And Now You're Mine

by Annie Harland Creek

  “It’s nearly dawn, and I think it best you return to your own accommodation. Tomorrow I will come for you at 7:00 PM. Be ready.” He turned and headed towards his bedroom, stopping at the door to add a final warning. “Do not believe I can be swayed by your feminine wiles. You will honor our pact or there will be consequences.”

  Chapter Five

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Of course.” Christoff answered. “I do own a watch.”

  “I forgot who I was talking to, and please don’t respond to that, it was rhetorical.”

  Christoff sighed. Humans. If he lived another thousand years, he’d never understand them.

  “Listen, Palmer. I want the name and address of the man you paid to follow Evangeline. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “Wait just a minute.” Terry cleared his throat. “What lesson? What are you talking about?”

  “I asked you to have her followed, not beaten. Your lackey sexually assaulted her and blackened her eye. I will not tolerate such behavior.” He could feel the tension knotting his shoulders and he struggled to control the volume of his speech.

  “No way.” Terry argued. “My man is a pussy cat with women. When he phoned in his surveillance report he couldn’t stop commenting on how nice she seemed. He said he left the moment she walked into a different room of the library.”

  “If not him, who attacked her?”

  “Give me a minute to leave the room,” Terry asked, “I don’t want to wake Susie.”

  Within minutes, the volume of his voice changed.

  “Okay, I’ve just checked my computer, and in his report, Adam mentioned two other people sitting at the same table with him and your gypsy. Another man and an older woman. One of those could have been the unsub.”

  “I will give your colleague the benefit of the doubt, for now.” But I’ll be keeping an eye on him.

  “Gee, thanks.” The sarcasm in Terry’s voice was clear, even to Christoff. “Now, fuck off back to your coffin and stop calling me at three in the morning.”

  The line went dead. Christoff shrugged and strolled to the refrigerator for a snack.

  The left-over slices of pizza glared at him from the almost empty shelves inside the refrigerator as he reached for his morning bag of blood. He raised an eyebrow, pondering Evangeline’s choice of food. Given cart-blanche, she chose fast food? He shook his head. It didn’t make sense. He’d followed her for weeks. Watched her steal and blackmail, extort, and demand exorbitant amounts of money from unsuspecting customers. Why then didn’t her lifestyle reflect this? She’d told him her refrigerator was out of order. Surely that would be a priority? Even her clothes bore the tags of bargain basement stores. He’d caught a glimpse of the tag at the base of her neck, while whispering his terms into her ear. He scratched his chin and wondered if she even had clothes suitable for the restaurant he’d planned to take her to this evening. Should he ask? The image of her proud face materialized in his mind. He shook the idea from his thoughts and decided on a better course of action.

  ****

  What’s that noise? Evangeline stretched her arms above her head and checked the time on her phone. 9:00 AM. Sleeping had proven difficult after the events of the previous day and especially the night. Even her dreams had been disturbingly X-rated. Her nipples strained against the cotton tank top. Her satin boxers clung uncomfortably against her skin, damp from the memory of her dream lover’s hands stroking her, teasing her, tasting her.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  “All right, I’m coming!” She called to the intruder at her door. A smile spread across her face. If the caller had waited a few minutes longer…

  “Who is it?” The chain provided enough room to peek through the crack. She hoped it would give her enough time to slam and lock the door if her attacker had found her.

  “I have a delivery for Ms. Evangeline Russo.”

  “I didn’t order anything.” What was this young guy playing at? Was it a trap?

  “The invoice says it’s from a Mr. Christoff Berg. I need a signature.”

  Chris? What would he have sent me? Interesting. She closed the door, unlatched the chain, and flung the door open, posing with one hand on the handle, the other on her hip. Judging by the delivery man’s face, he appreciated the view and the size of his package impressed her as well. Was there a body in that box?

  “Sign here please.” The young man stammered as he held out the electronic device and stylus.

