Nectar: DD Prince (18 page)

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 breath 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.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Her chin was trembling as she bit back tears.

“This thing we have is more real than anything you’ve ever felt and you damn well know it. How could you leave after what you felt tonight? I feel you fighting it every step of the way. This thing with us started that first time I tasted you and earlier tonight when you fell apart in my arms and wouldn’t let go of me? That solidified it. I have the fucking right, Kyla. Every fucking right. That was supposed to be the cementing of you becoming mine and it was fucking beautiful, the most beautiful moment in my life, your life too, and you just needed to fight it.” Pain flashed on his face and Kyla shook her head, trying to ignore the pang it sent through her.

“Huh? You’re a psycho! I can’t do this. I can’t let you just keep me and, I…I run. Running is what I do! A few minutes of crying and holding onto you doesn’t change that. I’m not in my right mind here! I was kidnapped and I’m a prisoner and you just keep trying to use your power and fuck with my head. These mind games, they’re ---” she sobbed, then stabbed at her temple with her index finger, “fucking with me!”

“A few minutes?  You have no idea how long it took me to calm you down tonight. Hours, Kyla. Hours. Do you know how badly you fell apart? And do you know why it happened? Me, us, this thing we have is what put you back together. You’re fighting it but it’s real. The strength I’m getting from your blood; this is all textbook…the shit that the
real
vampire legends are made of.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples.

“What real vampire legends?”

“I need you to listen to me so I can keep you safe, to protect you from things you can’t imagine in your nightmares.”

“I’m already
in
a nightmare,” she croaked out.

“This? You think this is bad? This is
your
fault. This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t left, putting yourself in danger.” He looked at her with pain and disgust.

“It’s
been
a nightmare! Being a prisoner, getting my blood drank, dealing with your psychosis…getting my mind fucked…” she dashed the tears off her face with the backs of her hands.

He ran his hands through his hair, “You think I’m fucking with your mind? I can’t fuck with your mind. I’ve tried, baby, but it’s you who is fucking with
my
mind. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, who I am? What I am? This isn’t who
I
am. You’re fucking
me
up! This is not at all how this is supposed to go!”

He paced back and forth, “If anyone gets wind of this connection, of the effects of your blood, they’ll wanna take you from me and if I let them get you they won’t stop drinking from you until you’re dead. Do you understand what dead means, Kyla? And do you care if you end up dead? Because you sure don’t act like you care! It’s already dangerous that some of my guys know something is off with you. Running away? Then calling the cops? What the fuck?”

He stopped for air and took a deep breath and then he looked at her and his eyes were practically glowing, “You aren’t going anywhere. You stay the fuck here. Don’t try to leave me again; I’m warning you. This nightmare will seem like a walk in the park.”

She was dizzy. She put her palms over her face.  He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him,

“You know very little about my world but I’m telling you…you belong to me. It’s done.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s done’? What’s done?”

He pursed his lips.

“I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense at all. You tell me you’re addicted to me but yet you want to protect me? Which is it? Please just let me go. Just let me out of here and we can pretend we never met. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Please,” she shrieked.

He ran his hands through his hair, looking stressed, “So, you don’t care about me?”

“I don’t even fucking know you!”

“You do know me. You’re in danger. And it’s already done.”

“So you’ve said; whatever the fuck
done
means! Let me go and I’ll take care of myself. I always do. I’m not your problem.”

“You are. You’re like a drug and you’ve turned me into a fucking junkie. And I need to protect you.”

“You’ve known me a few days. I’m not your problem.”

“You are.”

“Because you’re addicted to my blood.”

“It’s more than just that and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything! All I know is that you’re frigging bipolar or some shit and you’re holding me here. Being a psychotic monster one minute and all lovesick puppy the other.”

Kyla stared into space. Tears streamed down her face. The things he said, they were crazy. This was all so crazy. What he said about knowing about her anxiety, it made sense now. She vividly recalled when she had locked eyes with Joe in the courtyard. Joe’s face was so cold and when she felt afraid of him, Tristan was right there behind her. He’d simply burst out and been there. Yesterday there was that huge clatter in the hall and Tristan had disappeared for hours after that.

The things he’d said about the connection, it was real for both of them.  The way she felt every time he fed on her. The magnetic feeling. And what vampire legends? Something was happening and whatever it was, it was
so
not normal. She was on information and sensory overload here. She was bone tired.  The sun was up now and she needed some sleep, desperately. Her arms and legs were aching.

