“What’s your favorite food?”
I stared at him, bewildered by the response. And what a question to ask a die-hard foodie. What was my favorite food? Lobster tail drowning in fresh drawn butter, couscous plump and rich with leeks and the mildest of cheeses? Maybe freshly baked bread still warm from the oven, its outside brown and slightly crisp and its middle delightfully chewy, slathered in the best French butter?
He didn’t seem to take my not answering as an offense. “Mine is strawberries. Or, it was, back when I could still partake in food.”
I was confused. I mean who cared what his favorite food was? I could see him asking about mine. Perhaps this was like death row and I was going to get a first-class meal before he punched my exit ticket to the next world, but why was he telling me about his?
He tilted his head, examining me. “If you found a strawberry plant that grew the most delicious berries in the world, so ripe, so plump, so perfectly sweet with just a hint of tartness lurking in their firm red flesh, would you strip it bare? Would you tear it up from the roots to gorge yourself on the fruit? No, you would tend it, care for it, so it would stay alive, and continue to grow and bear fruit so you could savor the taste of its berries until the end of its short season.”
I did not like where this was going. My head shook side to side, denying him.
His eyes met mine, their black so deep, gaze so intense that my whole body shuddered. “You are my strawberry. I will keep you alive as long as possible and you will be my only food until you finally die. There is something about your blood, something so delicious I can’t bear to part with you or consume you all in one meal. I aim to have you as long as possible.”
I could not even speak. I didn’t have to either because he turned away, saying over his shoulder, “It is too late in the morning for me to have any strength left. I will see you this evening.”
For what? Dinner? My neck ached and the thrall dipped the spoon into the juice again, splattering it against the side of my nose that time. With the vampire gone, she stood there confused for a moment then walked away, her arms and legs jerking like a possessed marionette that has been let off of its strings.
I watched her clean the kitchen. I called to her, begged her for help, for freedom, for my life, scratching my tender throat bare. She made no sign she even knew I was there as she mechanically scrubbed and mopped before she left the room with a vacuum cleaner tucked under her arm, carrying it like a load of groceries.
Alone in the kitchen I began to cry but I stopped quickly. Tears would not help me now. What would help me was to get out of these chains and out of this crazy house. My eyes went to the rack of kitchen knives. If I could just reach one I could try to open the cuffs that were against my wrists. Or defend myself from the vampire when he came back to eat me.
The chains had some give, and when I pulled hard they ran through the pulley system and let me bring my arms down and move, but it took a lot of effort. When I didn’t pull hard enough the pulley started reeling me back in. The metal made a harsh whispering sound as I tried to creep along the floor to the counter. I was brought up abruptly by the bonds though, just inches from the counter and the knives. I strained against the shackles with everything I had, bracing against the wall with my feet, hoping they would break or come undone but that only served to exhaust me and leave me hanging with my face pressed into the cold tiles of the wall.
My head buzzed and there was a distant roaring in my ears. Something warm and thick dripped down the side of my neck and trailed down, soaking the top of the night gown. I’d torn my abused neck open again and bled freely. The light faded out around the edges of my sight and I groaned, too weak to keep on fighting although every part of me wanted to. The last thing I saw was the thrall’s clown-from-planet-crazy smile coming closer and widening.
Don’t bite me you bitch, I thought but then I was gone.
Chapter Three
There was a sound, a slow, soft sound that made me raise my head but I could see nothing at first. Darkness surrounded me and I hung limp from my bonds. All my feelings were near numb but I could tell I was dehydrated, starving, nearly bled out. I fought death with every fragment of strength left in me but felt it creeping into my core.
My eyelids drooped and I dragged them back up, seeing only short blinks of the last moments of my life.
The thrall stood beside me, wiping a spot on the counter over and over, her face caught in that same wicked expression.
A light went on. The vampire appeared.
He looked at the scene before him and I saw his expression change to something fierce and dangerous.
