Viking Daddy vs. Vampire Queen
Fangtasia After Hours
Eric watched Tara as she nursed a strawberry martini, her eyes wide and her brows drawn together like she was plotting a heist.
Was she thinking about me?
If so, was it in a "take me now, Viking daddy" way or a "how do I stake a thousand-year-old pain in my ass" way?
He grinned to himself. Not long ago, that sexy white dress she wore was a crumpled casualty at his feet.
The memory of her—smooth, honeyed skin, perfect curves, those gorgeous dark breasts pressed against his pale chest—was enough to make him forget his own name. He could still taste her on his lips. And yet, here he was, completely transfixed by her just sitting on a barstool, fully clothed.
What the hell was happening to him?
He let out an irritated sigh.
Was he... obsessed?
No, that was too human.
Infatuated? Please. He was Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five, not some lovesick puppy.
But he couldn't shake her. Tara Thornton wasn't just another notch on his bedpost—she was a goddamn earthquake.
Their eyes met across the room. Her gaze was deep, sultry, and just a little dangerous. He felt her looking right through his ancient, undead soul. Another sigh. If he kept this up, he'd need a therapist.
He wrapped up his conversation with his business associate and slouched back on his throne, fingers steepled like he was plotting world domination. When he looked up again, Tara's soul-searching gaze had morphed into a dark, hungry stare.
And just like that—pop—his fangs dropped, uninvited.
Great. Now his body was betraying him too.
Tara caught the show, snorted into her martini, downed the last of it, and strutted toward the stage like she owned the place. Every eye in the bar followed her—hell, half the vampires looked ready to risk the True Death for a taste.
"I didn't summon you," Eric said, trying for cool but failing thanks to the tent in his jeans.
Tara cocked an eyebrow. "Tell that to your fangs and the hard-on you're sporting, Sheriff."
He leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. "Don't mistake my lack of control for weakness. I'm not tamed, and I'm definitely not safe."
She slid onto the seat next to him, all sass and curves. "Was there a point to this little speech, or are you just trying to scare me into bed again?"
He smirked. "I'm known as the Terror from the North, a thousand-year-old killer, bringer of pain and violence. Nothing will ever change that. Not even you."
Tara rolled her eyes. "That's what worries me. I have zero issue with how evil your ass is, and that makes me wonder if I'm just as fucked up as you." She shook her head, laughing darkly.
Eric reached over, trailing two cool fingers down her jaw, thumb brushing her bottom lip. "Min mörkhyade skönhet," he murmured, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "You're no more fucked up than any other human—or vampire. You're clever, resourceful, and brutally honest. You'd burn the world to protect the people you love."
She looked up at him through her lashes, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. "And you, Eric Northman, Terror from the North... you're clever, loyal, and you actually give a damn about your responsibilities. Who knew?"
For a split second, Eric swore his dead heart tried to beat. Tara giggled, soft and sweet, and the sound made him want to drag her off to the nearest dark corner.
"Seems like we've both got good and evil swirling around inside us," she said.
Eric's eyes softened, his expression suddenly open and vulnerable. He leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, tasting the last hint of strawberry on her lips.
"Maybe we balance each other," he whispered against her mouth.
Tara purred, shivering at the feel of his cool lips and heated words.
"Maybe we do," she breathed, her voice thick with want.
"You're beautiful, Tara Mea," he crooned, sliding his hand up her thigh. His touch was ice and fire all at once, making her shiver in all the best ways.
She kissed him, slow and teasing. "Go on, Northman. I like it when you talk dirty."
He grinned, fangs flashing. "The way I feel when I look at you, touch you—I want you in my company. Always."
A jolt of heat shot through Tara, and suddenly the air between them was thick with anticipation. She could feel every eye in the bar glued to them, the lust and envy practically radiating off the crowd.
Eric noticed too. He stood, towering over everyone, and swept his icy gaze across the room. "It is rude to stare," he called out, voice like thunder. "Go back to your drinks and your sad, pathetic lives."
And then, in a blur of vampire speed, he scooped Tara into his arms. She squealed, clutching his shoulders as he carried her out of Fangtasia, past the gawking patrons, and into the cool night.
Cradled against his chest, Tara laughed breathlessly. "You know, Northman, you're not half as scary as you think you are."
Eric grinned, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. "That's because you haven't seen what I can do yet."
She smirked, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh, I plan to. All night long."
And with that, he vanished into the night, Tara in his arms and the rest of Bon Temps left wondering how the hell that girl managed to tame the Terror from the North.
🩸🩸🩸
Eric Northman is a Viking -and like a Viking, Eric takes what he wants. From the sticky floors of Merlotte's to the supernatural underworld,