Strawberry

by Desdemona Grey

  I shuddered. I could well imagine the methods he employed in his attempts at reeducating Adelle. I knew very well that the rule of thumb had been born because it had once been a man’s right to beat his wife with a stick no bigger around than his thumb. And who would she have complained to if he had done more?

  “Adelle was well aware that her only commodity was her youth and her beauty. We managed to see each other at times but it was never enough. Soon we got careless and her husband became suspicious.”

  There was a lengthy pause. I did my best to wait it out but after a minute I could not stand it anymore, “You totally got her pregnant, right?”

  “No. Regardless, he took her away to France for a year and my company went to India. When I came back she was ill, close to death. She recovered slowly but she was never the same.

  “She was terrified of dying. More, she was afraid of getting old. She had begun to take all sorts of weird little cures. I suppose in retrospect it was no odder than what people do now—facelifts, having botulism shots and getting their skin sanded down—but at the time it seemed very strange.

  “She would take these long baths in milk and roses. She coated her body in honey and had her maids wrap her in muslin strips. She used sand and sugar to wash her face. It became obsession.”

  “Did it keep her young?”

  “No. No, Strawberry, that did not keep her young.”

  His tone did not change but there was something, a faint twist to his full and ridiculously kissable lips, a subtle movement that expressed sorrow. I could almost see the young man he had been, madly in love and unable to do anything about it.

  “I know, now, that many women go to great lengths to stay young, to appear younger than they are but then I thought merely that she was still agonizing over her illness and her brush with death. You see she had almost died and… and I wanted more than anything to save her.

  “One night we were at a ball. She looked gorgeous. There was not a woman there that could hold a candle to her. Her skin was so pale and perfect, her hair and eyes were set off by an ice-blue gown that showed her miniscule waist and the swell of her breasts. She knew there was no woman in that room that could outshine her but she was still unsatisfied. She needed something I could not give her.”

  He took a long breath and rubbed his elegant fingers across his forehead. “She found Rene, a vampire, in France. She knew if she told his secret he would simply kill her so she coaxed him into coming to London and then she began to coax him into turning her.

  “I had no idea. I thought… I thought she no longer loved me. I thought she had gotten bored with me and had simply taken on a new lover. Rene was wild and dashing. He was always turning up at the strangest hours and was always full of life latest at night while the rest of us were yawning in our cups. I thought it was no wonder she had turned her affections away from me.

  “Her husband went away on business and one night, after an opera, I saw the two of them going into her townhouse. I saw red. I had been drinking heavily and I didn’t stop to think about the consequences. I burst into the house and when I saw him moving violently on top of her… I killed him. I ran him through.”

  A hush fell again. The only sounds were the crickets in the grass, the tinkling fall of the pool’s waterfall and the sound of my breathing. I was breathless, tingling with anticipation, eager to hear more but it was obvious that the telling of it was hard on him.

  “She looked up and her face was… she was deathly pale and at first I thought I had struck her as well, that my sword had run them both through. Then I realized that she was bleeding from a wound on her breast that had not been made by me but rather by Rene’s teeth.

  “He… evaporated. I can’t describe it any other way. He turned to dust in front of my eyes. I was horrified and repulsed. I knew, I had heard the stories of vampires but to see it, I thought I would go mad.

  “I wanted to save her, to keep her from that fate but there was no going back for her, she had turned. She needed blood or she would die. Rene had given her enough of his to turn her but she had to feed. Part of me knew the best thing to do would be to kill her. Just run her through and allow her soul to be judged but I could not do it.

  “I couldn’t.” His voice actually broke and I saw a glint on his cheek that could not be anything except a tear. “I loved her too much. I could not kill the woman I loved.”

  A huge salty lump rose in my throat. My chest felt tight and my heart literally ached. I had never loved anyone that much and it didn’t seem like I would ever get the chance given the circumstances but I wanted to. I wanted to love so much that impossible choices made sense.

