by Kitty Thomas
The limo lurches forward, taking us down side street after side street. I don’t think the area can get any more seedy, and if I wasn’t with a powerful vampire I’d be afraid for our safety in this part of town. We come across a group of prostitutes and Christian rolls down the window.
He says something to one of them. I can’t make out his exact words since he’s leaning out and speaking quietly, but I know he’s using his mental powers on her. A moment later the door opens and she’s in the car with us.
She smells of cheap whiskey and bad perfume. There is a hole in her fishnets and a scuff on her boots, which no doubt are knock-offs of some popular designer or other. Her black leather mini-skirt shows her ass without her even bending over, revealing the edges of shiny purple panties. Her breasts nearly spill out of a blue halter top.
Her hair is teased like she’s auditioning for an eighties musical, and she has far too much eye shadow and mascara. Even in relative poverty, working on the streets, surely she can’t think this look is alluring to men. How can she not understand that all the men who take her care about is a warm hole to fuck, not what she looks like. I don’t understand why Christian has taken her, but I have a feeling I won’t like it.
I’m right. I don’t like it. He squeezes her breast and slides his hand up her thigh, looking over at me every few seconds to gauge my reaction.
I look away from the obscenity in front of me. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can. This is an object lesson, pet. Watch and learn. I don’t like to repeat myself.”
He tears her skirt off and rips her fishnets and panties before flipping her to her hands and knees and sliding into her as smoothly as a knife cuts butter. He’s rough as he fucks her and comes after only a few minutes that feel like years. Meanwhile, the car has been moving down the road farther from where we picked her up.
When he’s finished using her, he bares his fangs and sinks them into her neck. He drinks, tearing into her so savagely I almost choke on the bile rising in my throat. Even if he stopped now, unless he did some quick magic healing, she’d die from how roughly he’s bitten into her.
He gorges on her blood, and her screams bounce off the interior of the limo and around in my head. Even being hypnotized can’t shut her out of this reality. I wonder for a moment if I’m screaming with her, but I’m only crying—quiet tears because I’m so scared he’ll turn on me next.
I feel ashamed for thinking something so selfish when I’m obviously not the one getting my throat ripped out. Even if she’s a hooker, she deserves better than what he’s giving her. When he stops I know it’s only because her blood is all gone. She lies there, limp and lifeless.
We turn down another side street, this one deserted. Surreptitiously I wipe tears from my face. I watch as he uses his own blood to do a cosmetic healing job on her throat so there is no specific evidence of what’s been done. When her body is later found, there will be a mystery over her blood being drained, but no surface evidence. No wounds. Likely she won’t even be found, or no one will care because she was just a whore, so they won’t look into it too closely. She’s not one of the important people and the Tampa police have more important crime to concern themselves with—more high-profile cases that could earn promotions all around.
When we get to the end of this street, Christian opens the door and kicks her body out. Then he shuts it and the limo turns around, headed back toward where we left the Mercedes. Christian straightens his suit. Despite his savagery, he managed to eat neatly enough that he didn’t get blood on his clothing. Of course, part of that was the way he had her leaning, so blood would drip away from him, not on him. I wonder how many years it took to learn these tricks to keep his expensive suits clean while murdering people.
He looks at me now and motions with a quick flick of his wrist. “Come here, pet.”
I can’t move. I can’t think. My body is a trembling leaf that can’t manage to stop moving in a wind that isn’t there. Nothing is there. No air is there. The limo just got so small. I’m crying again. It’s silent only inside my head—in reality it’s loud, heaving sobs filling the cramped space between us.
“Please… Please… ” It’s the only word I can manage to get out.
“Come. Here.” Impatience clips his voice.
I force myself off the opposing seat and over to him. He cuddles me in his arms, stroking my hair, kissing my wet cheek with lips that just caused another woman’s death.
“My sweet, Juliette,” he says. “No matter what happens between us, let there never be any doubt that you are special to me.”
