by DD Prince
Where was he? What would happen next? The carpet was still littered with shattered glass, the table filled with that 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.
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, lying on a bed with her legs spread, 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?”
“Yep,” Joe said from the doorway, not looking at her. He and Sam left and returned a moment later with two pills that Sam placed on the cart beside a glass of thick pink liquid.
“Thanks,” she whispered and took a sip to down the pills. It was a strawberry banana smoothie.
“You’re not eating, love,” Sam said softly. “He doesn’t want you ill. Drink that all, please.”
She put the cup down after just one swig. Sam let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shook his head at her and then the two men left. She didn’t drink any more of it. She turned her back on the tray and closed her raw and sore eyes.
Another long day. Her soul ached even more than her eyes, head, and her gut. She felt empty. It was the only thing worse than the headache. How long would he keep her locked up in here? She was able to reach the sink and shower and toilet but desperately wanted to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. She surveyed her face in the mirror. The dark circles around her eyes were back and darker than ever. Her skin was pale. She felt empty inside, except for a dull pinching sensation in her veins that had started the previous night. And it was sharpening.
She wanted the feel of concrete slapping the bottoms of her shoes. Wanted to see his eyes, his dimples, heck, even his fangs. Kyla desperately wanted to see him, to feel him, to feed him, to feel his soft kisses all over her face, all over her back and shoulders. She felt stupid and foolish and empty. How could she feel this way after having been kidnapped just a few days ago, after finding out that vampires were real? After being chained to a bed as a punishment.
Right then, she didn’t care what sort of voodoo bullshit he’d done to make her want him. She craved his touch, needed him. She felt so empty, and suspected that only he could fill the void. But, this was sick, and twisted, and wrong, and so crazy.
Kyla felt like she was going crazy without him. He’d told her he could feel what she felt, so she wondered if he knew she was sorry. She tried to reach out in her head for him, wondering if he could feel how much she needed him to come in and not be angry any more.
She stayed awake most of the night, trying to rationalize, trying to figure things out in her head. She thought about her childhood, her teens, about her life now, about what she wanted from her life tomorrow. She thought about so many of the things she’d pushed aside and ignored for years. Everything was pain, everything except Tristan. She had an aching need for him and it hurt so bad. Why? Why was she craving her captor? That man was a monster who could be a monster but who could also be the man of her dreams.
The romantic looks, the touch and sensations, the idea of someplace safe and warm. It was a safety and warmth she’d never ever felt before. Feeling like a stray chained up in the pound she wondered if he could be her forever home.
Not likely; what if I finally got my prince but I fucked it up by running?
She laughed aloud. Some prince. A prince who’d take sex, take blood, lock her in a room, chain her to the bed, who’d push his own rage into her veins to be sure she felt it, and who’d leave her for days to punish her. But the looks, the touches, the emotion… Gah! Where would they be right then if she hadn’t run?
And would she be feeling this if she’d gotten away or was it just because she was chained to his bed in his room, surrounded by his scent? Consuming her blood had let him inside her in a way that was more intimate than she could fathom, and she knew that the addiction he talked about was mutual.
For the four nights in a row, she’d been crying herself to sleep without him, and during the day she stared mindlessly at the TV. She took two or three showers a day to break up the boredom, but she felt like she was deep in a pit of despair. On the third night, she could’ve sworn he was there as she bolted awake, smelling warm caramel, but not seeing him. She went back to sleep feeling like she’d been gutted.
A junkie for her blood? Hah.
Clearly, she was more of a junkie than he was, though, because he was staying away, and she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin rather than be a prisoner inside this body and never feel him touch her again.
Were those blood tests back yet? What would happen next, especially now that he so obviously hated her? He’d said it was done, she was his. Would she just waste away in this room, being cared for by his minions?
Sam seemed like the caring one. Joe, the broody angry one. They came into her room 3-4 times a day, always together, to check on her and bring her food and drinks. Joe occasionally made comments and his expression was always cold. Sam seemed more brotherly, looking at her with concern. Neither came within 2 feet of her, though, other than to drop something on or beside the bed. It was as if she was in an invisible protective bubble.
Sam had tried, several times, to coax her to eat. She drank water and juice and had a few sips of crummy-tasting coffee, but kept refusing food. She had a few sips of smoothies or protein shakes or whatever they were when he insisted, but never finished them. The headache was agonizing, and it was almost constant.
