It wasn't the sun that woke you up this time, but the ephemeral scent of roses. Trance-heavy, your eyes hesitate to open again to the world, still peacefully keeping you in a waking dream, only barely aware of your surroundings. The warm glow of gently dancing candlelight was hidden behind a sleepy gauze, the rest of the room coming into view as obscure shapes. You consider briefly if you should drift off again, the temptation heightened by the soft brush of silk beneath you...
It isn't until in your stupor you give thought to where you were that the horror of your previous waking moments washes over you like the cold waves of a stormy sea. You sit up with wide eyes and trembling breaths, taking in the room more fully. The walls were stone, not concrete but natural stone as if it had been hewn inside a mountain or hillside. Against the rocky wall were candelabras, the only source of light, which gave the room a haunting color. Across the bed you sat on was a large, 18th century-style wardrobe and a set of drawers with a marble counter. Beside you was a nightstand, a bottle of water sitting atop. You hesitate to reach for it, but your parched throat urges you to unscrew the top and take a big gulp.
You spot the door on the other side of the room and quickly hop up, realizing that you're still dressed in your "work clothes", which consisted of a black t-shirt and jeans. You had no idea how long you've been out. Assuming that your kidnapper was still around, you cautiously approach the door and open it slowly, wincing as it whines against the hinges. It opens to a long corridor which resembles a normal house more than the cave-like interior of the singular room, the same style of furniture decorating it. Your eyes immediately search for another door. You had to be underground, you thought, meaning you probably had to look for some kind of tunnel exit. Sneaking forward, you spot a door that could possibly be an exit. Taking a glance around, you break into a sprint. Just a few steps away⎼⎼
Before you could blink, he was in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest, "Sneaky little thing."
You gasp and skid to a stop, nearly losing your balance. The man before you is tall and lean, golden locks streaming over his shoulders like pure sunlight, his eyes the same light, pure blue as the clear sky; yet they held a dark allure from which you couldn't tear your own eyes away. He was dressed in a black waistcoat and jacket, a crimson cravat with a singular jewel in the center decorating his neck. Every inch was immaculately put together, not one hair or thread out of place. And his voice, that familiar dulcet tone that had swirled around in your head during both your waking and dreaming moments, met your ears now with its unsettling beauty. The last time you saw such a magnificent creature was at your door, bidding you let him inside.
His full lips are set in an amused smirk, "Don't be afraid, if I wanted to hurt you I would have done so already."
"I-It's you," you mumble stupidly, looking around again as if for a place to escape, though you'd probably have a better chance digging your way out than getting through a door, "Where am I?"
"You're safe," he takes two gliding steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours, "In an underground apartment."
You retreat back, bumping into a sofa. The vague memory of your obscured savior holding you close flashed in your mind, "What the hell happened last night?"
"You had the unfortunate luck of meeting some...unsavory characters. You were lucky I was keeping an eye on you."
The admission shocked you, though considering that he had rescued you, maybe shouldn't have. Your lips parting slightly, "You were...why?"
Another step and he has you trapped, just like before, his skin just inches away, the scent of roses which had awoken you wafting gently from him like a mist fogging up your mind. His smile, a sardonic grin, forms words that make heat pool in your stomach, "Because, you taste delectable.
You swallow, your throat dry again as his hypnotic voice glides like silk over the word delectable. Staring into his eyes is too intense and you look away, hating how your fingers shake as you wring them in front of you. You try and fail to sound commanding as you say, "I wanna go home. Now."
He straightens again, his hand reaching out to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "If you were to leave now they'd most certainly take you for their own nefarious ends."
The gesture frightens you in your already disconcerted state, like a scared doe catching sight of a hunter, yet the sheer contact of skin against skin is enough to rekindle all those hidden thoughts of him returning to claim you.
"And you didn't?" you challenge, trying to not let him affect you.
He doesn't answer for a few silent moments, making you wonder if you'd somehow stumped him, or caused him to reconsider his actions.
"You're mine, little one," he finally says almost solemnly, "I claimed you."
Indignation rises up in you, overpowering your fear enough to make your gaze shoot up to meet him in a glare, "I don't belong to anyone!"
Yet, somewhere deep in your heart, you knew he was telling the truth. You could feel it in the way you reacted to him, in the yearning to have his touch. He'd marked you, both for himself and now apparently for others.
"That's where you're mistaken," he admonishes with an angry frown, "I own you. And those bastards tried to damage my property."
Property. It made you bristle.
"Take me home, now," you demanded, gaining more courage.
"I've already told you why I can't," he says, letting go of your chin, "For the foreseeable future, this is your home."
Fight or flight kicks into high gear and you rush for the door behind him, only to be grabbed by the wrist with crushing strength and jerked back, struggling with building anger as you pull your arm and slap at him to let go of you. It's as effective as a five-year-old fighting a heavyweight champion. He practically throws and pins you to the nearby wall, causing you to cry out in pain as your back slams back with bruising force.
"I haven't hurt you yet," he threatens, those blue irises pulsing with rage and dark power, "That doesn't mean I won't. I've said before, this will be much easier if you don't struggle."
Breathing heavily, you glare at him trying one more time to escape his grip before being pushed back against the wall. You can feel your blood rushing through your veins with adrenalin. Your captor's gaze traces down your panting mouth to your throat where his handiwork still lay evident. He stares at the bandages for a long time, and you wondered if he would bite you again. You scolded yourself for wishing he would. The tension grows thick as he leans in just slightly with an almost sensual focus on your currently exposed, vulnerable neck.
"You know who they were?" you ask suddenly as if to distract him.
He pauses before meeting your eyes, "Yes. My brother and his two vulgar little imps. They were coming after you to spite me."
You furrow your brows, "To spite you? So I almost died because you pissed off the wrong people?"
"Dying would not be the worst thing," he whispers gravely before the corner of his lips turn up in a smug grin, "Besides, don't pretend you didn't long to be in my presence again."
You shot him a hot glare, and lied, "I don't know what you mean."
"You can pretend all you want," he murmurs lowly, and you shiver, only proving his next point, "but your body will betray you."
He lets you go abruptly, returning to a posture of absolute poise and control, "Never fear, my brother will get bored and you will be able to return home."
The sudden absence of his body on yours gives you a small pang in your chest that you desperately try to ignore. You frown, one last question on your mind. One that you hope will perhaps shed some light on your situation and bring you some comfort.
"Why did you come to my house?"
Again, you seem to have struck him dumb as he leaves you suspended in lingering silence. Then, turning, as if to avoid looking you in the eye, answers, "I was hungry."
You're struck like a blade to the heart. It shouldn't hurt, it made perfect sense, and that's all you could ever hope or think it was...yet it still made you angry and hurt that your life had just been turned upside down because he was hungry.
"And unless you'd like to volunteer, I must go feed," he states unceremoniously, making his way to the door, "I suggest you eat as well. There's plenty of food."
"Wait," you say, and he stops just as he reaches for the doorknob, "What's your name?"
He glances back at you and with a strange sadness he says, "Michael."
Then he walks out, closing the door and leaving you in your prison.