Strawberry-A Vampire Romance

by Lena Fox

  “I’m not food.” I threw myself at him, grasping at his shirt. “I’m a person! Please! I’m a person! My name is Kitty French, I’m an actress who lives in West Hollywood. I live with six people and I can barely pay-”

  He wrapped his hands around my wrists, halting my assault. The grip was almost bruising and it made me stumble over my words, interrupting myself as I hissed at the sudden, dull pain. A dark and troubled expression traveled his face and it hit me again how gorgeous he was, not just his looks, but a sort of smoldering sexuality in the hint of vulnerability within his troubled expression.

  He lunged on me and I tensed.

  He did not bite me. He brushed cool and soft lips across my warm ones. I was stunned speechless by the gesture. I was also confused. Not just my mind but my body. The primal fear was still there, trying to get me to flee. Then there was a ravenous desire akin to my love for fine food. As if he were the most decadent meal to ever be laid out before me. I’d never wanted a person so badly. He went from hot to cold so fast, from inhuman to human. He seemed more human today...

  Wait. Was there some connection with him feeding and his being more human? Before I could fully form that thought I remembered I was his captive. My arms came out in a reflexive motion and I pushed him back but really what I was shoving away was not just him but the fact that I was attracted to him. That I was enjoying the kiss.

  A heavy silence hung between us. I tried to slow my heart, cool the warmth of lust that spread through my body.

  With a confused and angry look, he vanished.

  Screw this shit. I was quickly going to go insane trying to judge the emotions and motives of my captor. I had to get out of here. The chain rattled and shook as I strained against it. I was sitting on the floor with my feet against the wall and pushing as hard as I could. My back ached and sweat was rolling down my body, drenching the night gown but the bed posts held and the chain was still in place.

  The door opened and the thrall came in, the same madhouse stare and smile on her face. I waved at her but she did not seem to notice me, instead she set the tray that held my breakfast down on the table and stripped the sheets off the bed. I found myself staring at her legs, blue varicose veins mottled her calves and her skinny butt almost hit me in the forehead. I was beyond grateful for the filthy khaki shorts she wore.

  I could not help but wonder if she would have made the bed with me in it. The way she tossed the sheets on and tucked them in made me think of the Stepford wives, only she was a hell of a lot less well-kept up. I cringed a little at the sight of her handling the sheets. Her nails were long and cracked, black with grime.

  Her eyes were vacant when I looked into them, the wheels still turning but the hamster was dead. I waved a hand in front of her face and she did not even blink. Pity welled up in me. Had she once also been his meal plan? Blueberry, maybe?

  I shuddered all over. I would rather be dead than be a senseless... thing.

  That thought made me remember just how much I did not want to be dead and how little I trusted the vampire to keep me alive.

  Despondent I sat down on the bed and looked over at the breakfast tray. Tea slopped out of a pot and there was a small saucer but no food on it. Maybe the maid was feeling the same strain I was in captivity and rebelling in small ways. Too bad it meant going hungry for me. I wondered if I should say something next time Owen came. I wanted to, to make sure I didn’t go hungry, but at the same time, I didn’t want the woman to be punished in any way.

  Despondently sipping my tea, I made a slow circuit of the room after the thrall left. I followed her out to the banister, peering down the stairs until she vanished into the kitchen again. I yearned to follow her, partly for the freedom it offered and partly because of the food I dreamed was there. A few bits of steak and a glass of milk wasn’t enough to keep me from starvation. With a sigh, I walked back into the room. A glint of silver caught my eye. There on the night stand was the silver domed tray from last night. I swore I didn’t remember it there before I walked out of the room.

  I approached it as if it were a trap, checking on all sides before I slowly lifted the lid. Inside was the partly eaten meal I remembered, the steak already cut into tiny bites. The only silverware was a spoon, but I didn’t care. With careful discipline I devoured every bite, savoring each flavor. I decided in that moment that I would never turn down a meal from Owen again. I’d savor every meal like it was my last. I might never know when it would be.

