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. When he began washing my hair I almost moaned aloud in pleasure. Every touch felt right, felt good, and I hated it.
I stared at him, trying to force him to look me in the eyes and really see me, as he gentle 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 excitement and need.
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’ll admit, I think I already said it in fact, that I don’t have the best taste when it comes to men. I always seem to pick the bad boys who read me poetry even while they steal the tips from my sporadic waitressing jobs.
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 the tease of an orgasm throbbed inside me. I gasped and clutched at my wet panties, terrified he would tear them off me, at the same time wishing he would. Terrified what I would give in to if he did.
Once I was clean he rinsed me off and hauled me out, wrapping me in towels and drying my body slowly and carefully.
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. 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 breast. My nipples tightened again 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 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 of his body growing warm and one of his hands moved to cover 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.
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 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 slightly. “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.
Summoning up my huskiest come-hither voice I whispered in his ear, “Nothing more?”
Owen turned his face away from me, looking deeply confused.
That one expression caused in me both fear he’d simply up and leave, and an immense attraction to that vulnerable 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 did not care.
Owen’s hand tightened around my breast and his hips pumped slightly against mine. I could feel the stiffness of him below the fabric of his pants. My own body reacted to his, a longing throb building between my legs.
I tugged at his shirt, releasing buttons and flinging it off his shoulders that rolled above me. The firm waves of his chest muscles delighted my fingers.
When Owen ran a finger along the join between my thigh and my hips, tracing the lace edge of my panties, I moaned and shuddered with need and thrust a hand to the hem of his black jeans.
The handcuff scraped against his abs and rattled loudly. We both paused and looked at it. His face changed expression again. His body went rigid and he got off me.
He was two feet away in a flash, his face betraying the emotions running through him. “How dare you attempt to use sex to sway me?”
You couldn’t blame a girl for trying could you? It seemed he could though so I said nothing. He was furious and it showed. His hands clenched and unclenched and blood leaked from one of his palms. He ignored it.
“I do not know why you make me feel as you do, Strawberry, but I don’t like it. I’ve half a mind to kill you now and be done with it.”
Scared shitless does not begin to describe it. Then I remembered something, he was just as much a foodie as I was, just in a different way. He would savor my succulent blood until he could not get any more flavor or enjoyment from me, whether he liked it or not. Or whether I did either.
“Go on then. Kill me now vampire, do it,” I challenged.
He slammed the door so hard the picture on the right wall fell and shattered. Making him angry was a bad mistake. If he ignored me for a day or two he might come back all undead and unemotional and kill me just for the hell of it. He might decide I was like that trendy restaurant with the great food but the bad wait times and sloppy service. He might not think me worth it any more.
I might have to rethink my strategy. Or rethink whether it was still a strategy, or just an excuse to let my body have its way.
Chapter Six
When I woke up the next morning I realized I had access to no clothes but my itty bitty lace panties. The room was always a pleasant temperature, so I probably could have wandered around mostly nude, but I had some modesty left in me.
I considered tearing and tying a sheet together into an elaborate toga, but resorted to simply wrapping a big fluffy bath towel around myself. I was happy to have something on when the maid came in.
She surprised me, showing up at a time outside of her regular routine, her eyes lit with something not there before. She held a giant meat cleaver in one hand and a raw whole chicken in the other.
I don’t think she saw me standing at the bathroom door, but I watched her like a petrified deer.
“Pretty girl,” she crooned as she set the chicken down on the nightstand and began to cut it into bits and pieces. I kept still, hoping she wouldn’t notice me and decide she wanted to chop me up as well. Terror rose in me bigger than any terror I had ever felt, even when Owen first sucked my blood.
The thrall kept chopping. Pieces of chicken flicked onto the wall. The mangled corpse minced smaller and smaller. The cleaver dripped thin pink blood onto the carpet. The woman hummed a quiet song through whistling teeth. It was so bizarre, so surreal that hysteria bubbled up in my chest and I began to laugh silently and covered my eyes.
