by Lena Fox
I attacked it again, grunting and trembling with exertion. There was a strange groan and hunk of wood fell away. It was all taking too long. I could sense the hours slipping away. I could almost feel the night, and Owen, approaching. I hit the post with the cleaver again with renewed vigor only to have the cleaver fall apart in my hands. The blade fell to the mattress and I stared down at the useless handle, wondering if this were all some cosmic joke.
The sky was warming outside, turning from blue to syrupy orange, dipping into night.
I tossed the handle and blade to the floor and lay on my back. I used both feet like a battering ram, kicking, even though it sent waves of pain through my feet and legs. The post creaked and then it toppled down, almost braining me in the process.
I sat up, tugging the chain at my ankle. The chain swung useless against the bed and I shouted out, “Yes!”
The cuff was still locked firmly around my ankle, and the long length of chain attached to it, so I had to scoop it up and carry it. I was still wearing a shirt from my earlier dress up, but no pants. But there was no time for pants. Daylight had almost gone.
I didn’t stop to do anything. I ran down the stairs, pelting for the front door. I could see it right in front of me and I reached it, opened it and fled out into the front lawn and the strong final rays of sunlight.
I had one foot out the door when an arm snaked around my middle and yanked me off my feet. All my air whooshed out of my diaphragm and I fought, flailing and kicking, beating at the hands that were tangled around my chest.
A soft, hissing sizzle filled my ears and I choked on the smoky fumes clouding my eyes.
Owen cursed, but didn’t let me go.
I was dragged back into the house.
“Let me go. Please, just let me go!” I howled and kicked out at his shins.
Owen turned me around to face him. His face showed signs of ash and burns, but healed before my eyes.
I had been so close. With freedom so near within reach, every fiber of me yearned for it. But at the same time, I felt at home within his arms. Confused, appalled, and at home. A rough sob tore out my throat and I started weeping loudly.
He dropped his forehead onto mine, still holding me tight, arms wrapped fully around me. “You can’t leave, Strawberry. You can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
Chapter Ten
He held me like that until I ran out of tears. Then led me back to my room, and re-attached my chain to a different bedpost.
“Dress, and we will dine.” His voice was commanding, but gentle.
I had nothing else left but to obey. I moved like the living dead, all spirit and fight gone.
I discovered that the bathroom also had some new additions. High end organic hair products, and a few pieces of jewelry that matched the green dress he had asked me to wear. I found a clever little makeup kit, expensive as all hell and brand new. I would have killed to have it in my former life. Now, I just stared at it, empty and uncaring.
I showered, taking my time. I felt no need to rush. I wasn’t going anywhere. Owen wasn’t going anywhere. I was stuck in this house with him forever and couldn’t even bring myself to hate that outcome anymore. I’d all but given up.
I dried my hair and pulled it up. Looking in the mirror I saw a vague and indefinable difference in my face. I was thinner, yes, but there was something else there too, something I could not put a finger on. Something like defeat.
I dipped the make-up brushes into the little pots of pure mineral pigment, smudging shadows around my eyes and coloring in my lips. I plumped out my eyelashes and daubed blush on the apples of my cheeks.
I took the green dress off the hanger next to the mirror and shimmied it on over my head. I still felt naked by having no underpants on, but there was nothing I could do about that. The green and gold silk clung to my body like wet cloth, and the corset top pressed my breasts into a perfect shape, rounding out the tops and accentuating the small puncture marks in them.
I put on the matching emerald earrings. Those aren’t real emeralds, are they? But I couldn’t bring myself to put the bracelet on. I couldn’t have something around my wrist again.
I stepped out of the bathroom and found Owen waiting patiently in the middle of the bedroom.