He shouted at the thrall and hit her, knocking her across the kitchen.
She landed crumpled against a wall. Blood broke from her nose but she never made a sound. I shuddered helplessly. He kicked her to one side and she rolled over to the counter then got to her feet, still smiling her ghastly ghoulish grin.
He was beside me faster than I knew how. His fingers pressed against my pulse and he cursed. I tried to speak, to ask for mercy but there was nothing left in me. He broke the cuffs with one movement and I fell into his arms. How could he be so fast, so strong? How could I ever hope to escape if he was strong enough to break steel?
He lifted me in a swift, gentle movement and I rolled weakly into his chest, feeling the strength of his muscles as he carried me through the huge house. His body was cold, so cold that it sent shivers down my spine.
The world blurred around me then I found myself being carefully laid down on a bed. I sank into a soft mattress and silky sheets. A cool night breeze came from somewhere and felt good on my feverish face.
The vampire left me like that, vanishing again out the door. I wasn’t cuffed. I tried to move my feet, to move my hands but could not muster the energy to do it. My body lay there weak and senseless. This is my only chance at escape and I’m blowing it! The anger that surged into me at that thought gave me a second wind and I rolled over onto my side.
Before I could even attempt to put a foot down on the floor he was back.
He held a tray filled with gauze padding, bandages and a new handcuff. I wanted to fight him but it was all I could do to stay conscious. He placed a cuff made of gleaming steel around one of my wrists and ran a very long chain through it. He cuffed me to the bed neatly and I stared up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling and began to weep softly, unable to hold it in any longer. I was completely at the mercy of this monster.
His long and elegant fingers stroked my neck, pressing some stinking ointment into the wound. Pain sizzled along my nerve endings and I passed out momentarily but came back to find him bandaging my neck with the same gentleness he had used to carry me to the room.
He was serious about looking after his food. Or maybe there was something of a man inside him after all. Maybe I could reach that, make him see me as more than just food. Maybe that was my only hope.
More coconut water appeared and the vampire began spooning it slowly through my cracked lips. Unlike the thrall, not a drop spilled on me, and I sipped it slowly, letting it replenish me. I needed my strength to stay alive.
He sat beside me, feeding me silently for what felt like hours. I may have slept at some point, but couldn’t tell, because whenever I was awake, he was there beside me, tenderly caring for my wound or rehydrating me spoon by spoon.
A small glow of light came into the room and I saw it came from wide double doors, open and leading to a balcony from the huge bedroom. I had some strength back, and when the vampire tried to feed me again, I pushed him away and took the cup from the table and drank it myself.
Smiling softly, he brushed tangled hair back from my face. His hand were soft but cold, and he murmured words that were hardly reassuring. “You scared me. I thought I’d lost you. I was careless for not giving my maid stricter instructions on how to look after you. I won’t make that mistake again. I intend to feed from your delicious blood many more times before you die.”
&nb
sp; “How thoughtful,” I snarked. “You know, there have been times I've had some deep and intimate feelings for chocolate but I still ate it all up till it was gone. How can you treat me like this?”
He shifted almost uncomfortably and his smile faded. “You're nothing but food to me, Strawberry.”
There was something in his expression that said otherwise.
I grasped at that, desperate words spilling from my lips. “My name is Kitty. Kitty French. I’m an actress, I live in West Hollywood. I like cats. And my idea of a damn fine meal is rare steak with shavings of black truffle and triple cooked potato.” My throat ached with each word and I knew I should not speak, should save my strength but I could not seem to stop the words. I had to try and make myself seem more human and less food.
A strange fury filled the vampire’s eyes and he stood up from the side of the bed. He stormed to the door and I thought he would leave and my plan to appeal to him had failed.
At the doorway he hesitated, turned back and spoke over his shoulder. “Owen Raine. That’s my name, Strawberry.”
“That’s not my name, Vampire.”
