Nectar: DD Prince (13 page)

She could totally see how easy it would be to let herself get swept away by this dashing and powerful man here in this beautiful mansion. But this was all so…so wrong. And he wasn’t always gentle. Then, of course, there was the whole blood-sucking thing. He was controlling and psychotic and had just claimed her as his or something messed up like that. It was too much for her to comprehend. She wanted off this merry-go-round --- stat!

“Come,” he said. He put his arm around her and guided her back inside.

When she entered the room and Tristan closed the door her eyes landed on the stack of boxes. Behind them were also 2 large industrial sized trash bags.

Clothes? Underwear
? A ponytail holder?
A freaking bra, please!
She hoped.

“Go ahead,” he said, pointing to the boxes. He walked over and picked up a box and then slid open a pocket door to a walk-in closet that she hadn’t noticed earlier. He flicked a light switch inside the door and carried the stack of boxes in. She stepped in behind him.

The closet, if you could call it that, was huge. Bigger than her bedroom at home. This room had racks, shelves, and drawers around the perimeter. It was filled with his clothes and more pairs of shoes than even the average fashion-conscious woman owned. In the centre sat a dressing table and dressing room mirror. The closet must’ve been designed for a woman.

“I’ll make room in here for your things.”

“Why would I keep my things in here?” she scowled.

“Where else would you put them?”

“If I were a guest in your home, some of my things, but not all of them, would be in a guest room. But then again,
I’d
have brought them here voluntarily
if
I were a guest, wouldn’t I? I’d be allowed to leave if I were a guest, wouldn’t I?”

He rolled his eyes and yawned.

“Oh, I’m boring you? Really? You think I’m just going to unpack and move in here like I’m your…your…”

He cut her off, “You’re here for now so get used to it. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some more things for you to make you more comfortable.”

She tried to ignore the edge, the intensity in his voice, like he was daring her to do something about it, “I’ll go next door, back to the other bedroom, then. That would make me slightly more comfortable.”

“I don’t think so.”

She pursed her lips and glared at him. He piled the boxes in. Kyla unfolded the lid on the box on the top of the pile. It contained papers and books. She shifted the heavy box onto the floor and peered in the next box, then opened the trash bag.  Clothes! She looked expectantly at him. He got the message and backed out of the room and slid the door closed behind himself.

Kyla found a pair of jean shorts, underwear, a bra (hallelujah!), and a black t-shirt with shoulder cut-outs. She found her hairbrush and a ponytail holder and a bottle of hair detangler. She quickly got dressed, thankful to finally have something to wear, especially a bra and underwear, and to be able to better deal with her mop of a head of hair.

It was so odd to have her shabby belongings here in these lavish surroundings. She felt way underdressed, of course.  But then again she’d been grossly underdressed before, too. She fingered the silky red robe and then lifted it and hung it on an empty hook on the wall beside the brown one she’d worn yesterday.

His and hers? No! No way!

How presumptuous of him to not only pick up her belongings but to put her robe on the end of his bed, like it belonged there. She huffed and snatched it off the hook and then dropped it back onto a box.

She wasn’t going to just glide into a role as someone sharing his room, his bed, like she was his mistress or significant other or something. She was sure she wasn’t significant in his world, being that she was below his food chain link and all. She was a person and he was a vampire,
vampire royalty
, whatever that meant. She was a prisoner, a blood mystery, not his new girlfriend. This was all too much. She sat down at the dressing table and stared at her reflection. Way too much. Nope, no way was she was unpacking. She spritzed her hair and started loosening the knots with her fingers.

She was just an ordinary girl in her mid-20’s.  She didn’t think she was beautiful or extraordinary. She was slim with a fit and toned build because she was a runner and because she was so busy trying to survive that she didn’t stop long enough to get the opportunity too often to stuff her face with her favourite foods --- she’d love it if she could stuff her face with dessert on a daily basis --- and that she couldn’t was probably why she was so trim.

She didn’t wear designer brands or very much make-up. She was lucky enough to have decent skin, big green eyes that she often got compliments on, and she had decent hair, if a bit wild and unruly. She certainly didn’t think she’d win any beauty contests. Maybe she was above-average in the sarcasm department as well as in the stubbornness department but that came as a result of her rough upbringing and need to be her own champion in life because no one else ever championed any of her causes. 

