Notes: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball/HBO.

The setting is the end of Season 3, before Season 4. The incident that changes Eric never occurs.

Warnings: Alternate Universe. Original character/Eric. Angst. Explicit descriptions: Gore, violence, m vamp/f human sex, torture, vampirism, romance, fluff

Forgive me, I am not the biggest fan of the Sookie character. That's why I've chosen to AU this story. There is a multitude of Sookie/Eric fanfic, so I'm sure no one will miss one more. :p

Conspiracy

1. Discovering Arin

Eric was bored, as usual. The usual conversations were happening all around him. The band was, although good, also not as new and special as they thought they were. The music was original, but then again, a lot of music was. Which made original music into nothing special.

So Eric sat in his chair and watched his bartender and cocktail waitresses rake in the cash. Getting richer wasn't a bad thing, yet at the same time, getting richer was boring, too. Another fool human approached him and thought she had to scream over the music to be heard. She could have whispered and he'd have heard her from across the room, or even outside.

He refused her boring request to be His with the flick of his wrist. No one who was eager to be his was worthy of doing so. He was exhausted with sniveling sycophants—the inevitable result of coming out of the coffin.

Despite his internal boasting of his ability to hear even a whisper outside over the music, Eric was surprised when he heard a soft, almost inaudible, "Helb!" He cocked his head, and a moment later, heard again, "Pleab helb! Oh god, sumbuggy!"

The door was open and he was out of it before any human in the bar registered that he'd moved. He was on the roof so fast that a few humans wondered if they were seeing things, but their minds could only register a blur.

Eric ignored their murmuring and focused on the scent of fresh human blood that assailed him. It came from behind the bar, in the delivery alley. He jumped down from the roof, his fangs automatically snapping out. The smell was delicious, like the humans of old before pollution and fluoride and gmo foods.

Unerringly, he followed the scent to the trash, finding her lying on the ground with some bags thrown over her, only a foot sticking out.

"Helb!" she cried again.

A sound behind him alerted him that Pam was there. "The humans have noticed that you're gone, Eric. One of them is an inspector from the Health Department."

"We have no violations, Pam. See to it."

Her fangs clicked out. "What is that smell? It's divine."

"I believe there's an injured human here," Eric answered. "Did you not hear her calling for help?"

"No," Pam answered, inspecting her fingernails. "But I'll be happy to help her if she smells like that."

"No, Pam. Not unless she asks for it," he told her, tossing another bag of garbage.

"Are you really going to root around in the trash like some vagabond?" she asked him with a disgusted sniff, even as he tossed another bag.

Eric ignored her. He had found the human. Dark brown hair, matted with that delicious blood, sprawled across another bag of trash. She was so badly beaten that he was surprised she could speak at all. In fact, her heartbeat had slowed so far that, if he'd been drinking from her, he would have stopped minutes ago.

She would not make it without his blood. But the blood was sacred, and she was simply a human.

"Oh, look, she's nearly dead, poor thing. Since she's dying anyway, can I finish her off? I wouldn't even need to bite her, she's already pincushioned." Pam laughed and walked toward him.

"Can't kill me," whispered the woman. "I'm dying soon anyway, but if you kill me, they'll have their excuse." Her voice was distorted and faint, and Eric realized her tongue was nearly bitten through. "Got to call the hospital or they'll blame you for my death."

"Oh, I know who she is," Pam said. "She's that anti-vampire blogger, Arin Jorgenson. Aren't you?"

"Not anti-vampire," murmured the woman. "But you wouldn't understand."

"You write against the VRA, don't you?" Pam demanded.

"Pam!" Eric reprimanded her. "Enough!" He looked back at the dying human. "Who's trying to blame us for your death?"

"The men who did this," she answered, and Eric realized that if he wanted to know more, he would have to save her. Her breath was rattling in blood-filled lungs. If he didn't save her, he wouldn't find out who was trying to set him up for murder.

Yet another 'benefit' of coming out of the coffin.

He broke open his wrist.

"Seriously? You're going to save this anti-vampire piece of trash?" Pam objected. "Just let the bitch die, and then call the cops. They'll still think you did your due diligence."

"I cannot let her die, and still get the information we need," Eric informed her with cold clarity.

"Oh fine, whatever. I guess it would be bad for business anyway if they find a dead human here. Just don't be surprised if she turns, she's as good as dead already." Pam turned around and strolled back into Fangtasia at speeds the human eye couldn't follow.

He held his wrist to her mouth. "Drink," he commanded.

"No," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. Then glamored her. "Drink," he commanded again.

"No."

He blinked. "No?"

"No," she whispered. "I don't want to be a vampire."

"You won't turn unless I sleep with you. Which I will not do. I do not need any more progeny. So drink," he commanded again.

"No."

He sighed. "You're very stubborn about saving your own life."

"Who says," she began, then coughed and convulsed slightly, "that I want to save it?"

"Well, I need information from you. So you can drink it willingly, or I'll force it down your throat," he told her. He didn't add that he would have glamored her, because obviously, for some reason, that wasn't working.

She sighed. "You won't believe what I tell you, anyway," she told him. "I'd rather just get it over with, if it's all the same to you."

He sighed. "Humans are irritating in the extreme," he told her. And generally predictable, as well. Why was this human eager to die? Most would do anything to escape the kind of pain that he knew she was in.

He grasped her jaw and forced it open. She fought, feebly of course, but with greater strength than he had expected. Ignoring her complaints and struggles, he poured blood into her mouth until he felt she'd had enough. Then he healed the wound he'd created on his arm and picked her up, belatedly realizing she'd fainted from her own struggles.

Quickly, he carried her into his office, where he laid her on the sofa and proceeded to lick the delicious blood from her body, sealing wounds with his saliva even as his blood did its work from the inside. He was surprised to find that she was in peak physical form, her body athletic and sleek.

When he was satisfied, he sat back and waited for her to come to. Someone had tried to frame him, and despite the absurdity and incompetence of their method, he wanted to know who it was.