I earned a ton of money in tips that evening and on into the night when people found out I'd actually discovered the body. I just kept my face solemn and got through it, not wanting to offend customers who just wanted to know what everyone else in town wanted to know.

On my way home, I allowed myself to relax a little. I was exhausted. The last thing I expected to see, after I turned into the little drive through the woods that led to our house, was Bill Compton. He was leaning against a pine tree waiting for me. I drove past him a little, almost deciding to ignore him. But then I stopped.

He opened my door. Without looking him in the eyes, I got out. He seemed comfortable in the night, in a way I never could be. There were too many childhood taboos about the night and the darkness and things that went bump.

Come to think of it, Bill was one of those things. No won­der he felt at ease.

"Are you going to look at your feet all night, or are you going to talk to me?" he asked in a voice that was just above a whisper.

"Something happened you should know about."

"Tell me." He was trying to do something to me: I could feel his power hovering around me, but I batted it away. He sighed.

"I can't stand up," I said wearily. "Let's sit on the ground or something. My feet are tired."

In answer, he picked me up and set me on the hood of the car. Then he stood in front of me, his arms crossed, very obviously waiting.

"Tell me."

"Dawn was murdered. Just like Maudette Pickens."

"Dawn?"

Suddenly I felt a little better. "The other waitress at the bar."

"The redheaded one, the one who's been married so of­ten?"

I felt a lot better. "No, the dark-haired one, the one who kept bumping into your chair with her hips to get you to notice her."

"Oh, that one. She came to my house."

"Dawn? When?"

"After you left the other night. The night the other vam­pires were there. She's lucky she missed them. She was very confident of her ability to handle anything."

I looked up at him. "Why is she so lucky? Wouldn't you have protected her?"

Bill's eyes were totally dark in the moonlight. "I don't think so," he said.

"You are ..."

"I'm a vampire, Sookie. I don't think like you. I don't care about people automatically."

"You protected me."

"You're different."

"Yeah? I'm a waitress, like Dawn. I come from a plain family, like Maudette. What's so different?"

I was in a sudden rage. I knew what was coming.

His cool finger touched the middle of my forehead. "Dif­ferent," he said. "You're not like us. But you're not like them, either."

I felt a flare of rage so intense it was almost divine. I hauled off and hit him, an insane thing to do. It was like hitting a Brink's armored truck. In a flash, he had me off the car and pinned to him, my arms bound to my sides by one of his arms.

"No!" I screamed. I kicked and fought, but I might as well have saved the energy. Finally I sagged against him.

My breathing was ragged, and so was his. But I didn't think it was for the same reason.

"Why did you think I needed to know about Dawn?" He sounded so reasonable, you'd think the struggle hadn't hap­pened.

"Well, Mr. Lord of Darkness," I said furiously, "Maudette had old bite marks on her thighs, and the police told Sam that Dawn had bite marks, too."

If silence can be characterized, his was thoughtful. While he was mulling, or whatever vampires do, his embrace loos­ened. One hand began rubbing my back absently, as if I was a puppy who had whimpered.

"You imply they didn't die from these bites."

"No. From strangulation."

"Not a vampire, then." His tone put it beyond question.

"Why not?"

"If a vampire had been feeding from these women, they would have been drained instead of strangled. They wouldn't have been wasted like that."

Just when I was beginning to be comfortable with Bill, he'd say something so cold, so vampirey, I had to start all over again.

"Then," I said wearily, "either you have a crafty vampire with great self-control, or you have someone who's deter­mined to kill women who've been with vampires."

"Hmmm."

I didn't feel very good about either of those choices.

"Do you think I'd do that?" he asked.

The question was unexpected. I wriggled in his pinioning embrace to look up at him.

"You've taken great care to point out how heartless you are," I reminded him. "What do you really want me to be­lieve?"

And it was so wonderful not to know. I almost smiled.

"I could have killed them, but I wouldn't do it here, or now," Bill said. He had no color in the moonlight except for the dark pools of his eyes and the dark arches of his brows. "This is where I want to stay. I want a home."

A vampire, yearning for home.

Bill read my face. "Don't pity me, Sookie. That would be a mistake." He seemed willing me to stare into his eyes.

"Bill, you can't glamor me, or whatever you do. You can't enchant me into pulling my T-shirt down for you to bite me, you can't convince me you weren't ever here, you can't do any of your usual stuff. You have to be regular with me, or just force me."

"No," he said, his mouth almost on mine. "I won't force you."

I fought the urge to kiss him. But at least I knew it was my very own urge, not a manufactured one.

"So, if it wasn't you," I said, struggling to keep on course, "then Maudette and Dawn knew another vampire. Maudette went to the vampire bar in Shreveport. Maybe Dawn did, too. Will you take me there?"

"Why?" he asked, sounding no more than curious.

I just couldn't explain being in danger to someone who was so used to being beyond it. At least at night. "I'm not sure Andy Bellefleur will go to the trouble," I lied.

'There are still Bellefleurs here," he said, and there was something different in his voice. His arms hardened around me to the point of pain.

"Yes," I said. "Lots of them. Andy is a police detective. His sister, Portia, is a lawyer. His cousin Terry is a veteran and a bartender. He substitutes for Sam. There are lots of others."

"Bellefleur..."

I was getting crushed.

"Bill," I said, my voice squeaky with panic.

He loosened his grip immediately. "Excuse me," he said formally.

"I have to go to bed," I said. "I'm really tired, Bill."

He set me down on the gravel with scarcely a bump. He looked down at me.

"You told those other vampires that I belonged to you," I said.

"Yes."

"What exactly did that mean?"

"That means that if they try to feed on you, I'll kill them," he said. "It means you are my human."

"I have to say I'm glad you did that, but I'm not really sure what being your human entails," I said cautiously. "And I don't recall being asked if that was okay with me."

"Whatever it is, it's probably better than partying with Malcolm, Liam, and Diane."

He wasn't going to answer me directly.

"Are you going to take me to the bar?"

"What's your next night off?"

"Two nights from now."

"Then, at sunset. I'll drive."

"You have a car?"

"How do you think I get places?" There might have been a smile on his shining face. He turned to melt into the woods. Over his shoulder he said, "Sookie. Do me proud."

I was left standing with my mouth open.

Do him proud indeed.