Kyla didn’t have the foggiest idea of why her blood tasted so special to Tristan. She didn’t know why the gorgeous vampire who smelled and tasted like varying desserts with those intense eyes and those adorable dimples was so into her. She was sure if he were a regular guy he’d probably not even look twice, or if he did it’d be to get her into bed once and then he’d be gone. If he were a normal guy he’d have definitely been top of the hot guy food chain and probably not paid much attention to some snarky chick with a chip on her shoulder who worked in a greasy spoon by day and a dive bar at night. She certainly didn’t know why she didn’t fall under his spell. Maybe that was all the allure was about, that she wasn’t a drone. She was just a challenge to him, a diversion. And how long would that last until he grew bored so would have to dispose of her because she’d remember what he was?

Why did it feel like she was under at least part of a spell when he touched her, though? He insisted she wasn’t. Was he lying? Maybe that was just because she hadn’t been touched in any sort of sexual way for such a long time.  She pushed the thought away.

She was tired of how much time she’d spend in an angst-filled head in the past day and a half. It wasn’t like her to wallow in messy or counter-productive emotions. She was the kind of girl who refused to succumb to the lemons life gave her. She’d always just kept soldiering on. No, she didn’t make lemonade out of those lemons; she soldiered on, refusing to think about lemonade. Numbly sometimes, but always a soldier. That’s what she’d have to do here. Be strategic; figure out how to get out of this alive.

There was a quick rap on the door and Tristan opened it and peered in, “Breakfast is ready.” He slid the door open wide.

She rose from the dressing table and followed him out. No, she wouldn’t put anything away. That would be pointless. There had to be a way out of this.

How would she solider on like she’d always vowed to do from here? She had to think about that one and look for an opportunity to escape. A day and a half since being brought to him as a “gift” and she was already looking at her belongings in his closet and he’d covered up her disappearance with her roommate and bosses. He’d derailed her life and when she figured out how to get away she’d have to go somewhere else and start over.

Maybe British Columbia, which had beckoned to her for years. Far away from Tristan, far away from Ottawa, and far enough away to forget about horny psychotic vampires and dead ex-boyfriends. But maybe there wasn’t enough of a far away for all of that. She pushed thoughts of her ex away, not at all wanting to get caught in the trap of thinking about him, about the past. The past was done.

A table for two now by the window must have been brought in while she was changing. Obviously he fed on more than just blood. Another bit of vampire lore debunked. The aroma of food nudged at her stomach, which rumbled in reply. She walked over and saw bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and a tall pitcher of orange juice.

Kyla sat at the table across from him. He ate voraciously while she picked at her food, feeling uneasy, trying to not stare at his bare chest and his sculpted arms and shoulders. She’d always been a sucker for big strong shoulders.

“Eat, sweet girl,” he whispered, “You barely ate anything yesterday.”

She ignored the tingling in her body at his voice and the endearment. She took a bite of toast and chewed slowly, staring out the window. Staring but not seeing; just trying to avoid his gaze. She wanted to hurl the fine bone china plate at him. She wanted out!

“You really should eat,” he told her twice more while they sat there.

“You’re very bossy,” she spat at him, finally.

He smirked and showed those dimples again.

Put away those dimples. They won’t get you anywhere with me!
Yeah right.  Whenever he flashed the dimples she fought the urge to swoon and land on the nearest fainting couch. But there was no fainting couch and there was no way she could just give herself over to this situation.

Was he saying “Eat” to break the awkward silence that was so obvious? This was the longest they’d spent together while awake not debating her situation and not having sex so far. She didn’t feel like debating right now. She had a feeling it was moot with him. She had the strong sense that she’d have to take those matters into her own hands.

She was able to muster about a third of her breakfast and couldn’t do any more so she shoved her plate back. What she wanted right now, really wanted, was to go for a run. Running always helped her clear her head. But if she could run she wouldn’t have to be here, imprisoned.

“You should eat more than that,” he said.

She glared at him. He snickered, looking highly amused and that pissed her off. She glared harder and then lifted the butter knife beside her plate and held it out in a tight fist,

“What I
should
do is stake your heart,” she replied with a sneer.

The amusement drained from his face and his expression turned cold, “Don’t be stupid,” he said, and reached over and yanked the knife out of her hand. She felt a pang of fear but then they had another stare down and she fought hard to hold her ground. It didn’t take long for his face to soften, for it to turn into a smirk. Finally he stood up and gathered everything up onto a tray, “I’ll be back. I need to take care of some things.  Watch TV or there are books,” he motioned to a tall bookcase in the corner of the room. “And stay here!” He pointed at her threateningly. She threw her arms up in the air and rolled her eyes.