  Chapter Five

  Two nights passed. Owen didn’t return. I hung there in that bedroom in a suspended state. My body gradually began to heal. The thrall brought me nearly endless pots of tea, but food was random and sporadic, only enough to nibble on. I hadn’t had a proper meal since the truffle steak. I tried to talk to her, get her attention, but she just skulked in and out, creepy as all hell. The one time she actually looked at me, even briefly, I thought she was going to beat me to death rather than help me escape. There was something wild in her eyes, underneath the glassiness of Owen’s hypnotism that disturbed me to my core. I came to believe that she really had gone mad under his control. Pure human insanity scared me, maybe even more than Owen himself did.

  I had nothing for company but the books on the shelves. They were a mixed bag of archaic philosophy, history texts, and long dead poets, but they were better than nothing. On and off I kept trying to plan an escape, but no new weapons miraculously emerged and the chain remained strong. So I spent my days with Neitzsche, Descartes, Poe, and Shakespeare, and the nights standing at the full length of my leash, staring out over the ocean through the French doors.

  At dusk of the third night, Owen finally came back. As tired of being alone as I was I was almost happy to see him. I set the book of old poetry aside on the bedside table, only briefly considering trying to brain him with it. I figured the book really wasn’t that heavy and would probably be less effective than my attempt with the steak knife.

  His face was cold and still, remote as the moon that hung in the corner of the open doors of the balcony. My first thought, oh shit. He’s going to kill me, faded out so fast I barely had time to register that cool trickle of fear in my belly for what it was.

  Owen gave me a distasteful look, then disappeared briefly into the bathroom before returning.

  I had remembered the way he had softened when he drank from me and was almost desperate to get him to bite me again. I didn’t know why that was, but it made some kind of sense. Even the best of us get grouchy when hungry. I wanted him to change from this dead monster into the almost human man I could talk to, that I had any chance of reaching. I have to keep him on my side, try and get in control of him or his emotions.

  “Been a while.” I said. “You must be hungry.” Oh, gee, that was really subtle. I should have just tilted my head and said, here vampire, have a suck.

  He did not seem to notice that slip. “I am. But you are filthy. Why have you not bathed?”

  I wouldn’t. Not until I was free. It was the small pact I’d made myself. There was too much temptation here, luring me to give in and stay, live in luxury and be fed exquisite food (when that food actually arrived), at the small price of being food myself.

  I deflected. “Why haven’t you been around? Your nutty maid has been all but starving me.” I hadn’t meant to bring her up, but hunger and fear made me careless. I didn’t want her punished, or for him to put her under more scrutiny if she was managing to break free.

  Owen frowned but there was no caring in the expression, just more distaste. “She has been strangely disobedient lately. I don’t know why. I will see that you receive adequate food from now on. Now, I require my food to be clean.”

  In a swift movement he uncuffed me and hauled me to my feet.

  Instinct kicked in. I flailed out my arms, hitting him in his sharp and straight nose. He seemed shocked by the blow and dropped me. There was a small bit of satisfaction in that but even more satisfying was my run across the floor. My fingers reached f
or the doorknob but before I could turn it his muscular arms wound around my waist and he lifted me from the floor. My legs kept going, feet running nowhere even as I was hauled backwards.

  I screamed every curse word I had ever heard and even made a few of them up. I beat at his hands and arms, kicked his shins and head butted him, which made me see stars but did not seem to faze him at all.

  I was too busy screaming and fighting to notice where we were going until he dropped me in the middle of the bathtub. Water splashed up around me and slammed, wave-like, across the floor. My screams stopped, cutting off as abruptly as an air siren.

  The tub was so deep my chest was submerged. I rubbed my aching ass cheeks and shot him a nasty glare. The water was warm and soothing, smelling of lavender and lilies and the urge to just lie back and enjoy it was difficult to resist.