I want to scream at him or ask about his gourmet preference. That woman most certainly wasn’t eating organic. But I don’t. I just close my eyes and lie against his chest as he continues to stroke my hair. I’m a swirling mixture of terrified and comforted, both emotions caused by the same man within the span of a few minutes.
We get back to the warehouse, get back in the Mercedes, and drive home, arriving indoors only minutes before sunrise. As he locks me in my room for the day, alone with my thoughts and myriad memories of the night, I’m no longer jealous of Nadine.
***
I’ve been pacing in my room for an hour. Christian is down the hall in the dark, windowless room with the big fireplace. Sleeping. I don’t understand how he can take a life so cruelly and think nothing of it, then come home to sleep like a baby. I feel like I live with a mountain lion with no safe fence existing between me and the predator.
On the way home he said she had no life to begin with. She was dead already, walking the streets with nothing but a downward spiral and suffering in front of her. To the vampire’s way of thinking, he did her a favor.
I’m trying to come up with a way to escape this madhouse. I’ve thought about throwing something heavy at the window, but he’d wake up. I know he can’t go out into the sunlight, but I worry I won’t be able to get through the window before he can stop me. And then what? Maybe he’ll do to me what he did to the prostitute a little while ago.
I shudder and shut my eyes, trying to block out the images that just won’t go away. I’m crying again. Crying, worrying, pacing. Christian can feel my emotions now that he’s fed and I’ve fed from him. My mind is closed to him, but my emotional status isn’t.
I’m trying not to feel too loudly, trying to keep the dread and fear to a sort of even hum like the background noise of an air conditioner. I’m afraid if I get too hysterical, Christian will come in here and punish me.
The window option is out. There’s a window in the bathroom also, but it’s the same kind of situation. I test it just to be sure, but it’s locked. The only other way out of the room is through the door. I rummage through the bathroom drawers for a hair pin, shocked when I find a couple. There is a flicker in the back of my mind that this is meant as a temptation, but I shake it off. Would he know I can pick locks?
I sit in front of the door, staring up at it. It’s sort of old-fashioned, like the house. This doesn’t tell me much. Sometimes modern door locks are easier to pick and sometimes older locks are. It depends on the design and complexity of the lock mechanism.
I go back to the bathroom and rummage through the drawers again, looking for something to tie my hair back. I find an elastic band and pull my hair out of my face. I shudder as the thought goes through me that perhaps he kept the last girl in here. Why else would there be such mundane objects as elastic hair bands and hair pins?
I look around the room, wondering how long ago it was that he had a pet. He said he waited for me, but he still could have had someone while he was waiting, perhaps an appetizer while the main course was simmering. I shake myself out of the morbid thoughts and return to the door.
I spend an hour working on it, taking several short breaks in between. When I’m about to give up and deem the situation hopeless, I hear the click and the lock gives way.
I take a deep breath. My freedom seems like a real possibility now. I’m trying not to thi
nk about how one gets away from an immortal being. I can’t go back home. He’d just find me and bring me back.
I ease the door open, cringing as it creaks, hoping he doesn’t hear and wake up. I’m about to peer into the hallway, but Christian is standing there, blocking my view.
“That skill might prove handy at some point, though I thought you’d never get it open. I was growing bored.”
The expression on my face probably looks like a big question mark because he laughs.
“I have very sensitive hearing. For the first minute or so I thought we had a rat in the house, so I decided to check it out. Imagine my surprise.”
His arms are crossed over his chest and his voice and expression are mild. But I know that’s artifice. A deep anger simmers in his eyes. The rage seems to boil inside him until it feels as if the temperature around me has risen about twenty degrees. It’s so hot all of a sudden. Logically, I know this is the beginnings of a panic attack, but Christian is so larger-than-life I’m not sure his anger isn’t somehow making the room hot. I mean... I have no idea what powers he has. He could be capable of anything.
