Her Devoted Vampire (8 page)

He said
nothing as he carried her back to the house. Only the crack of his footsteps
and her hiccupping sobs broke the angry silence between them. Bridget opened
her eyes as he hauled her through the kitchen past two surprised young men. She
took a breath to demand help, but Fredrick left the room too swiftly. He jogged
up the stairs, bouncing her uncomfortably against his shoulder, and back into
the room she’d left a few minutes before. Despite his evident anger, he deposited
her gently in the bed, catching her head to keep her from cracking it on the
headboard.

Fury
boiled beneath her skin as tears continued to flow, but she just lay there
without moving as he pulled her shoes off, lifted the covers, and slid her legs
under them. He never said a word to her, but tension hummed in his motions.

At last,
he retreated to the door, only pausing to flick off the light. Then he stepped out
into the hall and closed it behind him. When he’d gone, the tears renewed their
onslaught of her cheeks, and her mind ridiculed her as a big baby. Her shoulder
hurt, her ribs ached, and she had scratched one palm when she landed on the
ground. She rolled onto her left side away from the door, and let her dirty tears
soak the expensive pillowcase.
Take that,
Asshole MacGregor!

Sobs
marked the seconds and minutes in untold numbers before she heard the door open,
and someone came in. The person didn’t turn on the light, and she kept her back
resolutely to the door. She didn’t care who it was. They wouldn’t help her
anyway. Surprise zinged through her when something thumped on the bedside table,
and a weight settled onto the bed behind her.

“I’ve
brought you some
Arnica
montana
and some water. You are going to
hurt terribly tomorrow with that arm. The
Arnica
will help with the pain. I suggest you take six pellets and let them dissolve
under your tongue.” Fredrick’s voice broke the silence before he paused,
waiting for some sort of response from her. She refused to give him the
pleasure.

“Good
night, Bridget.”

Good night? How dare you wish me a good night? I’d
have a good night if you’d let me go, asshole!

His
weight lifted from the bed, and she heard the door open and close one more time.
She growled and closed her eyes, wishing her arm didn’t hurt so she could punch
her pillow. She had no intention of taking anything he gave her. God knew what
kind of poison or drug he’d offered.
Arnica
montana
?
What kind of medicine was that? He could keep his little date-rape drug to
himself. Heck, she wouldn’t even take aspirin from him.

Groaning
with anger and frustration, she tried to find a comfortable position for her
aching body and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Five

Bridget woke to more pain than she’d ever experienced in her life. Stiffness
solidified her right shoulder into immobility, and her ribs felt like the idiot
with the baseball bat had returned to finish the job he’d started on her left
side. The scratch in her hand throbbed with her heartbeat, and a spreading
bruise in the shape of a handprint marred the skin of her right bicep. About
the only thing good about waking up was the opulent bed beneath her ass. By the
pale light seeping in the window, she judged the sun had been up for a while.

Groaning, she slowly turned over to look around and found the glass
of water and a little blue plastic tube on the bedside table. Fredrick’s little
date-rape drug.

No deal, jackass.

She knew she had to get up and move before her body atrophied into a
fetal position, but dread threaded through her mind. Pain hovered at the edge
of her awareness, waiting to pounce when she stretched. It would strain every
muscle she had and probably a few more she didn’t even know about.

Walk. All you have to do is
walk a little around the room, and it’ll be better.

Moving gingerly, Bridget slid her feet toward the edge of the bed
and pushed off with her left arm. She gritted her teeth and hissed when her
feet touched the floor, each muscle protesting motion. Walking would be a bitch.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stand and step cautiously away from
the bed toward the window.

Each step dragged an involuntary moan from her lips as her toes dug into
the plush carpet. She tried to focus on reaching her goal silently, but by the
time she made it to the window, she gasped, breathless. She leaned her face
against cold glass, trying to catch her wind.

Damn, this is worse than I
thought. Definitely not “good pain”.

Taking a deep breath, Bridget slowly stretched her sides and back,
then tried to raise her right arm. Pain screamed across her awareness, burning
a path from her neck all the way down to her wrist.

“I won’t be using that arm much,” she grumbled, her breath painting
opaque circles against the cold glass.

“You talk to yourself like that, and people will start to think
you’re crazy,” a voice said from behind her.

Bridget whipped her head around and stared at the doorway. A pale,
white blonde woman stood there holding another tray and examined Bridget with
her cold silver-blue eyes. She had a pleasant body with small, round breasts
and generous hips much like Bridget’s own, but her sharp, angular features and thin
lips gave her a sour expression. At the moment, an unfriendly smirk creased her
mouth.

“Thanks
for the tip,” Bridget said in response. “Who are you?”

“You can
call me Miss Vértolvaj.”

“Verto
Vawdge?”

“Vér
tol
vaj.”. The disdainful woman stalked
in the room and set the tray down on the other bedside table. “I see you
haven’t drunk any water or taken the medicine Mr. MacGregor offered. I simply
can’t imagine why he would make all this effort for you since you’re really
nothing more to him than a good fuck and a meal, but that’s his business, I
suppose. Even if you
are
ungrateful.”

Bridget gaped
at Miss Snootypants.
Talk about rude;
this bitch has it down to a science. And what was that about being a ‘good fuck
and a meal’?

“I take
it you’re a vampire, too?”

“Well,
of course.”

The
woman smiled broadly, the wan light glinting off elongated canine teeth filed
into points. Bridget gripped the windowsill behind her to hide her unease and
rolled her eyes.

“I
thought vampires couldn’t stand to be out in the daylight,” she remarked
skeptically. What was that wannabe vamp group she’d heard of in college? The Camarilla?
Jeez, they were all nuts.

