Ambrosia (Nectar Trilogy, Book 2) (10 page)

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

His voice made her heart want to sing.

“Heyyyy…” She sat up and turned the TV down.

“Hey,” it sounded like he was smiling.

“Hey,” she repeated and giggled a little.

“God, I miss you,” he said, “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Phew. I had pizza, watched a chick flick, some vampire porn, and snoozed.”

“Yeah, I thought it was kinda quiet in my head. Wait, vampire porn?”

“True Blood. TV show. Vamps, werewolves, shape shifters, lots and lots of the sex.”

“The sex?”

She laughed, “Mm. Hmm. Hope you enjoyed the break from my brain. What’s happening with you?”

“Well…let’s just say it’s been enlightening. Very enlightening. Can’t elaborate over the phone, baby, but I’ll be there in a few more hours. I’ll call first, make sure you aren’t bleeding before I come. I’ve hired a security agency to watch the room until I get there. They will be there in about 2 hours, max. Hotel security has been keeping an eye up until now. I’ll text you when they’re there so you know you’re good.”

“Enlightening, huh? Colour
me
curious. And I feel fine. No cramping, no sign of Aunt Flo. It might have been a total false alarm. I had red thread on me when I changed. From my top. Maybe that’s all it was in the toilet. Call me or text me and keep me posted?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, “You bought that red top at Walmart?”

“Yeah,”

“Wouldn’t have happened with Armani…”

She laughed.

“I’m just sayin’…”

“Loose threads can happen to anything. Don’t you dis my Walmart, y’hear?”

He chuckled.

“God we’re weird. Listen to us being silly when all this shit is happening.”

“Sometimes levity is the best medicine, princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna run. Love you. Go back to sleep and have sweet dreams, sweet girl. Miss you. Stay in the room.”

“Miss you too. I will. Be safe, okay?”

“Don’t worry. Later.” He hung up.

She kept waking up throughout the night. She tried not to torment herself wondering what was happening, what’d happen next, but she couldn’t help but wonder what Tristan was dealing with.

She was woken up at 7:30 in the morning with a text.

“Good morning, sunshine. Take your pills and vitamins, ok? Order breakfast for both of us? I’ll be there in a half an hour if you’re good? Let me know asap.”

She got up, peed, changed the tampon and saw that there was still no period, and replied,

“I’m good. See you soon. xo.”

Thirty minutes (on the dot) later there was a knock on the door. Kyla excitedly dashed to open it. She threw it wide, a beaming smile on her face. But standing in front of her wasn’t Tristan. It also wasn’t room service, bringing up the crepes stuffed with scrambled eggs and topped with hollandaise sauce that she’d ordered. 

It was a tall good-looking guy in a light bomber jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat. He had a grin on his face. His grin reminded her of a toothpaste commercial. He removed his hat and glasses as the
Oh Fuck
registered and the smile died on her face.

Liam Donavan. His long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.

In an instant, before she had a chance to make a sound or for it to even fully register, he was pushing her back, shutting the door, grabbing her throat, and then his fangs appeared and instantly sunk in at the curve just above her collar bone. Just like that. There was the sickening sound of skin breaking and he was taking her blood. Taking what was supposed to only be Tristan’s.

Intense cold, colder than she’d ever experienced, climbed up from her toes and shot out her fingers and, with strength she didn’t know she had, she heaved him off. He landed on the rug on his backside.

His skin was greyish, his fangs were out. He, too, had blue eyes. Nothing like the beauty of Tristan’s and they didn’t appear to be changing colour. She was acutely aware of the open wound on her throat and her blood trickling out.

She was about to grab for the cell phone on the nightstand but before she got it he moved lightning fast, was back on her, pinning her to the bed and then he pierced her throat again in another spot near the first, the sickening sound of more of her skin breaking, and doing it loud. Way loud.

Where was security? Where was Tristan?

Brutally cold pain surged again painfully like lightning, passing up through her and she dug her nails into his shoulders and shoved simultaneously, making him fly back as if he’d been thrown by a big gust of wind. The grey of his skin disappeared and he look shocked for a moment but shook it off, smiled, and the fangs retracted but then came right back out.

She was upright, sitting in the bed, and his body had slammed into the dresser causing the mirror to fall over, smashing on him as he’d crumpled to the floor but before she had a chance to move he lunged again and moved with superhuman speed, ripping his jacket off and tossing it, as he came at her. But she volleyed him back with both palms and he hit the dresser again. Hard.

