Nectar: DD Prince

by Prince, DD

  Wait…Yes!

  The window directly adjacent to the door was open about 2 inches. There was a screen. Kyla ripped at the screen and the mesh dug into her fingers.

  Don’t bleed, Kyla, don’t bleed!

  She saw the threat of vampires coming from every angle in her mind the second she spilled a drop of blood. Maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was. She didn’t want to chance it. She pulled her fingers back, turtling them into her hoodie sleeve and tried to pinch through the fabric to rip a hole into the screen or rip the screen off the frame. She just needed enough room to get her wrist in and push through and unlock the door.

  Digging at the screen through a thick hoodie wasn’t all that effective. She was so afraid of drawing blood. She pushed at the screen hard and its frame started to bend. Kyla pushed harder, a grunt getting caught in her throat, and finally the mesh gave way at one corner and she was able to push her wrist through and shove the window open wider and then reach the door latch. She fumbled with it for what seemed like an eternity until she found the lock and twisted it. She carefully pulled her arm back out and then grappled with the door. By the time she was inside, she was breathless. Her arm had a few scratches but she didn’t bleed. She closed the door as softly as she could.

  She found herself in a large library-like room with a big desk in the middle. Beyond the desk and several chairs there was a long conference table for over two dozen, there were tall bookshelves filled with hardcover books, a wall of wooden filing cabinets with shiny brass fittings, a computer, a telephone…Should she call 9-1-1? She stared at the phone for a minute, wondering if she should call the police and get them to rescue her.

  There was a clatter, commotion from somewhere outside of the room. It didn’t sound too close but she wasn’t sure.

  “Kyla!” she heard him yell. It sounded strangled. Was his voice full of rage or pain? She didn’t know but every nerve in her body prickled in response.

  She held her hand over her mouth and held her breath for a long minute but her body was in full trembling mode. There was silence for a while, she didn’t know how long, then she heard a muffled voice, then someone call out “Where?” in the distance. It might have been in the courtyard. That wasn’t Tristan’s voice.

  “He thinks she’s still in the house. Try that way.” It was another male voice and it was closer.

  “If you find her, corner her and call me. DON’T touch her.” That was Tristan. He was loud and he sounded frantic, or furious, or both.

  Kyla threw herself on the floor and crawled under the desk.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  She heard nothing for a minute so she leaned up and reached for the phone. She lifted the cordless receiver and took it under the desk.

  She dialed 9-1-1. The operator answered, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” She heard something close by. She didn’t want to be heard. She reached up and put the phone back up on the desk and stayed quiet underneath. The line was open and she could faintly hear something coming out of it, likely the operator asking if anyone was there. Maybe they would dispatch police, thinking someone was unconscious or something.

  She was pretty sure they were on the balcony or in the courtyard so she decided to crawl toward the door leading to the hallway. When she reached it she moved beside it, in case it suddenly opened, and listened. She couldn’t hear anything outside the door. She reached up and turned the door handle. The door opened inward, to her relief. She opened it just far enough to peek out. The hallway looked very much like the one on the opposite end, only with more doors.

  Right now it was clear. Kyla hoped there would be a staircase at the end and that it wouldn’t be blocked. She got to her feet and started to run. As she rounded the corner she was in another hall but ahead she could see the same Scarlett O’Hara staircase. There was no gate and no sign of anyone. The gate on the other end for the other wing, where Tristan’s bedroom was, was half way open. She listened and could hear an agitated-sounding voice downstairs. Panic rose even higher in her throat.

  She ran as silently as she could down the stairs looking around and saw no one. She booked it to the front door, grabbed the lock, twisted it, and got out. Adrenaline pumping through her, she dashed down the front steps in her bare feet and ran past Tristan’s black Lincoln Navigator SUV and two other vehicles. Her feet were killing her, her legs sore, her lungs --- barely functional. She ran as fast as she could, telling herself it was just like the wall during a marathon run, which she’d done twice in the past. She just had to run through the imaginary wall and she’d be okay. Only this time it felt like something, some unseen force, was pulling her back instead of her desire to succeed driving her forward.

  The stone path leading from the house wound ahead as far as she could see. She followed it for a minute but as it turned she decided to switch to the grass. It would be easier on the bottoms of her feet and if he came for her in his SUV, she had a better chance if she was not on a clear road. She didn’t dare look back. She was so afraid that if she did she’d see that someone was gaining on her.

  The property was expansive but she knew she’d left the door wide open so in a matter of moments he’d know she was out. There was nothing else as far as she could see but trees. Some areas were clear and others had small clusters of trees.

  It was still dark outside but she knew she didn’t have much time before the sun rose. What mattered was that she was outside of the house and that she was almost to the finish line --- away from the vampires….and him.

  Maybe the police were on their way and would distract him long enough that she’d be able to put a good amount of distance between herself and the house. A cramp spliced up her side. She slowed down. Then her body suddenly started pulsing from deep within. It was an odd sensation.