Tears welled up and I battled them back. I could not afford tears. Tears were a luxury and right then what I needed was a stronger, harder emotion, one that would shake me to the core and help me survive. I just could not seem to find it though.
The chopping sound ceased. I wondered if that meant she was coming for me. If she killed me now all it meant was Owen could not have me for supper.
No, at least with Owen I still had time, had the hope of escape.
I uncovered my eyes, preparing to defend myself, but the thrall stood vacant and eerie in the center of the room, staring at the ceiling. The sun picked out the grey streaks in her hair and I realized she how old she was, and wondered how many of her years had been lost in this service. Terror of a new sort hit me. Was I going to wake up one morning old and bent over and used up? Was that what he was waiting for? Would that be the moment he decided to kill me?
I suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of pity for the woman before me.
“What’s your name?”
I do not know why I asked. I certainly did not expect her to answer.
Time ticked by, I counted the seconds in the beats of my heart.
Her voice was lilting and sweet when she did reply, girlish even. A grotesque smile painted its way across her lips and she batted her eyelashes before saying, “Loretta.”
Sorrow filled me. She had a name. Perhaps she was a lot more like me than I cared to recognize. She was a prisoner here, too. I moved closer, in slow, careful movements, circling up beside the bed. “I’m Kitty.”
“Meow. Kitty, kitty, kitty.”
I blinked at her. The reply was crazy talk, but at least I was getting replies. My mind raced with the possibilities. I could conceivably reach her, enlist her help in escaping.
“Loretta,” I said softly as she began to clean my room in her jerky on-autopilot manner. “Loretta, do you want to go home?”
“Hooooooooome.” The word was a drawn out hiss of air. Green rot had begun to set in along the upper edges of her teeth, turning her gums a speckled black. My stomach churned but I could not let her see my disgust. I was reaching her. I knew it.
“Yes, wouldn’t you like to go home, Loretta? Where are you from?”
“Meow!” Her eyes turned cunning and her mouth turned downward, the upside-down smile of an insane clown. “Kitty, kitty, meeeeeeeeow!”
“Yes, I’m Kitty.” My optimism had begun to fade with every second that passed. “You’re Loretta. We are prisoners but we could both get free if you would help me.”
She began to bark like a dog, lunging at me and yipping loudly. I recoiled, her body odor hitting my nose like a stone wall. She slunk closer, her mouth opening and closing in huffing little pants, her tongue hanging out almost to her chin. Drool hung in silver strands and dripped down to the floor. I backed away and hit the bed, falling onto it.
She lunged at me. The crazy assed creature thought I was a cat and she was a dog! She pounced on the bed and I rolled off just in time, her teeth closed on the air where my nose had been a moment before.
My teeth rattled together as I ran around the side of the bed and into the wall. Stars exploded in the corners of my vision and her teeth closed around my arm. “Get off!” I howled, beating at her head with my free hand.
Loretta stumbled backward, her tongue lolling out and her eyes rolling madly about like marbles in their sockets. She barked again and I ran, heading for the bathroom. I got there just in time, slamming the door shut as far as it could go given the chain stuck in it. She howled and barked. I could hear her feet pattering up and down in front of the door. The chain pulled taut as I strained to break free, wanting to put some solid wood between the two of us.
Her feet quit moving but I could see her through the crack in the door. I kept my back to it, bracing my feet on the toilet partition wall to keep her out. The door shuddered as she began to kick and punch it.
“Stop it!” I screamed. “Stop!”
My cries seemed to enrage her. The blows landed harder, jarring my spine and sending bolts of pain through my legs and feet. I grabbed towels and wedged them like doorstops under the door.
The bathroom window beckoned but there seemed to be no reason to go out it until she began to hit the door so hard the wood began to split open under her blows. I ran for the window and attempted to open it, it was stuck but after a few frantic moments of shoving at it the frame gave with a rusty screech, and the window opened.
Cool air slapped me in the face. It had begun to rain.
