Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [132]
“Mmmm,” she said. “You are Bill’s pet?”
“Yes,” I said. I objected to the terminology, but I wasn’t in much position to take a stand. “He would be really awfully upset if anything happened to me.”
“As if a vampire’s anger is anything to me,” she said offhandedly.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but what are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
She smiled again, and I shuddered. “Not at all. I’m a maenad.”
That was something Greek. I didn’t know exactly what, but it was wild, female, and lived in nature, if my impressions were correct.
“That’s very interesting,” I said, grinning for all I was worth. “And you are out here tonight because . . . ?”
“I need a message taken to Eric Northman,” she said, moving closer. This time I could see her do it. The hog snuffled along at her side as if she were tied to the woman. The smell was indescribable. I could see the little brushy tail of the razorback—it was switching back and forth in a brisk, impatient sort of way.
“What’s the message?” I glanced up at her—and whirled to run as quickly as I could. If I hadn’t ingested some vampire blood at the beginning of the summer, I couldn’t have turned in time, and I would’ve taken the blow on my face and chest instead of my back. It felt exactly as though someone very strong had swung a heavy rake and the points had caught in my skin, gone deeper, and torn their way across my back.
I couldn’t keep to my feet, but pitched forward and landed on my stomach. I heard her laughing behind me, and the hog snuffling, and then I registered the fact that she had gone. I lay there crying for a minute or two. I was trying not to shriek, and I found myself panting like a woman in labor, attempting to master the pain. My back hurt like hell.
I was mad, too, with the little energy I could spare. I was just a living bulletin board to that bitch, that maenad, whatever the hell she was. As I crawled, over twigs and rough ground, pine needles and dust, I grew angrier and angrier. I was shaking all over from the pain and the rage, dragging myself along, until I didn’t feel I was worth killing, I was such a mess. I’d begun the crawl back to the car, trying to head back to the likeliest spot for Bill to find me, but when I was almost there I had second thoughts about staying out in the open.
I’d been assuming the road meant help—but of course, it didn’t. I’d found out a few minutes before that not everyone met by chance was in a helping kind of mood. What if I met up with something else, something hungry? The smell of my blood might be attracting a predator at this very moment; a shark is said to be able to detect the tiniest particles of blood in the water, and a vampire is surely the shark’s land equivalent.
So I crawled inside the tree line, instead of staying out beside the road where I’d be visible. This didn’t seem like a very dignified or meaningful place to die. This was no Alamo, or Thermopylae. This was just a spot in the vegetation by a road in northern Louisiana. I was probably lying in poison ivy. I would probably not live long enough to break out, though.
I expected every second that the pain would begin to abate, but it only increased. I couldn’t prevent the tears from coursing down my cheeks. I managed not to sob out loud, so I wouldn’t attract any more attention, but it was impossible to keep completely still.
I was concentrating so desperately on maintaining my silence that I almost missed Bill. He was pacing along the road looking into the woods, and I could tell by the way he was walking that he was alert to danger. Bill knew something was wrong.
“Bill,” I whispered, but with his vampire hearing, it was like a shout.
He was instantly still, his eyes scanning the shadows. “I’m here,” I said, and swallowed back a sob. “Watch out.” I might be a living booby trap.
In the moonlight, I could see that his face was clean of emotion,