I almost thought I saw the corner of his lips quirk up. Then he glanced at the balcony and the lightening sky beyond and left without another word.
I sat watching the open door he’d gone through while the sunrise brought thin beams of warmth through the room. On the breeze I could smell chlorine and the sea. He had a pool and we were near the ocean. He had to be loaded. Or maybe the house belonged to the thrall. It was hard to say. The world had gone crazy, or I had. Vampires were real and I was at the mercy of one, nothing but its food. I thought through all the tales of crosses, stakes to the heart, garlic, transforming into bats and sleeping in coffins. Daylight hurting them seemed true enough. Owen obviously avoided it. Other than that I had little idea what kind of creature I was really dealing with. But logic said he was going to be sleeping all day and I might actually be able to get away from him.
My wrist was still caught in the heavy silver loop of the cuff and when I sat up a slight dizziness washed over me then vanished. I was still weak, but who knows how weak I would be tomorrow, or the next day, slowly being drunk dry.
My first move was to find the bathroom. The need to escape getting trumped momentarily by the need to pee.
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed and trying to stand showed me just how weak I was. I pride myself on my working out, after all I love a good dessert and if I was going to make it big as an actress I had to work off those slices of cheesecake after dinner. In my case, those three slices of cheesecake.
My legs were shaky and I had to sit back down, take a few breaths and then stand again. Three false starts later I was staggering across the room, the chain dragging behind me. It was clearly long enough to let me move freely within the room, but I doubted I’d make it much farther.
“I feel like a damn dog,” I muttered as I stepped into the bathroom.
I immediately forgot my anger at the sight of exquisite marble tiling, floor to ceiling mirrors, thick Turkish towels, and a huge tub that looked like it could hold a party of four.
The toilet was hidden behind a tiny partition and I stumbled to it, pulled down my panties, plopped down and sighed with relief, until I looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror.
I looked like hell. My face was sticky from the tears I had shed. My hair was a rat’s nest, the blue-black waves sticking up in dry hunks and tangles around my even paler than usual face. My lips were normally rosy but they were a bleached out gash. My eyes had dark shadows below them and my neck had a huge purple-yellow bruise around the carefully wrapped bandage. Dried blood crusted the front of my nightgown and sweat stains showed under my arms.
I stank. That smell hit me all at once and I stared at the tub, a deep longing for a good soak sinking into me. I could imagine how it would feel in there, up to my neck in hot water made fragrant and silky by the jars of bath oils that lined the built-in shelves.
When I’m free again. When I’m free I’ll have the most perfect bath ever. I set my jaw hard in resolve. No time to clean up now, although I considered that getting more clothing would be useful. The flimsy lace nightie was not practical at all.
I limped back out to the bedroom. In the daylight the furnishings made me stare. The bed was a huge four poster, the carpet plush and soft. A leather sofa sat in one corner below deep windows and one wall was lined with bookshelves.
Testing the boundaries of my leash, I found I could reach all parts of the bathroom, but not the balcony. I could make it through the bedroom door and to the top of a large staircase made of teak and surrounded by a black wrought iron railing. A hallway either side of me seemed to go forever and I could see an immense modern living area down the stairs.
I started looking for a weapon. The dresser drawers yielded nothing but a stray puff of dust and blank spaces. The armoire was also empty, so I was stuck in the night gown. The room had the feel of one that was rarely if ever used, a forgotten guest room. I tried wrenching and hitting the dresser with a heavy book, trying to smash free some slither of wood to use as a stake, but only succeeded in destroying the book.
The chain was locked around a post of the bed with a huge and heavy padlock and no matter what I tried it would not come loose of its mooring. In desperation I planted my feet in a straddle-legged pose and tried to yank it free from the wood it was attached to. Fucking rich people, they never buy the flimsy pressed wood stuff. The bed was solid oak and it would not budge.
