Call Her Mine Read online

  Oh my God, am I dying?

  She screamed, but he wouldn’t let her go. Her struggles were completely useless under his bulk and strength. His mouth ripped from her neck, her traitorous body still climaxing and she let out a gurgling scream.

  “Swallow it,” he hissed against her ear. “Swallow it and it will all be over soon.”

  She didn’t want it to be over! She fought and when she acknowledged how depleted her strength was she began to cry. Sobbing over his arm, she realized he was going to kill her. Contrary to what he was forcing her to do, his touch and words were gentle. He still filled her, but only with slow, tempered motions.

  His mouth kissed over her throat where he had left his mark. “Shh, Delilah, shh…”

  Tears flooded her eyes and her nose ran. The warm, disgusting, thick liquid seeped down her throat, no matter how she tried to reject it. His arm blocked the only exit. She sobbed. She hated him, but she hated herself more for trusting a stranger and consenting like only a slut would to fuck him after just meeting him.

  His fingers softly petted her throat and the liquid he forced her to drink settled like tar into her stomach. The revolting sensation made her sway with queasiness. Her vision blurred and her breathing slowed. The room turned on end. He’d poisoned her. Why?

  She was too young to die.

  Her thoughts fragmented into mere words, her mind too weak to string them together, and soon only hums of syllables whispered in the dark shadows of her quickly fading conscience. Eyes open, yet mostly shut, she was floating high on whatever drug he’d given her. There was no pain, only…nothingness. Her sense of mass left her, as though she were filled with helium. The only thing holding her to this world were the hands that had just shortened her life.

  No…her mind sang in a soft whisper without conviction. It was pleasant and tempting to simply give over to the all-consuming rest. Her breath slowed. Her limbs grew numb. She was cold. She may have shivered.

  Her muscles gave out one by one and she sensed him holding her, cradling her in his arms, whispering softly, as her very last organ gave way, and everything settled into…peace.

  Chapter Two

  Breath sucked through Delilah’s nose and tore into her lungs like an avalanche of life ripping over a silent mountain that touched the heavens. Air never tasted so good. Slowly, Delilah’s mind came into play and she wondered how much she’d had to drink. She must’ve blacked out, but her body felt surprisingly good.

  Her fingers flexed and her shoulders rotated. That pinched nerve in her back—for once—didn’t stab at her first thing in the morning. Damn, did someone slip something into her drink? She sighed and wiggled her toes.

  “You are awake.”

  She stilled. Who the fuck was that?

  Cracking an eyelid, she peeked through her lashes. The first thing that sent her heart racing was the bareness of the room. Totally not home. What had her bolting upright was the sight of the sick fuck who’d killed her—wait…what?

  She screamed and bolted upright to stand on the mattress, her legs wobbling like she was walking on a moon bounce. She gripped the headboard and frantically touched her face, arms, hips, stomach, thighs, vagina, toes—

  “Am I fucking dead?”

  He scowled at her. “Your language is something we must work on, Delilah.” He sighed and moved to a dresser in the corner.

  She quickly looked around the room. There wasn’t much—plain windows, green blinds, some pegs on the wall with a few shirts and a hat, a door. The sound of trickling water obscured her frantic breathing. He was pouring something from a pitcher. Poison?

  He turned and held out a clear glass that looked to be filled with water. She went into her best praying mantis slash Daniel son Karate Kid pose. “Stay back!”

  He shook his head. “I am only bringing you water—”

  “Ha! You think I’m stupid?”

  His eyebrow arched close to his brown hairline as if he were suggesting her intelligence were still up for debate. “Perhaps I should remind you that you are naked.”

  Delilah looked down, gasped, twisted her legs to hide the goods and she went with more of a Whoopi slash Celie pose from when she goes fierce at the end of The Color Purple. It wasn’t as threatening, but still had that I’m a crazy bitch who will fuck you up thing going.

  He sighed and placed the glass on the nightstand. She hissed when he came close and she frowned. Hissing, Delilah, really?

  He opened a drawer and pulled out something black. Offering his back, he extended his arm to her, holding out the garment. “Take this.”

  Hesitantly, she snatched it out of his hand with more force than she intended. He kept his back to her as she unraveled the fabric and held it up. It was a dress, a hideous, plain, frock like dress.

  That’s the first thing they do before they brainwash you, strip you down, take away all signs of individuality. Li wasn’t totally sure who she thought they were, but she was leaning toward some sort of cult. Whatever. She wasn’t going down without a fight, but to fight she needed clothes.

  “How about some pants?”

  He laughed. “Pants? I think not, Delilah.”

  Oh, somebody likes to be a smart ass. “Oh, do you? Do you think not? We aren’t in bloody London!” She frowned. Or were they?

  He turned slowly, eyes narrowed and threatening. Her bravado abandoned, she forced herself not to show fear. Huffing, she yanked the drab sack he was trying to pass off as clothing over her head. There was no way she was giving the prick a free peep show. Whatever happened before was never happening again.

  His mouth formed a flat line. “We need to speak, Delilah.”

