by Prince, DD
She felt so weak; maybe the food would help. She knew one thing; she needed a clear head so that she could figure this thing out. She leaned toward the tray, wincing at the pain in her body. He reached over, lifted it, and put it on the bed beside her, passing her the glass. It was apple juice. She took a slow sip and kept her eyes on him, trying to read his expression. He was sitting still, watching her, his expression broody. The juice tasted so good. She was suddenly ravenous.
There was a clatter outside the door. He jumped up and exited the room.
Kyla took a deep breath and then had a bite of a turkey sandwich. This was all so surreal. She looked down at it and examined it more closely. It was roasted turkey with stuffing and cranberry on it. It tasted like Thanksgiving to her. She thought it was odd to be served such a sandwich in June --- especially her favourite sandwich. This wasn’t deli turkey; it was like it came from a thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. She felt something wet on her neck and realized that she had blood seeping out of the bandage. She put the sandwich down and got up and went to the bathroom and washed her hands and then held pressure to the bandage for a few minutes.
As she headed back toward the bed she heard another bang outside the door. It jolted her. Then it was silent. She looked back at the sandwich.
A birthday gift for a vampire. She snickered, as she took another bite while still applying pressure to her neck.
Man, this is good!
But a bomb of a birthday gift, really, right? She didn’t fall under his spell and how bad for them both. Really bad for her. If she had those vacant eyes he was used to, she’d be back home by now, none the wiser. She’d have had some great sex, although she wouldn’t have remembered it, been a human blood bank, and then forgotten all about it.
“Why me?” she mumbled aloud, “Only me.” Everyone else got to be blissfully ignorant of the truth about the things that went bump in the night but not Kyla Spencer. Kyla had to face the bump in the night head on. Story of her life!
Her neck was suddenly sore. Like, really sore. Her pelvic bone felt badly bruised. Her ribs and legs were sore, too. And her girlie parts? Raw and sore.
She had no idea what time it was now. She knew at least one if not both of her bosses and probably Daisy her roommate would be wondering where she was.
She worked at the sandwich for a few minutes. Her appetite disintegrated after a few bites but she knew she needed strength after all that blood loss. How much blood could she safely lose without dying? She wondered why he had taken blood in a needle. She never felt so weak in her life and her brain felt hazy, too. The wound on her neck seemed to stop bleeding.
She’d need brains and brawn to get out of here. Suddenly she felt rage rise in her,
“Damn it, you asshole!” She yelled at the closed door, “Let me fucking go!”
She threw the plate across the room. It bounced against the door and landed on the carpet. She threw the dish of fruit, too. She was exhausted and weak. She surrendered to more sleep, her hand holding the bandage tight.
She woke up some time later when she heard the door open. A tall and good-looking blond guy dressed in black suit pants and a black turtle neck sweater entered. He looked about her age, maybe, and had a boy-next-door wholesomeness to his face. He assessed her with a serious look as he walked toward her. She looked at him expectantly. She didn’t know whether or not to be afraid. Right now she was too tired and weak to be afraid. He didn’t seem menacing. But then again, neither would Tristan to anyone who didn’t know different.
“Kyla,” he said, looking into her eyes and speaking slowly, “Stay there. Tristan won’t be back until later. If you need anything, use this.” He put a two-way radio on the nightstand and pointed to his own hip. There was another like it on his waistband, “I’m Joseph. Joe. If you try anything you’ll be restrained. The door will be locked.”
She blinked at him.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes at him. He backed away slowly and gave her a polite nod and then turned on his heel when he reached the door. She heard it lock. The fruit and cranberry smears had been wiped from the door sometime while she slept, evidently.
She lifted the radio and was about to fling it at the door, too, but stopped herself and put it down on the bed then bolted up out of the bed and started rifling through the drawers in a big chest of drawers near the bed. They were all empty. She looked in the drawers of the night tables. Empty, but for an extra set of sheets, box of condoms, and a bottle of KY Jelly. She tossed the condoms and tube of lube across the room in disgust. Then it dawned on her that he hadn’t bothered to use a condom on her. Her face heated at that. She couldn’t think about that right now.