  She stopped and leaned forward, her bottom against a big weeping willow tree and took a few deep breaths, hands on her knees. It felt safe under there, umbrella’d from view. She dared to look back the way she came and squinted, straining her eyes, trying to see. She didn’t see anything other than trees. All she could hear right now was her own heart beating wildly and her heavy breathing and that weird thrumming inside of her; it had become audible, as if it was on a loudspeaker outside. She had zero endurance right now, it was so hard to run. The throbbing halted.

  Someone had her wrist! She gasped. Tristan. He was barefoot, in just a pair of jeans and he was holding her wrist and staring directly into her eyes, his jaw was tight and his eyes were filled with rage. Where did he come from? It was as if he’d come from the other direction rather than from the house.

  She let out a cry, in part because her plan was foiled and in part because his grip was very tight.

  “Let me go!” she cried out, realizing how stupid of a thing it was to say even as the words were coming out.

  He tightened his grip further and pulled her toward him. She slammed hard against his bare chest. She shrieked.

  “Do you…” he started, then seemed like he was trying to gain control of himself through deep breathing, “want” he leaned in, an inch from her face, “your throat ripped out?”

  Kyla had never seen anyone so frightening, so menacing, in her life. The monster was back.

  “Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” he snarled at her. His mouth contorted into a snarl; his nostrils were flaring. He raised a hand across his body, stopping at his shoulder, looking like he was about to backhand her. She was afraid to speak, to breathe. She braced herself, expecting the back of his hand to fly at her.

  “I told you that you weren’t going anywhere. Do you have a death wish? And after everything…” He eyed her up and down with betrayal and disgust marring his face. His raised hand dropped to his side. She felt guilt wash over her. Guilt? What the heck?

  In a quick and fluid motion she found herself hoisted her over his shoulder and had the sensation of being on a subway train. He was running back toward the house. She tried to struggle but two or three strides in and it�
��d been like they hit some sort of supersonic warp speed so she just tensed and gripped his waist. She felt them zing; wind whirred in her ears and all she could see was the ground blurring under her.

  She heard his voice in her mind, remembered what he’d said before,

  more like being an enhanced human who has more strength and speed

  This is how he got ahead of me.

  Seconds later they were at the front door and he set her down. Before he opened the door he leaned in to her ear and said, stone serious, “Eyes down; look at the floor. Do not look at or speak to either of them. Straight upstairs to my bed.” His grip around her wrist was excruciating, his eyes icy cold, “Understand?”

  She looked at him and opened her mouth, about to snap a snarky retort at him but the sight of him, of his fierce expression, she thought better of it. He meant business. His glacial facial expression dared her to argue with him. She said nothing. He glared at her for another beat and then loosened his grip on her wrist. He pushed the door open and roughly ushered her forward.

  The two guys were both in the foyer; she could feel their eyes on her. She didn’t look at them, just stared straight ahead. She walked past and climbed the stairs. Tristan stayed at the bottom of the stairs. As she approached the half opened gate at the top, feeling all sets of eyes on her back, she heard one of them say, “Is that a cruiser?”

  The police! She felt a glimmer of hope for a split second and turned to look back but suddenly Tristan was beside her at the top of the stairs, holding her elbow roughly and walking her forward. As they passed the half-opened gate, he slammed it out of the way. It slammed so hard into the pocket it flew back out again, making him hit it again and making her jump.

  She had to jog to keep up with his pace. He opened the door to his bedroom and gave her a shove. Kyla tripped and fell. He towered over her and slammed the door.

  “Always pick the hard way, don’t you? For fuck sakes!”

  She curled into a ball and hid her face. He dropped to his knees, forcing her chin up so he could stare coldly into her eyes.

  She decided to let out a blood curdling scream to get the police’s attention. As she inhaled deep, about to let it go, he seemed to catch on and covered her mouth with his hand before she could make a sound. With his other hand he pointed his index finger at her and warned in a sinister whisper, “Make one sound, one fucking sound and whoever is outside that front door will be decapitated. You wanna be responsible for that?” Her eyes were wide. She shook her head.

  “Do you know how serious I am?” he spoke to her like she was a child.

  She blinked at him.

  “Let’s make sure you do,” he said and bit into the crook of her arm and started to suck, hand clamped tight over her mouth. She felt that now familiar humming in her veins and then it changed. It was like anger was drip feeding into her, moving in fast like a shadow. It was fierce and hateful and petrifying. She wanted it out.

  Her head started to throb. It felt like something dark and nasty was crawling through her veins, slowly, like a thousand nasty spiders. She hated spiders. It felt like there were thousands of them crawling through her body. Her heart hurt. Her throat was dry. She felt sick. She tried to struggle but his grip was too tight.

  He let go abruptly and snarled,

  “Does that tell you anything about who you’re fucking with?” his irises were black.

  Then he let go of her mouth and pointed at her. She hit the carpet, limp and lifeless, feeling like the life had been drained out of her and replaced with something oily and rancid.

  He looked like he was about to say something else and then decided against it and turned on his heel and exited the room, slamming the door and leaving her on the floor. She crawled slowly toward the bed and curled into the fetal position on the floor beside the nightstand. Her mouth was agape and her body was wracked with shudders but no sound came out. Her arm was still bleeding. He hadn’t stopped the bleeding before he left.