I instinctively back up and drop to my knees as he moves into the room.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t even consider running or backing into a corner or any other cliché action I could have taken. He’s so fast and strong that my running will either make him angry or amused, and I can’t risk the former. “Please… ”
“Are you sorry? Your behavior seemed rather deliberate to me. How many accidents take hours to accomplish?”
I feel indignant. Why should I have to beg and grovel and plead like I’m the crazy one? I only did what was normal in my situation, what anyone would do. “You killed that girl. Why wouldn’t I try to escape?”
He raises a brow. “Because you value your life. There is no escape. Any attempts on your part only serve to annoy me. And believe me, sweet Juliette, the last thing you ever want to do is annoy me. I get irrational when I’m annoyed.”
I’m still on my knees, my head bowed in supplication. My voice comes out a squeak. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” And I mean it. I know he’s got too many strengths to mirror my too many weaknesses. It’s futile. Deep down I knew that from the beginning, but I had to at least try.
“No. You won’t. Whether that’s because you’ll be dead or because your punishment will scare you straight, I haven’t decided yet.”
I look up at him, and he looks back, his gaze dispassionate.
“You waited for six years to take me. You watched me and listened to my thoughts. Why would you harbor such a fixation only to kill me in less than a day?”
“I find your naïve bargaining almost charming.”
A blur and then he’s standing right in front of me. He scoops me up and carries me to the bed. I think he’s going to rip off my clothes and re-enact the prostitute’s death. But instead, he strikes at my throat.
I cry out at the pain and then a minute later it’s faded, replaced by that hungry, drugged longing. As he feeds I find myself rubbing against him, my legs straddling one of his. I’m not sure if this is something I’m doing to try to diffuse his anger or if I just can’t help myself. Either way, he takes no notice; he’s too lost in my blood.
He drinks his fill, seals the wound, and then gets up and moves away from me. He watches as the pain and weakness start to take over, then he turns to leave.
My mouth can barely form words now. “Master, please, don’t leave me like this.”
His smile is cruel. “But I thought you wanted to leave. I thought you wanted to get away from me.”
“No, please.” Of course I want to get away from him. But the state I’m in now, I won’t survive. I’m not sure how long I’ve got. I’m not bleeding anymore, but so much damage has been done. I can’t gauge if it’s more or less than he drank last night. The analyzing part of my brain has mostly shut down to make room for basic survival.
“I’ll tell you what, pet. I’m going to leave the door open. If you can manage to drag yourself out of this house and get home, or preferably to a hospital, I’ll let you live free from me. It’s the best offer you’ve got.”
I know it’s a game. There’s no way for me—under my own steam—to get out of this house alive. The open door taunts me much like the laughter dancing in the vampire’s eyes.
“Please forgive me,” I whimper. “I’ll do better. I won’t fuck up again.”
“You can escape now or you can wait until nightfall. If you survive, we’ll consider it a lesson learned.”
My blubbering sobs and begging have no effect on him. He merely turns and goes back to his room in the same blur. After a few minutes I ease myself off the bed. The pain and weakness has intensified and I know there is no possible way I can make it until the sun goes down—that’s too many hours away. He knows it, too.
How could he throw me away like this? I don’t understand. He went to so much trouble, and he’s ending it before it’s started. I have the inappropriate regret that I’ll die a virgin. Sure, I don’t want it to be Christian, and I don’t think I wanted it to be Devon, but it just seems like something I should have done in my life. And now I won’t have the chance.
It takes several painful minutes to crawl to the door. I don’t have a cell phone, but maybe Christian has a landline. If I can get through to an ambulance, maybe they can get here in time and get a transfusion to me. I move down the hall so slowly that at first I’m not sure if I’m moving at all.
After about fifteen minutes I make it to a parlor. There’s a little antique white phone sitting on a table. I pray it’s not just for show, that it actually works. I reach for the phone, but collapse before my hand can close around it. The pain gnaws at me, making me woozy.