He snarled and came at her again, this time ducking and grabbing her ankle so that she fell backwards in the bed and then he was on her. Right on top of her.

“No!” she screeched and that cold feeling surged but then ebbed half way up, leaving her feeling weak. So weak. Like she’d used up every ounce of strength she’d had. But it was as if he’d suddenly gained all the strength she’d lost.

Liam’s teeth were on her throat again. He held her down; she couldn’t get him away. His hand went up her jean skirt and roughly ripped her panties down her thighs. She screamed bloody murder, trying to squirm away but getting nowhere.

His fingertips touched between her legs and then she felt pressure as he yanked the tampon string, releasing her throat, glancing at it and then tossing it aside, and he pushed a finger in for a second, pulled it out and looked at it and then thrust a finger back in, painfully. He let go of her throat and looked to her eyes, “Be good.”

He was trying to mesmerize her while violating her. He pushed his finger in harder.

She tried to squirm away, “Tristan’s coming. Tristan’ll be back any second and he’ll rip your fuckin’ head off.”

She heard fabric ripping. It was the panties coming apart as he got them completely out of the way.

“Better get my fill then,” he bit down on her throat again, she heard him swallow, then he let go, gasping, “You taste so fucking unbelievable. Your blood is so clean, so pure. Even better than hers.”

“I’ll rip your head off myself!” she cried and felt something rise in her, something that was fucking pissed.

She tried to kick, to thrash, to move, but he had her pinned to the point of being immobile. His finger was plunging in and out faster, harder. She was so bone dry it was agony. He started trying to circle her clit, “C’mon!” he ordered, staring into her eyes. It did nothing for her.

That hand left her skirt and he got his pants undone while he still pinned her with his other hand and most of his body weight. He got his dick out and it was against her opening. Pushing.

Oh God, no. Please no
.

Absolute horror filled her as he pushed in a little, trying to get in despite the fact that Kyla didn’t have a smidgeon of moisture down there, and his fanged mouth descended again toward her throat as he muttered, “Tristan isn’t the only one who likes to fuck pets while he feeds and fuck have I ever got an overwhelming urge to get inside you. I need to fuck you almost as much as I need to drink from you…” His thumb hooked her bra aside, sliding over a nipple when the door crashed open.

It was Sam.

Liam flew off her of his own accord and rushed toward Sam while putting his dick away. Sam was stalking toward him with fangs out.

Oh no!

“Run!” Sam hissed at her, attempting to pin Liam to the wall. Sam had a small dagger with a glimmering green-jeweled handle in his hand and he held it up over Liam’s head. Both of the men had fangs out.

Kyla scampered, adjusting her clothes as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her out the door, not looking back, running down the hall, past a tuxedo-wearing hotel employee who was just standing dumbfounded with a room service cart near the elevator, and she burst through the doors to the stairwell. There were two (presumably dead) men in dark uniforms tangled up together on the landing of the stairwell. They both had bloody, mangled throats. She couldn’t stop to think, to even take in the grisly scene; she hopped over them and bolted down the stairs, two steps at a time, down several flights and then out into the lobby, out through the revolving door and then she was in the street --- a busy main street in downtown Phoenix with traffic and noise and people everywhere.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where do I go? 

God, Tristan, where are you?

She was dressed in her jean skirt, a tank top, and ballet flats. She had no phone, no purse, no money, no underwear.  Her throat was bleeding in multiple places and she was trembling all over. There was pain between her legs where he’d tried to force his way in and something hideously filthy blooming inside of her right now. She pushed that emotion away and bolted for an alley and watched the front entrance of the hotel, partially hidden by a dumpster.

Minutes ticked by as she tried to catch her breath and then she saw Sam emerge from the hotel. He was wearing faded jeans, a black suit jacket, un-tucked grey button down, and he had dark glasses on. As he stepped out, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, looking completely composed but then she saw Tristan emerge from a nearby car, tackle Sam, and roughly pin him against a wall.

Thank God!

She tried to send calming vibes to him, so he’d know she was okay, although she wasn’t even a little bit okay. He must be out of his mind if he was feeling anything remotely close to the fear and other emotions she had to have been emanating.

Sam was explaining something to him with a lot of hand gestures that looked like an effort to calm Tristan down and then he flashed his blazer open, quickly showing Tristan the handle of that dagger, which was in an inside pocket. Tristan let go of him. 