“You’re lucky that Joe or Sam didn’t taste you first. So damn lucky, you don’t even know. Joe already smelled your blood and he’s a different person since just smelling it! A newbie vampire was here yesterday and smelling your blood through the door meant I had to remove him and restrain him. He went fucking mental! I’ve had two guys go fucking loco being near you. I need to watch Joe like a hawk. I need you to let me keep you safe, damn it. If you weren’t given to me as a gift Kyla, you’d be dead by now because any of those guys would’ve drained you.”

“Either them or you, right? Someone in this place’ll drain me if I don’t go and that’s why I ran.”

“Lie down.”

“Please don’t restrain me. I won’t try to---”

“Too late.”

“Tristan.”

“It didn’t have to be this way. But you made your bed. Lie down.”  He had a cold look on his face. Kyla’s blood chilled.

He pulled her down and lay down beside her, reached into her kangaroo pocket and pulled out her flip flops and threw them on the floor, his face filled with disgust. That look scorched her soul. They stared each other down for a moment.

“I can’t believe you,” he said softly, “How can I trust you when you fight everything you feel?”

He put his head on the pillow beside her and waited for her to answer. She dashed more tears off her face with the backs of her hands and stared right back, “I don’t wanna feel. I need to use my brain to make sure I survive. And I don’t need or want your trust.” She shuddered and trembled. The chains rattled, her teeth started to chatter. She covered her mouth and sobbed into her hands.

She half expected him to reach for her. He didn’t, he just stared at her. His eyes looked wet, like they were filled with unshed tears and it made them bluer, even more beautiful.  They stared at one another for a long time, saying nothing. Inexplicably she suddenly wished, beyond all reason, that he would just reach for her, comfort her like he’d done earlier tonight. But he didn’t. He just stared. She chided herself for wanting him to hold her. How ridiculous was that? After all that’d happened, after all she’d just said to him.

I’ve gone insane.

After a few minutes she closed her eyes and asked sleep to give her a break from the agony that twisted inside of her. And just like that, Kyla lost her title as reigning champion of the stare down.

It seemed like hours later when she opened her eyes. But it probably wasn’t. He was still in the same spot, still staring at her. The sun still hadn’t risen. It felt like it’d never rise again.

“I’m cold,” she whispered, hoping to get under the blankets.

He didn’t say anything. She shifted to try to face the other way so she wouldn’t have to look at him. He tightened his grip on the chain so that she couldn’t turn over. She whimpered and covered her face with the pillow.  He took the pillow away from her and threw it on the floor. His expression was still so cold-looking. He evidently wanted her uncomfortable, wanted her to have to face his angry gaze, face the consequences of her actions. She covered her eyes with her hands and eventually fell back asleep.

When Kyla woke up again she was in the exact same spot. Tristan was still beside her, facing her. This time he was sleeping but he didn’t look peaceful. His brow was furrowed in his sleep. He was holding her arm chain in a hand and had the leg chain wrapped around his ankle. His other hand was above her head and he had a handful of her hair in his grip. He was making sure she wouldn’t escape.

She felt like shit. That sleep wasn’t restful at all. What little had been left of the night was plagued with his face in her dreams --- his disappointed, hurt face. And, the horror of her situation, which she was still trying to process.

Kyla glanced at his wristwatch, it was only just after 9:am. She needed the bathroom. She’d have to wake him to ask if she could use the washroom. The cuff around her wrist dug into the scab left from last night’s bite. There was a matching painful scab in the crook of her arm, too. And her free wrist was black and blue.

Black and blue. Hah. Like his eyes…

She shifted uncomfortably. She was sore from last night’s excitement. And now, in the light of day, reality was setting in. She’d be stupid to try to run from Tristan again and was lucky to be alive. But what was the alternative? This couldn’t be her life, her destiny. Could it?

And now he was angry with her, probably hated her. He’d looked at her so painfully, felt like she betrayed him by running away. As if she’d ever professed a commitment or undying devotion or anything other than wanting to leave. She felt a pain stab through her chest. What a mess. If he ever drank from her again would she feel that hatred crawl through her again? She didn’t think she could bear it. She knew he’d drink from her again. He’d told her, himself, how addicted he was to her blood. She’d made her bed, enraging him, and now here she was --- laying in it.

Kyla stirred again, making the chain in his hand jiggle on purpose. She hoped he’d wake up.  He didn’t. She moved her leg a little so that the chain would tighten around his leg. He still didn’t move. She moved her head a little bit and her hair slipped out of his grasp but it didn’t wake him.

She stared at his handsome face.  He was beautiful. Thick lashes framing his eyes, dark waves falling over his forehead. His body looked so strong but he looked so human right now. She felt remorse. Her heart felt like it was twisting. This was so messed up. Maybe this bond was real and maybe it wasn’t so terrible. She’d never had a connection like this before, ever. Nothing even close.

