Nectar (Nectar 1)

She didn’t wear designer brands or very much make-up. She was lucky enough to have decent skin, big green eyes that she often got compliments on, and she had decent hair, if a bit wild and unruly. She certainly didn’t think she’d win any beauty contests. Maybe she was above-average in the sarcasm department as well as in the stubbornness department but that came as a result of her rough upbringing and need to be her own champion in life because no one else ever championed any of her causes.

Kyla didn’t have the foggiest idea of why her blood tasted so special to Tristan. She didn’t know why the gorgeous vampire who smelled and tasted like varying desserts with those intense eyes and those adorable dimples was so into her. She was sure if he were a regular guy he’d probably not even look twice, or if he did it’d be to get her into bed once and then he’d be gone. If he were a normal guy he’d have definitely been top of the hot guy food chain and probably not paid much attention to some snarky chick with a chip on her shoulder who worked in a greasy spoon by day and a dive bar at night. She certainly didn’t know why she didn’t fall under his spell. Maybe that was all the allure was about, that she wasn’t a drone. She was just a challenge to him, a diversion. And how long would that last until he grew bored so would have to dispose of her because she’d remember what he was?

Why did it feel like she was under at least part of a spell when he touched her, though? He insisted she wasn’t. Was he lying? Maybe that was just because she hadn’t been touched in any sort of sexual way for such a long time. She pushed the thought away.

She was tired of how much time she’d spend in an angst-filled head in the past day and a half. It wasn’t like her to wallow in messy or counter-productive emotions. She was the kind of girl who refused to succumb to the lemons life gave her. She’d always just kept soldiering on. No, she didn’t make lemonade out of those lemons; she soldiered on, refusing to think about lemonade. Numbly sometimes, but always a soldier. That’s what she’d have to do here. Be strategic; figure out how to get out of this alive.

There was a quick rap on the door and Tristan opened it and peered in, “Breakfast is ready.” He slid the door open wide.

She rose from the dressing table and followed him out. No, she wouldn’t put anything away. That would be pointless. There had to be a way out of this.

How would she solider on like she’d always vowed to do from here? She had to think about that one and look for an opportunity to escape. A day and a half since being brought to him as a “gift” and she was already looking at her belongings in his closet and he’d covered up her disappearance with her roommate and bosses. He’d derailed her life and when she figured out how to get away she’d have to go somewhere else and start over.

Maybe British Columbia, which had beckoned to her for years. Far away from Tristan, far away from Ottawa, and far enough away to forget about horny psychotic vampires and dead ex-boyfriends. But maybe there wasn’t enough of a far away for all of that. She pushed thoughts of her ex away, not at all wanting to get caught in the trap of thinking about him, about the past. The past was done.

A table for two now by the window must have been brought in while she was changing. Obviously he fed on more than just blood. Another bit of vampire lore debunked. The aroma of food nudged at her stomach, which rumbled in reply. She walked over and saw bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and a tall pitcher of orange juice.-5-Kyla sat at the table across from him. He ate voraciously while she picked at her food, feeling uneasy, trying to not stare at his bare chest and his sculpted arms and shoulders. She’d always been a sucker for big strong shoulders.

“Eat, sweet girl,” he whispered, “You barely ate anything yesterday.”

She ignored the tingling in her body at his voice and the endearment. She took a bite of toast and chewed slowly, staring out the window. Staring but not seeing; just trying to avoid his gaze. She wanted to hurl the fine bone china plate at him. She wanted out!

“You really should eat,” he told her twice more while they sat there.

“You’re very bossy,” she spat at him, finally.

He smirked and showed those dimples again.

Put away those dimples. They won’t get you anywhere with me! Yeah right. Whenever he flashed the dimples she fought the urge to swoon and land on the nearest fainting couch. But there was no fainting couch and there was no way she could just give herself over to this situation.