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She should have known that it would only be a matter of time until someone noticed. It was easier to watch out for herself shortly after first arriving, a pocketknife buried deep in her purse and nightly practice sessions for holding that light between her hands, the fae's warmth thrumming against her fingertips. But day after day, nothing happened. The daytime is all hers to play with, roaming the city, searching for clothing outlets, boutiques, bakeries and coffee shops. And in the evening, she's free to smile more while under the protection of women and men who know what they're doing, strength and cunning plentiful among all of them. She sleeps soundly, knowing that Lafayette's only some flights of stairs away.
Complacency becomes the theme long before she realizes it.
So when she heads home one evening and notices a series of steps clipping fast behind her, she assumes that it's just another drunken asshole, someone who probably thinks that leaving a generous tip entitles him to a little extra something later. Sookie picks up her pace, not yet casting a look over her shoulder as she holds her purse closer to her chest. Her apartment is only a couple of blocks away, it won't be hard to make it back.
Until she suddenly feels a rush of air all around her, shoes slipping off and heels dragging against concrete, the wind knocked out of her as a pair of darkly blown eyes rake over her body and press her up against a wall.
"You make one more move and I'll scream," she warns, a soft thrumming energy building by her fingertips, but it doesn't linger long before Sookie feels her arm wrenched up high above her head. Letting out a cry of pain, she struggles against the hold, but the man is much larger, much taller, and she can't get the leverage she needs when all her limbs are stretched.
"I think I'd like that," the man breathes, grinning before his fangs suddenly slot into place, long and sharp. "No one's going to hear you in this part of town, sweetheart."
Complacency becomes the theme long before she realizes it.
So when she heads home one evening and notices a series of steps clipping fast behind her, she assumes that it's just another drunken asshole, someone who probably thinks that leaving a generous tip entitles him to a little extra something later. Sookie picks up her pace, not yet casting a look over her shoulder as she holds her purse closer to her chest. Her apartment is only a couple of blocks away, it won't be hard to make it back.
Until she suddenly feels a rush of air all around her, shoes slipping off and heels dragging against concrete, the wind knocked out of her as a pair of darkly blown eyes rake over her body and press her up against a wall.
"You make one more move and I'll scream," she warns, a soft thrumming energy building by her fingertips, but it doesn't linger long before Sookie feels her arm wrenched up high above her head. Letting out a cry of pain, she struggles against the hold, but the man is much larger, much taller, and she can't get the leverage she needs when all her limbs are stretched.
"I think I'd like that," the man breathes, grinning before his fangs suddenly slot into place, long and sharp. "No one's going to hear you in this part of town, sweetheart."