Authors: Lydia Michaels
He smelled so
incredible. The heat of his flesh tickled her lips as she trailed them over his
fluttering pulse. Her stomach tightened and she struck like a snake.
Hot, rich fluid filled
her mouth, trailing down her throat and hitting her belly like rain over a
desert. Christian gripped her hips. Her eyelashes lowered and she rocked as
sensations filled her. So good. She moaned and he did the same, pulling her
knees to either side of his hips and settling her lower over his lap.
His hand fisted in her
hair and she sucked and rode him, her orgasm building—
She suddenly ripped her
mouth and body from his, flinging herself as far away from him as possible.
Realizing what she was doing, it was as if she actually heard the screech and
skid of a vinyl record in her mind.
He grunted and gripped
his neck.
Blood.
She screamed, her back pressed against the wall as she
slid low and scrambled far away from him into the corner.
She touched her mouth,
the slippery liquid covered her lips, and when she pulled her fingers away,
red, glossy liquid covered her flesh. Her screams became deafening, frantic, as
he stood. She ran from him to the door, but he reached it first. Turning, she
caught her reflection in the mirror. Her chin and lips were smeared with his
blood and she had fangs.
Fucking fangs!
He turned her roughly
and shook her so hard her teeth knocked together.
“Delilah! Hush!”
She whimpered.
His hold on her slowly
relaxed. “Hush,” he whispered, pulling her cheek to his chest.
Stiff as a board she
trembled under his touch as he attempted to soothe her, her sniffles and
whimpers the only sound.
“Hush,
pintura,
it’s
all right. Everything is all right.”
She must’ve gone into
shock because the next time she looked around he was sitting on the bed wiping
her mouth with a cloth. She watched him, but said nothing as he cleaned her up.
She was tucked into bed and wearing a white chemise, no longer a black one.
They’d already gotten to
her. It must’ve been bath salts or something equally deadly. She was going to
die here—in an Amish, zombie apocalypse.
* * * *
Christian wasn’t sure
what to do. She was nothing like he expected. Since the start this had been an
absolute disaster. He still didn’t regret keeping his calling to himself. He
was an elder. He knew how such things worked.
There was not a chance
that he would fall into the same back and forth nonsense he had seen others
struggle through. She was his mate and that was the end of it. She would come
to love him in time. The chances of missing his calling were too dangerous to
tamper with. Christian made up his mind after that first dream.
He dreamt of her three
weeks ago. It was vivid and disorienting to a point of being frightening.
Having never dreamt before, he wasn’t sure if what he was witnessing was real.
For a day he was thrown by the experience and then common sense kicked in.
Vampyres are called to
their mates through dreams. It was very important to pay attention to the
clues, piece together the jigsaw. Christian was not wasting any time. He
delegated his chores for the week and slept as much as possible, sometimes even
indulging in alcohol to tire his body out after sleeping all day.
His first impression of
her was beauty. She was stunning, petite, refined, built like a true hourglass.
Her brown eyes were round and wide, startling and dramatically set beneath her
swoop of ebony hair. She dressed as women did sixty years ago, before skirts
lost all modesty.
He saw her in fitted
pants with pennies in her shoes and a red sash that matched her lips tied in
her hair. Adorable.
His.
He tracked her quickly
and wasted no time approaching her. What he had not noticed in the dreams was
her decorated skin. She had paintings everywhere, her flesh its own little
masterpiece. He had never seen anything like it before. And her jewels… nothing
adorned the lobes of her ears, but other places…
His body shivered as he
remembered seeing her naked for the first time. She had been so proud at first
and then shy and modest and a touch insecure. It was silly for her to second
guess that he would see her as anything other than beautiful. She was
incredible.
However, she needed a
great deal of acclimating to the farm. Her foul language simply would not do.
And he had been honest when he explained the kind of wife he desired. Christian
believed in traditional Amish living.
He was an elder and as
such he would be held to a certain standard. He would not tolerate a
disrespectful, brazen wife.
Yet, she was acting as
docile as a kitten now. He dabbed away the last of his blood from her face and
frowned. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused. Every now and then she muttered
something that made no sense at all. She was in shock.
Christian put the cloth
in the basin on the nightstand and frowned. He did not expect her to react like
that. From what he understood, feeding after transitioning was a natural
occurrence. According to other males on the farm their mates naturally took to
the vein directly after waking from their transition.
Their mates also
probably knew what to expect, you dummkup.
He appraised his mate
and sighed. She was not getting any better.
“Delilah? Delilah, can
you hear me?”
She didn’t answer.
Pursing his lips together, he stood. Perhaps she just needed time. Christian
removed his shirt and drew the blinds. He would sleep and then they would
address matters that needed addressing.
* * * *
Li gripped the sheets to
her chest as the man removed his shirt and climbed into bed next to her. His
body settled then drew her close.
Oh God, oh God, oh God,
what’s happening?
She lay stiff as a board
and too terrified to blink. She waited, his breathing slowly evening out. She
needed to get the fuck out of there.
After several long
minutes she thought he’d fallen asleep. Barely moving at all, she eased out of
bed, first sliding her calf off the edge of the mattress and bending her knee
so that her foot pointed toward the floor. Little by little, she contorted her
limbs and oozed out from under the covers. Last came her shoulders.
Her feet touched to cool
ground and her toes pulled her hips along. In a
Grinch Who Stole Christmas
sort
of slither, she twisted and slipped silently off the bed. Kneeling on the floor
she took a moment to breathe. Peeking over the edge of the mattress, she
silently breathed. Christian still lay sleeping where she left him.