Obviously it had to do with his vampire powers but she dug back inside her memory, trying to feel how she’d felt last night before she tried to leave and wanted, desperately, to be back in that moment with him, that moment when he worshipped her body and called her Princess and stared at her like she
was
his princess.

When she was a little girl she’d dream that her life was a lot like being like Rapunzel, trapped in her tower waiting for her Prince. She’d think about his rescuing her and whisking her away into the sunset and taking her to a place she belonged, not a place she was staying temporarily. He’d be perfect. Tall, dark, and handsome. With dimples. With blue eyes. With a white horse. And he’d say, ‘I’m here to save you, Princess. Now we can ride off into the sunset and I’ll spend my life giving you your happily ever after.’

But every man who’d been close to her or responsible for her had either left her, disappointed her deeply, or did something inappropriate and this had shattered her image of her prince and after that there was no prince charming in her dreams. With everything that had happened with every man who’d gotten close to her, she just couldn’t believe in her prince any more. She’d decided she could never rely on anyone to rescue her and that she’d never be a victim. She’d take care of herself.

She’d purposely avoided guys with blue eyes, even; feeling so betrayed by the fact that her prince never arrived.

Here she was with a prince, sort of. He was far from perfect but despite that, she wanted to reach out and touch his face right now. Her fingers tingled and she was about to reach for him but stopped when he opened his eyes, finally, and pulled the chain tighter into his grasp, as if she’d been about to get away.

“What?” he asked coldly, “Planning to stake me in the heart while I sleep?”

“I have to pee,” she said shyly, “I was willing you awake. Seeing if I could hypnotise you to open your eyes.”

He didn’t smile. He let go of her chain and reached into his jeans pocket for a key, which he handed to her.

“I wanted to take a shower, too,” she said softly.

He nodded and stared at the ceiling. His beautiful blue eyes were absolutely bloodshot. She unshackled herself, put the key on the nightstand, and walked to the bathroom.

Her body felt so battered that the water was like a tonic after a battle. She examined herself and found bite marks, scabs, hickies, and her ribs and thighs felt bruised, probably from being thrown over his shoulder during the supersonic whoosh from the woods back to the house. Her feet were filthy. She lathered up her hair and her body and stood under the hot water against the tiled wall for a long time.

What would today bring? She heard him say, “Stake me in the heart?” again in her mind. Was that another bit of vampire lore? She’d heard his heartbeat herself, felt hers beat in perfect time with it. Was he immortal or just as breakable as anyone? The idea of him breaking was surprisingly too painful to bear thinking about. She knew even after what had happened she couldn’t do anything violent to him, even though he clearly had no problem inflicting violence on her, or rather, unleashing it into her veins.

She was so confused at her feelings. She cried in the shower and stayed in there for a long time. She didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to see him looking so cold and bitter after having seen and having felt the exact opposite. She didn’t know what the whole vampire legend thing meant. She didn’t think she wanted to know. She zigzagged between wanting away from here and wanting back in his good graces.  She couldn’t stand the turmoil inside of her. And his repeated mysterious “it’s done” comments stirred something in her, something she couldn’t name.

After a long time in the shower she dried off and wrapped a towel around herself and then walked out and into the closet to get some clothes. 

He wasn’t in the room. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. She dressed in a soft velour tracksuit, the kind of clothing she’d have chosen at home if she were sick and planning to stay in bed. She climbed back onto the bed and flopped.

She eyed the shackles, which were still attached to the headboard and footboard. She cringed at the prospect of being stuck in those again. The key was on the nightstand. She grabbed it and tucked it between the mattress and box spring. If he couldn’t find the key maybe he wouldn’t chain her again.

Kyla put her head down on the pillow, beyond exhausted. All she’d done for the past few days since being here was sleep and cry. And agonize. And fuck.

A while later she started to wonder where Tristan was. No concern for whether she was hungry or thirsty? So, this was how it’d be now? She climbed under the covers and closed her eyes and fell asleep feeling sorry for herself, almost wishing she could sleep forever.
So much for not feeling like a victim.

She was startled by the sound of the door clicking shut. She was alone so he must’ve drifted off and he must’ve just left. There was cereal, fruit, and coffee on the table. She wearily trudged over to the table and ate a few bites. The coffee sucked and the food was flavourless. After three bites of cereal she pushed it away.

He entered the room as she was pushing the bowl away. He didn’t look at her and his mouth was set in a firm and angry line. He walked over to the bed and began to drag it. She looked at him quizzically. He ignored her.