  The sodden night gown billowed out around me and the clotted and crusted blood on the front began to come loose in tiny, dark burgundy threads. Owen grabbed the gown and tore it from my body as easy as if it were wet tissue. A thrill shot through me and I gasped, grabbing at the lacy material being torn away. I slipped in the water, managing to dunk myself again.

  When I sat up, my drenched hair shedding water across my face, I screamed, “Are you trying to drown me?”

  “Bathe.” His voice held command.

  I curled forward, pulling my knees up to cover my exposed breasts. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I will bathe you.”

  I’m normally an easygoing person. Hell, I’ve never really had much of a stomach for confrontation. When I told my folks I wanted to move to LA to become an actress the uproar was so great I simply waited until they were asleep one night, packed my stuff and left town. I left them a note. It was not like I ran away, I was nineteen when I drove off from home. I didn’t talk to them for a few weeks until they had calmed down just because I couldn’t stand to fight with them. Even now we didn’t talk much. I don’t think Dad ever forgave me.

  That’s been my pattern my whole life. I hate to fight and usually run from one. The only thing I had ever really fought for was my career. Or was it? Sitting there I could see how that wasn’t true. I had been a coward, settling for parts I knew were no good. I had chosen a low-rent agent, an agent who had trotted me out to a game that had landed me here, in the house of a vampire, because I was afraid to try for a better one.

  Sitting there I looked back at my career and wanted to laugh or cry. I had come to LA with such high hopes. I wanted to be rich and famous, get the attention I had never gotten growing up. My strict parents were not exactly the affectionate kind. I had found acting through a day camp for girls that they had sent me to during the summer. There were always openings for the plays they put on every year and I was in almost every single one of them. In acting I could be the person I always wanted to be, could be anyone else but me. It was my escape route.

  I had thought it would take me right out of my mundane little life and it seemed like that dream would come true, at least. I was going to be taken out of my life on a permanent basis and soon but not in the way I had expected.

  Rebellion surged into me. Rebellion and a reserve of courage I had never known I had. I was going to fight him and I was going to get out of here alive, period. I was not willing to die politely for him or anyone else. I had dreams and plans and a life to live.

  “I’d prefer to remain a stinking filth-covered animal than wash for you.” I would not be obedient and I doubted he would actually wash me like some child. Even if he did, I would make him work for what he wanted.

  Without a word, Owen’s cold hands ran down my body. I gawped at him, all my thoughts of fighting him gone as he dipped a soft washcloth into the water, lathered a bar of sweet smelling soap into it and began to wash me.

  Foamy circles bloomed on my shoulders and arms. I tried to squirm away from him but his grip was tight and the tub too slippery. He progressed to my front and I raised my arms helplessly to protect my breasts from his gaze and hands. If he noticed that gesture he did not give any sign of it and kept washing every part of me. He wiped tenderly around my neck, clearing away more dried blood before washing my back with a strong, massaging motion.

  His fingers traced the archipelago of my spine, spread across the upper flesh of my shoulder blades and then down, coming to rest on that tiny bundle of nerves at the very small of my back. His scrubbing motions kneaded the knots from my muscles until my eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

  He began washing my hair and I stared at him, trying to force him to look me in the eyes and really see me, as he gently wiped my chin, cheeks and lips. He just continued about his work, like a kitchen hand thoroughly rinsing every speck of dust from the corrugations of a lettuce leaf. I was huddled over, my cleaned hair hanging in the water, trembling with anger and confused arousal.

  I know how it sounds. I was sitting there with the chafed wrist from the handcuff, the bite mark in my throat and thigh and the vampire responsible for all my woes was turning me on so much I could barely breathe steady. I kept telling myself it was just physical attraction. My entire body felt like it was on fire every time he touched me, his hands were like ice but they left burning trails behind them. He stood me up out of the water to wash my lower body and I gasped and clutched at my wet panties, terrified he would tear them off me.

  Once I was clean he rinsed me off and hauled me out, wrapping me in towels and drying my body slowly and carefully and deliciously. I gritted my teeth against the treachery of pleasure from my own body.