My ire and sadness evaporated like mist before the sun. He looked splendidly handsome in an ebony suit with a scarlet silk shirt below it. His thin, black tie was perfect, his shoes shined to nearly nuclear glow and his dark hair swept up and back from his forehead, accentuating the high angular planes of his face.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“You too.” My voice sounded weak and thin. My heart was fluttering like a schoolgirl’s and I could not stop looking at his broad shoulders, the way his fingers lightly rested against his thighs and the long sweep of his lean legs. There was a little color in his cheeks, just a hint of rosiness high on the cheekbones, and his eyes were paler than I’d ever seen them.
“I like your hair up.”
I touched it self-consciously. I was way overdue for a trim and I had not had access to a straightener in... How long had I been there? My hair had returned to its naturally wavy state and even though I had pinned it up small curls escaped to frame my face. I had outlined my eyes a bit dramatically, using long sweeps of eyeliner and a rich gold-green shadow as well as a lot of mascara. His eyes said he approved of the entire thing and I felt a flush of pleasure at his obvious desire.
Here he stood, the monster who’d robbed me of my freedom, who’d caught me and crushed my hopes of escape just moments before, and we were playing out some dress up fantasy like kids on prom night. I felt strangely hollow, like all my emotions were happening on my skin but not actually reaching inside me. I think he noticed because his smile faltered.
He walked up to me and put his fingers over my eyes. “Quiet.”
I dropped into darkness.
One minute I was absent, the next present. We were standing on a high mountaintop, all around us there were tall trees and the scent of pine hovered thickly in the air.
“What? How did we get here?”
I darted my eyes left and right, hoping to see a house or a car or even a plane but it was just us high on a windswept peak.
“Come, sit.”
A table stood to the right. I was stupefied by it. The table was draped in fine white linens, laid with china so thin it was nearly transparent and a selection of wine bottles formed a centerpiece. A French champagne, a rich, deep red, and a bottle of German ice wine, accompanied by appropriate glassware for each. Silver domed trays covered the table and I walked to it, numbed and uncertain. Was it real? Had he put me under a spell? I was also confused. Loretta was dead, had he hired catering staff for this? Who could have cooked the food?
I asked and he grinned, a boyish and charming quirk of his lips that melted my heart. “I did. I have always cooked for you, Strawberry.”
Oh, that figured. Gorgeous, rich, great in bed and a good cook. Of course he was a bloodsucking, kidnapper and killer; he had to have some kind of fucking fault. At least he wasn’t married.
He was also not emotionally available thanks to Adelle St What’s-her-face. I wanted to ask him to tell me more about her, but didn’t know how to naturally bring it into the conversation.
His hand was cold on my back as he pulled out my chair and seated me. How ironic that a vampire had better manners than most guys I had dated. I gratefully accepted a glass of sparkling champagne, the fizz bringing notes of apple and oak into my nose.
Owen reached an empty glass to mine, chinking gently, before serving my dinner.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to look a gift vampire in the mouth, but I wasn’t used to being spoiled like this. Ever. Even with human men.
Owen paused with my plate in his hand. I wished I hadn’t asked the question at that moment because I wanted that food. Now.
He smiled softly and replied, “You provide me wi
th delicious sustenance. I simply felt the urge to return the favor.”
“I would say aaaw, but it’s not a favor really, now is it, if I have no choice in the matter?” I snapped at him, but was smiling as well. A mischievous mood had taken over. Holy hot dogs. Am I flirting with him?
That thought was wiped away by the appearance of sea scallops ceviche. The dish was bursting with the flavors of the citrus marinade that cooked the scallops, leaving them tender and supple. Maybe it was the food, but I felt my hollowness beginning to subside, drowned out by an eagerness for fine food, good company, and my own desire to be normal, or at least pretend for a little while.
The bread he sliced and put on my side plate was crusty outside, fluffy and filled with air pockets inside. The butter melted into it and I sopped up marinade with the tail end of the bread, not caring about my manners.
Owen watched me curiously.
I spoke through a half-full mouth. “I bet your fancy old fashioned girls ate all pretty like.”
“They did. They even took classes to teach them to eat properly.”
“What did they even eat back then? Potatoes? Gruel? Put a plate like this in front of anyone and I dare them not to lick it clean.”