  I should have stopped the words that came from my mouth next, but in the usual fashion, they spilled anyway, making a mess.

  “But you did. You did kill her.”

  Owen’s head swung around to glare at me. “Out of the water. It’s time to go back to your room.”

  I stood dumbstruck. I would have kicked myself if my foot wasn’t already wedged in my mouth.

  Owen reached over and grabbed me under my shoulders, hoisting me up out of the pool and onto the pebbled edge in one swift motion. Water ran off me, pooling under my feet. Owen still gripped my shoulders, standing before me like a vengeful god.

  I reached up to touch his face, a motion of comfort, of apology. He snatched my hand and held it squeezed between us.

  I stammered and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I was just more confused than anything, I mean, about why. Thank you for telling me your story, for opening up to me. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve suffered. To still be this much of a man, a good man, kidnapping aside, is a miracle. I just wish I could understand you more, maybe even heal anything in you that hurts.”

  So many emotions flashed through his expression then. He seemed so human now. Not just from learning his past, but from the level of emotion and compassion and vulnerability I saw in those dark eyes.

  His harsh gaze softened, and he traced a finger delicately around my lips.

  The touch made sparks leap between us, sparks neither of us could deny though we both knew we should. The moment hung suspended, rife with possibilities. I knew I wanted him and I could see it on his face, he wanted me, too.

  His eyes were dark and liquid, and he made a low growling noise from the back of his throat. His body hit mine, pressing fully against me. He would have knocked me back into the pool if his arms weren’t tight around my waist, squeezing me into him. Soft and plump lips crushed mine. His tongue snaked into my mouth and he kissed me, deeply, roughly, desperately.

  I moaned. Sensations broke out along my nerve endings and my skin raised with gooseflesh. My tongue met his and tangled, slid away, met again. His hands grasped at my lower back, my hips, my ass. I was dizzy with his kisses, no control left.

  Why had I ever pushed him away from my flesh?

  His fingers were strong but soft, the nails slightly long and they made tiny thrills shoot up and down my spine as they raked lightly across my breasts. He drew back, his face showing the conflict within him. He was torn but I was not, I was completely lost in animal desire.

  I grabbed his hand and thrust it hard against my breast. He groaned and tightened the grip, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a way that made my knees give out under me. He held my weight, bending over me like a dancer dipping his partner, and kissed me more. A fierce and demanding kiss that left me breathless. He tore my panties off in a swift gesture, leaving nothing but wispy strands floating in the puddle beneath me.

  He scooped me up again. He held me above him, his dark eyes looking into mine and intention written large on his face. My legs wrapped around his waist, my feet locking together at the small of his back.

  I felt him unbuckle his belt and zip down his fly underneath me as I scrambled to rip his shirt right off his chest. The buttons popped away and the shirt fell off one of his shoulders, hanging open and I allowed my eyes to feast on his
stunning body, the powerful span of his shoulders, the sculpted but not bulky muscles of his arms.

  His lips and tongue played across my décolletage then reached my nipple. I arched my back, trying to get more of my breast into his mouth. Each flick of his tongue undid me. My body pulsed with levels of pleasure so dire I almost couldn’t bear to keep going.

  His long firmness pressed into me and I squirmed, trying to position myself so that he would be inside me. He nipped playfully at my breast and pushed my hips up and back with his hands.

  I ignored his direction. I was so frustrated I pushed back, straining against the unintentional bondage. I needed him inside me. I’d had enough of his slow devouring of me, I needed it fast and rough. I wanted to be entirely consumed.

  I pushed again and I took his low groan as acceptance. My thighs shook as I felt the hard tip of him pressed against my most delicate flesh.

  He entered me and his flesh was cold enough to make me gasp.

