resistance. Whitman is planning a trial of strength and endurance to prove Sam Merlotte’s guilt or innocence, but this woman,” he spat the words like they burned his tongue and nudged his chin at Reagan Palmer, “is our ace in the hole. It is best we avert all hostilities … failing that, it is vital to control the losses. Is that understood?”

Everyone but Carla nodded agreement, and without another word they moved toward the mine. At her side, Antonio Devinicci casually took her hand like a lover or dear friend. She cringed and pulled it free.

“Do not be concerned,” he said softly. “No harm will come to you. We are protected.”

“I don’t know how to fight … but I will fight to the death for my brother.”

“You will not need to fight. There are many here to fight and protect Sam Merlotte.” He turned a strange grin her way.

“And what about Eric? Who will protect Eric?”

Devinicci blinked then shrugged casually. “Eric will protect Eric, of course.”

The dense trees gave way to a wide space. A large bonfire burned and as they neared the opening, she could clearly see Eric and Sam emerge cautiously from the dark mine. If her heart could burst, it would have at the sight of them. They looked battered but strong enough. Several men and a well-dressed woman stood near the fire. For a moment, no one moved and everything became quiet. Without fanfare, Devinicci lead his legion into the opening and joined the proceedings.

Suddenly there was a pull, like an invisible hand dragging Carla. It guided her to stand at one edge of the opening, directly across from Devinicci who stood at the other edge. Nothing about this felt right. She was paralyzed in place. How would she help in the battle if she couldn’t move? She tried to scream but nothing slipped from her mouth. Her wild eyes scanned the gathering as more and more werewolf bad guys stepped from the darkness behind Whitman. Finally her eyes met with Eric’s and in that brief moment she felt his love and fear for her … and she understood everything.

He’d gone there for her, gone to protect Sam to show the depth of his commitment to her. Eric had no pretenses regarding his feelings about other beings. He was like a domesticated dog. No one of importance existed except him, his pack, and his owner. Somehow, she had become his owner, and he, hers. A tear of blood dripped to her chin and she found herself praying that he survived what was to come.

“Hashton,” Ron Spenser shouted. “We’ve brought proof that Sam Merlotte is innocent of Whitman’s daughter’s murder.”

It was Whitman who responded, stepping ahead of his pristine but sad wife and growling the threat. “You are not of this pack, you are not welcome at these proceedings. They” he bellowed, pointing to the vampires, “are not welcome at these proceedings.”

“Well, buddy,” grunted Ron’s elderly father. “Sometimes, when things are real fucked up, it’s important for rational thinkers to step in. This is your killer.” He pulled Reagan Palmer into the firelight and dragged the black fabric hood from her face. “This woman shifted … purposely … into Sam Merlotte’s go-to animal and lead your baby girl into speeding traffic. Sorry, ma’am,” he nodded sympathy to the pack leader’s shocked wife. “We have her full confession on tape. Now, you wanna tell us who this is, Whitman?”

“No one,” gasped the shaken leader. “She’s no one.”

Palmer, a conquered, rather pitiful passive soul until that moment, tore herself free of old man Spenser’s grip, stood tall and shouted. “How can you say that? How? We were lovers for all those years! You used me, you made promises and you never kept any of them! Then you threw me out! I loved you! How could you do that?”

The first to shift was Mrs. Whitman, smoothly turning into a dark grey wolf, snarling and ready for blood but Hashton and a few others managed to hold her back as Palmer cowered behind Ron’s back.

“This wasn’t fair, Spenser. These are sacred proceedings and you know better than to disrupt them like this.” Hashton struggled to hold the wolf back. A spray of foamy spittle flew from the once flawless Mrs. Whitman’s sharp canines as she fought for freedom.