  As she handed back the apparatus, she grabbed the package and after struggling to squeeze it into the door frame, shut the door behind her. Absently, she called her thanks through the door as she began to tear into the box. A gift, for me? When was the last time she’d received anything by courier? Come to think of it, not once. She’d never stayed in a location long enough to have an actual postal address and for good reason. For the longest time, she stared at the pale pink tissue paper wrapping and the magenta ribbons binding the parcel. Whatever it was, it looked too pretty to open. Too pretty for a woman who made a living from seducing men into doing her bidding. No. Red suited her better. Scarlet like the label she’d been given.

  She sat cross-legged on the linoleum floor and gently untied the bows, gasping when the prize was revealed. A dress? Not just a dress, a beautiful, mint green dress made from the softest fabric she’d ever touched. Her fingers skimmed the material. As smooth as butter. Carefully, she lifted it from the box and held it up to the full-length mirror near her bed. The full skirt sat at a modest length, just below her knees, but nothing else about the dress suggested modesty. Beside the band of fabric behind the neck, it was otherwise backless, and the plunging neckline left little to the imagination, opening to the waist. She returned to the empty box, searching for a note and found an envelope addressed to her. Inside, along with a note, she discovered a satin thong in the same color as the dress. Her eyebrows knit as she examined the skimpy underwear. Hardly more than a scrap of lace and a few ribbons of satin. Her hand shook as she read the note aloud.

  “I have taken the liberty to choose an appropriate ensemble for you in preparation for our dinner and my après dinner entertainment.”

  Après dinner? Her hand shot to her mouth as she remembered the whispered addendum.

  “Don’t expect me to be satisfied by a glimpse of cleavage. I want to see all of you. Every last inch of your flesh.”

  She held up the panties between finger and thumb and swallowed the lump caught in her throat. He’d left nothing to chance. The plunging neckline of the dress insured she’d be braless and, for the amount of flesh this thong would cover, she may as well be altogether naked. Blood pumped a steady, rhythmic beat in her ears, but her heart left enough to send to every erogenous zone in her body. This man knew exactly what he wanted and for now, he wanted her. Would that change once he had his precious locket? Would he use her body and discard her like trash? She looked from the dress back to her reflection in the mirror. Her last boyfriend had told her she had a body for sin. Despite this, he’d stolen her savings and left. With a shake of her head, she placed the dress carefully on the bed and moved her meager clothes in the wardrobe to reveal the wall safe. As she dug out the bag containing the locket, she made up her mind. He could have her body. Hell, if his body was any indication of his lovemaking, she might even enjoy it, but if he wanted the contents of that locket, he’d better be willing to pay.

  ****

  Evangeline tossed the clumsy oven mitts aside and glared at the locket. She flipped it over with a pocket knife and studied it through the magnifying glass she’d found in a thrift store. No visible opening on either end. Who the hell designed this idiotic thing? The wall clock warned her that time was running out. Chris wanted his pound of flesh at precisely 7:00 PM. She had less than an hour to shower and dress for their rendezvous. With a sigh, she reached out with her bare left hand, and picked up the locket, wincing as the metal seared her skin.

  Digging the point of the knife into the r
ight side of the clasp, she wriggled and prodded the lock, hoping to break it open. Maybe Chris won’t notice the marks on the metal? He’d only seen the medallion through the window of the caravan. She’d tell him she’d found it that way. What choice did he have but to believe her?

  With one final shove, the knife slipped past the join and into the soft flesh of her palm. Blood pooled into the intricate engravings on the face of the locket. For one startling moment, the wolf’s eyes flamed to life and then, the entire motif flooded scarlet as Evangeline’s blood filled every crevice. Then, just as quickly, the blood disappeared, as if swallowed by the carnivorous wolf.

  “Fuck. That’s weird.”