  His face was suffused with a light red flush, his top teeth were studded into his bottom lip and his fangs were nowhere in sight. He filled me entirely, pushing achingly through my body. My heart almost stopped. Pleasure sent me limp and Owen kept my lifted in his arms, sliding me up and down against him. I could feel an orgasm building blindingly inside me as he moved me up and down, up and down. My nails dug into his shoulders hard enough that he flinched.

  When his mouth went back to my breast, sucking deeply at the tight nipple, I came.

  My head flung back, mouth opened into a soundless scream. A hard, pulsing, orgasm rode through me, making me cling to Owen for dear life. As it faded, it made me howl like a wounded wolf. The coyote in the distance answered back and even as he penetrated me even more fully he laughed at that mournful wail floating to us on the wind.

  His hands kept me captive, impaled on his length, as he walked to the house. I slung my arms and legs around him, panting, face pressed into his chest, wet hair clinging to my flushed cheeks. His flesh still inside me teased every nerve in me, already wanting more. We fell down onto the leather sofa, me on my back, and him above me. He nipped and sucked at my neck, his hips pressing heavily against mine. He grasped at my body in a way that would surely bruise. Everything of the cool demeanor he used to show was gone. He was all passion, all intensity and heat.

  I cried out as he lifted himself above me and started slamming deeply into me. Slow measured movements at first, and then harder, faster, losing control. Friction and heat bloomed inside me and I cried out, matching his thrusts with my own.

  Pleasure unraveled me and all I cared about was this moment, his body and the feel of the smooth skin of his back under my fingers, the powerful rhythm of his hips and the heavy weight of him inside me.

  His eyes closed and he buried his face in my neck. His fingers twisted into my hair. He moaned—a long low sound that sent me over the edge again right along with him.

  Our bodies shuddered together and our mouths met fiercely before we collapsed into each other, a mess of limbs and exhaustion.

  He nuzzled into my neck, and his teeth sank gently into the skin. I relaxed, allowing it to happen. That slow languor that was left over from our sex drifted into something else, something so sweet and golden edged that I embraced it.

  He lifted me up, my body was limp and my limbs heavy as he carried me upstairs to my bedroom.

  I resisted kittenishly as he laid me down, hiding my wrist. He did not try to cuff me, instead he laid down beside me, drawing me into the hollow under his arm.

  His warmth wrapped around me and I dropped into sleep.

  I woke up several hours later. Owen was still asleep beside me and daylight was peeking under the drawn curtains, a full on blaze of blue and gold. I stared at it, feeling a bit disoriented and then I moved my leg that had been thrown over Owen’s.

  The chain rattled. I stared at it in utter disbelief. He had chained me again despite the fact that he was in the bed next to me. Anger swelled under my skin.

  I didn’t know what to think, what to do. I went and locked myself in the bathroom until I heard him leave, then returned to bed to sleep out the daylight.

  Chapter Nine

  I awoke around mid-day. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I played through what had happened last night, and what in all-mighty fuck it could have meant. The sex was intense, passionate, emotional. It was a release of pent up energy and angst brought on by the vampire opening up to me. It probably didn’t mean a god damned thing. Still, I didn’t know where I stood anymore, with Owen. Had our relationship changed?

  When I finally sat up, the room, at least, had changed. The armoire stood open and I stared at it, not quite sure that my mind was not playing tricks on me. Clothes were overflowing from it: heaps of silk and satin, lots of lace and exquisite colors. My eyes could not turn away from them.

  I got up and went to the armoire, my fingers stroking the garments lovingly. They were all incredibly expensive, the perfect cut and exquisite fabrics gave that away. When I had first arrived in Hollywood I had been wearing designer labels head-to-toe. The clothes I had worn then had names screaming from their back pockets, or across the chest. I wore them until a producer told me that wealthy people never wore such garish things because it showed a lack of good taste. Very wealthy people wore clothes that were incredibly expensive due to the cost of the workmanship, not the cost of the giant letters emblazoned on them. By wearing those clothes I was marking myself as a rube.