As it got dark on night four, Sam put another stack of clean clothes on the bookshelf beside the bed and tried to talk her into eating some soup. She just kept her eyes closed.
He got impatient for the first time and his voice got angry, “I’d force feed you if
he’d allow it!” Then he stormed out.
That night, she woke up screaming. She was drenched with sweat and had no idea what she was afraid of, but she could smell him. Where was he? Was she hallucinating? Was this the equivalent of some junkie detoxing? DT’s?
“Tristan?” she asked. Was he in the room? There was no answer.
“Tristan!” she screamed as loud as she could, frantically looking around the dark room to see if he was there. He wasn’t. Her veins were pinching hard, and her skin felt wrong, off, like stuff was crawling on it, in it. She started scratching up and down her arms and legs roughly, trying to make the sensation go away. She crawled over to the other side of the bed where the sheets weren’t soaked with sweat and collapsed into the pillow, sobbing, shivering. She felt hollow. She lay there for hours just staring into the darkness, teeth occasionally chattering, feeling like she was empty inside.
Kyla woke up on the fifth morning, startled as she heard noise in the room. She figured it was another useless breakfast tray coming in, but then caught a sweet aroma in her nostrils, stronger than last night. She sat upright. Tristan was coming out of the bathroom.
He was dressed in a burgundy dress shirt and jeans. He looked freshly showered, with damp hair. He was gorgeous, heart-stoppingly gorgeous and her heart did seem to stop for a beat. She wanted to reach out and grab him and hang on tight. Insatead, she said nothing. She watched him walk closer. He wasn’t looking at her. Her heart started to pump harder and faster. Her bottom lip started to tremble, but she did everything she could to stop her emotions from rushing out.
He came over to the bed, sat on the edge, still not looking at her face. She remained stone still, feeling like her throat was filled with sawdust, but could feel his presence as if he was the whole room. All of her senses were hyperaware of him. There was gnawing in her gut, an aching need for him. Tingling on her skin. Her veins were thickening, throbbing, and her blood warming up. She kept her eyes fixed on the bedspread.
“They said you won’t eat. You’ll get sick. What’ve you done?” He lifted her wrist chain. Her arms were covered in scratches. She didn’t answer. Her chin trembled harder and she feared the levy would break.
“I ran you a bath. But then you need to eat,” he said softly, looking at her wrist. He started to examine the cuff of her shackle. The feel of his fingers on her wrist was almost her undoing. She let out a little whimper, but held back the onslaught of emotion that threatened to jet out. She felt like she was trapped in her own body and that it was a foreign prison.
She reached between the mattress and box spring with her free hand and pulled out the key and handed it to him, her hand shaking.
Their eyes finally met, and his brows were raised in surprise. He put the key down on the bed and stared at the cuff again and she heard a click. It was as if he’d willed the lock to turn with his eyes.
What on Earth?
Her wrist was free. She massaged it. Tristan got up and walked to his desk and turned the computer on. His back was to her. She sat a moment, processing that he’d done that without the key, and then after a few moments it was obvious he had nothing else to say, so she slowly got up and went into the bathroom to take a bath. Her knees knocked together; she felt so weak.
The water felt soothing. Not being chained felt amazing. Seeing him felt… confusing. She sank into the bubbles and willed the water to wash away the despair she felt.
When she returned to the bedroom, feeling slightly energized, there was a note on Tristan’s pillow. The bedding had been changed and the bed was back where it belonged.
Kyla,
I’ve left food on the table for you. Please eat.
If you want me…
walk over to my office (after you’ve eaten).
I believe you know the way…
T.
(P.S. Eat.)
She was surprised that her shackle was not first put back on. The pile of chains sat on a chair by the bed. She was also surprised at the tone of his note. “If you want me…”
I believe you know the way, dot, dot, dot? It almost sounded playful. She looked over at the door to the bedroom and wondered if he had locked it and put the gate back across. No, she was not about to check.
She went to the table and found a thermal carafe of coffee, a mug, a small thermos of milk, and sugar dish. There were also a few pieces of fruit, several granola bars, a box of muesli cereal, plus a small cooler containing a tall bottle of orange juice, two protein bars, two bottles of water, and a wrapped foot long deli submarine sandwich. He was either hoping she would scarf down a lot of food or he was planning to be gone for a while. She winced as she sat down and poured the coffee and quickly ate a half of a banana. It seemed to want to stay down so she sat and sipped the coffee. It was her favorite coffee. She had a minor taste bud orgasm. The coffee that had been sent in the last few days couldn’t have been this coffee. Or maybe she just didn’t taste it due to her state of mind.