“A myth,
not that you would know the difference anyway.”

“Are you
always this rude, or are you just making an effort on my behalf?” Bridget had
the pleasure of watching surprise bloom on the other woman’s face. “Because
I
was kidnapped. It wasn’t exactly my
choice to be here, thank you very much. So if you want me gone so badly, why
don’t you just go back to
Mr. MacGregor
and convince him to let me go, ’cause I don’t want to be here anyway!”

“I’d be
happy to inform Mr. MacGregor of your wishes as soon as he rises.”

“Rises,
right. Like the sun.” Bridget flashed a false grin. “When will that be? Dusk?
Sunset? Well, give Mr. Sunshine a message for me, won’t you? Tell him
kidnapping is a felony!”

She
turned her back on the other woman and stared moodily out at the dreary autumn
day. The weather matched her mood.

A
disgusted hiss snaked through the air, and the door slammed shut behind the
woman’s stomping heels. Bridget smiled until she heard the bolt slide home and
realized the crazy bitch had locked her in. She hobbled from the window to the
door, her muscles screaming in protest, and like the perfect idiot she was,
tried the knob. It rattled, but refused to turn. She wanted to pound against
the wooden barrier and raise hell about being held hostage, but she didn’t have
the strength to beat through the pain.

“Fuck!
God dammit! Mother pussbucket!”

 
Bridget turned her back to the door and leaned
against it, trying to figure out what to do next. Exhaustion nagged at her body
like lactic acid, burning through the small reserve of energy she’d built by
sleeping. Somehow, she had to find the strength to get back to the bed.

Her
stomach grumbled in commiseration, and she pushed herself forward until she
balanced on her feet. Another moaning journey brought her across the carpet to
the bedside, but she had to lean against the mattress and catch her breath
before she could even decipher what the tray held. Her mind identified cheese,
crackers, grapes, cherry tomatoes, sliced summer sausage, and a hardboiled egg
beside another glass of water and a folded napkin.

They folded the napkin? Since when do kidnappers have
manners?

The only
thing missing was silverware.

Couldn’t make this easy, could they?

She
barked a humorless laugh. At least they’d cut everything into bite-sized pieces
for her.

This is just unreal. I’m locked in, but they’re
thoughtfully cutting my food for me.

Bridget
braced her pelvis against the tall bed and reached for the plate of food. Her
hand shook so much she knocked the water glass off the tray, sending a
crystalline arc of liquid onto the carpet. She cursed as the glass bounced and
rolled a few feet away, leaving a wet trail behind it. She dropped to her knees
to crawl after it, but the muscles protested so much she sat on her butt and
rested a moment, glaring at the glass.

Smooth
move, stupid. Now how are you going to get
back up on the bed?

She
tried to get her legs back under her, but everything hurt so badly, she could
only fall to her side, eliciting a groan. Reaching out with her left arm, she
made an attempt to pull her weight up, but she didn’t have the strength.

Shit!

Anger
and frustration overflowed her eyes in tears. She laid her head on the floor
and let loose all her emotions, including her hunger. Exhaustion washed over
her, and she sniffled her way to sleep, trying to ignore the scents of dust and
dirt in the carpet beyond her nose.

****

Fredrick
found Bridget asleep in an undignified heap on the floor beside the bed. Why
was she on the floor? The scents of anger, desperation and wet carpet assaulted
his nose as he gently picked her up and laid her in the bed. Tear stains and a
stubble pattern etched the skin of her cheek as he tucked the covers around
her.

He
frowned at the empty glass a few feet from the bed. The food remained
untouched, but a water stain streaked the carpet. What had she been doing?
Throwing the glass?

He
retrieved the cut crystal and replaced it on the tray, then stood looking at
his unwilling guest. He wished he could explain to her why she had to stay, but
he only seemed to infuriate her each time he tried. She hadn’t touched the
food, but surely she’d been hungry. Given the amount of energy it took to heal,
he’d thought she’d be ravenous.

Maybe
she hadn’t liked his choices. Maybe she preferred only fruit and vegetables. He
sighed and shook his head at his clumsy attempts to make her comfortable. He
knew so little about her. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and
stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Bridget’s
skin felt like velvet, and she sighed a little wistfully at his touch. At
least, that’s what he told himself.

“It will
be better, I promise, Bridget. Just trust me, please,” he whispered.

She
frowned a little, but didn’t wake, and he retreated before she discovered him
at her bedside. He brought another tray, this one with a fresh glass of water
beside a plate of fruits and vegetables in hopes she’d prefer them to the meat.

Fredrick
wanted to touch her again, to reassure himself she wasn’t a figment of his
visions, but he forced himself away from the bed and the deliciously-scented
woman in it. Once the danger surrounding her abated, he’d court her regard
properly. But until then, he’d do his utmost to protect her, even if it meant
enraging her.

****

 
Bridget woke to complete darkness with a vague
memory of spiced apples and gentle hands. Turning her head to scan the room,
she struggled to understand where she was and how much time had passed. Frowning,
she tried to remember why being in the bed felt so strange.

Wait a minute. I was on the floor!

Sitting
up, she reached out to switch on the bedside light. Squinting against the
sudden glare, Bridget found the tray laden with fresh fruit and veggies and a
new glass of water.

Someone’s been here. Couldn’t have been Ms. White
Bitch. She would’ve kicked me before she helped me
.

Bridget
shook her head and grasped the glass, swigging water to ease the dryness of her
throat. It took her a few moments to realize her hands no longer shook from
fatigue or stiffness, and she could sit up with ease. Her right arm still
twinged, and her ribs ached a little, but not as badly as when she’d shuffled
across the floor. The only real discomfort she felt came from her stomach,
reminding her she hadn’t treated it well.