  She grabbed a tissue box from his nightstand and pressed a tissue against the wound. It still felt like her skin was crawling. Bile rose in her throat. She clambered to her feet and staggered to the bathroom to throw up but just had the dry heaves. It went on for ages, contracting her body until she was so weak she had to crawl back toward the bed. She made it as far as the sofa. She wished she’d throw up whatever vile thing he’d unleashed inside of her.

  She’d had no choice but to try to escape. It just wasn’t in her to succumb to her circumstances. She was just trying to keep the promise she’d made to herself so long ago…to never ever be a victim.

  This vampire prince who had been so demanding had also been so sweet so many times. She guessed her actions would mean that Mister “I just want to hold you” was gone. She thought back to earlier that night, the way he’d held her, the way they’d stared into one another’s eyes. The way he’d called her Princess. The emotion that had washed over her and through her and how intensely she had held onto him...she felt an immense sense of loss right now after feeling that rage and hate coming from him, bleeding into her veins.

  He very obviously wanted her to feel it. And she did. It was hatred crawling through her veins and clawing at her heart and it felt like it was still there even though he wasn’t. She cried for a long time, feeling like her heart was slowly being ripped out of her chest. She wanted to close her eyes but where was he and when would she be able to shake off the hatred that still tingled inside of her? What was going on downstairs? Was anyone being hurt or had they just hypnotized the police away? She silently prayed her actions hadn’t cost anyone their life. What would he do to her when he came back? Maybe she should close her eyes, try to escape from her reality until she had no choice but to face it.

  As she drifted to that stress-free place somewhere between awake and asleep she heard the door. He was back and so was that horrible sinking feeling. He purposefully strode in and dropped a pile of chains on the bed.

  She felt confusion for a beat and then spotted shackles attached to the chains. Oh no. He strode to the sofa and grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her over to the bed.

  “No.” She tried to fight as he quickly secured her, not looking at her face, not paying any attention to her sad and ineffective attempts to wrestle with him. She could see that he was seething with anger. He cuffed her right wrist and attached it to the scrolled headboard. He left the left one free. He quickly examined her arm’s bite wound, which had already stopped bleeding, and dropped her arm without being gingerly about it. She winced. He cuffed her left ankle and attached the chain to the footboard. He left the right one free. The chains were long enough that she wasn’t uncomfortable but they certainly wouldn’t let her leave the bed.

  “Tristan, please, I……” She was trembling all over.

  For once he seemed unaffected by his name being spoken. If anything, it looked like it made his jaw tighten even more. When he was finished he leaned over and grabbed her throat. She sputtered. He loosened the grip but didn’t let go and stared directly into her eyes. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

  “Look at me!” he hollered. She opened her eyes and whimpered.

  “Let’s talk about my secret weapon now, alright? I don’t really need these chains.” He jiggled the chains, “Why? I’ll tell you!” He was in monster mode, lips curled into a snarl. His eyes bright blue but yet so cold.

  “I felt this new thing that started after drinking from you the first time. When you feel anxiety or stress, guess what? I know it. I know what’s going on in your body and I don’t even have to be in the same room as you. We’re connected.”

  She clawed at his hands but couldn’t pull them off her throat.

  He swallowed, looking shaky for a second, and then like he pushed emotion away his eyes narrowed, “When you got out of here it woke me. I felt you moving farther and farther away and I felt that war you had going on in your head about whether or not to leave me. You made the wrong fucking choice!” He took a deep br
eath and continued, looking angrier, “When I was driving back here yesterday while you were trying to escape I could feel something was off. I got here just in time to watch you try to leave me. When Joe showed you his fangs I knew you were afraid. I knew what you felt when he tried to intimidate you. I felt your fear. Felt it.” He thumped on his chest, “I feel what you feel. I know what your heart sounds like even if we’re not in the same room and I’d bet big money I could pick it out of a crowd blindfolded. After each feed this connection we have deepens and I get even stronger. I need your blood. Need it like it’s oxygen. I’m stronger and faster than I was before I tasted your blood, I can now remove or create barriers, and I feel when you get anxious, when you feel stress, when you want me, I feel all of it. There’s no point in you trying to leave me. The minute you do I’ll feel it and I’ll stop you. Tonight, when you ran, I figured out I can track you. That’s new, too. Don’t try to get away again. You. Will. Fail.”

  Kyla clawed at his arm, trying to get him to let go, “You’re hurting me,” she squeaked out.

  He let go, “That’s mutual, sweetheart.”

  She started hyperventilating.

  “What?” he demanded, picking up the drinking glass on the nightstand and threw it. It shattered against the wall, “How, after what happened earlier tonight, can you just leave me like that? Not to mention that I tell you you’re in danger and you run from me and put yourself in more danger? Do you care how that hurts me?” He grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and hurled it across the room.

  Kyla shook her head vigorously, “This is crazy, it’s …” She couldn’t finish.

  “Denial is what it is!” He picked up the silver tray on the dresser and Frisbee’d it across the room, sending the contents flying everywhere.

  Then he punched the wall, putting a hole in it.

  She was trembling so hard it was becoming painful, “Seriously! Why are you being such an asshole? You have no right to keep me here.”