Owen laughed. “I do enjoy seeing the pleasure you take in your meals.”
Ditto, I thought, indulging in a memory of Owen’s teeth on my thigh.
Next up was a salad with grilled peaches and goat cheese as the main flavor points. I was on the verge of proposing long before the duck confit showed up. I was beyond sated. Owen had poured the wine generously into my glass throughout the meal and I was tipsy from alcohol and the surfeit of food.
Placing the last bite of juicy duck into my mouth, I let out a long, low moan that sounded truly sexual. Good food really did turn me on.
“Enjoying yourself?” Owen asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Uh huh,” I murmured, leaning back in the chair, basking in the fullness of my stomach. “Some entertainment would have been nice with the dinner though. You could hula dance naked on the table for me.”
I thought dinner was done, but with a truly wicked smile, Owen retrieved the final dish. He bent on one knee and opened the dome in front of me like opening a diamond ring box. I squeed and said, “Yes, yes, yes!”
The chocolate soufflé was light, high and so beautiful it seemed almost a sin to break its surface. Not that I minded being a sinner. I certainly was not going to let its looks or the fact that my belly was protruding horribly stop me.
I raised a bite of it to my mouth and he said, “Tell me how it tastes.”
I tried to but I was not sure he understood. How many years had it been since he had had real food? I felt pity for him again, not being able to enjoy things like chocolate and wine must truly suck. I felt myself stumbling over my words the same way I had the other night at the pool and I blushed at my own incompetence. He didn’t seem to mind though. He just watched me and smiled.
The meal ended and my belly felt swollen and too full but it was a good feeling. The wind had picked up. It rustled through the trees and sent tiny little leaves shivering down onto my bare shoulders. Under my bare feet the earth was still warm from the day. My toes dug into a loamy layer of dead leaves and pine needles gone soft from rain and wind. The small tendrils of my hair that had escaped the knot I had pulled it up into lifted from my face and neck. The sky was ebony, a few clouds scuttled across its surface and the bright stars pricked the sooty colored down with gleaming sparkles of light. It was so exquisite that a lump rose into my throat.
Owen helped me up from the table and took me to the edge of the cliff. I gazed down at the jumble of boulders far below and the shimmering motion of the tide. A ledge sat about halfway down the mountainside, a glittering streak of mica running through it. Dread coiled into my belly. What if I fell? My toes curled into the edge and I heard tiny pebbles rattling and sliding down the sides of the mountain.
Owen’s arms were cool but strong. The intense cold coming off of his body made me shiver even as I leaned against him. I rested my head on his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat but there was nothing, just the feel of his body beneath mine.
“Trust me, Strawberry,” he said.
Then he jumped.
We went over and that time I did not scream. I had learned to trust him, to know he would not let me fall. That trust made me immensely sad. The first guy in my entire life that I trusted was not only going to hurt me but eventually kill me. Irony sucks, it sucks hard. I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest, forcing myself to take a breath and hoping my shudders would be mistaken for nerves rather than sorrow.
Owen floated easily to the ground with me still clasped in his arms. The tang of the sea was tangible. The sound of the waves slapping the shore and an occasional caw from a nocturnal bird fired up my emotions. The ragged remains of the depression lifted and I laughed loudly as we landed in sand. The mountain loomed over us and the lights of a jet plane winked red overhead. I could hear a faint music. Owen carried me easily, as if I were a child. My arms were still wound round his neck and his scent came to me, a little musky and coppery. The smell of blood and cologne.
We stood together, watching the waves nip at our toes. A swell of water ran across my bare feet, and my manacle made a musical jingle as shells and sand rushed against it. Again I was reminded that I was nothing more than a pet on a very long leash. Hatred flared up. Even now, I wore the symbol of my imprisonment, the heavy metal anklet, even if it wasn’t attached to anything.
