Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [860]
He froze in place, half in and half out of the window. Eric had already broken his arm and had kept a tight grip. The fool should have been more afraid of the vampire who had a hold on him than the waitress who hardly knew how to fire the gun, but the gun commanded his attention.
I was sure I would have heard if the highway patrol had decided to start shooting speeders instead of ticketing them.
“Who are you?” I said, and no one could blame me if my voice wasn’t too steady. “Who sent you?”
“They told me to,” the Were gasped. Now that I had time to notice details, I could see he wasn’t wearing a proper highway patrol uniform. It was the right color, and the hat was right, but the pants weren’t uniform pants.
“They, who?” I asked.
Eric’s fangs clamped into the Were’s shoulder. Despite his wound, Eric was pulling the faux patrolman into the car inch by inch. It seemed only fair that Eric got some blood since he’d lost so much of his own. The assassin began crying.
“Don’t let him turn me into one of them,” he appealed to me.
“You should be so lucky,” I said, not because I actually thought it was so darn great to be a vampire but because I was sure Eric had something much worse in mind.
I got out of the car because there was no point in trying to get Eric to release the Were. He wouldn’t listen to me with the bloodlust on him so strong. My bond to Eric was the crucial factor in this decision. I was happy that he was enjoying himself, getting the blood he needed. I was furious that someone had tried to hurt him. Since both of these feelings would not normally be colors in my emotional palette, I knew what was to blame.
Plus, the inside of the Corvette had gotten unpleasantly crowded, what with me, Eric, and most of the Were.
Miraculously, no cars passed while I trotted along the shoulder to our attacker’s vehicle, which (not so much to my surprise) turned out to be a plain white car with an illegal flashing attachment. I turned out the car’s lights and, by punching or disconnecting every wire and button I could find, managed to kill the flashers, too. Now we were not nearly so conspicuous. Eric had shut down the Corvette’s lights moments into the encounter.
I looked over the inside of the white car quickly but didn’t see an envelope marked “Revelation of who hired me, in case I get caught.” I needed a clue. There should at least have been a phone number on a scrap of paper, a phone number I could look up in a reverse directory. If I knew how to do such a thing. Rats. I trudged back to Eric’s car, noticing in the lights of a passing semi that there weren’t any legs sticking out of the driver’s window anymore, which rendered the Corvette a lot less conspicuous. But we needed to get out of there.
I peered into the Corvette and found it empty. The only reminder of what had just happened was a smear of blood on Eric’s seat, and I pulled a tissue out of my purse, spat on it, and rubbed the drying blood off; not a very elegant solution, but practical.
Suddenly, Eric was beside me, and I had to stifle a shriek. He was still excited by the unexpected attack, and he pinned me against the side of the car, holding my head at the correct angle for a kiss. I felt a lurch of desire and came very close to saying, “What the hell, take me now, you big Viking.” It was not only the blood bond inclining me to accept his tacit offer, but my memory of how wonderful Eric was in bed. But I thought of Quinn and detached myself from Eric’s mouth with a great effort.
For a second, I didn’t think he was going to let go, but he did. “Let me see,” I said in an unsteady voice, and pulled his shirt collar aside to look at the bullet wound. Eric had almost finished healing, but of course his shirt was still wet with blood.
“What was that about?” he asked. “Was that an enemy of yours?”
“I have no idea.”
“He shot at you,” Eric said, as if I was just a wee bit slow. “He wanted you