Dark Impulses
Chapter 11
Scarlet let out a slow moan of displeasure, her mind clawing from sleep's dark haze, waking up, her personal hell. Grainy dirt rasped against her bare legs, another groan, as reality crashed back, heavy as the earth around her. Pulling up, neck twinging soft, she shook her head, raven locks brushing her shoulders, and blinked into the crypt's dim glow, the worklight's hum a cold companion.
Time had slipped since Jerry snatched her from home, tracking it a bitch with no clocks, blacked-out windows, and erratic blackouts. Hard-packed earth grated under her, but she'd be lying if worse hadn't crossed her mind.
Jerry's chaos had taught her that things could always get worse, Exhibit A: being a super-hot, single neighbor turned murdering vampire, hell-bent on convincing her she was too.
Frowning, she took stock, same hole as last time, worklight glaring, no warmth, just a den dug beneath his house. Cooler than Nevada's scorch, habitable sans AC, but still a pit, animal-like under Jerry's roof. Leaning against the dirt wall, rough on her back, she brushed grit from her skin, his oversized shirt, her shorts, the only thing she has fighting the grime.
What now? Jerry wasn't here, but she was his prisoner, completely at his mercy, a truth she'd never voice, her snarky inner devil snapped. Waiting was her play, and she sucked at it, never patient as a kid, still not now. A go-getter, she tackled obstacles, but how does a buck-fifty woman escape a centuries-old vampire? Her cell-wall kick and beer bottle swing, calculated or panicked, only seemed to dig her deeper.
Submitting had worked 'til he flipped it, fuzzy flashes of a hot make-out, copper tingling her tongue. She loved a steamy romp, but on her terms, not with a kidnapping bloodsucker.
Depressing thoughts loomed, forever in his lair. His endgame gnawing at her if she bought his "not human" spiel, what then?
He'd purred about it in her kitchen, her quick healing taunted her now, time a blur without markers.
No clocks graced his walls, windows sealed dark, her "Jerry sessions" warped her sense of days. Appetite gone she was usually ravenous, now sated, it unsettled her. Fingertips grazed her lips, warm richness lingered, as a memory of it sliding past them, filling her with eerie contentment. Pulling them back, expecting crimson, finding dry skin, disappointment flickered, then fear through her.
He could be right, her mind screamed doubt fluttering.
She crushed it, sunlit childhood flared camping with her parents, Mom's laugh, Dad's campfire tales, ocean swims, salt on her tongue. All the outgrown shoes piling up in her closet over the years. Vampires didn't grow, didn't bask in sun, have it pinkening her cheeks. She'd recall night hunts, blood on her lips, no memories came, save Jerry's chaos.
Before him, her fuzzy past with the Lees felt happy, no gore, just love.
Supernatural?
Jerry had sold her on that. But her a vampire like him?
He claimed she was one,haunted her. "Never have been, my little Scar, and never will be," he'd purred, surreal and chilling. Knees to chest, arms hugging bare legs, she scanned the crypt trying to move her thoughts, sharp green eyes hunting for leverage, finding zip.
Sighing, she glared at the steel door, Jerry must've hauled her here post-stairs, post-fuzz-out. Brushing a stray raven lock behind her ear, grit snagging, she huffed.
Why me? she asked herself, the puzzling question dancing in her mind as if taunting her.
She had only just met the man, which was barely more than once in passing. Sure she had shamelessly flirted with him in her own awkward way. But hell, she hadn't even thought she had a shot in hell at a guy or vampire that looked the way he did. The man was walking sex and worse yet, he knew it. He was damn good at using it as well, those charming smiles and the way those dark eyes of his would drag over her body made her both blush and feel uneasy.
The thought struck her with a shiver down her spine.
A walking talking apex predator, Scarlet frowned in thought, her mind reeling at what Jerry was.
Thinking back to the bright hallway of cells she tried to recall how many there had been. More than four she was sure, the thought of how many people he could, and probably did keep for food at one time made her shiver. If he was hundreds of years old and was choosing to live in one of the sunniest, most populated places on this continent then Jerry was either suicidal or thought it no challenge at all. It might have been just another hunting ground for him to thin out.
That brought her back to her current predicament. What was she to do about it? How on earth could she possibly turn this into a net benefit?
After racking her brain for what felt like forever she let out a breath of frustration. Nothing she could think of would possibly help her. When it came down to it she was nothing but a weak female stuck under Jerry's thumb. As much as she would have liked to deny it, she couldn't run from that hard truth.
After her feeding, Jerry lingered, savoring her soft weight in his lap, her scent warming the stale air, raven hair spilling over his arm. He'd never tied himself to one woman, centuries of flings, most dust by dawn, but she shifted something primal.
Her presence clicked, confusing yet thrilling. A ladies' man, natural looks, charm honed, he was a lady-killer, literally.
But Scarlet's mess demanded work, hardware for busted cells, meals to hunt, beer and apples dwindling. Reluctantly, he shifted her, gentle not to jostle her, stood, and cradled her downstairs. Unlocking the gate, he toed the steel door open, his boots scuffing, easing her to the dirt floor. She continued to sleep oblivious, he smirked, nosing her crown, inhaling deep before pulling back. Locking her in, panty-dropper grin flashing, he felt oddly happy.
She fit, a missing thrill in his risky hunts.
Shaking his head, claws raking his dark locks, he leaned against the cool door, her scent lingering, then headed up.
In his study, he eyed her chaos, two cells smashed, drywall crumbled from her kicks. She'd busted through to the next cell, door untampered. Gathering a mental list of supplies he loaded his dark green pickup and rolled to the Strip.
After the hardware store, steel reinforcements bagged, Jerry hit the supermarket, basket with leafy greens, meat, and sniffing for prey. A brunette stretched for a top shelf, ripe, and he flashed charm, reaching and handing her the box. "Dinner for two?" he purred, eyeing her curves. She blushed, and was hooked, he ended up carrying her bags out, smug.
Janie invited him over, Mel went down easy, Ethan fought feebly, all now stacked in his truck bed under tarps, hardware piled on top. Three bodies'd hold him a few days, he mused, pulling onto his street, eyes sharp for trouble. Predator or not, he wasn't dumb.
A tingle hit Scarlet's neck, backing off as the door swung open. Jerry loomed, eyes scanning, landing on her, dark chocolate gaze shivering her. Hopping down, he locked it, keys jangling, tossed mid-air, pocketed with his dark flair.
She retreated, her back hitting dirt, wary of him. He strolled closer, boots soft, then slid beside her, casual yet coiled.