Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [852]
“Don’t worry, you’re beautiful,” Eric said quietly. He leaned over to unbuckle my seat belt (to my astonishment), and as he straightened he kissed me again, this time on the mouth. His bright blue eyes blazed out of his white face. He looked as if a whole story was on the tip of his tongue. But then he swallowed it back and unfolded himself from the car to walk around to my side to open the door for me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one this blood bond worked on, huh?
From his tension I realized that some major event was coming at me fast, and I began to be afraid. Eric took my hand as we walked across to the restaurant, and he ran his thumb absently across my palm. I was surprised to find out there was a direct line from my palm to my, my, hootchie.
We stepped into the foyer, where there was a little fountain and a screen that blocked the view of the diners. The woman standing at the podium was beautiful and black, her hair shaved very close to her skull. She wore a draped dress of orange and brown and the highest heels I had ever seen. She might as well have been wearing toe shoes. I looked at her closely, and I sampled the signature of her brain, and I found she was human. She smiled brilliantly at Eric and had the sense to give me a share of that smile.
“A party of two?” she said.
“We’re meeting someone,” Eric said.
“Oh, the gentleman . . .”
“Yes.”
“Right this way, please.” Her smile replaced by a look almost of envy, she turned and walked gracefully into the depths of the restaurant. Eric gestured for me to follow her. The interior was fairly dark, and candles flickered on the tables, which were covered with snowy white cloths and elaborately folded napkins.
My eyes were on the hostess’s back, so when she came to a halt, I didn’t immediately recognize that she’d stopped at the table where we were to sit. She stepped aside. Seated facing me was the lovely man who’d been at the wedding two nights before.
The hostess spun on her high heel, touched the back of the chair to the man’s right to indicate I should sit there, and told us our server would be with us. The man rose to pull out my chair and hold it for me. I glanced back at Eric. He gave me a reassuring nod. I slipped in front of the chair and the man pushed it forward with perfect timing.
Eric didn’t sit. I wanted him to explain what was happening, but he didn’t speak. He looked almost sad.
The beautiful man was looking at me intently. “Child,” he said to get my attention. Then he pushed back his long, fine golden hair. None of the other diners were positioned to see what he was showing me.
His ear was pointed. He was a fairy.
I knew two other fairies. But they avoided vampires at all costs, because the smell of a fairy was as intoxicating to a vampire as honey is to a bear. According to a vampire who was particularly gifted in the scent sense, I had a trace of fairy blood.
“Okay,” I said, to let him know the ears had registered.
“Sookie, this is Niall Brigant,” Eric said. He pronounced it “Nye-all.” “He’s going to talk to you over supper. I’ll be outside if you need me.” He inclined his head stiffly to the fairy and then he was gone.
I watched Eric walk away, and I was bowled over with a rush of anxiety. Then I felt a hand on top of my own. I turned to meet the eyes of the fairy.
“As he said, my name is Niall.” His voice was light, sexless, resonant. His eyes were green, the deepest green you can imagine. In the flickering candlelight, the color hardly mattered—it was the depth you noticed. His hand on mine was light as a feather but very warm.
“Who are you?” I asked, and I wasn’t asking him to repeat his name.
“I’m your great-grandfather,” Niall Brigant said.
“Oh, shit,” I said, and covered my mouth with