Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,86
the couch before I slid to the floor. The air went out of me in a big whoosh, and I simply couldn’t move, couldn’t even gasp for air, for an agonizingly long minute. In the meantime, Mickey was on top of me, his intentions completely clear when he reached down to unzip his pants. “This is all you’re good for!” he said, contempt making him even uglier. He tried to push his way into my head, too, forcing the fear of him into my brain to cow me.
And my lungs inflated. The relief of breathing was exquisite, even under the circumstances. With air came rage, as if I’d inhaled it along with oxygen. This was the trump card male bullies played, always. I was sick of it—sick of being scared of the bogeyman’s dick.
“No!” I screamed up at him. “No!” And finally I could think again; finally the fear let loose of me. “Your invitation is rescinded!” I yelled, and it was his turn to panic. He reared up off of me, looking ridiculous with his pants open, and he went backward out of the window, stepping on poor Tara as he went. He tried to bend, to grip her so he could yank her with him, but I lunged across the little room to grab her ankles, and her arms were too slick with rain to give him purchase, and the magic that had hold of him was too strong. In a second, he was outside looking in, screaming with rage. Then he looked east, as if he heard someone calling, and he vanished into the darkness.
Eric pushed himself to his feat, looking almost as startled as Mickey. “That was clearer thinking than most humans can manage,” he said mildly into the sudden silence. “How are you, Sookie?” He reached down a hand and pulled me to my feet. “I myself am feeling much better. I’ve had your blood without having to talk you into it, and I didn’t have to fight Mickey. You did all the work.”
“You got hit in the head with a rock,” I pointed out, content just to stand for a minute, though I knew I had to call an ambulance for Tara. I was feeling a little on the weak side myself.
“A small price to pay,” Eric told me. He brought out his cell phone, flipped it open, and pressed the REDIAL button. “Salome,” Eric said, “glad you answered the phone. He’s trying to run. . . .”
I heard the gleeful laughter coming from the other end of the phone. It was chilling. I couldn’t feel the least bit sorry for Mickey, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to witness his punishment.
“Salome’ll catch him?” I asked.
Eric nodded happily as he returned his phone to his pocket. “And she can do things to him more painful than anything I could imagine,” he said. “Though I can imagine plenty right now.”
“She’s that, ah, creative?”
“He’s hers. She’s his sire. She can do with him what she wishes. He can’t disobey her and go unpunished. He has to go to her when she calls him, and she’s calling.”
“Not on the phone, I take it,” I ventured.
His eyes glinted down at me. “No, she won’t need a phone. He’s trying to run away, but he’ll go to her eventually. The longer he holds out, the more severe his torture will be. Of course,” he added, in case I missed the point, “that’s as it should be.”
“Pam is yours, right?” I asked, falling to my knees and putting my fingers to Tara’s cold neck. I didn’t want to look at her.
“Yes,” Eric said. “She’s free to leave when she wants, but she comes back when I let her know I need her help.”
I didn’t know how I felt about that, but it didn’t really make a hell of a lot of difference. Tara gasped and moaned. “Wake up, girl,” I said. “Tara! I’m gonna call an ambulance for you.
“No,” she said sharply. “No.” There was a lot of that word going around tonight.
“But you’re bad hurt.”
“I can’t go to the hospital. Everyone will know.”
“Everyone will know someone beat the shit out of you when you can’t go to work for a couple of weeks, you idiot.”
“You can have some of my blood,” Eric offered. He was looking down at Tara without any obvious emotion.
“No,” she said. “I’d rather die.”
“You might,” I said, looking her over. “Oh, but you’ve had blood from Franklin or Mickey.” I was assuming some tit-for-tat