She darted to the trunk coffee table and opened it. Just a blanket. Closet? Empty. She tried the balcony door. It started to turn. Unlocked. Okay, that was good, had potential. She decided to not open it yet. She glanced down at her bare legs and bare feet. She wasn’t even wearing underwear; only a black dress shirt that thankfully covered her bottom but only came to her thighs. She dashed into the bathroom. There was nothing in here that she could use as a weapon or to get dressed with. She resisted the queasiness and the urge to climb back into the bed. She had to figure this out. This was going to be complicated.
If she could get the blond guy back in here and overpower him and then lock him in the room maybe she’d find clothes on the other side of the door. But she wondered if Joseph was a vampire, too. She wasn’t a very tall girl but she was no wallflower and could hold her own in a fight. Maybe she wasn’t as strong as that guy but perhaps she could catch him off guard and knock him over the head with something. She eyed the large heavy-looking white porcelain vase of roses on the bathroom vanity.
Where had Tristan gone? Was he gone looking for a more willing female to abduct? Was he in the building? How much time did she have before he got back? She looked out the window and guessed it might be late afternoon or early evening. She didn’t even know where she was but she knew it would be best to get out of here before dark as who knew what was out there? The thought lingered in her mind for a moment. Since vampires were real what else was out there? Witches, warlocks, werewolves, and other shape-shifters? She shuddered. Then she started to pace.
Was this a golden opportunity to get out of here that she was about to blow with inaction? She glanced out the windows again. They led to a courtyard, so a big pit, essentially. But there would be a door on the main level inside of the courtyard and then that would lead to the outside. She wondered about the bathroom window. She found that it was on an outside wall, facing the courtyard but that it was too high and too small. Was the balcony too exposed to take a chance with?
Fuck! What then? Come on, Kyla. Think! Your life depends on this!
She stared at the two-way radio and pondered what to do for ages. She paced, carrying it, then walked with it into the bathroom and eyed the vase of flowers on top of the vanity again. She lifted the flowers out and a thorn pricked her finger and revealed a droplet of blood. She dropped the flowers on the vanity top and dumped the water into the sink. It was a heavy ceramic vase. It must’ve weighed 10 or 15 pounds. It’d have to do.
She wiped her finger on the shirt she was wearing and pressed the call button on the radio. A voice came out of it.
“Yes?”
She pressed the button again.
“Yes? I’m here,” he repeated.
She pressed it again and waited. A moment later she heard noise out in the bedroom. She waited behind the bathroom door, holding the heavy vase up above her head. Her knees were knocking together and her arms ached from the weight of it.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “It’s Joe. You alright in there?”
He got louder, “Hello?”
Kyla chewed the inside of her cheek.
“I smell blood!” His voice sounded urgent. She glanced up above her head at her finger where she’d caught the thorn. There was only a tiny droplet but there was
a bloody smear on the vase.
Shit. He’s a vampire, too.
He knocked on the door. “Are you okay in there? I’m coming in.” She took a step back, in time for him to turn the knob. They made eye contact. He eyed her bleeding finger. Fangs protruded slowly from him mouth and his eyes widened and darkened. It looked like the colour was draining from his face leaving his skin with a greyish hue.
With all her might she smashed the vase over his head, cracking it in two before it smashed on the ceramic floor into what looked like hundreds of small pieces. He stood, dumbfounded and then started to sink to the floor in slow motion. She didn’t wait for him to land, but hopped over and ran past him. She didn’t look back, just bolted for the door. It was unlocked. She shut it behind her, noticing that a key was still in the lock. She fumbled and turned it quickly and pulled the key and stepped back. She was in a long hallway and down a ways was a set of double doors. In the opposite direction there might be stairs. She ran, hoping to find them, dropping the key on her way.