Ron had balls enough to actually chuckle. “Well, you know us Spensers, we’re always disrupting stuff when it has nowhere to go but bad for our race. That shifter, Sam Merlotte, is completely innocent of the crime. That vampire, Eric Northman has done nothing but rescue Sam … twice now … from this injustice. We,” and Spenser looked around. Right on cue, sixty werewolves and easily as many vampires stepped into the light. “We all, and many, many more in this country, will not stand for this Vamp/Were war you want. It serves no one … and it ends here.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

A shiver of energy wafted over the gathering and Sam, a pure-blooded shifter changed faster than any of the Werewolves. Oddly enough, he changed into a wolf, a pale golden wolf with eyes as black as night. It was a combined genius and stupid move on his part. He’d revealed himself to the ally vampires, and managed to fluster all the Were’s in one smooth action. His scent would save him with the vamps, but serve as a homing signal for the enemies. Luckily, Sam was fast and brutal in this form. It was amazing to watch and for a brief while Carla simply admired, her mouth agape in astonishment.

She felt as though she was the only immoveable object in the dead center of a swirling snow globe. But in truth, she was not alone; she was mysteriously one with Divinicci, a wholly unnerving and helpless feeling. She pulled her eyes from his and scanned the violence before her. Blood and fur flew and splattered, the sounds of howls and hollers, the vampires moving too fast to follow and the wolves writhing and snapping. The sound of tearing flesh permeated the air and the stench of bile and urine, blood and animal sweat threatened to turn her stomach.

At one point, Reagan Palmer shifted with great cowardice into a long eared jackrabbit, escaping her bondage then skittering off into the darkness. The huge black wolf that was Whitman charged after her at a gallop. Within second he returned to the fight, bloody parts of Palmer still in his powerful clenched jaws. Carla gasped in shock.

Ah, you are so new, my pretty little dear. There is much for you to learn, much for you to understand. Devinicci’s silent voice resonated in her brain and she cringed.

I will not go to you. I refuse. Eric is my maker! Responded Carla’s brain and she realized there really was something to this ‘gift’ thing. Tearing her attention from him, again she focused on the madness. Like a Jack in the Box, Eric popped up, standing at his full height over the snapping, vicious animals. One still, broken wolf was in his hands, high above his head. There was a glint in Eric’s eyes, a grin on his lips, a ferocious pleasure in his demeanor. Eric loved battle and his joy tore at her soul.

Eric was beautiful in the firelight, even covered with blood, his hair wild and loose from the restraints of the braid. He was a magnificent product of his Swedish parents, imbued with the supremacy of his Viking warrior nature, and all the more magnificent by way of vampiric power. Everything about him held her heart. The hidden tenderness beneath his façade, the way his sharp mind worked, the tickle of his humor and command of his age. No man had ever made it so deeply into her heart, and no man ever would again.

 I will never leave him. She glared at Divinicci.

You will not have to, my pretty. He will winningly give you to me.

Never. He would never do that. Not ever! A dead pulp of animal slammed into her leg and dropped at her feet, but even with its robust weight, she wasn’t budged an inch. Afraid to look down, terrified it was one of the Spensers, she chose to continue her argument with the King of New York. I love him and he loves me. He will not give me to you or anyone!

Devinicci gave a wicked grin that wavered in the firelight. Use the gift, Carla Merlotte. You already know the truth. Let’s not waste energy debating.

Oh she didn’t want to. Carla didn’t want to believe in the gift, much less use it for that bastard’s benefit. Doubtless he would simply put thoughts into her head the way he put words there for her and no one else to hear.

No, Carla. I need not put the truth there. You see it. Don’t deny that you see it. Your life is about to change greatly. You and I together will change the entire world.

Everything about that statement scared the hell out of her. He had to be wrong, he just had to be. But, in a blast that shot from an unbearable heat in her gut, she knew it all, saw it all. And the worst part was knowing that she could change none of it.

The ‘gift’ outlined everything to her just like a ledger would explain her expenses. First, Eric would be asked by Devinicci and of course, he would refuse, as Eric was of an age where a mutual respect had to be served. Then Eric would be threatened. The Sheriff of Area Five would loose everything, his wealth and territory, the loyalty of his underlings and eventually his own life. He would be forced to comply before it ever came to that because Godric, his maker would command it. Carla, in turn would be forced to obey her maker and go to Devinicci’s side. Her body began to tremble with the growing rage. She could change none of it.