  I was limp when he led me back to bed and returned the shackle to my wrist. Drowsy and flooded with emotions, I knew I had lost that round. Just the effort of fighting my own arousal had left me exhausted and unwilling to go through the futility of fighting him. I would gain no ground until he fed. All I’d gained from refusing to bathe was to confuse myself about my feelings for him. It was too much to process really. The satin sheets were slick and chilled and I curled up into them wanting only to cry myself to sleep but he rolled me onto my back.

  The mattress sagged beneath his weight as he bent down on top of me. I tilted my head and whispered, “Do it. Take my blood, Vampire.”

  His teeth grazed my cleavage. My nipples tightened and I could not stop the soft and involuntary cry that came from my mouth.

  When his teeth sunk deep into me, pain exploded across my chest.

  His weight hovered over me then came down. I shivered at the cold radiating from his skin and my fingers curled into fists. I knew he had to bite me, to bite me made him more human, but self-preservation instinct won over. I raised one fist to hit him but my hands fell back to the mattress as he gripped them tightly in his own, holding them captive there. His body pressed along the length of mine and while I knew it was to hold me still I couldn’t help but writhe, feeling the heat rising in me to drive off the chill that came off his.

  His teeth no longer hurt and I could feel my blood flowing into him, strengthening him. I looked down. His dark head was at my breast and his powerful mouth brought tiny trails of blood welling up.

  I could feel his body growing warm and one of his hands moved to touch my other breast and breath caught sharply in my throat.

  Then it was over.

  His teeth withdrew but his firm and heavy body was still on top of mine. Owen looked up at me with a deep frown on his face, then traced the bruises of my neck with a finger. I already knew that my newest bite would not bruise the same way. It had felt different, gentler, if that was possible. So much more pleasure and so much less agony. Was I getting used to it, or was he being more careful?

  He was so close I felt his cold, lifeless breath against my skin when he spoke. “I was too hasty. I thought you were merely a sweet meal when I first bit you and once I started, once I truly tasted you, it was almost impossible to stop. I hurt you more than I should have and for that I’m sorry.”

  I sought out his gaze and held it. The black of his eyes had lightened s
lightly and again I could see the shadow of some other color, though what I couldn’t really discern. “You hurt me more for every minute you keep me captive here.”

  A small growl emerged from his throat and he moved up, his heartbreaker of a face inches above mine. “This pleading has to end. There will be no more conversations between us, no more heart-to-heart talks. I do not have to keep you from fear or treat you kindly. I will not apologize to you and I will treat you as I see fit. You are food, nothing more.”

  No. I want to win this round. If he was at his most human right now maybe treating him like a man was the best way to win him over. His hand still rested lightly on my bare breast and I wondered if I could seduce him, make him want me so badly he could not bear to kill me or hurt me in any way. That would be easier now that he had fed and I had bathed. It’s funny how a good bath can give a girl confidence. I might not have been a cute blonde with big boobs but I knew I could turn head if I tried. I could practically imagine myself now, framed by the pale sheets, my black hair haloed around my face in tendrils.

  Summoning up my huskiest come-hither voice I whispered in his ear, “Nothing more?”

  Owen turned his face away from me, looking deeply confused. I bit my lower lip, my eyelids lowering as I tried to discern what that confusion meant.

  That one expression caused in me both fear he’d simply up and leave, and an immense attraction to that vulnerable, human side he hid within. Both reactions forced me to act. There seemed to be no other way around it. I had to get his attention and fast. That was what I told myself anyway but the truth is, deep, deep down, I could not help myself. His lips were so inviting that I lifted myself up on one elbow and pressed my lips to his. I was sure he would rebuff me but he did not. He paused for only a moment then he kissed me back.

  Our mouths met. I no longer needed to act like I wanted him. I had never felt so willing, so full of aching desire. His tongue slid against mine, tasting of blood and I didn’t care.