Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [791]
Then Eric said, “Let’s dance,” and I found I couldn’t say no.
We took the floor along with the queen and her potential king, and I saw Russell Edgington and his husband, Bart, step out to dance, too. They looked almost as enthralled with each other as the two exhibition dancers.
I can’t sing, but by golly, I can dance. And Eric had had a few ballroom lessons along the way, some century or other. My hand rested on his back, his on mine, our free hands clasped, and off we went. I wasn’t sure exactly what the dance was, but he was a strong leader, so it was easy to follow along. More like the waltz than anything else, I decided.
“Pretty dress,” said the dancer Layla as we swung by them.
“Thank you,” I said, and beamed at her. From someone as lovely as she was, that was a great compliment. Then her partner leaned over to give her a kiss, and they swirled away into the crowd.
“That is a pretty dress,” Eric said. “And you are a beautiful woman.”
I was oddly embarrassed. I’d gotten compliments before—you can’t be a barmaid and not get compliments—but most of them had consisted of (various degrees of drunk) guys telling me I was really cute—or, in one man’s case, how impressive my “rack” was. (Somehow, JB du Rone and Hoyt Fortenberry had managed to stomp on that guy’s toes and spill a drink all over him at the same time, just accidentally.)
“Eric,” I said, but I couldn’t finish the sentence because I couldn’t think of what to say next. I had to concentrate on the speed with which my feet were moving. We were dancing so fast I felt like I was flying. Suddenly Eric dropped my hand to grip my waist, and as we turned, he swung me up, and then I was really flying, with a little help from a Viking. I laughed like a loon, my hair billowing out around my head, and then he let me go and caught me, just inches away from the floor, and then he did it again and again, until at last I was standing on the floor and the music was over.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing I must look like I’d been standing in a high gale. “Excuse me while I go to the ladies’ room.”
I scooted off through the crowd, trying not to grin like an idiot. I should be with—oh, yeah—my boyfriend. Instead of dancing with another guy until I felt tingly with happiness. And it didn’t do any good, excusing myself on account of our blood tie.
Sophie-Anne and Andre had stopped dancing, and they were standing with a group of other vampires. She couldn’t need me, then, since there were no humans for me to “listen” to. I spotted Carla dancing with Gervaise, and they seemed happy enough. Carla was getting lots of admiring looks from other vampires, and that would make Gervaise swell with pride. Having his fellow vampires craving what he was already getting was sweet.
I knew how Gervaise felt.
I stopped in my tracks.
Had I . . . I wasn’t really reading his mind, was I? No, I couldn’t. The only times I’d caught a fragment of vampire thought prior to tonight, that fragment had felt cold and snaky.
But I knew how Gervaise felt, for sure, just as I’d read Henrik’s thoughts. Was it just my knowledge of men and their reactions or my knowledge of vampires, or could I really follow vampire emotions better since I’d had Eric’s blood for a third time? Or had my skill, or my talent, or my curse—whatever I called it—broadened to include vampires since I was closer to being one myself?
No. No, no, no. I felt like myself. I felt human. I felt warm. I was breathing. I had to use the bathroom. I was hungry, too. I thought about old Mrs. Bellefleur’s famous chocolate cake. My mouth watered. Yep, human.
Okay, then, this new affinity for vamps would fade, like my extra strength would fade, in time. I’d had two drinks from Bill, I thought; maybe more. And three from Eric. And every time I’d had their blood, two or three months had seen the waning of the strength and acuity I’d gained