  The locket dropped to the table and sprang open, revealing a tiny metal scroll. She ran to the tiny bathroom, tore a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and balled it in her left hand as she warily removed the cylinder with her right hand. No sooner had she removed it, when the locket snapped shut, leaving no sign of ever having opened. Tempting as it was to unroll the tiny treasure, she realised that risk of discovery was too real. If she kept Chris waiting, he’d surely snoop around, possibly spot the scroll. No. Better to hide it away in the safe until later. In the morning, she’d have plenty of privacy and the time to research its value. Tonight, held more important issues, like … how to seduce a vampire and survive.

  ****

  “All right, already. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  Christoff screwed up his face at the strange comment. What did she mean by that reference? He’d merely knocked repeatedly on her door. After all, she should have expected him. He checked his wrist watch. 7:00 PM precisely. He raised his hand to knock again, but it opened before his knuckles reached the door.

  “I hope these sandals look okay with the dress,” she told him as she posed in the doorway. “Normally, I prefer sneakers, and these are my only heels.”

  He took a moment to answer, afraid his voice would betray him.

  “No one will be looking at your feet.”

  Raising his right arm, he offered her his hand and helped her down the metal steps. Her small, olive skinned hand appeared delicate in his large, pale one. Delicate, except for the small rectangular dressing on her palm and the pink, blistered skin surrounding it.

  “You’re hurt?”

  She pulled her hand away, hiding it behind her back as if the sight of it lessened her appeal. A smile threatened to spread his lips. If anything, the action straightened her shoulders, forcing her chest forward and drawing even more attention to her breasts.

  “Hey, eyes up here,” she reminded him with a sweep of her hand before answering his question. “I had an accident with a knife this afternoon. Nothing major.”

  He regarded her facial expression with wonder. Why had she denied the burn? He’d seen enough scorched flesh in his time, usually his own, and recognized the significance. Shame closed his eyes. He’d instructed her to bring the medallion and thereby caused her injury. The drawstring purse at her wrist bore the telltale weight of a locket. He’d seen the blasted thing glowing with preternatural heat and her reaction to it. How could he have been so insensitive to her human fragility? She must have burned her hand as she placed it in her bag, as per his instructions. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened his eyes and drank her in. Her huge doe eyes, staring at him in wonder. Her full, bow-shaped lips slick with pink gloss and just a hint of perspiration. The slight deviation in her septum, an imperfection that made her even more perfect in his eyes. Round, rosy cheeks, accentuated by a strong jaw and chin. He tilted his head to the right. Why had he never noticed the widow’s peak of her forehead and the way it forced her features into the shape of a heart? Of course. Her thick, unruly hair had been carefully pinned in an up style with the exception of a few wayward strands that had escaped to fall around her face.

  “You look lovely, min dyrebare.” He again offered his arm, elbow out. “Come, our table awaits.”

  She accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her towards his car, but he sensed reluctance, a slowing of her step, until she finally stopped at the car and confessed.

  “Look, Chris. I appreciate the dinner invitation, but couldn’t we just order out?”

  “No. We have reservations.” He held firm to her elbow and tried to edge her closer to the car. She dug in her heels.

  “It’s just… I’ve never…” Genuine fear widened her already huge eyes. Fear that he could put to rest.

  “If it puts your mind at ease. I have never eaten in a restaurant either.”

  Her mouth formed the shape of an O and she blinked a few times. “You haven’t been in a restaurant? But I thought—”

  “Oh, I’ve been in restaurants,” he corrected, “I just don’t eat.”

  Her eyebrows drew into a frown. “Stop messing with my head.”

  He leaned back against the side of his Porsche and folded his arms. “I can, and sometimes do eat human food, but it is not necessary for my survival. I do not eat at restaurants because I do not enjoy eating alone. Tonight will be a night of many firsts … for both of us.”

  “Many?” Her face visibly paled and he heard the sharp intake of her breath as he leaned in close to her face.

  “Many.”

  ****

  “Oh, shit, shit, shit.” Evangeline lowered her chin and avoided eye contact with the couple about to pass their table.