Then he was gone. And it felt good to be alone. She could breathe easier without being scrutinized by those eyes. After a few minutes of staring out the window, she got up from the table.

Had he locked her in? She didn’t hear a lock turn when he’d left. She got up and slowly moved to the computer first. There was no internet connection established and the only available network was password protected.  Then she turned to the door and twisted the door handle slowly. It opened. Her heart lunged forward. With a tight breath she slipped into the hall as quietly as she could.

It was eerily quiet but she could feel her own blood thudding through her veins. Was being repeatedly bit by a vampire making her hypersensitive about her blood pressure?

She padded softly and slowly down the hall, wishing she’d had the sense to look for shoes in her boxes before coming out here. Her sensibility has been thoroughly scattered the past few days, thanks to him.

She didn’t want to turn back now. She tiptoed down the long hall past the bedroom that she’d spent that first night in and as she got to the turn she was greeted with a closed iron gate. She grabbed it and tested it. Locked. She let out a desperate small cry and her heart sank.

Fuck.

This hadn’t been here yesterday. She could see that it was a pocket gate that must have been hidden yesterday. She leaned her back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor beside the gate and balanced her elbows on her knees, putting her palms over her face.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Tristan now stood on the other side of the gate.

She didn’t look up at him; she shook her head, still looking down. She chided herself for not being smarter about this. Now his guard surely would be up with her.
Damn.

“Be glad this gate was up, delicious. I left the door unlocked as a test after telling you to stay put. I needed to see if my powers of persuasion have any effect on you whatsoever. I can see they don’t. Good thing this gate was up or I’d have to restrain you. But that could be fun, too now, huh? That’d keep you outta trouble.”

There was silence for a moment, then he added, darkly, “And Kyla, what if you’d gotten out and it wasn’t me who found you? There are hungry vampires about. And they’re not going to be as nice to you as me.”

She didn’t answer but she was grateful she wasn’t now faced with Joe. Or Tristan behaving as the man who showed dominance to Joe. Maybe there were other monsters in this place, too. She shuddered.

“You should probably know that you won’t get away. It looks like I have a rather useful secret weapon.” He chuckled and then she heard him walk away and then trot down the stairs. She wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. She sat there for a long while, feeling sorry for herself.  But then she decided she had to shake it off. She’d told herself a long time ago that she would not accept the role of victim in her life like so many she’s grown up around had done. After a few minutes she got to her feet and wandered back down the hall.

She opened the door to the bedroom where she’d been that first night.  It was dark and had been tidied up since her night there. She sat on the bed for a minute. Then she decided to move her things there, hoping that he would get the message that if he was determined to keep her here while he waited for those blood tests that she was totally serious about wanting to be left alone. She opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out the bottle of KY jelly that had been put back. She strolled back to his room and squirted the entire contents of the tube all over one of his pillows, then made 5 trips, bringing her things over to the other room. Once she had all the boxes and the big garbage bag of clothes in a neat stack against the wall, she plopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

There. That should send a message!
Then she felt a stab of regret. Poking the monster with a stick by dousing his pillow in sex lube probably wasn’t the smartest move. Oh well, too late; regret was a useless emotion.

She could smell him on this bed, on the pillows. Was it his cologne or his soap? Or maybe it was some weird vampire potion that made women swoon. Why couldn’t he smell like wet dog or something foul like that?

The pillow smelled sweet, almost like brown sugar mixed with something else, something potently male. She threw the pillow across the room, feeling stupid after realizing that she was laying there sniffing his pillow. Talk about school girlish and Stockholm-Syndrome-crazy!

After all, he
was
her captor. He may have elected himself her protector but when it all came down to it she had been abducted and she was a prisoner under lock and key and he chose to keep her rather than let her leave. He was more predator than protector. She didn’t consent to sex or feeding his bloodlust. He just took what he wanted. She needed protection alright --- from him.

Regardless of the outcome of the sex she had told him she didn’t consent and he didn’t back off. She didn’t consent to letting him guzzle her blood repeatedly and certainly didn’t give the okay for him to almost kill her. She didn’t agree to a blood test. This was all taken from her. Her repeated requests to leave were ignored and he had gone out and convinced her roommate and bosses that…that what?

What had he said to them? She supposed it didn’t really matter what had been said. No one was looking for her. The hope of being sought out probably helped kidnapping victims, giving them hope:

Somebody is looking for me. Someone will find me. Maybe the kidnapper left a trail.

Most abductees probably didn’t feel hopeless because their captor had hypnotized everyone into thinking they were just fine and away of their own free will. Hopeless?
NO! Never hopeless. Please, no.

