His Captive Mortal (A Vampire Romance)

I grab my hairbrush and walk out to the living room, dismayed by the darkness of the place without the windows. I will have to turn on the lights during the day. I’m the opposite of a vampire. I need light. Living in Arizona has helped my seasonal affective disorder, and I want to stay healthy. Just how long is this vampire planning on keeping me like this?

You’re my captive now. You’ll win your freedom when you’ve figured out how to rid me of my curse.

I make myself a bowl of cereal and eat in a sort of stupor, my brain short-circuiting on the vampire part every time. What curse? Did I really have special powers? I try to remember where I’d learned to put the bubble of protection around myself but come up short. Seemed like I’ve always done things like that. I figured it was just a quirk of mine left over from childhood, like kissing my hand and hitting the ceiling of the car when I run through a yellow-turning-red light. Which I don’t do these days since I have no car.

Did my nana know I had magic? Did she? If so, it would make sense why she was always trying to teach me. I wish I had asked more questions and paid more attention. I was the one in the family who was closest to her, so whatever nana knew is gone with her.

Now my best chance at understanding my power is my vampire captor.

I should be planning my escape, but I really want to stay. The rational part of me wants to run to the cops, but I don’t want to leave this vampire. It’s not just curiosity about my powers. It’s something stronger. A compulsion--and not one put on me by a vampire. This comes from deeper down. It’s real. I don’t want to leave the vampire’s side. I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

Which is crazy, but there it is. My nana was always telling me to trust my intuition. I doubt this was the scenario she was referring to, but my gut says I need to stay. I need to see this to the end.

But right now, I need to get outside to my garden. I’m not running away, just getting some space. A compromise. Watering, pulling weeds and tending my vegetables always helps me sort through my thoughts.

I wash my bowl in the sink, setting it in the drying rack. Walking to the front door, I reach for the handle and then stop. Maybe I shouldn’t leave before checking my email.

I sit down at my computer, but as it turns on, the mud in my thoughts clear. The garden. I was going to the garden. Not abandoning the vampire but not obeying him, either.

But when I get to the door, my fingers hesitate before touching the knob. Why not just check my email? Or tidy up a bit?

This I catch myself before I fully turn away. Something’s wrong here.

I turn back to the door. Slowly I reach out to grasp the knob, my fingers trembling. It’s like I’m pushing through lead.

All my instincts scream to snatch my hand away, but I push forward, half-expecting the door to burst into flames when I touch it. My hand arrives, but I can not make myself turn the knob.

I swallow, my temples throbbing from the exertion of will.

Open it, I order my hand. Open the forking door.

Charlie

“What did you do to me?”

I open my eyes, the heavy stupor of the day receding as a lovely woman climbs atop me, straddling my waist. Aurelia. The gold flecks in her eyes flash as she tosses her black hair back from her lovely, angry face.

My fangs shoot out so fast, they almost cut my lip. I grasp her hips and push her further down my body, so her core rests directly over my concrete-hard cock. Her heat brings a shock of pleasure, and my eyes half close.

“Stop it!” She wriggles against my hold.

Bad idea, little mortal. I love it when my lovers struggle. I let my lip curl up.

Her eyes widen when she catches sight of my lengthened canines.

I find her struggles amusing, her warmth and gyrations only increasing my hard-on. “Calm yourself, love,” I murmur. “When you fight, it just excites me.”

She makes an indignant sound but stills then moves in a slow grind. The scent of her arousal hangs heavy in the air, and her pupils are blown. I don’t think she’s aware she’s grinding on me.

“Let me go,” she says, breathing hard.

I reluctantly release her hips and interlace my fingers behind my head.

She dismounts, wisely scrambling out of my reach. “What did you do to me?” she repeats, still eying my fangs.

They retract as she watches. “What do you mean?”

She stands quite still, her chest still heaving. “Why did your fangs get long?” she asks, her voice no more than a whisper.