Kidnapped Ch. 03

Damien didn't know what it was about the young girl that fascinated him so very much. But as he stared down at her prone form, all he could feel was a possessive contentment, that she was his and no one else's.

He didn't know what he'd expected when he showed her his fangs, but he certainly didn't expect her to collapse into to him like she had. He had barely managed to catch her in his surprise.

Now she was lying next to him on his bed, face scrunched, as though whatever she dreamed was upsetting her. Damien forced his eyes to remain fixedly away from the slender curve of her neck and shoulder. He and Elena had been distracted from their hunt by Christine's cries, and he was growing more hungry by the minute. It didn't help that the girl beside him was one of the most mouth-watering humans he'd ever smelled.

His eyes flicked downwards over her clavicle and the curves of her breasts, all deliciously exposed by her sleep-twisted shirt. His eyes glued to her pulse as he unconsciously leaned forward. She wouldn't mind, would she? Who was he kidding? She would hate him. With a pained sigh, he went to pull back, only for her eyes to snap open, inches below his own.

Leaning back, he mentally prepared himself for the return of the tears and pleading, which was all the girl seemed able to do around him.

*SLAP* Damien flinched back from the sudden pain in his cheek, only for the slap to be followed by a surprisingly powerful impact of her fist against his face. He raised his arm to block another attempt, but she was already off the bed and across the room, bolting for the safety of the en suite bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it before he could stop her.

Shocked and pissed, he stalked over to the mirror, examining his face. His eyes narrowed at the sight of blood dripping down his cheek. God, she packs one hell of a punch! Fortunately, the pain was fading, and the cut was already invisible. It was moments like these when he was particularly grateful for the healing abilities of his kind. Elena would never let him live it down if they found out he'd been caught off guard by a little human girl.

He wiped the blood off his cheek, heading for the bathroom door. He was done letting her work through her issues on her own.

"Open the door Christine!" He tried to moderate his voice, not sure if he was succeeding. He waited a moment, but heard no response. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. He knew she had heard him: her heart's frantic increase at the sound of his order was easily loud enough for him to hear. He grit his teeth. What had started off as cute was quickly growing old. His patience waning, he slammed his fist against the door a few times.

"Christine! Open the FUCKING door!!"

He could hear her choking out sobs, and he imagined her curled in a corner. He hesitated for a moment. What the fuck Damien? Since when did you care about the wellbeing of young women? Especially after being socked in the eye! He shoved the pity down deep.

"Christine!" He gave a warning growl. "You have NO idea how pissed I will be if I have to open the door myself!"

Gritting his teeth in frustration and anger, he waited for her response. He took a breath, and counted down from ten in his head, getting more and more furious. 3...2...1... Well, she asked for it. He slammed his foot against the offending barrier, and with a splintering of wood the door was sent crashing against the wall.

Christine screamed, and tried to run past him. He grabbed her around the waist and shoved her hard against the wall. She tried to knee him, but Damien stepped between her legs, anticipating her attack. He clenched her wrists in one of his hands, and yanked them above her head.

She writhed in his arms, gasping in fury and terror.

"Listen to me," he snapped. "You're stuck here, so you might as well get used to it, and stop trying to piss me off! Because trust me, little girl, I can make this place fucking hell for you if you want me to."

She glared up at him for a moment, before spitting right into his face.

He was overtaken with a icy calm. He raised his free hand, and wiped off his face with his sleeve. He took a deep breath.

"Bad move, little girl." he said coldly.

He spun her around, pinning her arms as he violently slammed her against the wood, sandwiching her between his body and the wall. He let his hunger overwhelm him, elongated canines tingling in anticipation. He wound her hair into his hand, ignoring her cries, and jerked her head to the side. He paused one more moment, the niggling of guilt in the back of his mind. Then he sunk his teeth into her neck.

(Christine POV)

Time seemed to slow down. She was hyper aware of every little thing around her. She could feel the painful tug of his fingers in her hair, the cold, hard wall digging painfully into her front as he pressed her too tightly against it. Her pleas and useless apologies were as if someone else was speaking, as her focus narrowed down to his hot breath on her neck.

"Nooo! Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorr—" She let out a wail as agony exploded through her neck. His razor fangs slid through her skin like butter. She struggled and screamed his name, begging him hysterically. The pain radiated outwards until it felt like her whole body was on fire. She could feel her strength draining along with her blood, but still he continued the relentless suction.

The world was fading. She no longer had the strength or will to struggle. Instead she hung limply in his arms. She distantly wondered if he was going to kill her. In her dizzy thoughts, she decided that she was okay with that. She wouldn't have wanted to live with such a monster anyways. It was better to die now if this horrible experience was all he wanted her for. She'd rather be dead than have to be a living blood bag for the rest of her life.

But no sooner than she decided this, she felt his fangs retract from her skin. Her head lolled to the side as she felt him languidly lapping at her neck. The pain slowly disappeared, but she was too tired to wonder whether it was the blood loss, or something supernatural of his doing.

He gathered her up in his arms, and her face ended up pressed against his shoulder. She lost consciousness for a moment, but her eyes fluttered open as she felt him tugging her shirt up over her head.

"No, no," she mumbled. Even in the state she was in, she knew there was something wrong with what he was doing.

"Relax," he told her. "I just want to clean you up."

She'd have protested further if not for a strange glint in his eyes. Was that guilt she saw? She concluded that she was imagining things, but combined with his gentle hands, it was enough to quiet her.

Once she was down to her panties, he picked her up once more and deposited her in the tub. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she lay limply, only half aware of him as he gently washed off both the dirt and grime from the alley, and the blood she imagined had covered her neck. To her surprise, he kept his movements quick and efficient, and did nothing that could be construed as sexual. Huh, she thought. Maybe he was serious when he said he wouldn't make me do anything like that. Without my permission. Her mind added the last three words involuntarily as she thought back to what happened just before he'd told her he was a vampire. He's a VAMPIRE for Christ's sake! He attacked you! She forced herself to think only of the vicious attack moments before. He was a monster, and she couldn't let him get under her skin.

She lifted her head slightly as he picked her up and walked over the bed, stepping over the remains of the door. As they passed, she saw a dark crimson stain on the wall. It, above anything else, jolted her back to reality. He was a demon, no matter how nice he'd been before.

She attempted to roll away from him as he set her on the bed, but nausea overwhelmed her, along with an explosion of pain in her head.

"Easy," he said quietly. She glared up at him the best she could. Damn it. That was definitely guilt she saw. She resolved to put in out of her mind. What was wrong with her?

He vanished for a moment, reappearing balancing a large bottle of Advil, a tall glass of orange juice, and a plate loaded with food.

He pulled her up to sit against him, her back resting against his chest as he leaned back on the headboard. He sat and helped her first swallow the pills and juice, then patiently fed her the food until she was strong enough to lift the fork herself.

The second she could do so, she shifted off his lap and curled into a ball on her side, scooting to the farthest edge of the bed. He sighed.

"Look Christine. Fuck," He let out a groan of frustration. "I shouldn't have done that."

He shouldn't have done that?! That's all he has to say. She stayed resolutely silent.

"It's just you smell really fucking good, and I was hungry and pissed and..."

He stopped, clearly realizing what a pathetic excuse he was making. After a moment he sighed, and switched off the light.

"Try and get some sleep at least."

She decided she'd wait until he was asleep, and then she'd find some way out. But as she lay there in the soft bed, she felt her lids growing heavy. I guess I could try tomorrow.

Christine's eyes fluttered closed.