I hoisted myself up, balancing my chest on the sill to look out. The drop was sheer and long, at least two stories, if not three. When Loretta burst through the door behind me, I didn’t think about it, I just tumbled out. Part of me even hoped that the leap would somehow sever the chain that held me. If then I could only survive the fall…
I reached the end of the chain and my body snapped in the air, sending pain shooting into every part of my body. The chain swung me like a pendulum and I grabbed it with my other hand, clinging for dear life. The towel I wore slipped loose and fluttered to the ground far below.
Icy rain hit my nearly bare body, but terror chilled me more when I saw the maniac’s face hanging out of the window and her hands hauling at the chain.
“Let me go you crazy bitch!” I yelled, digging my bare toes into the side of the stucco walls. Blood bloomed against the rough side of the house as my toes scraped and found purchase then lost it again.
She let go. I dropped a few sickening feet and began to scream like a banshee. Loretta opened her mouth and howled as well. She leaned further out, her ratty hair creating a stinking nimbus around her slack face.
She angled further and further out, her eyes searching for a way to grab me and bring me back in. I saw little trickles of pebble-filled sand going past me but did not comprehend the danger until there was a low groaning creak.
The window sill gave under her weight just as she climbed out onto it. It shot past me, a chunk of it hitting me in the side of my head. Loretta never even screamed, she just went down, her witch-like hair standing up in a nearly comical peak and her tongue still hanging from her chapped, raw lips.
She hit the fence and then the concrete of the tennis courts and shards of thick wood lay scattered about her bloodied and broken body. The green of the court was marred by a spreading maroon pool.
I buried my face into the wall. The rain could not wash away the tears that fell from my eyes.
Chapter Seven
My wrist ached. I was sure it would break from holding all my weight. My other hand grew slick with blood, trying to haul myself up time and again, slipping away from the chain and causing me to drop sharply each time, my weight causing fresh agony in my bound arm and wrist. The rain chilled my skin and the wind blew into my eyes, forcing me to close them. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Twilight hovered over the world.
Owen’s face appeared over the broken window. I could see him quickly survey the scene, and thought he would reel me in like a fish on a line. Instead, he jumped out of the window as well.
He held what remained of the sill with one hand and brought me up to him with his other, tucking me in against his shoulder. He was cold, but for once, I was colder, and clung to his dry clothes desperately for warmth.
With the ease of something like flight, he lifted us both back inside.
&nb
sp; When my feet touched firm ground again, my legs gave away underneath me, but Owen kept me upright. All of my limbs were shaking and my head felt like it was about to detach from my body.
Owen scooped my legs up and cradled me as he stepped into the shower and ran the hot water. He wore a fine silk shirt, suit pants and leather shoes, but didn’t seem to care. He stood with me under the water, letting it drip warmth back into my body.
He undid the manacle from my tortured wrist, and I wasn’t surprised when he simply moved it to my ankle. I was surprised when he started gently massaging the life back into my fingers.
His face had gone the color of low-fat milk—deathly pale and with a slightly cream cast below. Water beaded and dripped from his long lashes, making them cling together, star-like.
“Tell me what happened,” he said in a soft voice.
My teeth chattered around my words. “Your nuthouse slave hacked up a chicken.”
“I saw.”
“Then tried to hack up me.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d become so free from my will.” That concept seemed to trouble him deeply.
It troubled me more.
“It was probably your will that sent her insane like that. Keeping her brain numb, making her serve you like that. It was worse than being a prisoner.”
Owen gave me a level look. “You would not pity her if you knew who she really was. She was one of my employees until I first realized the psychopath she was. She had killed two husbands and one of my waitresses before I turned her into my thrall.”
In death her face had been calm and still, wiped clean. She looked like an aged woman at peace. Was she a murderer? I recalled the gleeful way she had chopped up the chicken’s carcass, the way she’d hunted me, and looked back at him. “Why didn’t you let her just stand trial?”
“Do you really think that is the only justice in this world?”
I didn’t have an answer to that one.
Strawberry Page 4