[Nectar 01.0] Nectar Read online

  Nectar

  Copyright: 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018.

  by DD Prince

  http://ddprince.com

  Cover Image: https://www.shutterstock.com/g/rockey

  If you are intrigued by vampires, if you love possessive alpha males, if you love steamy stories and don’t mind a little blood and a dark romance where the hero and heroine are put to the test with difficult obstacles to overcome, you might love this book.

  Thanks so much for downloading the Nectar trilogy. I hope you enjoy the escape!

  Trigger warning: These fictional dark romance books are for adults only and contain erotic subject-matter, including some dubious & non-consensual scenes.

  This book is the fictional product of the author’s potentially warped imagination. Any resemblance to things living, dead, or otherwise is unintentional.

  Copyright: This book is owned by DD Prince.

  It should not be copied or distributed without the author’s permission. If you have received a copy of this book without purchasing it, it’s theft of the author’s intellectual property. Kindly delete it. Thank you for supporting indie authors!

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  Are you ready to make Tristan your new book boyfriend?

  Brace yourself.

  He bites.

  Prologue I

  ♀

  Feelings were a luxury. They were something Kyla simply couldn’t afford. Feelings were for those who didn’t have to fight so hard to survive. They were responsible for making you stop and feel sorry for yourself; they made you weak. They made it so that words, or a look, or lack of one or both could knock you down and render you helpless. She couldn’t afford to be helpless because she had to help herself. There was no one else. No one. Her adult life was about making sure she didn’t allow herself to be a victim. So, survival, moving forward, and counting on no one for anything was what she did. Because when you counted on other people they either left you or they let you down. When the going got tough, she could handle it.

  When the going made her want to feel… she got going.

  Prologue II

  ♂

  Tristan stared out the window into the dark while he slowly rotated a crystal glass tumbler filled with whiskey against the table beside him. He was bored; two of his guys had gone for a run to bring him a snack. They did it as a way to celebrate, but for Tristan it would just be something to dull the hunger, something to fill his time --- for a little while, anyway.

  He wasn’t even anxious about them coming back. The hunger was always there and he had resigned himself to the fact that it just would be: unending hunger, gnawing at him. That constant need had been there for a decade already and yet he never could seem to get his fill --- and he’d tried.

  Why would tonight be any different? Whoever was brought here would simply take the edge off a little bit and for only a little while. This was their second run tonight because of the phone call that came a few hours ago. That call had gotten two of the men who worked for him pretty worked up and in the mood to celebrate. And he knew others, others who wanted to be in his position, would’ve been thrilled with the news if they’d gotten that same call.

  Sam was Tristan’s right hand man, had been there for him since Day One, which had been ten years ago.

  Joe was one of his scouts. They’d both decided celebration was in order, so they went out to fetch something that would supposedly help with that.

  To Tristan, the call simply meant the next milestone expected of him; it was the next logical rung on the ladder bringing him closer to that top spot, the spot where he was reportedly destined to sit. Yes, it was happening sooner than expected, but the end result was inevitable.

  What would he feel like when he got to that pinnacle, which he was now just one promotion away from? Would his hunger be sated then or would existing be as underwhelming as this?

  “We’re back. This one was fun.” Joe’s voice snapped him out of his daze.

  “Fun?” he rose from his chair and downed the remaining liquid in the glass in his hand.

  “Yeah, she’s still lucid.” Joe looked ready to burst with excitement.

  “Lucid?”

  “Neither of us could get her to comply. Real feisty, actually.”

  He arched a brow, “But you brought her here, anyway?”

  “Oh yeah, she fits your profile. To a tee. There was no way we could not. And you won’t have a problem getting her in line.” Joe looked beyond excited. He looked like he always did when he wanted approval, which was often enough to annoy Tristan mildly.

  “Alright, let’s have a look,” Tristan mumbled, barely able to mask his boredom.

  1

  Kyla felt herself being physically pulled and at the same time felt like she was being tugged toward consciousness. Then she wasn’t being pulled; she was floating. Something warm surrounded her and it smelled good, like baked goods.

  She heard her own faraway-sounding voice moan in protest as the sensation changed from floating to sinking. She wanted to brace herself, but her body felt boneless. She finally sank into something soft.

  She tried to tune in to her surroundings, but felt like she had to wade through a thick soupy haze first. Instinct told her things weren’t right. She knew her wrists and ankles had been bound but wasn’t sure, for the moment, why. A door clicked shut and then her ankles were in someone’s grip and then they were being separated from whatever it was that had bound them together. Her hands and feet felt tingly.

  That desserty aroma got stronger, and a warm hand was slowly rising up the inside of her leg. That warmth landed an inch from there, between her legs. She tried to unglue her eyelids, but they wouldn’t cooperate. She wanted to scurry away or clamp her legs shut but couldn’t. Her limbs felt foreign, like they were dead.

  “Time to wake up. What’s your name?” a male voice asked. It was deep and warm --- soothing even. “As if it matters,” he added under his breath.

  “Wh-what?” she managed to stammer, trying to claw her way into full consciousness.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered.