  Christoff leaned forward and, with the tip of his finger, raised her chin. “Back straight. Eyes forward. They will not recognize you.”

  She reluctantly did as he instructed, but held her breath. Would they cause a scene? Maybe have her thrown out before she’d even ordered?

  As they passed, the male nodded to Christoff and the female smiled, but they followed their waiter to their table without a word. What just happened?

  “Did you use some type of mind control?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I expected… I don’t know what I expected.” She shrugged her shoulders and scratched at the base of her neck.

  “Stop that.”

  She dropped her hands into her lap, silently cursing herself for obeying him. Why should she care what he thinks? This was a business transaction, nothing more. Remember that, she instructed the butterflies that had taken flight in her stomach from the moment they’d arrived at the fancy schmancy restaurant. So many knives and forks, not to mention the glasses. How many glasses did one person need? The waiter handed her a menu and the butterflies dropped … stone cold dead. Cold sweat began to bead on her upper lip and her legs turned to jelly.

  He looked up from his menu, opened his mouth to speak, then paused. The coldness in his blue eyes melted away and something in her heart thawed along with it when he gently took the menu from her hand.

  “Would you mind if I ordered for you? I’d like to surprise you.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding and nodded. “So much to choose from. I couldn’t make up my mind.”

  He smiled and her heart back-flipped. Why hadn’t she noticed how handsome he was? Maybe because he hadn’t flashed those pearly whites before? Or was it the gentleness in his features when he wasn’t trying to look intimidating? He held her gaze, even as he motioned for the waiter. By the time the first course arrived, she’d fallen hopelessly in lust.

  ****

  Despite himself, Christoff couldn’t help but admire the woman. She’d adapted to the new situation with class. Mirroring his actions. Choosing the right cutlery and crystal. No wonder she’d excelled in her profession. Her people skills were excellent. If he hadn’t seen her curled up on his couch, stuffing her face with pizza, he’d believe her to be every bit the lady she portrayed.

  Resting his elbow on the table, he leaned his chin between his thumb and forefinger to ponder. Why choose a life of crime when she could easily use her ‘talents’ to snag a rich husband? She caught him staring and bit her bottom lip. Coyness? Color rushed to her cheeks and a blush spread down her neck to her breasts.
This is new.

  “Do I have something on my face?” She nervously swiped at her mouth with a napkin while avoiding eye contact.

  Strange thing to say. “No. Why do you ask?”

  She dropped the napkin back in her lap and frowned. “The way you were staring at me, I thought I must have grown another head.”

  “I don’t understand humans,” he shook his head while remembering, “Susie hyperventilated when I studied her face. Why are you women so nervous?”

  An invisible barrier went up between them. She squared her shoulders and held her chin high, as if he’d somehow insulted her.

  “I only met her once, but she is beautiful.”

  “Who?”

  “Susie.” Her eyes rolled, and she sighed. “You said you were staring at her.”

  “Oh, yes. She has the strangest eye color. I have since learned that my gaze is unsettling.”

  She looked up at him from under a heavy fringe of dark lashes and smiled. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He tried to fake a frown, but he could feel the corners of his mouth curl. “I am learning to understand sarcasm. You are making fun of me.”

  She held out her hand, thumb and forefinger slightly apart. “Just a little bit.”

  He leaned forward and took her hand in his.

  “You are a paradox, a great mystery to me. What drove you to a life of deceit when you could be whatever you choose? Why have you not chosen a husband?”

  Ebony eyes stared at him. Her face contorted into an expression he could not comprehend. Anger? Surprise? Pain? She snatched her hand away and put it in her lap.

  “How is what I do any worse than a head-shrinker? They come to me with a problem and I give them peace of mind.”

  He leaned forward. “And what of the husbands? What do you give them?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Let me tell you something, buster. They get what they deserve. A reminder to keep it in their pants or pay the piper. I’m doing the wives a favor.”

  “How? By having coitus with their husbands?”