Forced to Buy a Vampire Slave (rewrite) Book #1

Chapter Three

The night waned on, the hour cresting one and the moon rising high. The ball was still swinging, though at least some of the guests had left. I sidled into the kitchen- it was a huge space, and currently filled with several cooks and slaves. I was a little drunk, and hungry. My parents only served bite-sized food at parties and the last proper meal I'd had was breakfast. I stole a few wine-soaked chocolate covered cherries, plucking them from the stems and eating two at once. I washed it down with a half-empty glass of bubbly sitting out on the counter. I snaked a couple little dishes of crème brûlée topped with syrupy raspberries and trekked upstairs.

When I entered my rooms, I found Corey sitting in a high-back chair, twirling the sharpened yew stake in one hand, tux jacket discarded. The all black of his clothes contrasted with his skin in a way that made me want to sigh.

"Hi," I kicked the door shut behind me, arm full of dessert. Then I kicked off my heels, leaving them strewn over the floor.

Corey watched me walk further into the room, spinning the stake around a finger. It was stained black, with a cross carved on one side.

"Do you plan on using that on me?" I asked, heading in his direction.

"I haven't ruled it out." he claimed.

"Hm," I came over and handed him a cup of crème brûlée and a spoon. "Can I appease you with dessert?"

"Dessert won't stave off homicidal intentions."

"Can we try?" I hedged.

Exhaling audibly, he took the dish from my hands. I meandered over to the couch, collapsing into the cushions and kicking my feet up on the arm. I dipped my spoon into the sugary fruit and licked it off. "So, were you turned?"

Most vampires were. Turned, that is.

"No." he replied, tucking the stake into the cushions of his chair.

"Oh," I delved my spoon back in. "You're a natural born vampire?"

"Yes."

"Is your family..."

"Dead." he stated.

I swallowed, looking down as I scooped up more crème brûlée. "I'm sorry."

"Do I need to reiterate what I said earlier? I don't want your sympathy. I don't believe it's even real."

"It is," I sat up a bit more, dish in my lap. "I am sorry. Corey, I-"

"Stop." His voice was a pitch black hall, a burnt match. "Stop calling me by my name like you know me, like we're friends." The porcelain in his grip broke, crushed to pieces in a fleeting second. Glass shards and crème brûlée made a mess on his black pants. He licked the cream from his fingers, expression empty. Then he brushed the glass onto the carpet, and looked at me in challenge. In defiance. As if he dared me to tell him to clean it up. I wasn't going to.

"What should I call you then?" I asked, head swimming with champagne.

"What I am. Your slave."

"If you were my slave, you wouldn't be able to do what you just did." I pointed out, moving to sit up. A bit of vertigo came to greet me, and I set aside my unfinished food. My stomach was feeling uneasy.

"Then punish me,"

I sighed, getting to my feet. "I'll clean it up in the morning."

I swayed a bit, but found my balance. I wanted to lay down. Angling across the room, I went to my walk-in closet and slid out of my dress, not bothering to close the door. Standing in red lace garments, I pulled a Winnie the Pooh shirt over my head and found a pair of soft socks to slip on. I liked to sleep with socks. Striding back out, I flicked off the light and crawled into bed.