"I'm not acting nervous!" He tried to get the words out with a laugh, a show of disbelief, but the thin laugh he did force out did little to disguise the anxious tremble in his voice.

Wheeling around the sofa, not about to let her hide through this, Mitchell pointed a finger at her as he continued. "You're trying to accuse me of something here, Sookie. Me or a bunch of vampires back home. I'm allowed to be nervous. I have a right to feel--"

No, wait, that wasn't coming out right. He'd just admitted to being nervous after saying that he wasn't. What was he trying to do now? She wasn't backing down, only rearranging the possible story. Mitchell wasn't sure it worked in his favor. He wasn't sure he could let it work in his favor. Might some other cover have risen up and done this? Truthfully, no. Herrick had burned a good number of bridges even as he tried to unite the vampires. The leader of London still hated him. But Sookie might believe it. And she might believe Mitchell had nothing to do with it, if that were the case. He had been distraught after losing them all, sickened by Lucy's betrayal, desperate to get George and Annie back. She'd believe it, wouldn't she? Prefer to believe the best of him, the most human part of him, now.

"We don't usually work like that, but maybe-- If they'd heard about Bristol, it could have been read as a threat." He said the words quietly, resting both hands on his hips, unconvinced by his own words. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just your run of the mill human serial killer. Vampires usually have the wisdom to clean up after themselves."

Why was he so nervous? Why was he so scared to admit to what he was, when humans were little better?