"Looks better on you than it does on the table," he said. "Besides, it has holes. Are you ready to go over to your house to find out what's happened to your great-uncle? And where are your clothes? Surely . . . Did those men take them off? Have they . . . Are you harmed?"
"No, no," I said hastily. "I told you I had to dump my clothes so they wouldn't see the drips. They're out front behind the bushes. I couldn't leave them in sight, of course."
"Right," Bill said. He looked very thoughtful. "If I didn't know you better, I would think--and pardon me if I offend--that you'd concocted this whole scenario to excuse yourself for wanting to bed me again."
"Oh. You mean, you might almost imagine that I made up this story so I could appear naked and in need of help, the damsel in distress, needing big strong equally naked Vampire Bill to rescue me from the evil kidnappers?"
He nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
"I wish I had enough free time to sit around and think of things like that." I admired the mind that could conceive of such a circuitous way to get what it wanted. "I think just knocking on your door and looking lonesome would probably get me where I wanted to be, if that was my goal. Or I could just say, `How 'bout it, big boy?' I don't think I need to be naked and in danger to get you lusty. Right?"
"You're absolutely right," he said, and he was smiling a little. "And any time you'd like to try one of those other ploys, I'd be glad to play my part. Shall I apologize again?"
I smiled back. "No need. I don't suppose you have rain slickers?"
Of course he didn't, but he did have an umbrella. In short order he'd fetched my clothes from behind the bushes. While I wrung them out and put them in his dryer, he ran up the stairs to his bedroom, which he'd never slept in, to pull on jeans and a tank top--serious slumming, for Bill.
My clothes were going to take too long to dry, so clad in Aunt Edwina's Spanish shawl and sheltered by Bill's blue umbrella, I climbed into his car. He drove out to Hummingbird Road and over to my house. Putting the car in park, Bill hopped out to remove the tree trunk from the driveway as easily as if it had been a toothpick. We resumed our way to the house, pausing by my poor car, the driver's door still open to the rain. The interior was soaked, but my would-be abductors hadn't done anything to it. The key was still in the ignition, my purse still on the front seat along with the remaining groceries.
Bill eyed the broken plastic of the milk jug, and I wondered which one I'd hit, Hod or Kelvin.
We both pulled up to the back door, but while I was still gathering my grocery bag and my purse, Bill was out and into the house. I had a second's worth of worry about how I was going to dry out my car before I made myself focus on the crisis at hand. I thought about what had happened to the fairy woman Cait, and concern about car upholstery left my head with gratifying speed.
I stepped into my house clumsily. I was having trouble managing my wrapping, the umbrella, my purse, the bag containing the bottled blood, and my bare feet. I could hear Bill moving through the house, and I knew when he found something because he called, "Sookie!" in an urgent voice.
Dermot was unconscious on the attic floor by the sander he'd rented, which was on its side and switched off. He had fallen forward, so I figured he'd had his back to the door with the sander running when they'd come in the house. When he'd realized he wasn't alone and switched off the sander, it had been too late. His hair was clotted with blood, and the wound looked horrible. They'd been carrying at least one weapon, then.
Bill was hunched stiffly over the still figure. Without turning to me he said, "I can't give him my blood," as if I'd demanded it.
"I know," I said, surprised. "He's fae." I circled around to kneel on Dermot's other side. I was in a position to see Bill's face.
"Back away," I said. "Back away. Go downstairs now." The odor of fairy blood, intoxicating to a vampire, must seem as though it were filling the attic to Bill.
"I could just lick it clean," Bill said, his dark eyes fixed on the wound with yearning.
"No, you wouldn't stop. Back off, Bill! Leave!" But his face dipped lower, closer to Dermot's head. I hauled off and slapped Bill as hard as I could.
"You have to go," I said, though I wanted to apologize so badly it made me shake. The look on Bill's face was awful. Anger, craving, the struggle for self-control . . .
"I'm so hungry," he whispered, his eyes swallowing me. "Feed me, Sookie."
For a second, I was sure Bad Choice time was upon me. The worst choice would have been letting Bill bite Dermot. The next worst would have been letting Bill bite me, because with the intoxicating scent of fairy in the air I wasn't sure he'd be able to stop in time. As all this flashed through my mind, Bill was struggling to master himself. He managed . . . but only by the thinnest of threads.
"I'm going to check to see if they've left," he said, lurching toward the stairs. Even his body was at war with itself. Clearly, his every instinct was telling him to drink blood somehow, some way, from the two tasty, tempting donors at hand, while his mind was telling him to get the hell away before something awful happened. If I'd had a spare person around, I'm not sure I wouldn't have thrown him to Bill, I felt so sad for him.
But he made it down the stairs, and I heard the door slam behind him. In case he lost his control, I hurried down the stairs to lock both back doors so at least I'd have a little warning if he returned. I glanced through the living room to make sure the front door was locked, as I'd left it. Yes. Before I returned upstairs to Dermot, I went to fetch my shotgun from my front closet. It was still there, and I let myself savor a moment of relief. I was lucky the men hadn't stolen it. Their search must have been cursory. I'm sure they would have spied something as valuable as the shotgun if they hadn't been looking for something much larger--me.
With the Benelli in my hand I felt much better, and I grabbed the first aid kit to take up with me. I hobbled up the stairs to kneel again by my great- uncle. I was getting pretty damn sick of coping with the huge shawl, which unwound at the most inconvenient moments. I wondered briefly how Indian women coped, but I just couldn't take the time to dress until I'd helped Dermot.
With a wad of sterile wipes, I cleaned away the blood on his head so I could inspect the damage. It looked bad, but I had expected that; head wounds always do. At least this wasn't bleeding much at all anymore. While I was working on Dermot's head, I was having a fierce inner debate about calling an ambulance. I wasn't sure the ambulance crew would be able to get in without Hod and Kelvin's interference--no, that couldn't be a concern. Bill and I had gotten over here without being stopped.