There was a crucifix lying on this room’s dresser, too. Kyla curled it into her hand and thought about all the vampire folklore that must’ve been total bunk. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, holding it on her chest.  Sleep was all she wanted to do right now. For months and months she’d gotten by on a fraction of the normal sleep schedule her body craved per night with the occasional catch-up on a Sunday. Had it all built up to this extreme exhaustion? Or was she sleeping this much in an effort to distance herself from her stark reality? She couldn’t run from her emotions if she was trapped in a room with them. All she could do in response was sleep.

~~~

Kyla felt like she was floating.  It was a serene feeling.  She smelled something that smelled like powdered sugar donuts or maybe a candy necklace and fresh laundry, She nuzzled in to something hard but yet soft. Soft lips touched her forehead.

Her eyes opened as she touched down onto something soft. She was in darkness but she knew he was there and that he’d carried her back to his bed. She could smell him. She could feel his overwhelming presence.

The zipper of her jean shorts descended. A warm hand swept softly across her stomach and then rose up to her breast. She squirmed. Then her shorts were being shimmied off her hips. She squeezed her eyes shut. Goosebumps rose on her body.
Not again.

“That cross won’t keep me away from you, you know,” he whispered softly.

“Yeah,” she said past a lump in her throat, her voice scratchy.

He whispered, “You belong here, with me.” He had her ear between his teeth. His hot breath made her skin tingly. His words, too, they made waves through her. The way he’d said that, so possessive …

“Mmmm,” he moaned into her ear as he hooked her panties with his thumbs and slid them off, “You’re a naughty naughty girl, you know that? I saw what you did to my pillow.”

She chewed her lip and winced. Her nose filled with the scent of brown sugar and caramel, and something smoky, like hickory or burning firewood, marshmallows, maybe, chocolate? S’mores. She loved s’mores. She felt a tingling in her arms and legs and her temperature rose.

He nibbled on her lower lip, “Open your legs for me, baby. We don’t need any of that KY, do we? You get
so
wet for me, don’t you?”

“Nnno…” she moaned, “Leave me alone. Let me go.” Her words didn’t match the tone of her voice at all. She was a breathless and quivering mess.

He fisted her t-shirt and she heard the fabric rip. He ripped it straight up the middle and then tore it off.

She grimaced.  He unclasped her bra and took her breasts in his hands and started to kiss her neck. She involuntarily arched her back but muttered, “Don’t.”

“Baby.” His voice dripped with sex. His naked skin was so smooth. He smelled so good, “Don’t you know that yes means yes and no means fuck, yes?” He let out a sexy chuckle. Before she knew it, her fingers trailed up his strong arms and gripped his biceps as he hovered over her.

“Fuck yeah, good girl,” he whispered as he parted her legs with his knee.

Tristan’s teeth grazed a nipple and she felt his fangs protrude. Her breath hitched; he didn’t pierce the skin but ran his nose up her chest and into the crook of her neck, “I almost never bite the throat,” he said, “I bite the thigh so that it doesn’t show the marks. Women are less likely to wonder why there’s a mark on their leg than their throat. But with you, with you…I want to brand you. Need to bite you. I want my marks all over your body, want anyone who looks at you to see that you’re mine.” The word ‘mine’ reverberated through her every cell. His teeth pierced her throat and it burned. She dug her nails into his shoulders. She was panting.

The sensation of pain from pierced skin quickly started to numb and then her throat tingled and she could feel the blood surge through her veins toward his mouth. It felt like every vein in her body directed blood to him, for him. Her body erupted in goose bumps everywhere. Suddenly, inexplicably, she needed to get closer to him.

She grabbed the back of his head and tried to pull him closer, though he couldn’t be any closer. She felt empowered, then, like it was her quest to feed him, like it was what she was built for. Kyla’s fingers threaded through the soft waves on his head and then the pads of her fingers pawed at his head like a cat kneads its owner.

“Oh no,” She heard herself say.

He groaned, “Oh yeah.”

His hand splayed across her hip and then reached into the folds of her vagina and his fingers prodded into her opening where she was already slick. He twirled his fingers to spread the moisture over the whole area and then slid one and then two fingers inside. His mouth released her throat and he licked the wound, which brought her instant relief from the sting but it startled her; she felt disconnected when he let go and it left her feeling bereft.

“What’s happening to me?” she asked aloud. Her mind twirled around that thought, reaching for it but unable to grasp. She let it flutter away and then her focus sharpened to what was happening south of her waist.