Page 10 of Charisma
“I’m partial to true crime shows,” I admit as he takes the remote I hand him.
“Of course, you are,” he snickers, pulling me into his side once again.
As I drift off into slumberland, feeling safe and secure, I do so with his heartbeat steadily thumping beneath my head and lulling me to sleep.
CHARISMA
The next morning,I wake up to an empty, cold bed and begin to panic. The sheets are rumpled, pillows are tucked around me to replace his missing body, and the dread sinks in.
I’ve always had this fear of being discarded, deserted, and forsaken like my master did when he tired of my endless questioning of his morals and lack of empathy for those he fed from.
There was a better way. I knew it, he knew it, he just didn’t give a damn if his food source suffered while he drank from them.
Selfish fuck.
It made me wonder if he was just as egotistical before he was turned. Something inside of me says yes, he was. But still, I relied on him. Needed him. He was my teacher and he walked away from me easier than should be possible.
When we change someone, the link between the two is unbreakable. We feel them, bond with them on a different trajectory than that of lifemates. We experience their pain, feel their suffering, and are compelled to go to them, help them, save them. But the prick who turned me, has none of those urges where it comes to his made children.
“Baldwin?” I call out his name, my heart rapidly beating in my sternum at the thought of him abandoning me and leaving me alone.
The backdoor’s screen bangs against the kitchen wall as heavy footsteps echo down the hallway as Baldwin stomps his way toward me. “Risma? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His worry settles the fright that was steadily increasing within me. My heartrate regulates, and my shaky limbs stabilize.
“I’m okay,” I answer breathlessly as soon as he arrives at the threshold leading into my bedroom. “The sheets were cold. I was worried something bad happened and you had to leave without waking me first to say goodbye.”
“No. I was preparing a surprise for you,” he sheepishly replies, his ears turning a crimson shade of red.
“A surprise?” I ask, dumbfounded because it’s been a long time since someone prepared a surprise for me… many lifetimes as a matter of fact. “What is it, Baldwin? Tell me.”
“Patience, Risma,” he rumbles. It’s not a surprise if I spoil it by telling you what it is before showing you.”
“Surprises are overrated,” I argue, puckering my lips and sending him an exorbitant pout.
“Won’t work on me, sweetness,” he rumbles, lecherously gliding his way to me and placing his padded finger over the top of my pouty lips. “Careful, Risma. You pucker up like that and I’ll think you’re needing your mouth filled.”
Feeling saucy, I lift up, tucking my legs beneath me and confessing, “I do, Baldwin. I really do.” His breathing picks up, his chest heaves with exertion before I put him out of his sexual induced misery. “Food. I need sustenance. I’m starving.”
“You’re a tease, wench,” he drones, giving me the stink eye. “Get dressed and follow me, mate-to-be. I’ll take care of your rumbling belly.” The to-be part of his statement has shivers racing up and down my spine. “Let me finish setting up and I’ll come back to get you.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I retort, saluting him. I have to bite my lip once I see the fire ignite in his irises. I want him to lose his control, I want him to ravish me, I want to wear his bite. I need his incisors engraved into my skin.
“Wiseass,” he mutters as he gives me a stern look then twists around on the balls of his feet and heads back out of my house. A mischievous smile spreads from one cheek to the other as I take care of my morning needs, jump into the shower, and exfoliate my skin and shave my unmentionables. A lady needs to be prepared when she goes on a date, right? This is a date of sorts, right? Shaking myself from my musings I get out of the shower, dry myself and grab some comfy, stretchy clothes.
An outfit that can be easily discarded. I start scanning through my clothes, making sure my attire marks off all of those bulletin points, and can easily be washed so that if they’re dirty, I won’t care. Not that if things go the way I want them to I’ll be thinking of them being dirt free. Right now, I kind of wish I had Esme’s powers because I could just flick my fingers and voila, have an outfit at the ready. Alas, I may be a bitch sometimes, but there’s no witch inside my body, so old-school it is.
Black leggings…check.
Sexy, lacy black underwear…check.
Front clasp bra, as sexy, black, and lacy as my underwear…check.
Flowy, V-neck top, just as black and easily disposable…check.
Slip-on sneakers, the only thing with any semblance of color—my favorite, neon green…check.
With my list officially checked off, I quickly rush back into the bathroom and toss my hair up in a high ponytail on top of my head. Glancing at myself in the mirror I’m shocked to see how vibrantly my skin is glowing, my eyes are lit with excitement, and my pebbled nipples are undisguisable. Oh well, some viewing pleasure for my snowy bear, I suppose.
“You ready?” Baldwin calls from the back of the house.