  I had learned to scour the thrift shops and consignment stores, looking not at names of designers on the outside of the clothes but the things that most people never thought to look for. I had a small amount of incredibly good stuff that was pre-owned but I had never held a brand new dress by Versace in my hands before. Alongside the fine clothes were some equally quality comfy clothes; organic cotton singlets, yoga pants and merino hoodies. How strange.

  There was a heavy white envelope on the dresser. I opened it and pulled out the equally heavy and expensive stationary within. A man’s strong, back-slanting handwriting met my eyes and I traced the letters with one finger, knowing it could only be Owen’s.

  These are for you. Over the years I have developed a taste for the luxuries of life. I can most certainly afford the finest of things, and I have been remiss in not providing you with clothing and other necessities. I ask your forgiveness for that oversight. Immortality has also taught me the value of comfort, so I hope you will find some comfort in this selection. The emerald green and gold dress is the one I would like to see you in at dinner. Please be ready at exactly nine pm. This will be a formal dining occasion.

  I read the words twice and then found the gown he had referred to in his note. It was a marvelous confection of dark green silk that I knew would cling like a second skin. The top was a corset type thing, woven through with metallic gold thread. The laces tied tightly on the back but closer inspection revealed a tiny and nearly invisible zipper on the right side that would make it easy for me to dress myself.

  I went a little crazy pawing through things. There were not just outer garments but undergarments as well, lacy bra and panty sets, sheer stockings, and even shoes of all different heel types and styles. I hugged a swimsuit to my body and danced around a bit wildly in a burst of exhilarated joy.

  All the clothes were just my size and for an hour or so I delighted in trying them on, preening, and primping and caught up in the excitement of it all. I mostly tried on the dresses, which made up the bulk of the clothing. I wanted to put some new panties on since my only other pair had been torn to smithereens, but had no idea how I was meant to do that with a chain around my ankle. But the gowns alone were so gorgeous I felt like a little girl playing dress-up and it was fun until reality crashed in.

  I had not succeeded in making Owen see me as human. I had simply succeeded in earning the status of a spoiled little pet, a comical little pooch, or… I shuddered, remembering Loretta calling me Meow Kitty. It had been true though, in a way. I was
no more cared for than one of those foolish little dogs toted around in a specially designed purse.

  Happiness deflated as completely as if it had been a leaky balloon. I crumpled back onto the bed and stared at the heaps of gorgeous things, feeling my humanity slipping away. What hurt the worst was that I cared about him despite his being a vampire. It was the human-ness he had been displaying lately that made me care about him. Yet he seemed determined to turn me into a mere object, a prettily dressed and plated meal, a pet who would eventually give her life for his.

  The chain was a hateful but visible reminder of how little I should trust him. I was no better off than a cute little Chihuahua that was dressed in a funny suit then staked out in the yard so it did not run for the road.

  The darkness grew more complete but I did not reach for the light. Depression weighed me down so much that I literally sagged into the mattress. I had always picked the worst guys to fall for but this really took the whole enchilada. How could I have fallen for him and how did I put a screeching halt to it before he killed me? Before I let him kill me?

  With my head tilted back at that angle, a reflection of light behind the side table caught my eye. I looked again, my heart doing little jumping jacks when I realized what I saw.

  Loretta’s cleaver.

  It lay hidden under the bedside table, only a thin wedge of its handle showing. She must have dropped it there before going feral and chasing me to her death. I dropped to my knees carefully and picked it up. It was real and solid in my hands. A giggle, born of hysteria, bubbled out of my mouth.

  I tested the edge with my thumb, a thin drop of blood pearled up on my flesh and I caught my breath at the enormity of the possibilities.

  I could hack my way through the chain or try to hack out the section of bedpost that the chain was attached to. If it came to it, could I cut my foot off to free my ankle of the chain? Or could I just kill Owen when he came to have dinner, stick the cleaver into his neck and cut his bloodsucking head right off his shoulders?