And worst of all, the ‘gift; also mapped out the life Devinicci had planned for her … and the planet. It would not save the world, it would not protect mortals or supernaturals, it would not even protect vampires who were not loyal and offering eternal pledge to Devinicci’s agenda. The sadness grew, enveloped her anger and sufficiently broke her.

Carla understood that she was what Devinicci had been waiting for all his entire vampire life. She was the missing cog in his power machine.

And there was nothing she could do to fight him.

The battle came to an end as quickly as it began but she was still frozen to her assigned spot. Looking into Eric’s eyes, she saw the pain of his own knowing. The connection of their blood, the blood of maker and child, had inadvertently passed all her emotions to him. Carla had given up. It was that, or watch the love of her life be annihilated. She willingly become Devinicci’s property, and thus become the power switch for the King of New York to destroy everything.

Tears covered her face red. Eric remained silent then slowly turned his face away. It was done.

“Jesus!” Sam stood, a bit wobbly and bloody from chest to feet and naked as the day he was born. Rushing to her side, he moved to take her into his arms but suddenly stopped. “Carla? How hurt are you? Carla … oh motherfucker! Carla? What the fuck have you done?” He snapped a turn, ready to attack Eric who was crouched and ready to attack right back. “You fucking bastard! You turned her! You goddamn motherfucking bastard!”

But Godric stepped between them, pushing Eric back and whispering something to Sam.

Vampire hearing sure was cool, but this was a time she wished she could not hear.

“Sam Merlotte, your sister is dead. Dead to you and dead to Eric. You must accept this.”

Sam shot a glare so cruel over his shoulder at her, that if she could have moved to follow him, she wouldn’t have even tried. Godric said truth. She was dead to him. It had to be accepted, or only God knew what Devinicci would do to her brother.

“You don’t understand,” she said softly and Godric touched her blood stained cheek.

“This is for the good of us all.” And the two thousand year-old vampire took his child’s arm and led him into the darkness. Eric did not look back.

For nearly an hour Devinicci held her there, frozen at the scene of the carnage. He sat and whittled a piece of wood into some unrecognizable form then stood and tossed the thing onto the dying fire. They are all gone. Now we can leave, my pretty little vampire.

Godric doesn’t know what you are.

He knows what he should know and no more. Carla, there’s nothing you can say to warn them, you know. This gift we have, when locked together like this, can not be destroyed. Do you understand?

Yes master.

***

Six weeks passed. She learned what he taught her and remained at his side, while awake at in the beginning, even when he slept. But Devinicci was much more a lover than a fighter, he soon tired of her company and began to take male of mortal or supernatural races to his bed, leaving Carla on her own many nights.

He had a plan in the works, one that would take precautionary action against Eric. He understood that she knew his intentions, but he mistakenly imagined that he could block the outcome from her. To miscalculate the power of their combined power would be Devinicci’s, and not Eric’s, undoing.

His intent was to convict and execute Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five for invented crimes. The King of New York would dispense with the formal rituals of the vampire race and simply have Eric dragged before him and staked in the heart. Knowing he could easily control Carla’s physical actions, he chose her to do the deed.

Antonio Devinicci owned a multibillion dollar three-story penthouse in Manhattan. All but the top floor were completely light fast. He used those rooms to entertain human and other supernatural dignitaries … and to enjoy the sparkle of the stars on clear nights out on the wide, flagstone balcony. That night, Devinicci preferred to make love to a human man wanting a “vampire experience” over looking at the stars, so Carla sat alone on a soft, white cushioned lounge chair and gazed skyward.

She’d learned a few interesting things since becoming the King’s property. First, that she could not become privately emotional or manipulative, as he became instantly aware. She could not make a plan, or even explore the possibilities of saving Eric, or Devinicci knew of it immediately. She lived in terror of his retribution for even caring about Eric or praying for his or Sam’s safety, but Carla knew, the King would not kill her because he needed her.

There was only one thing she’d discovered over the past weeks that could clearly work to her advantage. While Devinicci was dead to the world in his coffin, he could not monitor her thoughts, control her actions or hone in on her plans. He was cut off from her for those blessed daylight hours.

