Chapter One- Setting the Board
Sookie paused to glance at herself in the full length mirror before exiting her suite. Her body was tan, taught and tight, and looked every bit of twenty five years old. Checking her reflection Sookie arranged her sheer black covering over her black lace panties and pirouetted on her four inch black heels taking in the back as well the front of her outfit. The covering hung just right, covering her nipples while exposing the maximum amount of her skin, playing peekaboo with the swell of her ass cheeks peeking out from her lacy panties. Nothing was shown, everything was implied. The eye was drawn helplessly to the coverings flower pattern, forcing you look twice as hard as a sheer top would. As with most things where this woman was concerned you couldn’t be sure what you were seeing and what you weren’t.
She liked it best that way.
She had made a name for herself as The Mistress, the Fae Dominatrix of Shreveport. Her skills to pleasure were legendary. She took any client who met her criteria. First, they had to be able to pay. Second, she had to find them interesting, or useful. While few people were interesting, they could more often than not be quite useful. From the lowliest human to the most ancient supernatural, they could all be useful.
Her blood, magic and sexuality let her dominate them all, from human to supernatural. In a thousand years she had never met anyone that did not fall at her feet. At least not yet, she thought, seeing ice blue eyes in her mind. He will be different. He will be a challenge.
In her hand she held a riding crop that would be used on her client shortly. A smile ghosted across her lips. She found pleasure in whipping them; setting them free of their self-imposed mind traps and inhibitions as they embraced the things that they were forced to suppress every day. She enjoyed giving them what they liked, but more than that, she enjoyed helping them figure out what they liked.
Her client was waiting. It was part of the experience. No one made Willa Burrell, the Louisiana Governor’s daughter, wait for anything. So, when she came to see Sookie, she waited. Sometimes she waited cuffed to a bed. Sometimes she waited in various states of undress. Always, she waited for variable amounts of time. Sometimes, with others, sometimes, alone and ignored.
Willa liked to be ignored, insignificant. Her father had been in the political lime light since she was a small child. So much attention left her feeling…inhibited, restrained and oppressed. What she desired most was to feel free of that spotlight; free to explore whatever her heart desired, to be for the briefest of times, unseen, and have no expectations placed on her actions.
To reinforce this image of her insignificance, her invisibility, once Willa was cuffed to the bed, Sookie had various staff members come into Willa’s room and act as if she wasn’t there at all. Their actions always varied, sometimes they talked to each other, sometimes they had lunch, sometimes they sat and stared out the window, not talking to Willa at all before abruptly leaving. Today, they were fucking, on the bed at Willa’s feet. Willa was cursing at the top of her lungs, trying to break their concentration, trying to get them to acknowledge her presence.
Sookie glanced at the camera in suite that showed Willa pulling her arms tighter in the cuffs as she rubbed her thighs together attempting to relieve the tension building there. She was very turned on by the couple at her feet and wanted to touch herself. Willa especially enjoyed masturbation, it made her feel powerful and independent to bring herself to climax she had told Sookie once.
Sookie pressed a button on her wall and Willa’s cuffs relaxed enough that she should reach her nipples, they looked hard enough to cut glass as she pulled and tweaked them, continuing the writhe on the bed. The couple were still locked in their passionate embrace, close to orgasm from the sound of their panting and grunting that now drowned Willa out completely. Sookie was heading toward the room, ready to begin her session Willa when her mobile rang. Smiling at the caller ID she purred when she answered.
“I was wondering when I would hear from you.”
“I have something for you. Downloading now.” She glanced down at her phone and saw she had an incoming picture. “I think it’s time you reached out.” Sookie’s heart skipped a beat. She had been waiting for so very long. Her mind filled with images of her quarry, his blond hair, his cold crystal blue eyes. She felt her panties moisten. She rubbed her thighs together sighing appreciably at the friction.
“I will do so, at once.”
“You’re sure you can handle him?” Sookie giggled.
“I can hardly wait He was made for me!” The caller hung up and she looked down to see the picture that had finished downloading to her phone. Her heart raced as she looked at the image on her phone. It was him, Eric Northman, kneeling at a crime scene by the river, looking intently at the camera that had just taken his picture, as if he knew she would be seeing it. In his eyes she saw questions. She wanted to make him ask them at her feet so she could hear the answers. So she could see if they matched her own.
Setting the phone down, she turned toward the room that Willa was in, smacking her leg with the riding crop, making a popping sound. “Have you been wicked, Ms. Burrell?” She called out as she entered the room.
“Oh, y-yes, Mistress,” came her breathy tortured reply. Sookie closed the door behind her.