Anything in his way got roughly shoved and whenever he had to shove something he muttered curse words. He dragged the huge and very heavy looking piece of furniture effortlessly and didn’t stop until it was directly beside the bathroom door, almost blocking the doorway. Then he left the room and came back with more chains.  Kyla’s heart felt like it leapt into her throat.

“No.”

“Bed,” he said, meeting her eyes. His face looked hardened, cold.

She started shaking her head, “Don’t do this.” She shriveled against the window.

“I warned you. You didn’t listen.”

“Tristan.”

“Shut your mouth,” he glowered at her.

“But Tristan, I---”

“Shut the fuck up. Bed.” He pointed at the bed.

Kyla was numb.

“You wanted me to leave you alone; you get your wish. This is the bed you made, Kyla. Move. Now!”

She didn’t budge, couldn’t budge. He strode over to her and hauled her out of the chair and put her on the bed. He wasn’t exactly rough but he certainly wasn’t tender about it.

Sadness swept through her as he linked chains together and then attached them to the headboard. He didn’t look at her face. She didn’t fight. His jaw was tight and she could see the fury on his face. He only attached one of her wrists this time, the one that didn’t have the scab and bruise, and left her feet free.  He stacked the extra beverages and fruit left from breakfast on a bookshelf that was within arm’s reach of the bed and walked over to the nightstand and brought her the remote control. He tossed it on the bed and then left, slamming the door. She heard a loud thunk of a lock a split second later and a loud metal crashing noise that she suspected was the gate being slammed down the hall.

She felt like she was sinking into despair. She stared into space, feeling numb, almost catatonic for what felt like and what might’ve been hours.

Eventually, as the room started to dim, the door opened and her heart sank when she realized it was both Joe and Sam. Sam had a cart with food and drinks on it. He wheeled it over beside her. Joe stood in the doorway, arms folded, a sickeningly pleased look on his face. She tried not to look at them.

“Is he finally housebreaking you, darlin’?” Joe asked.  She didn’t answer. “You’ve put him in a pretty miserable mood, I gotta say.”

“Enough,” Sam grunted at him.

He scoffed and the two men left the room. She didn’t bother to even look at what was there. She wasn’t hungry.

It’d been an endless day. She quickly got tired of television. As it got even darker she wondered when he came in if he’d take the shackle off then, if it was just for when he wasn’t in the room. But it got dark and he didn’t come. She felt sick to her stomach over the whole thing and woke up probably every hour on the hour from midnight on.

Where was he? What would happen next? The carpet was still littered with shattered glass, the table filled with this morning’s breakfast dishes, and the overturned lamp was beside the bed. There was a giant hole in the wall from his fist directly beside the neglected dinner cart and it seemed like it glared at her, accusingly.

He didn’t come back that night. She felt a bit of relief.

Good, he won’t bother me. Won’t try to touch me. Won’t steal blood from me.

But she slept terrible.

And he didn’t come back the next day, either. She felt anxiety about it all day long, like she’d wanted to crawl out of her own skin. She didn’t know why but she wanted him to come back. She stared pitifully at the bedroom door, willing it to open and berating herself for wanting to see him. Joe and Sam showed up together twice that day with carts of food. She pretended to be asleep both times.

On the third morning she could hear one of them clearing up broken glass and smelled the scent of the wall being patched up.  She finally looked up as she felt something on the bed.  Sam had pulled out some clean clothes from among her still-packed belongings in the closet and put them on the end of the bed. He gave her a sad little smile.  She didn’t return it only looked back down at the bed. He had an armful of Tristan’s clothing that he left with. Joe had been in the doorway the entire time.

Another cart came and went that evening and all she’d taken from it was a bottle of water. She fell asleep that night on his side of the bed, trying to feel him, inhaling his pillow and searching for his scent, which was just barely there.

She had nightmares that night that must’ve woken her up at least three times. In one she was running for her life through the tunnel with the bloodied walls and was looking for him. In the dream she’d called his name over and over but he didn’t come. She woke up sweating and frantic.  Another dream involved her sitting on the floor, pulling razor blades across her arms and watching the blood ooze out. In the dream she’d kept screaming his name, calling him to come and get the blood, “Come and get it you black-eyed monster!” she screamed in the dream but he wouldn’t come so she resorted to pleading with him in the dream, “Please, Tristan. I’m sorry!”

Then she dreamt about him again, a vivid sex dream where it started with him all smiles and dimples. He’d been about to bite her and about to plunge his cock into her and she’d wanted it, badly, laying on a bed with her legs spread and her head tilted, exposing her throat for him but then he moved to stand over her, staring, with black eyes and an angry snarl. She jolted awake with noise.

The guys were there, swapping carts, “I have a bad headache,” Kyla muttered, “Do you think I could get some Tylenol or Advil, please?”