For most vampires this would be a dubious advantage but she was so new, such a light sleeper and still adjusting from human life, it actually worked. She knew for a fact it wouldn’t work for long though, since trying to wake Eric during the day was damn near impossible and Pam almost as bad same. Whatever she wanted to do, she’d need to do soon. She began by taking a loud alarm clock into her casket with her. It worked.

The trick was to lie in the dark coffin and think though various possibilities and plans like how to escape, how to save Eric, how to protect Sam, or even how to kill Devinicci. Then she had to carefully pack those thoughts so deep the King could not access them. She had to take it all a step further. As the combined ‘gift’ told of current events and future events, she had to successfully convince herself that no plan she devised could succeed. That way, the future revealed to the King would remain unchanged.

So many ideas had soared through her head on those silent days, but one stuck so securely it would occasionally slip into her conciseness and she’d shudder, fearful that the King would catch on. Lucky for Carla, his preoccupation with sexual satisfaction kept all his attention. Even luckier, she wasn’t his type.

As the stars became pale and the moon slipped from her view, Carla drifted off to sleep and dreamed such a dream it made her weep. She was with Eric, they were happy. Sam was safe. But … God was pissed, big time. She woke and sniffled, not caring one bit if her blood tears stained the white lounge cushions. This is what a person gets for taking a shortcut. God had a plan and she thought she had a better plan. She’d lost Eric and probably his love. She’d lost Sam, his love and very likely his respect too. Now, she was paying for it.

Dawn painted the eastern sky pale purple then blue. Her instinct was to rush inside, find darkness and save herself but she’d already tried saving herself. It was time to save everyone else. Devinicci was relentless. After he destroyed Eric, he would destroy Sam. With Carla at his side, he could create a world all his own, an ugly, dangerous world where no one of any race was safe. There was only one thing for her to do.

With one last simper and a prayer for those she loved, Carla Merlotte closed her eyes and felt the dawn come to take her away forever.

***

Eric woke with a start. He was tight in the coffin he’d shared with Carla while he had her. He’d shunned his light-tight bedroom with the massive bed and skulked sadly, every single morning, into the satin tufting. His hope was to catch her scent, for without the comfort of it, he would sleep as usual, but wake with pain in his heart that threatened to fold him in half.

For weeks and weeks he moved in a fog, dealing with the mundane, boring activities that had become his life. He focused more and more on making sure Fangtasia was a success. He needed a success. He needed to feel his strength again. What he really needed was Carla but he knew she was lost to him.

He steered clear of the Shreveport Werewolves and neither saw nor heard from Sam Merlotte, not that he expected to. But he had to admit, there were times when a great pleasure of imagination bloomed in Eric’s soul at the thought of he and Merlotte tearing each other to pieces. But also in his soul were elements of Carla and he knew nothing like that would ever happen. In fact, he accepted that if Sam Merlotte ever needed him, he would assist. Not for Sam, although he did owe the shifter for freeing him in the mine. He would do this foolishness for her. Forever. And he wondered if Sam Merlotte had a clue about how protected he would be for as long as Eric Northman walked the earth.

As his eyes opened his body twitched. Agony soared through his bones and tingled on his flesh. It could not yet be dark, in fact, he was sure it was not much past dawn, less than thirty minutes. He pushed open the coffin and sat up, buried his face in his hands and thought as hard as he could. Could he deny what he sensed in his very heart? No.

Carla was gone. Gone for good. He heard her voice in his dream, a fond farewell and proclamation of love. He was unsure why, but certain that she had faced the sun by her own choice.

His first instinct was to go to New York and murder the King. To cause him as much agony as Eric himself was enduring. The loss of a child was physically and emotionally destructive, as only the strongest connections would forever remain, changing the vampire forever, making him see the world slightly differently, through not only his eyes but the eyes of his lost progeny. Eric had accepted that Carla had a special gift that made the tie with her much tighter than usual. Now that knot would become even more unyielding. Killing Devinicci would not make this pain stop, and the King of New York would have his own misery upon waking and discovering his ‘gift’ mate gone.