  “Yeah, okay, let’s start with where the hell am I? What the fuck did you do to me? How the hell am I alive?”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to control your tongue. My patience wears thin.”

  “Your patience? Hello...” She shoved a thumb against her chest. “Here against my will. And for the record, I have no patience. You’re probably gonna wanna start answering my questions right about yesterday before I freak—the fuck—out.”

  Was that a growl? Those eyes were back on her again. She locked her jaw so her teeth didn’t chatter.

  “Last warning, pintura. Mind your tongue.”

  That’s the second thing they do, take away your name.

  She was about to tell him to go fuck himself, but thought better of it, all kinds of Hannibal Lector crap filling her head. Who knew? If she cursed enough he might end up actually cutting out her tongue? She said nothing.

  “May we speak now?”

  He was asking? She tipped up her shoulder with indifference. “Go ahead and talk.”

  He drew in a deep breath and sighed. There was a chair in the corner. He dragged it close to the bed and he straddled it. Her eyes went to his strong arms crossed one over the other and his broad shoulders.

  Jeeze, Li, how about some self-control? The bastard kidnapped you. He’s probably gonna sell you into some American slave trade ring.

  “Are you planning on standing up there through our entire discussion?”

  She didn’t want to sit on the bed. It put her at a disadvantage. Here she was taller than him. “Yes.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can see this is going to be a trial,” he mumbled. “We are in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”

  “Lancaster! How did we get here from Cincinnati?”

  “I carried you.”

  It must be some sort of language barrier. He must have meant that he drove her. “I don’t understand.”

  “You are on my farm.”

  Great. This again. If they were on a farm he probably had a whole cartel out in the barn. “Uh-huh. And tell me, Old McDonald, what exactly are you harvesting on this farm you speak of?”

  “My name is Christian. Use it.”

  Her legs were getting tired and hunger pains were cutting through her empty stomach. Cautiously she sat at the farthest corner of the bed. She chanced a gla
nce out the window. Corn. Holy shit they were on a farm.

  Christian cleared his throat. “I expect you to be mindful of your language at all times and dress appropriately now that you are here. I will have a bonnet and apron brought to you as soon as I can. You will not address other men on the farm when out of my presence and I expect you to learn to be a modest and docile creature.”

  Annnnnd that was the straw that choked the chauvinistic camel.

  “Are you freaking nuts? I’m not staying on some farm. I’m certainly not going to conform to whatever compound shit you have going on here and twitter amongst the gentle women folk and act demure to the men. And as far as creature…you get that one for free…refer to me that way again and I’ll show you just how animal I can be.” She jumped off the bed. “This is bullshit. I’m outta here—”

  She screamed as she was suddenly hauled back to the bed and thrown onto her back. Okay, fun time over. “I will not be spoken to that way in my home,” he growled.

  Terror gripped her and rendered her mute.

  “Tell me you understand, Delilah, because I do not intend to have this negativity between us. We must deal with what has happened and move on.”

  Frightened beyond measure, she nodded, recalling what happened the last time he’d been this close. She’d thought he was killing her and feared she’d never wake up.

  She mentally gagged over the thought of letting him actually have sex with her. Gorgeous or not, he was clearly insane. All that mattered now was that she was alive. She needed to stay that way so she could get the fuck out of Dodge.

  His weight eased off. She didn’t move as he slowly stood, brushing off the front of his shirt. “My apologies, pintura. But you may not leave. This is your home now. You need to adapt to that reality. It is not like the English world here. We are much simpler. We are Amish.”

  Amish? Like buggies and bibles and shit? Oh, hell no. “Christian, I think you have the wrong girl here.”

  “You are who I should have. There is no mistaking that. You are my mate.”

  He paced. His long legs ate up the length of the room in only a few strides. His fingers irritably forked through his wavy brown hair, his arm cording with muscle, and shoulders bunching under his neatly pressed shirt.

  “I cannot have a disobedient wife.”

  “Whoa,” she held up her hands. “Wife?”

  He stilled and faced her. “You are my mate. Of course we will marry.”

  No matter how afraid she was a minute ago, he was jacking up her annoyance again and she sometimes had a problem filtering her attitude. Calmly, she batted her eyes, “Uh, Christian darling, you have to ask.”

  He frowned at her, but didn’t question her sugary tone. “Will you be my wife?”

  Her lashes fluttered. On a long sigh she said, “No.”

  His look of surprise was almost comical. “But you are my mate.”

  “See, you say mate and I think dog. Not so good with the lady talk, Christian.”

  “Mates are predestined partners. We have but one for all eternity. I have waited lifetimes to find you. You are my mate, Delilah, and I am not letting you go.”

  She tried to remember that article she read in the last issue of Tat about how to deal with crazy, stalker ex’s. Her head hurt. For a farm it was ungodly loud. There was some sort of incessant chirping going on outside. Animals brayed and leaves rustled at an almost roar like volume. Her stomach was really starting to ache too. She jammed her fist into her side and rubbed her brow.

  Huh, that pimple finally went away.

  “You are hungry,” he said, watching her closely.

  Maybe if she ate she would be able to think a bit more clearly. “Yes. Do you have any crackers or something?”