  Kyla tilted her head and furrowed her brows, disoriented.

  “Open,” he repeated.

  Opening her eyes was a chore. Her lids felt so heavy. She finally managed, and as her surroundings came into focus, her heart sped up. She was remembering.

  Being taken flashed in her memory. She’d been outside the building at her night job, putting out a bag of trash at the end of her shift, when a hand had covered her mouth. She’d been dragged kicking and screaming somewhere by someone with superhuman strength until her hands and legs were tied tight. Then everything had gone black.

  Now her ankles and wrists were no longer bound. Fingertips played with the fringe of her panties. She struggled to sit up, eyes suddenly wide with alarm.

  “Stop,” the voice commanded. “Look at me.”

  She tried to take everything in, knowing instinctively that she needed to gauge her surroundings and think fast. Before her eyes met the face of a man at her feet, she tried to assess her surroundings, deciding it was imperative to do this before analyzing the face of her of captor. He was holding her ankle with his left hand. His right hand was on her inner thigh. As she tried to assess both him and her surroundings the haze lifted, and everything zoomed into consciousness.

  Location? Hotel room or bedroom. The room was big and almost dark except for a dim floor lamp a few feet away. Heavy drapes hung over what
looked like a wall of windows straight ahead. Was it still nighttime?

  She was on a big ornate four poster bed with a pile of dark throw pillows in various shapes around and behind her, like a decorating store showroom bed. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist so before another thought occurred to her, modesty kicked in and she tried to pull her skirt down. Before she could, he let go of her thigh and shackled her wrist with his grip.

  She lifted her chin toward his face and suddenly her eyes were trapped, stuck. She was rendered a deer in the headlights.

  Holy fuck was her very next thought.

  Her captor? The eyes that held hers were the most piercing icy blue eyes she’d ever seen. If she weren’t right in front of them she’d say they weren’t even real. He was tall, dark haired, dangerous-looking, and his bangs flopped over his forehead just a little, his hair slightly long, parted in the middle, almost touching his collar bone with a slight finger combed wave to it. He looked like he was in his mid to late 20’s.

  Even though the room was dim it was as if his eyes were faintly lit, like reflective cat’s eyes, or no --- wait, more like faint solar LED bulbs at dusk, and they were burning into her. She had a fleeting thought about Lite Brite, the toy where you poked little coloured light bulbs through black grid paper to make designs that lit up. She remembered sitting in the dark and making Lite Brite designs with someone as a child and her favourite design to make had been blue eyes and green eyes side by side. She pushed the odd thought away and focused on the arctic blue eyes in front of her.

  He looked like a model or a movie star. Chiseled features, cleft on his chin, five o’clock shadow, and those eyes…how could they be so vivid in a room so dim? And what was she doing here with him? Kyla had a pretty good amount of street smarts. Normally she was watchful, especially in that dark alley. Being nabbed like that, not something she’d have ever expected to happen. And certainly not something she’d ever suspect would bring her to a specimen like the one in front of her.

  She found her voice. “Who are you? Why am I here?”

  “There’s no need to be afraid. Relax, don’t scream. You’re not in danger. Tell me your name.”

  She stared at his full lips as he spoke slowly and softly.

  “You’re okay. Just breathe. Mm, very green. Gorgeous. And you smell so good.” He leaned closer and appeared to be peering into her eyes the way someone would look out a window. His eyes grew wider and got even more intense. His tongue moistened his full bottom lip and then his teeth scraped the lip before he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “What?” she breathed. She might’ve momentarily forgotten it.

  “Tell me your name,” he urged softly.

  She inhaled, and her breath caught. Her heart thudded hard against her chest wall. She was sure it must be audible to him, too; it was that loud. She couldn’t seem to exhale. She felt a surge of what must have been adrenaline and the adrenaline decided then, as she got a chance to exhale, that she should beeline for a door that was straight ahead. She tried to lunge toward it, but he still had an ankle in his grasp.

  “Whoa,” he said and in an instant, they both toppled and she was on the carpet with him sitting on her. He pinned her wrists above her head.

  “What do we have here?” he chuckled, then he turned serious and leaned toward her. “This is a surprise. I heard you were feisty. You’re like a lit firecracker. Tell me your name, little cherry bomb.” He was an inch from her face and he locked eyes with hers.

  She blazed a dirty look at him. “Fuck you. Who are you? What do you want?” She tried to get her arms free, but he was strong. He didn’t look like he was fighting too hard to hold her down, but she couldn’t move.

  Something changed, and he wasn’t looking through a window any longer. It was like their eyes were at a standoff. His brows rose, and he tilted his head slightly, gaze still fixed on her eyes. He moistened his lips again and leaned back and his expression changed to puzzled. After a beat he blinked twice, leaned toward the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply.

  “What the---?” She shuddered and pulled her shoulder toward her ear. “Get off!”

  He leaned back, eyed her up and down, shook his head, looking confused. “Something’s not right.” He released her wrists. She tried to scramble away, but he was still sitting on top of her.