It was her choice. Eric knew it and so would Devinicci. Now there was one more person who needed to know.

Eric sat and paced, tried to sleep but found no rest all day long. When night fell, he was sure of his decision. He gathered what he needed, pushed back his long yellow hair and pulled on a tee shirt and jeans then drove to Bon Temps. Parking the corvette behind Merlotte’s Bar and Grill, he was pleased to see lights on in the trailer.

Eric ran a business and men who did that earned their days off. He respected it, but also understood that if he did not proceed with his plan, he never would. He stood at the door and looked through the screen. Inside, the lamplight was soft. There was the smell of recently cooked food and fresh brewed coffee. The television was low and as Eric looked to the side, he could see Sam slouched on the sofa, holding a bottle of beer and rubbing his eyes.

“Rough day?” Eric asked, not a bit surprised when Sam leapt to his feet and scowled. They faced each other through the screen door, two men suffering a terrible loss, although Sam had not as yet learned how much of a loss.

“Get the fuck away from here.”

“Invite me in. I need to tell you something.”

“I said,” Sam slammed the beer down on a small counter and growled, “get the fuck away from here.”

“Invite me in or come out here. Either way, you will hear this or I will return every single day until you listen to what I have to say.”

“You think I care what you have to say? You bastard! You killed my sister! You sucked her dry and made her a fucking bloodsucker like you! I swear, you don’t get off my property, I’ve got a stake with your name on it and it’ll find its way into your black heart tonight!”

“Sam.” Eric blinked, not even trying to hold back the bloody tear that slid from his eye. “Okay, don’t let me in, but take this, look at it.”

After a moment, Sam opened the door an inch and Eric slid the folder through. He gripped it and flipped it open, switching on another lamp to see better. “What is this?”

“She was dying. Stomach cancer. And even thought you can’t comprehend this … I loved her, so …”

Sam thumped onto a chair, stared at the documents and said nothing.

“She was already dying.”

“Get away from here.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. What the hell did he expect? Compassion? Support from a fucking shifter? He’d lost Carla too. And just as his mouth opened to explain that Carla was now fully, completely gone, he swallowed back his words. Sam Merlotte may have had no compassion for Eric’s loss, but Carla’s blood hummed and vibrated in the vampire’s veins, commanding compassion for her broken brother. The man needed to know nothing more.

He turned, stood still and shook his head. The night creatures chirped and sang, creating a melodious harmony with the juke box music from the bar. As sad as he was, he had to grin. Life goes on for the living and the dead. It just goes on.

***

Sam splashed cold water on his face. Now he knew the truth. Carla would have been dead anyway. He’d heard from Ron Spenser, who was still healing from wounds acquired during the battle at the mine, that Carla was taken from Eric. For a while he wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, that Northman had turned his sister into a vampire, or that he’d simply given her away like a used leather jacket. But after the strange visit at his screen door, he had to accept a few things. Yes, Northman had turned Carla, but he’d also saved her from unbearable pain. Yes, Eric had let her go, but at least it was easier for Sam, knowing he wouldn’t run into her around town or have to deal with vampire politics because now it was in the family. He didn’t doubt that Eric loved her, and he had to accept that just maybe the vampire was hurting too. Oh, and yes … the fucking Sheriff of Area Five had saved his life. Not once but twice. That had to count for something. It was time to let go of the bitterness. He loved his sister and he lost her. Period. If he hadn’t lost her to a vampire, he’d have lost her to cancer. On that warm evening, all Sam Merlotte wanted was peace and quiet.

“Hey, Sam?” Another voice called from his latched screen door.

He stomped over and glared at Lafayette Reynolds. “Do I gotta move further away from the bar to get any rest?”

“No, no. I jes was thinkin’ maybe you wanna meet with this here lady. She’s looking for a job and we needs us another waitress. Sam, I’s just tryin’ to make your life easier, that’s all.”

The cook stepped aside. A lovely blonde woman stood there, smiling for all she was worth and that smile tugged something deep in Sam’s heart. “Oh, hey. You looking for work?”

“Yes. I’m Sookie Stackhouse and I really need a job. Do you think I can apply?”