  “I do not think crackers are what you want.”

  “Fine, how about an apple? Pop-tart? Something quick and small. I’m a vegetarian so I try not to be too picky.”

  “Delilah, sweet—”

  “Unless you want me to call you one nut, you will refrain from addressing me with cutesy pet names,” she said tartly with feigned syrupiness.

  His jaw ticked. “Delilah, I believe you will find your tastes adapting here on the farm. Your needs will not be met by vegetables alone.”

  “I eat carbs.”

  He began to pace again. “Please sit down, Delilah.”

  Only because she was growing weaker by the second did she do as he requested. As soon as she sat a cramp grabbed hold of her stomach and she doubled over in pain. Christian was by her side in a second, rubbing her back.

  “Delilah, you must feed.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she groaned. She could smell him. He was too close. He ignored her and continued to rub her back.

  “You are not listening to me. Your body has been through a lot in the last eight hours. You will need to feed in order to sustain your energy.”

  She gritted her teeth and breathed through the overwhelming pain. “What did you give me?” she growled. There was an incessant thumping coming from him. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  “This is all part of it. You need to feed—”

  She rolled to her side and moaned in agony. Her hand clamped over her mouth. “Why does my mouth ache?”

  “It is your teeth.”

  She swatted his hand away and he swatted her back, pulling her onto his lap. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  Her hands covered her ears and mouth, as she grumbled in pain. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  Her vision blurred as though she were looking through someone else’s prescription glasses. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. God, he smelled good.

  Unable to take anymore, she finally screamed, “What the fuck is that thumping?”

  Christian sat up and drew back. Her eyes zeroed in on the tiniest flutter below his jaw. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Her head tilted as she studied his pulse, mesmerized. It seemed to pick up pace as she stared at him. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  In a gravelly voice, Christian whispered, “That’s it, pintura, take what you need from your mate.”

  He cupped the back of her head and she slowly leaned in toward his neck. Her tongue licked her dry lips, stretching them over her teeth as her mouth yawned wide. Her jaw shifted and there was a snap, the incredible pressure in her gums somehow lessened. A strange purring sound came from deep within her chest.

  He smelled so incredible. The heat of his flesh tickled her lips as she trailed them over his fluttering pulse. Her stomach tightened and she struck like a snake.

  Hot, rich fluid filled her mouth, trailing down her throat and hitting her belly like rain over a desert. Christian gripped her hips. Her eyelashes lowered and she rocked as sensations filled her. So good. She moaned and he did the same, pulling her knees to either side of his hips and settling her lower over his lap.

  His hand fisted in her hair and she sucked and rode him, her orgasm building—

  She suddenly ripped her mouth and body from his, flinging herself as far away from him as possible. Realizing what she was doing, it was as if she actually heard the screech and skid of a vinyl record in her mind.

  He grunted and gripped his neck. Blood. She screamed, her back pressed against the wall as she slid low and scrambled far away from him into the corner.

  She touched her mouth, the slippery liquid covered her lips, and when she pulled her fingers away, red, glossy liquid covered her flesh. Her screams became deafening, frantic, as he stood. She ran from him to the door, but he reached it first. Turning, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her chin and lips were smeared with his blood and she had fangs. Fucking fangs!

  He turned her roughly and shook her so hard her teeth knocked together.

  “Delilah! Hush!”

  She whimpered.

  His hold on her slowly relaxed. “Hush,” he whispered, pulling her cheek to his chest.

  Stiff as a board she trembled under his touch as he attempted to soothe her, h
er sniffles and whimpers the only sound.

  “Hush, pintura, it’s all right. Everything is all right.”

  She must’ve gone into shock because the next time she looked around he was sitting on the bed wiping her mouth with a cloth. She watched him, but said nothing as he cleaned her up. She was tucked into bed and wearing a white chemise, no longer a black one.

  They’d already gotten to her. It must’ve been bath salts or something equally deadly. She was going to die here—in an Amish, zombie apocalypse.

  * * * *

  Christian wasn’t sure what to do. She was nothing like he expected. Since the start this had been an absolute disaster. He still didn’t regret keeping his calling to himself. He was an elder. He knew how such things worked.

  There was not a chance that he would fall into the same back and forth nonsense he had seen others struggle through. She was his mate and that was the end of it. She would come to love him in time. The chances of missing his calling were too dangerous to tamper with. Christian made up his mind after that first dream.

  He dreamt of her three weeks ago. It was vivid and disorienting to a point of being frightening. Having never dreamt before, he wasn’t sure if what he was witnessing was real. For a day he was thrown by the experience and then common sense kicked in.

  Vampyres are called to their mates through dreams. It was very important to pay attention to the clues, piece together the jigsaw. Christian was not wasting any time. He delegated his chores for the week and slept as much as possible, sometimes even indulging in alcohol to tire his body out after sleeping all day.

  His first impression of her was beauty. She was stunning, petite, refined, built like a true hourglass. Her brown eyes were round and wide, startling and dramatically set beneath her swoop of ebony hair. She dressed as women did sixty years ago, before skirts lost all modesty.