His long fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me back and forth, back and forth over his sculptured thigh. “But that was all. You’re such a little tease.” James leaned in, taking a little bite at my jaw, making me yelp again. “A scribe who has to be connected to me to read my history. And I tried to make it easy for you….”
“This isn’t easy for me!” I snapped, trying to pull away, “And you told me I had to consent to f- fuh…” I trailed off for a moment, trying to grit back a moan. “Stop touching me. You told me it was my choice,” I said. My white-knuckled grip on the sides of the tub was slipping.
His goddamn gorgeous face was right next to mine, watching the way I gritted my teeth, trying to resist him. He finally nodded. “You’re correct, my sweet doll.”
With that, I was hauled abruptly out of the water, dried briskly and tucked into bed. I smiled into my pillow. It felt like a victory, forcing him to follow his own rules.
Until the next day.
I looked up from the book I was reading (The Art of War, looking for some tactics) when the door opened and James appeared, wearing a beautiful charcoal gray suit, a tie matching his eyes, carrying his briefcase and what initially looked like a pile of rags.
“How was your day, my doll?”
He was smiling, the monstrous son of a bitch. It took me a minute to realize he was half-carrying the limp body of … no way.
No fucking way.
It was a girl, blue hair, sickly-looking. She had to be a runaway; I was beginning to recognize the half-starved, half-feral look after some of the others my captor had brought home. But those … they were all adults, at least.
This kid? Her skinny arms swung loosely as James hoisted her up by her waist. Her cheeks were pale, but still plump, like she hadn’t lost the last of her baby fat. This poor little girl was half the size of the monster carrying her. She couldn’t be more than what; thirteen? She was wearing sneakers that might have had some kind of Disney character on them, they were too dirty to tell. It was the little, dirty sneakers that destroyed me.
“No…” He wouldn’t. He couldn’t, not this child.
“You can’t be this evil, James! Not even you-” my voice broke. I was shocked. Crying. Really? Did I really think he wasn’t the monster he’d routinely proved himself to be?
He hovered over the unsteady form of the girl; his eyes were twinkling like we were sharing a little joke. She didn’t seem in the slightest bit frightened, which made me both grateful and terrified about what he’d done to make her that way. His long fingers tightened on her shoulder.
“You know what I want, doll.”
James’ voice was a purr, the gloating rumble of a lion after devouring the hyena, the far-off thunder warning of a deluge, a vibration that curled around my spine and sent slow waves of heat right to my center. Suddenly, every place he’d bitten me - the fucking, sadistic vampire asshole - began throbbing painfully. He was grinning, a huge, horrible, jolly smile that showed every one of his viciously sharp teeth.
“Feed, or fuck?”
The heavy book fell from my fingers. “You bastard.”
He was still smiling, humming slightly. The girl’s head was lolling sideways against his chest, mouth slack. “You know the game, doll. Tell me now or I’ll snap her neck. It’ll be so easy…” his long fingers slid up her neck, spider-like, encircling it casually.
My lips were trembling, I was trying to speak, trying to say the words.
“F-” I tried again. “Feed. Feed and fuck. From me. Let her go.”
I knew the minute his eyes lit to a jubilant cobalt that I’d lost. Everything.
James planted me by the window and I looked out at the drizzly evening as an Uber pulled up and he put the girl inside. I watched his lips shape the words “youth shelter” and hand the driver a wad of cash.
Hearing the door open, I closed my eyes. This was it. It was over. I’d never survive this. But maybe I’d die before telling the bastard his missing history.
Cool fingers ran along my cheek and I shuddered. “Oh, my sweet doll,” James soothed, “I’m so proud; I’ll take care of you.” He pulled me over to the bed, instead of the rug in front of the fireplace, where he’d taken all the others. “My bed is only for you,” he said, catching my glance, “only for my lovely little scribe.”
I was hoping that I could just stay numb for this. Just … go away somewhere and pray it would be quick and maybe not hurt as much as feeding from me had.
But oh, no. James was making this a ceremony.
“Look at you…” he hummed behind me as he circled, running his fingers along my arms. I was wearing a pretty lace dress, with dozens of tiny pearl buttons up the back.
He had buttoned them all up that day before he left for work, and now he gleefully unbuttoned them, gently sliding one strap, then the other off my shoulders. I flinched as the fabric hit the oak floor. “I knew these scraps of silk would be perfect on you,” James ran a finger inside the cup of my bra. The one he’d laid out that day. “So virginal and sweet.”
“I’m not a virgin!” I scoffed angrily, my last bit of resistance.