Or would it? I thought of the balcony outside. If there were neighbors I could scream for help, surely a woman in a blood soaked nightgown would attract some kind of attention.
The bed was heavy as hell. I had to get behind it and push it inch by inch across the floor. The clock on the wall showed noon before I got the bed parked in front of the French doors and by then I was shaking and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Dots danced before my eyes and my throat was sore again. I checked it gingerly. No blood was spurting out, that had to be a plus.
The balcony beckoned and I crawled over the side of the bed and stumbled out onto it only to stare in disbelief. Around me was nothing. The high hilltop was barren and isolated. The dun colored slopes were covered only in scrubby little bushes and stunted trees. It was stark and beautiful all at once. The hills stretched away on either side of the house and a thin gray ribbon of what had to be a private drive stretched for about a mile to a small highway below.
I focused on that road. It had to lead somewhere. I scanned the immediate area; the pool that lay below me was made to look like a river complete with waterfall and not far past the boundary walls, a cliff dropped away to the sea.
I screamed anyway, bellowing my cries for help into the wind. They blew back at me uselessly.
When I turned back to the bedroom I saw a tray of food on the bedside table. A shiver chilled me, wondering when it arrived, whether Owen really could move about during the day, or if the creepy thrall had slunk in while I cried at the empty sky.
The serving tray held a small and still warm pot that gave off the delicious odor of jasmine and vanilla when I sniffed at the spout, a plate on which rested a single slice of toast, neatly cut in triangular quarters, a tiny dish of jam and a peeled and sectioned orange. The teapot, cup, plate and dish were all made of safe, smooth edged metal, like I was some patient on suicide watch. If my captor was already thinking it, I wondered gloomily how long it would take me before I tried to kill myself as a form of escape. Not for a while. I wanted to live. And to live, I needed strength, and food.
I poured a cup of tea and tipped it back. It was heavenly on my tongue and soothed my throat. I would have liked some sugar but there was none so I dipped a finger into the jam and tasted it.
My eyes closed involuntarily in delight. Chokecherries are almost inedible by themselves but they make an incredibly velvety jam. There was no silverware and I didn’t need any, I dipped the toast into the jam pot and gobbled down
the orange, wiping my sticky fingers and mouth on my nightgown.
Renewed, I considered my situation. I couldn’t break the chain. I could find no weapon to defend myself with. I knew I was valued as food, but food doesn’t get freedom. I needed to be seen as a human who deserved her freedom. This morning I had received the vampires name for my efforts, maybe if I kept playing on his sympathy, what little he had, I could achieve more. I was meant to be an actress after all. This might be the role of my life.
The sun eventually sagged down behind a bank of clouds. I watched it set, tears standing in my eyes at the beauty of it. Carnelian, pink, gold and indigo blue lit the dome of the sky. Clouds white and puffy turned a brilliant orange and then a deep shade of lavender. I wondered if it would be my last sunset. The breeze grew cold.
Owen appeared on cue and eyed the room. I stood defiant before him – the hell was I going to the effort of pushing that monster bed back into place to hide my escape efforts.
He tossed me onto the bed and with one quick flick of his wrist the bed shot backwards, flying across the floor like an out of control rocket ship until it crashed against the wall.
Before I knew it, he was on top of me, pressing me threateningly into the mattress.
“Strawberry, escape is not possible for you. I am not going to let you go, do you understand? All you will gain by attempting to escape is to cause yourself pain that is unnecessary.”
The chill coming off his body was palpable. I put my best most vulnerable expression on, opening my mouth to begin a plea for my life but it went still and silent on my tongue. He was looking directly at me and his dark eyes were decidedly not human eyes, no mercy, no compassion lay in them. Nothing of that moment of hesitation and indecision I’d seen that morning. Nothing but monster.
I wondered then if I could strangle him with the chain but I wasn’t sure if he even needed to breathe. I stared daggers at him instead. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”
His handsome face did not change expression and I shuddered.
Strawberry Page 2