Page 66 of Saving Her Vampire

“I do,” he starts. “But I’m afraid I don’t trust you won’t try to run.”

“I promise, I won’t,” I say. I look at him innocently.

“Sorry,” he says sadly. “I’m going to have to give you some drugs. I’m not ready to believe you.”

“Please, not the drugs,” I say. I don’t have to pretend to beg. As much as I don’t want to be awake, I fear being out of it. He could do anything to me.

“There is another way,” he says.

“Whatever you want, just not the drugs,” I say. I should have asked what the other way was. I didn’t see the punch coming this time. I felt swift pain and then nothing.

***

I groan and try to feel the bruise throbbing on my face—my hands jerk to a halt. I see that he gave me more slack, enough for me to sit up slightly on the pillow. He’s sitting beside me, humming as he places the napkin on my chest. His serene face shoots chills down my spine. He doesn’t have any remorse for what he has done. I’ve been ignoring the real danger I am in. He is dangerous.

“Good, you’re back.” He grins. “Are you hungry now?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I made you roast rack of lamb with garlic and herb crust,” he says with arrogance.

“Wow, that’s fancy,” I say.

“I wanted to be a chef. I loved to cook.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask, watching him cut up my food.

“My mother didn’t think it was a worthy pastime.” He smiles stiffly.

“Really?” I ask. I tilt my head curiously. I want to encourage him to talk. It may be naive, but maybe I can get him to see me as more than his object of obsession.

“I grew up on a farm. I was expected to help with the animals. You remember what I looked like. I wasn’t strong enough to do the heavy lifting, much to my dad's fury. He wanted to toughen me up. He made me stick to a strict diet, mostly protein and grains. I didn’t have enough muscles.” He holds a fork speared with meat to my mouth. I have no choice but to open. I pray that he didn’t put drugs in it. “I wasn’t making the progress he expected, so he decided to ridicule and threaten me. He hoped his words would urge me to get better.”

“That sucks,” I say, meaning it.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t the son he wanted. I was a disappointment. My mother loved to cook. She was the perfect wife. She had food on the table for her husband when he got home from working the farm. She catered to his every move. I suppose he loved her in his way, but I heard what went on at night.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been difficult.” I hate to admit that the food is delicious.

“No, he taught me how to be good to your wife,” he says.

Uh—what? “He did?”

“Of course,” he says, nodding. “The thing he did wrong was he didn’t cook for her. He expected everything from her. There has to be a give and take. If he had spoiled her a little during the day, she wouldn’t have cried over the things he wanted at night.”

I’m in such a shock that he gets impatient when it takes me too long to open my mouth. He shoves the fork into my lip. I feel it cut it. “Sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t get distracted,” he scolds. “You take what I give you.”

“Yes, Sammy,” I say. The food sits heavy in my stomach.

“Anyway, my mom always said that cooking was women’s work. She would let me watch sometimes. I studied every move she made. Of course, her meals weren’t as sophisticated as this one, but they fed my desire to learn one day.” He moves on to the string beans. I hate beans. “After I killed my dad, I moved away from there and was able to take some classes.”

“What?” I gasp. I couldn’t help my response. I try to recover. “What did he do to you?”

He glares, his left eye twitching. “He didn’t want to let me go. He shit all over my plan to move out on my own. He thought I should stay on the farm and take over when he got too elderly to function. I didn’t want to be stuck on that crap farm anymore. I wanted better. I didn’t want to be like him,” he spits. “He wouldn’t listen to reason. I had gotten bigger—not as big as he was, but I had a fighting chance. I picked up a pitchfork and ran him through. The shock on his face was priceless. I watched him die. It was fascinating.” The awe in his voice is terrifying.

“What about your mom?” I ask, my voice trembling. He’s too lost in his memories to notice.

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