Page 18 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“Why not?”

“That is where she…tortures people.”

It all came back to me then–the rose, the thorns, how she squeezed them against my cock. She was a sadist, a “Monster.”

Rosetta nodded. “Now you see? You cannot escape her. You can only do your best to please her.”

“What is she?”

Rosetta leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “Vampira.”

Vampira? How was that even possible? Surely such things did not exist except in superstition.

“Please just finish your meal so I can go.”

“Leave the wine and fruit, you can take the rest,” I told her, still trying to come to terms with this new reality.

She set the carafe and fruit aside on the table then lifted the tray from my lap. “Do not repeat what I told you,” she pleaded.

“Who would I tell?”

She started toward the door then turned back to me. “You should rest. She will not send for you tonight. Not until you regain your strength.”

CHAPTER 10

MYRA

A fateful meeting

WHAT HAPPENED TO Lisa was the talk of the Whitfield campus Thursday morning. Kristin informed everyone at lunch that Lisa’s vitals had stabilized and she was being released from the hospital that afternoon. Toby picked her up and brought her back to her dorm room, where she was ordered to stay in bed for at least another day, though that didn’t stop all her friends from going by to check on her after classes.

I begged off when Kristin asked me to go, figuring I didn’t want to add to the parade of well-wishers, especially since the two of us weren’t really that close. Instead, I grabbed one of my new journals and headed off campus to the coffeeshop in town to do some writing.

I had a great idea for a new story and had gotten so involved in writing it I lost track of time. When I glanced up from my journal, I was surprised to see it had grown dark outside and there was a whole new shift of people working the counter at the shop. I closed the journal and was preparing to head back to the dorm when I felt the hairs on my arms stand up.

“It must be a good story.”

A man was standing by the table right in front of me. I raised my eyes and swallowed a gasp.

It was him.

Up close I could see his intense gray eyes reflected the light in the room like those of a cat, and right now they were focused entirely on me. He was the perfect combination of strength and beauty–classically sculpted bones, smooth pale skin with just a hint of a five o’clock shadow, full lush lips, and an aura of pure sensuality that sent an aching rush of warmth straight to my core.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and tried to speak but couldn’t seem to find my voice. As if he knew this, his own lips curled up in a slow smile as he pulled out the chair before him and lowered himself into the seat, putting us at eye level.

From here I could see he appeared younger than I had first guessed, but there was a sense of age about him, like he had seen and experienced things beyond his years.

“What do you write about?” he asked.

I detected a slight accent in his speech and a depth to his buttery smooth voice that made it seem to wrap around me like a warm hug. I suddenly wanted more than anything to hear him speak again.

“I, uh…just stories I make up,” I stammered, my throat as dry as my lips. I could feel my palms sweating and my heart speed up. I looked down; I couldn’t think with those eyes focused on me. Why was he talking to me?

I was caught off guard when he reached a pale, long-fingered hand across the table and closed it on mine, sending more tremors rippling through my body. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up to meet his gaze while the heat I felt before intensified.

“Never doubt your talent,” he said quietly as he squeezed my hand. “Or your beauty.” He held the contact for a breathless moment before letting go and sitting back with the air of a man completely at ease in his surroundings.

I exhaled and tried to get control of my warring hormones while thinking of some way to respond to his comments. The fact that he had mentioned me and beauty in the same sentence left me at a loss for words. Surely he was just being nice, but what would be his motive? Why would he stop to talk to me? I couldn’t work that out, but I also didn’t want him to leave, so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.

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