There was a long Scarlet O’Hara style staircase ahead. This was quite the house! She tore down the stairs as quickly as she could, skipping two steps at one point and almost taking a tumble. The front door was straight ahead past a circular foyer. There was no time to look for shoes or skirts or purses or anything else. She’d have to take her chances wearing a man’s shirt and no underwear. She grabbed the front door handle, twisted a large lock, and opened it.
Straight ahead she saw a long and winding stone driveway flanked by mature trees on both sides. A big black SUV was racing up outside. The brakes made a squealing sound and the driver’s door flew open.
Oh no.
Tristan climbed out and on his face was a scowl. He’d spotted her. Now he was running toward the house!
Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!
She backed up into the house, almost tripping, deciding to try to find another way out, maybe a back door, or find the kitchen and grab a butcher knife to defend herself. Before she had a chance to think any further, he was there, in front of her. How had he gotten here so fast? He had her wrists in his grip.
“What do you think you’re doing? And what have you done with Joe?” he looked surprisingly calm. If Kyla had to name the expression, she’d call it calculating.
She let out a small cry as she tried to break free but he wasn’t letting go.
“Come with me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah come now,” he laughed low in his throat, “Let’s keep this civilized. Or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you? Don’t force me to be a barbarian.”
“Monster!” Kyla spat out.
His eyes lit up with amusement, “Damn straight. You’d do well to remember that.” His eyes appeared to darken, slightly, and her blood ran cold. He clenched his teeth together and fear prickled the back of her neck but then he smirked at her.
He climbed the stairs, pulling her with him. She tried to struggle and swatted at his face. He dodged her slap and then leaned forward and did just as he’d threatened --- he hoisted her over one shoulder like a sack of flour and then he slapped her bare ass.
“Behave!” he hissed, “Don’t make the monster angry…”
How humiliating! “You need to let me go, you motherfucker! I’m not staying here so you can drain me dry. Put me the fuck down!”
“What a potty mouth, Missy,” he slapped her ass again and then dug his fingertips in, “Wait, are you bleeding?” He hoisted her back halfway off his shoulder so she slid down his chest. He caught her by the ass while she was still plastered to his front. He grabbed her hand with his free one and sucked her finger, “Did Joe?” He didn’t finish the sentence. He hoisted her back over his shoulder and then moved faster, almost faster than seemed possible; the space around her sort of blurred by. Then they were outside the bedroom door and Kyla felt dizzy. He jiggled the knob but it was locked.
She heard the lock turn with a thunk, as if it had been unlocked from the other side, and then he opened it. “Is Joe in there?” he demanded.
She didn’t get a chance to answer. The blood was rushing to her head and she tried to balance upward, desperately wanting to cover her exposed behind. He didn’t stop at that door but strode down the long hall to the double doors. He pushed one open and walked in. This was a different bedroom. He dropped her less than gingerly onto a big bed. This room was a lot like the other one but this one was even bigger and not as sparsely furnished.
“Don’t move. Understand?” he pointed at her.
She pulled the shirt down as much as she could.
His eyes blazed with fury. Iciness ran through her veins. “So help me…” he grumbled, leaving the room, slamming the door. She sat, dumbfounded, numb. A second later she heard a big commotion of yelling and things crashing.
Before she had a chance to react, to run for the door to get away from him, or even to think about what to do next, the doors flew open. He was back, on his knees on the floor in front of her, his hands on her knees, his eyes searching her face, “He didn’t touch you? Didn’t feed from you?” he asked, his expression soft but his eyes piercing her in a way that was painful.
She furrowed her brows and shook her head, dumbfounded at his actions.
“Kyla, tell me,” he demanded, his grip on her knees tightening.