I lay on the floor in the fetal position. This is it. And I was right next to a phone. I’m not sure I would have been able to make my voice work again—those operators ask too many questions. It would be too late anyway.
My eyes drift closed. I’m too weak to be upset, even though I know what this means.
“Drink.”
He’s moved so fast I didn’t know he was here. His bleeding wrist is shoved in my face, and if I don’t latch on, I know he’ll force feed me. If he wants me alive, I’ll be alive. I drink for what feels like forever, and he doesn’t move to stop me. He lets me drink until I’m finished.
I only manage to pull myself away when the panic sets in at what I’ve done.
“Why have you stopped? You need more.”
My lip trembles. My mind screams it’s too late. “I don’t want to be a vampire.” Tears are pouring down my face now. I think I’m more upset by this than anything else that’s happened to me here so far.
“Oh for God’s sake. You won’t be a vampire. I’d have to drain you nearly dry. I took enough to kill you, but not enough to turn you. You have plenty of your own blood. Now drink.”
I’m not sure if I believe him, but I don’t think I have a choice anyway, so I go back to drinking. A few more moments pass and he pulls his wrist gently away from me and seals his wound. Then he just holds me while I cry, his lips pressed against my forehead.
I don’t know if he intended to let me die and just couldn’t do it, or if it had been his plan to take me to the brink then bring me back all along. I’m not sure which idea upsets me most.
“Will you try to escape me again?” He’s speaking as someone might speak to a three-year-old that just touched a hot stove after being told it would burn.
“No, Master.”
“Good girl.”
He carries me to my room and deposits me on the bed. Now that strength is flowing through me, I notice something odd.
“I thought you couldn’t go out in sunlight.” What a liar.
“I can’t.”
“But… ” I point to the window. The drapes are open and the sun is shining in on him, illuminating his handsome face and making him look like an angel.
“It’s the UV in the sun. The l
ight itself behind proper glass doesn’t harm me. You can’t get a sunburn sitting in front of a window, can you?”
“Oh.” Good point. Now I feel stupid.
“Try to get some sleep. You’ll need it.” The look he gives me is almost pity. I cling to that look because it’s the only shred of evidence I’ve had thus far that he might have a spark of humanity left, something that might keep me alive longer.
He gathers the hair pins and locks the door on his way out. Against all odds, I drift into a peaceful sleep, his powerful blood humming through my veins.
***
There is that moment when you first wake up and your dreams are still hovering like a fine mist in the air. For a tiny fragment of time you feel as though you could choose to live in either reality. In fact, in those seconds, as the dream replays in your mind, still so fresh, it seems more real, and this world seems unreal and fuzzy.
I want to make the choice to go back to the dream, to live there. I was icing sugar cookies in my mom’s bakery and licking the frosting off my fingers. She was singing some stupid song she used to sing to me as a child. The lyrics were just playing in my head, but now they’ve evaporated along with the day. Why can’t I remember that song now? It’s going to bug me.
I’m never having frosting again. Christian’s insane diet rules don’t seem to allow for luxuries like whipped sugar in cheery pastel shades. That thought sits at the forefront of my mind, as if it’s the worst thing I can concentrate on and cope with at the moment. Somewhere underneath this sugary obsession is my mother’s face, caked in flour, but I dislodge that image to think about the cookies.
Finally I resign myself to reality. The bed was comfortable, the sheets softer than I could believe, a ridiculously high thread count—probably Egyptian cotton. The room has maintained a comfortable temperature and has all the amenities I could want. Entertainment. Food. A nice bathroom, because every girl needs a nice bathroom. But it’s all hollow and empty, all pretty pretend dress-up for the world I’m in now. A world of pain and blood and death, of vindictive, soulless evil, of things far worse than never tasting frosted sugar cookies again. Worse even than never seeing my mom again.