Stealthily, she stood
and tip toed toward the door. The handle was old and metal. Her fingers curled
around the knob and she silently begged the Gods of Escape not to let the door
squeak.
Please, please, please…
Her fingers twisted and
the heavy door quietly opened. Slipping through the narrowest crack, she slunk
into the hall and let out the breath she’d been holding. The house was
unfamiliar, but simple enough. Gathering her chemise at her knees, she quickly
skittered down the hall—very burglar in a striped shirt and mask.
When Delilah found steps
she nearly stumbled from rushing down them so fast. Light glared through the
window in the front door. Her fingers reached for the handle and she suddenly
drew her hand back, clutching it to her chest.
What if I’m not having
some tripped out reaction to drugs? What if I actually
am
on a farm full of
Amish vampires?
She rolled her eyes.
Too
much late night TV, Li, but Amish vampires would be a cool premise.
Barn
raisings could be treacherous—all those wooden splinters flying around
willy-nilly. And how would they farm in the sun—
Focus! Right. Escape.
She reached for the
handle and opened the door. Waving her fingertips in a shard of sunlight just
to be sure, she sighed when nothing happened.
Only you would believe such
crap.
She glanced up the steps
one last time—still no Christian. She took off. It was May and by the placement
of the sun she imagined sometime in the early morning. Her legs carried her
swiftly to a cluster of trees and she paused. Her feet were slimy from the dewy
grass. She frowned at the black soles, awkwardly lifting her foot.
Once she caught her
breath she took a minute to look around. Field after field lay in the distance,
all in the valley surrounded by green mountains. Houses dotted the emerald
canvas here and there, but no sign of anyone she could ask for help. She
spotted an old stone barn in the distance and thought she saw smoke. Not having
much choice, she ran in that direction.
The land had more of an
incline than she imagined, yet she was barely winded and she’d been going at a
dead run for over five minutes. Her stamina was amazing. Her steps slowed, her
trajectory curling around the stone barn like a ball player runs the bases.
The scent of smoke was
sharp and outdoorsy. She crept around the corner of the building and spotted a
man tossing scrap wood into a contained fire. He was singing. She listened, her
fingers gripping the corner of the barn. He really wasn’t very good, but she
sort of recognized the song. He was singing
Nirvana.
Definitely not Amish,
then.
She cleared her throat
and he turned, his face was younger than his body, still showing youth around
his eyes, yet his shoulders and arms were that of a hard working man’s.
His glare sliced through
her—not the welcome she was hoping for from an outsider. She drew back, but it
was too late. If he were part of the cult—which he could very well be with that
cold look in his eyes—he wouldn’t help her.
“Who are you?”
She stepped around the
corner and into full sight. “I’m Delilah. I need help.”
He frowned. “How did you
get here? This is private property.”
“Please. I just want to
go home. I was taken by a crazy man who drugged me—”
“Drugged you?”
“Yeah. I think it was
acid, or tainted Kool-Aid, or maybe even bath salts. I don’t know, but I don’t
have much time. Can you help me?”
He looked at her attire.
“Where did you get that shift?”
She looked down and
yanked the thin fabric away from her front where her nipples poked indecently
through the sheer material. “The crazy guy gave it to me. I think he wanted me
to join his cult. He’s staying at that Amish farm over there.”
The man tensed. “Did you
say Amish?”
“Yeah, but they aren’t
very Godly. I’d keep my distance if I were you.”
“What was the crazy
man’s name?”
A little voice in her
head told her to stop talking. Reluctantly, she asked, “Why?”
“Just curious.”
Her lips pressed tightly
together. She thought for a moment, sensing the Nirvana singing man might
actually be a member of the cult. “Look, if I could just use a phone—”
“You will not find a
phone here,
pintura.
”
Delilah jumped at the
sound of Christian’s voice in her ear. Strong fingers wrapped firmly around her
upper arm. She gave the other man a pleading look.
“Yours?” Nirvana guy
asked Christian.
Christian’s expression
was blank. “Mine. I’ll thank you to keep this to yourself, Dane.”
The man propped a four
by four under his arm and suspiciously eyed Christian. “Why all the secrecy?”
Christian shifted his
weight and she wondered if he was afraid of what the other man might do.
Refusing to give up, she burst out, “Please help me! He’s crazy. I don’t belong
here! He kidnapped me and thinks I’m his mate. You have to help me!”
The man barely batted an
eyelash, seeming completely unmoved to get involved with her plight and
suddenly she was plucked off her feet and hoisted over Christian’s shoulder.
“Oomph!”
She kicked and screamed.
“Somebody help me! Put me down! Help!”
He did nothing but haul
her back to the house she’d just fled. As they made the journey back, her mind
stumbled over the absurdity of her situation. She knew she’d someday die. It
was inevitable. But being held hostage by an Amish cult was about as
disappointing as choking to death on a piece of shrimp. It was improbable, yet
here she was.
When they reached the
inside he carried her directly upstairs and plopped her on the bed. “Stay.”
“What do I look like, a
fucking dog?”
He sighed and shut the
door before she could get up. She jumped off the bed and went after him, but
the snick of a key in the lock drove her to a standstill. Her hand jiggled the
handle, but it was no use. The door wouldn’t budge.
* * * *
Delilah paced the plain
bedroom for a good twenty minutes, but her mood only soured. Passing the door
for the hundredth time she snapped and slammed her palms against the heavy
wood. “Let me out of here!”