Tristan’s palm flew to his forehead and he paled and then looked around the street and Kyla started to feel the thrumming of him tracking her. She leaned against the stone wall beside the dumpster and slid to the dirty ground, staring right at him, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Goosebumps prickled her skin. She wanted to call his name but couldn’t find it in her to even form a single word. It dawned then that this alley was so much like the stone tunnel of her nightmares.  This was daylight and there were other things around but the stone? It looked the same. Where she’d touched it, she’d left blood.

Her blood?

No, Liam’s blood where she’d dug her nails into his shoulders. Maybe her own blood from the wounds on her throat? She didn’t know.

She shuddered and frantically wiped her hands on the ground. As she looked up from the ground their eyes met. Tristan had seen her. He pointed at Sam and barked out something and Sam slipped back into the hotel as Tristan made his way across the street.

Then Tristan was there, squatting in front of her, his hands examining her throat. His irises were coal black.

“He will die the slowest most painful fucking death I can give him!” he snarled as he took his blue and grey striped button down shirt off and put it on her. He lifted her into his arms but said nothing. The word
livid
didn’t even begin to describe the vibe coming off him. He carried her to a black car and put her in the passenger seat and got in and looked at her throat. He ripped a piece of the shirt, tearing a strip off the bottom and then he used the fabric to dab at her throat.

“Fuck,” he growled and then put his mouth to one wound, and then the other. The pain in her throat was instantly gone.

“I can fucking taste him. Fuck!” he roared, making Kyla’s body jerk in response.

Tristan left the car, slamming the door and leaning against the door, effectively blocking her from Sam, who was back, standing there with the duffle bag, Kyla’s purse, and the other bags from the room. He was talking to Tristan.

People passed by, oblivious, on their way to work, to wherever, with no idea they were watching two vampires talking to one another. Well, it was more like Tristan barking orders than talking.

Sam looked at Kyla through the window and for a second he looked a little green around the gills. He took a step back and then another step and waved Tristan to follow him. Tristan spoke to him, pointing at him, looking very displeased.

He took the bags from Sam and then tossed them in the back seat behind Kyla and then without saying anything or even looking her in the face, he got into the front seat and slammed the door, turned the key, and squealed away from the curb.

She fastened her seatbelt, practically hyperventilating. As they sped away she saw Sam standing on the sidewalk, leaning over, hands on his denim-clad thighs, looking like he was trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck!” Tristan hollered, making her jump.

“Fuck!” he repeated and punched the dashboard beside the steering wheel, doing a significant amount of damage to it. He was driving like a madman on a racetrack. The anger on his face, the vibe in the car, it was like a raging angry life force.

Kyla let out a giant sob. He slammed on the brakes, making her body jerk forward hard against her seatbelt. They were on a quiet side street. He pulled up against the curb and got out of the car and then climbed in the back seat and leaned over, undid her belt, pulled her limp body between the space between the front two seats back into his arms and held her tight against his bare chest, letting out a sound of absolute anguish. He was shaking. She was shaking. She was bawling.

She looked up at his face. His irises were still black. His fangs were out, and he was taking slow deep breaths as he stroked the back of her head and her back. He was completely pissed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His fangs retracted. He took another big breath and blew it out slowly.  He kept stroking her for a minute and then pulled the bag over that was beside them and got into her purse and pulled out the bottle of Purell disinfectant gel and liberally doused her throat with it and then did the same to her hands. He must’ve already closed the wounds on her throat with his mouth as they didn’t sting. Then he grabbed a handful of tissues from a dispenser on the back of the driver’s seat and started to wipe her throat. The tissues were now red.

Tristan’s chest was heaving up and down and he looked about ready to explode. She grabbed more tissues and frantically wiped her hands, “His…. his bl-blood…” she stammered.

He grabbed her face in both hands, “Please forgive me. Please, princess, forgive me.” His fangs were back out.

She shook her head, “It’s not your fault.”

His teeth retracted, “It fuckin’ is.
I
let that happen.
I
was negligent. I can’t believe I allowed that to fucking happen. I’ve failed you. Again. A-fucking-gain! I don’t deserve you. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

She burrowed deep into his arms, “Shut up and hold me.”

She ugly cried into his chest for a little while and then he lifted her hair away from her face and tipped her chin up so their eyes met.

Tristan was hoarse when he then asked, “Sam said he was raping you. Was he? Was he raping you?”

Kyla nodded a little, “Sam burst in the room and they started to fight. I tried to fight him off. I couldn’t… He only…”

Tristan let out a pained animal-like sound and squeezed her tighter.

He picked up the phone from the front seat and dialed, still holding her close, “Adrian. Sam Jasper just saved Kyla. Liam was feeding from and FUCKING RAPING HER!”