I stepped away from Owen, folding my arms against the sea breeze which suddenly left me chilled. For a moment I knew that the look I wore wasn’t kind or happy. I could have been a queen in exile. Really, I was just a woman with nowhere to go, to stubborn to give in.
Owen asked, “If you could do one thing right now what would it be?”
“Escape.” The words came to my lips quickly, before I could even think. It was the truest answer I could give. No matter how attractive he was, how beautiful the clothes were, or how amazing the dinner, I was always going to try to escape. I wanted to be free. I wanted to agree to go to dinner, not be forced. I wanted to buy my own clothes.
“That is not possible for you.”
“It is if you turn your back and let me run like heck,” I said. “I’m never going to stop trying to get away, until the day you kill me I am going to want out. I will never be happy being a vampire’s prisoner.”
He was suddenly right in front of me with one of those steps that was too fast to follow and left me reeling. I started back but tripped on the hem of the dress. One of his strong arms caught me around the waist as I dipped back, like the whole thing was choreographed.
“I see.” His fingers stroked my eyelids and I went limp once again.
I awoke in a comfortable position, semi-reclined on a leather couch. But it wasn’t my room. Was it Owen’s? The furniture was similar, but there was no window, and the bed had all black sheets, shimmering like dark water under the low light. I didn’t need to check to know I was chained to the bed. Owen sat at the other end of the lounge, holding a full glass of red wine, staring at it like it was about to reveal the secrets of the universe.
“You’re drinking wine?” I asked, skeptical at the scene before me.
“No. It turns to ash on my tongue. I don’t know why I even tried, why I thought it would be different...”
He put the glass down on the table beside him
When he turned to me, his eyes were glossy, as though they were close to tears. He held me in his gaze.
“I’ve said how I feel you changing me, how I didn’t know whether I liked it. I know now. I do like it. But it torments me, as though something miraculous lies just out of reach.”
He lifted a hand and stroked his fingers down my cheek, so softly I barely felt it. My breath shook from my lips.
“You seem so different to the vampire who first locked me up. He was so cold, distant. Not anymore.”
His h
and cupped around my jaw and he leaned close, touching his forehead to mine.
“Kitty,” he whispered.
I almost sobbed. “Owen.”
Our lips met in a kiss that left me shaken to the cells of my being. He always elicited a primal response in me, one that was as welcome as it was frightening.
I had never seen him so open, so warm.
Our tongues met and stroked. His fingers brushed across my skin, tracing lines of desire over my bare shoulders and arms. I slowly worked free his tie, slid back his jacket, took time to caress each button of his shirt as I pushed it open, revealing his chest inch by inch.
Owen tugged at the lace up binding of my corset. I was about to reach for the hidden zipper when he took the strong layered fabric in two hands and tore it off me. I threw myself back into his arms, pressing my bare chest against his, my breasts flattening between us. I kissed him deeply. When I licked along his neck and sucked at his earlobe, he groaned deeply, picking me up into his lap and running a hand under the silk skirt, up my legs to where I wore nothing underneath. My mouth opened in a silent, helpless plea as his fingers stroked slowly against me.
Pleasure built through my body to an almost unbearable ache. He pushed me back, flat onto the lounge, hands running across my chest, belly, hips, gently torturing me with his touch on my skin and inside me. He kissed his way down between my breasts, looped his tongue around my navel, then kissed the soft skin of my inner thigh. When he placed his mouth on me, pressed his tongue against me, I screamed aloud in delicious agony.
I grasped at his hair, desperate, and with a low grunt, his strong tongue grazed harder against me. I could do nothing but whimper and wriggle beneath that knowing and sure touch. I was a limp mess. My eyes rolled with pleasure and I wanted nothing more than Owen, Owen, Owen. I wanted him in every part of me, filling me. He slowed, stopped, and I cried out in yearning.
Owen picked me up and placed me on the bed, laying me down so carefully. I felt fragile and cherished at once in the face of that gesture. It was a giddy moment made more so by the rush of lustful longing when he whipped off his belt and let his pants fall away.