She looked out the window across the way and wondered what he was doing in the office. She felt restless but knew that there wasn’t much she would dare do about it. She was not walking over there. What would she even say? Just because he’d let her out of the chains didn’t exactly mean that things were better, did they? For the moment, she’d be happy to count the blessing that she’d seen his face.
Hah! She was more relieved about seeing him than she was about getting out of the chain. Wow.
She opened the window to let some fresh air in the room and then cautiously stepped out onto the balcony. The air and the aroma of the flowers in the courtyard lifted her spirits a little. She still felt a little bit of pinching in her veins, but nothing like the previous night. She sat on the chair for a moment and stared at the window to his office, wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking, and feeling. After a while, she went back into the bedroom.
She spent half an hour organizing her things in the closet. She separated the clothes from the other miscellaneous things and moved a few of Tristan’s things around to clear two shelves. She piled everything of hers on those shelves.
There. My life. Two small shelves in a vampire’s mansion. How sad is this?
And does this mean I’ve accepted this?
She didn’t prod within for an answer, but knew she put things away because, at some level, she’d hoped it would make him happy. She was trying to show him he didn’t need to worry about her trying to run. She didn’t want to question her sanity. She knew she’d do that if she put any degree of thought into her actions right now but told herself she was just doing what she needed to do right now. Right this minute she needed to do this. She didn’t want to prod because she was tired of being in the labyrinth inside her own head. There was no way to make sense of this situation right now so why torment herself?
As she put things away she checked out his belongings. He had a lot of suits, many of pairs of jeans, some nice jewellery, lots of dress shoes, boots, and several pairs of running shoes. His closet probably rivaled a rich woman’s closet in terms of number of articles of clothing as well as the money spent.
She opened all the bottles of cologne on the dressing table one at a time, sniffing them. She couldn’t find that scent, the warm scent she always smelled at the base, underneath the various desserty scents. She was craving it so badly. She tried to ignore that pinching sensation in her arms and legs.
Kyla broke the boxes down and put them against a wall in the closet and then climbed into bed and put the TV on, peeling and eating an orange. It was a long and boring afternoon. Every once in while she’d forget for a little while, but then something would be said on a show to remind her of her bizarre predicament.
Or, she’d see the shackles on the chair out of the corner of her eye. She had a minor crying episode watching a classic episode of Looney Tunes with that cartoon vampire bat and Bugs, when Bugs kept saying Abracadabra, Hocus Pocus.
She kept wishing he’d come in, although she dreaded it at the same time. So co
nfusing! She decided to lose herself in a book. There was a bookcase with hardcover books, great books she’d have owned herself. Shakespeare, John Steinbeck, many others.
She snickered as she fingered the spine of Interview with the Vampire. In fact, one entire shelf was dedicated to vampire books, both new and old. Dracula, The Anne Rice vampire chronicles, The Vampire Diaries, the Black Dagger Brotherhood books, Salem’s Lot, even the Twilight Saga.
When it started to get dark, the bedroom door opened, and Tristan walked in. She was in the bed, just starting to read The Vampire Lestat. She’d already devoured Interview with the Vampire, envisioning Tristan instead of Louis as the main character.
He walked toward her. Was that anger on his face? He strode purposefully. His eyes seemed to be emitting heat and holding hers prisoner. Uh oh.
She slouched back against the headboard, fear rising due to the intensity on his face. The book in her hand landed on the floor with a thud. She didn’t blink, probably didn’t even breathe.
He put a knee on the edge of the bed and then crawled toward her, stalking, almost like a lion. She covered her face with her hands. He took her wrists gently and moved them away from her face and his eyes met hers again. They stared at one another for a moment. Kyla felt like her blood pressure must’ve been through the roof.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said and at those words it slowed a little. She slowly exhaled.
He let go of her wrists and circled his hands around her head and took the elastic band out. Her long hair fell in a cascade of curls. It was still slightly damp due to having been wound tight since her bath.
“I need you,” he said, “Right now.”
She was startled. His eyes were intense. Well, they were always intense… but right now they exuded something scorching hot.
He reached for her and pulled her toward him, catching her mouth with his. He kissed her hungrily. She responded, giving as good as she got right back. She let out a whimper, feeling relief wash over her as Tristan’s musky sweet sugar and caramel scent enveloped her.