“No. I, I hit him over the head with the vase. A thorn pricked my finger… I---” she stopped talking. He exhaled, understanding, and rested his head in her lap. She was startled by the intimacy of the move. He circled her waist with his arms, making her wince. His eyes were closed. He let out a heavy sigh, of relief or something. She’d lifted her arms up in the air and just sat, frozen, tense, trying to absorb everything. He reached for her hand and then sucked on her pricked finger for a second and then let out another sigh.
She frowned and her free hand landed on her forehead. What the?
He looked up at her face. She swallowed hard, then started to shake her head vigorously and pushed down on his shoulders, trying to get him off, “Listen, man…”
“Shh,” he said, “Don’t fight with me right now. Just let me hold you. Please? Just for a minute.” He gripped tighter around her waist.
Obviously he was accustomed to women melting into a trance when he stared into their eyes or told them to do something. She was damn close to doing the same irrational thing even if what he said was true and she wasn’t entranced by him. His behaviour was so, so…disarming. He climbed up onto the bed and lay down beside her, pulling her to lie down. He pulled her close to him and closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. She could feel his heart thumping against her chest and it was racing. Now hers was racing.
Kyla tried to pull the shirt down as it was once again riding up and showing everything she had from the waist down.
“I refuse to lay here and cuddle with you, Trist..you…” She wasn’t about to say his name again now, “Let go of me.” She pushed at his shoulders.
“Shh, just let me…” he stroked her back and feathered kisses on her forehead, her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks.
She was exasperated but was too dumbstruck to do anything about it. Finally, she asked, “Would it be too much to ask you to get me something to wear, please?”
He chuckled and flashed dimples. Dimples? Where did those come from? She hadn’t seen those before.
Shit. Dimples, blue eyes, tall, dark, and movie-star beautiful? The man was almost totally constructed out of kryptonite. Almost. The fangs? Yeah, not so much…
“Why’d you stop yourself from saying my name?” Mischief rang in his voice. He nuzzled into her bare throat on the opposite side of where the bandage was.
“Pff.”
“Say it and I’ll give you something to wear.”
“Eff you. We know what’ll happen if I say it.”
“It’s gonna happen anyway,” he teased in a husky voice, running his nose up and down her throat and then kissing behind her earlobe, then sucking her lobe into his mout
h.
Then abruptly he sat up and pulled the blanket out from under her quickly, like that trick where the magician pulls the tablecloth out without disturbing the place settings. Then he lay back down and covered her and got underneath with her, “I have a better idea. We both get naked.” He raised his eyebrows, reached over and yanked the front of the shirt and several buttons popped off. He flicked it up, over her head and then it slid off her arms, leaving her totally naked again.
She hugged herself and squeezed her eyes tight, beyond exasperated. He pulled her close and closed his eyes. She tried to pull away but he said, “Don’t; please. I just need to hold you for a minute.” She was shaking; her head was beginning to throb.
He let go, pulled his t-shirt off, and arched his back to slide his jeans down his hips and then kicked them off. An ache bloomed, deep in her belly, something that felt like longing. He pulled her to his warm chest and nuzzled her neck. She winced. He held her tight and rubbed her back, “Stop shaking. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you."
“Lie,” she whispered. He smelled like apple pie.
He blinked a few times at her and caressed her cheek.
“You’ve already hurt me.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that,” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“I am,” Tristan whispered against her lips.
“Then let me go.”
“Can’t,” He mouthed this right against her lips.
“Can’t? You mean won’t.”
“I mean can’t.”
“But, I won’t tell anyone,” she whimpered.
He didn’t reply. He kissed her.
“And you’re wrong, I think you must have me in a trance. Just tell me to forget and I bet you I will.” She tried to back up. His lips touched hers again.
“I don’t want you to forget,” he whispered, “And no. You’re not. I promise. If you were, you’d never have tried to run from me or hit one of my guys. And you wouldn’t look at me the way you do. And you’d never have called out my name like that while I fucked you.” His voice was even huskier now, “You wouldn’t get wet for me, even.”