Behind his back, by both humans and supes, Eric Northman was called The Vampire Sherlock of Shreveport. To his face, very few humans or supes acknowledged him at all. He offered his liaison and investigative services to all law enforcement, human and supernatural alike. He walked across the worlds, and could help each side make connections that might otherwise miss when a crime was committed.
For human criminals, Eric’s sense of smell, heightened vision and powers of observation and deduction made him seem downright mystical at times. He was a storehouse of knowledge both historical and supernatural, having been alive for nearly a thousand years himself. For supernatural criminals, his connections and physical prowess guaranteed that he would get the job done.
His position was unique, and made him a necessary outcast of sorts, but it left him alone with his thoughts, where he was often the happiest. People, all people, bored him. There were two exceptions to this rule.
The first was Godric, his longtime friend and companion through the centuries. Godric, being even older than Eric, served as back up enforcer, on the rare occasions that Eric needed support. In addition to that Godric also provided a buffer between Eric and the rest of the world, serving as translator, protector, and Eric’s one and only true friend. The second exception was a mystery, not any mystery, because very little was a mystery to those who had eyes and ears and the tiniest ability to even reason for themselves. But every great once in a while there was a true mystery, and that, THAT was when Eric Northman wanted to be on the front row.
Godric had been the one to tell him of his new nickname, The Vampire Sherlock of Shreveport. After they had both gotten done laughing they wondered for a moment if they should tell the world that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had actually been based on them. Doyle had been a close friend to them both, and it had started out as a joke when he had written down one of their cases and sent it to the paper. It had been a surprise to all of them when Doyle had gotten requests for more stories.
Now Godric, seeing the need to open the minds of the general public the idea that there was help available to them should they ever need it, shared their cases with the public on his blog, something that Eric had great contempt for.
“You’re keeping a what?” he had asked Godric, when he had first been introduced to the notion that Doyle was alive and well even now, albeit in a new form.
“A… blog,” Godric repeated, speaking in exaggerated slow sounds, continuing to type as though he hadn’t been interrupted.
“Why would you do that?” Eric, pressed, genuinely confused as to why Godric would bother. As much as he had liked Doyle, Eric had been relieved when the Holmes stories had stopped. He preferred anonymity, and it was hardly possible to be anonymous when someone was blathering on and on about every move you made to the general public.
“Because,” Godric began, adopting the tone of patience that he used with Eric when he was explaining something that was patently obvious to him, “the only way that either side will come to accept you is if they truly believe you have nothing to hide. Being direct and forthright about your dealings will eventually convince them that you are not playing to either side against the other.”
‘Sherlock’ snickered, “Of course I am not. They are all hopeless idiots, there is no reason to choose one above the other!” Godric, who had his back to Eric, rolled his eyes.
“Yes, but despite the general incompetence, Eric, they keep you in blood and do supply the occasional challenge for you, so they can’t be all bad.” It was Eric’s turn to roll his eyes as he sauntered to the fridge to warm a blood for himself. “And, there is also the occasional person, the level of dullness aside, who actually does need the kind of help only you could provide.” That earned him another roll of Eric’s eyes that he might not be able to see but could sense after all their years together.
“Blogs, Twitters, Facebook, when did everyone suddenly start to believe that everything they had to say was so important that the world had to hear it? That every thought that crossed their minds was to be shared with the masses?” Contempt was dripping from Eric’s voice as he went on. Godric, well used to his rants by now, kept typing and tossed over his shoulder.
“Oh, you mean when did they all start to think they were you?”
“Me?!” Eric was aghast.
“Oh, yes. You, ‘the great detective!’ Every pearl that passes your lips, those around you should stop with pen to paper and listen. No matter how inappropriate; if it crosses your mind, if crosses your tongue. I can hardly take you anywhere!”
“Most people are incapable of understanding what I am even saying. Why would I twitter to imbeciles?” A pensive look crossed his face, “Why would anyone twitter to imbeciles?” he asked himself quietly. Trying to figure out what the purpose of that was exactly. He needed to think on this, there must be some reason for this that he was missing.
“You miss the point, Eric, it’s not about what you say, or they say or how it gets said, it’s about the over blown sense of self importance. That is what you have in common with the, how do you call them, ‘unwashed masses’.”
“I assure you that my sense of self importance is just right and that furthermore that you agree with me.” Godric stopped typing, turning in his chair to face Eric.
“I do?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, you do.”
“And how would you know that?” eyebrow rising still higher.
“Because, you are still here with me after all this time…’blogging’, whatever the hell that is!” Godric smiled and turned back to his keyboard. As usual, Eric’s logical conclusions were air tight.
“Set up a twitter account for me.”
“Yes. Why are you sighing, Godric?”
“You’re ‘the great detective’, figure it out. Here, give me your phone.”