  “What? Not used to hearing girls say no? Damn straight something’s not right. Let me go!” She couldn’t help but notice that he smelled like hot baked cookies. Her stomach rumbled in response. She thrust the heels of her hands forward against his chest in an effort to push him off balance. It was like her hands had hit a steel wall. They stung. And he hadn’t budged. Kyla winced in pain. He looked surprised.

  He grabbed her forearms and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “What are you on? Tell me.” He had a befuddled look on his face.

  She let out a cry and tried to struggle some more. It was as if his eyes were trying to bore a hole into her. He gave a little push and she was back on the bed. She tried to get back to her feet, but he pushed her back down. “Don’t move,” he ordered; his face was almost sinister. She froze, suddenly gripped by fear.

  “Don’t move,” he repeated and pointed at her.

  He picked up a cell phone from the nightstand and backed up so that he was about ten feet away, leaning against a door. Her eyes scanned the room as he swiped the screen a few times. He thrust his free hand through his hair. She was about to jump up, but then he pointed again, as if his pointed finger would be enough to keep her still.

  “Where did you find her?” he spat into the phone. After a beat he added, “Still completely lucid. No drugs. Nope. Something is off here.”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious, you’ve got the wrong girl,” she spoke up. “If you’d just stand aside so I can leave, we can forget all about this.” Kyla got to her feet.

  “Sit,” he told her with a hard stare, pointing at the bed and kept talking into the phone. “I don’t smell any sign of that. Come up. Did she have a bag? Yeah, bring it.”

  She spotted a glass alcohol decanter that was within arm’s reach on a long dresser. She lunged for it and hurled it at him. He stepped aside, dodging it before it shattered against the door he’d been leaning against. His eyes widened. She ran for the now unblocked door, but he reached out and caught her by her long ponytail and she ricocheted back against his frame. He was considerably taller than her.

  His mouth was beside her ear. “Freeze,” he said. He still had her hair in his hand. The air left her lungs briefly and she did freeze, absorbing his hot breath for a beat. Then, when he loosened the grip, she started to frantically punch him, scratch him, kick, do whatever she could to fight. She knew that the #1 rule, if abducted, was that you do whatever you have to do to get away.

  Well, if you wanted to be technical about it the number one rule was to not let your assailant get you to the second location, but since it was too late for that she had to fight to try to get out of here --- and now.

  Her efforts, despite the flailing and grunting, weren’t getting her anywhere. He didn’t flinch at any of her hits or kicks and then he pulled her hair tighter and caught one of her wrists.

  “Stop; calm down.” He stared into her eyes in that weird way again.

  What was with the crazy eye thing?

  Kyla grunted in frustration and continued to try to batter him, to make him let go, but as she clawed and hit and kicked all she was really accomplishing was tiring herself out. She kept struggling, but she was quickly running out of steam. Punches, kicking, elbowing, scratching, hair pulling, none of it had any effect on him whatsoever.

  He had a determined look on his face and he wasn’t moving. He was just blocking her attempted hits to the face and tolerating the hits and kicks she tried to inflict on his other body parts, as if they didn’t even hurt. She was hurting, though, she’d hurt herself trying to kick him in the shin in her bare feet; he was like a man made of steel or something.

  “Ouch,
fuck! Fuck off. Let me go!”

  She stopped struggling for a moment, zapped of energy and totally winded, and looked around the room for something to use as a weapon while catching her breath. He let go of her hair and put his hands up in a defensive posture, looking sort of amused.

  She hauled off, intending to punch his jaw as hard as she could to knock that smug look off his face, but he caught her fist in his hand and leaned in as she heard the thump of her fist hit the palm of his hand. He tightened his grip around her fist and it hurt a little. She ignored the pain and brought her knee up hard and nailed him in between the legs. Nothing happened, and she knew she’d hit hard enough that it should’ve sent him to the floor. It felt like her knee hit steel and pain spread out across her knee. Was he wearing a cup?

  The smirk on his face evaporated. First, his jaw tightened and then his upper lip curled. Then, before her eyes, almost as if in slow motion, his eye teeth elongated, and she was faced with fangs.

  Vampire fangs?

  What…

  the…

  fuck?

  They just protruded, like a magic trick or something. Her legs disintegrated into what felt like rubber bands and everything went black as the floor rose up to meet her.

  2

  Kyla heard conversation. After a nanosecond of disorientation, she remembered the predicament she was in. And what a predicament it was! She kept her eyes closed and listened to male voices.

  She was on the bed and her face was partially shielded by pillows. He, that vampire guy, was talking and she heard the tinkling of glass. He must’ve been picking up broken glass from the decanter she had thrown. Then there was laughter.

  That vampire guy? Wait. Was that really what had happened?

  “Uh oh; losing your touch just as soon as you get your crown and sceptre?” said a male voice, not the vampire’s.

  “Not funny,” was the vampire’s reply.

  Her blood ran icy and hot at the same time and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end at the sound of that voice. Some survival instinct she had! Something like this happens and she faints instead of saving herself? Was she dreaming right now, or had she really seen fangs emerge from his mouth?