Stranded with a Wounded Vampire (Marooned For A Night)

1. Willow

Chapter 1

It might seem odd, driving to an alien vampire’s remote mansion on a Tuesday afternoon, entirely uninvited, but that’s how I roll.

Windows are down, sunroof open and I’m singing along to my favorite songs as I wind through twisty roads. Trying to keep focused and not let nervous anxiety cause me to do something crazy, like pull over, turn around and go back from whence I came.

I’m making bold decisions today and will not be deterred.

This out-of-the-ordinary trip is necessary because I’ve become obsessed with Bruce Bloodworth and I need to get to the bottom of those heated glances he threw my way.

Most people would avoid this Korn who recently moved to our small town, but not me. And I need to know—was that sex appeal that radiated from his body in waves real or imagined?

Because I consistently wake up hot and bothered, thinking about him.

I turn my lights off at night, trying to sleep and…I imagine those luscious lips again and that peek of fang. And I end up reaching more often than usual for my sex toys to provide relief, but it’s never enough. I suspect only his touch will do.

I met Bruce only once, at the grocery store and now he’s all I think of. That Korn who moved to our town is someone I want to strip naked, climb on top of and shove my tongue in his mouth. Yep, I’ve got it bad. And I was only in his presence for a few minutes, but that’s all it took.

The navigation app alerts me to turn left onto a smaller road, which I do.

I’m not used to needing directions considering I’ve lived in this small town my entire life. I know this county along the Appalachian trail like the back of my hand. I was born and raised here with zero plans of ever moving away.

Although if that hot vamp, Bruce Bloodworth, whose house I’m driving to, ever wanted to take me away to his own planet to meet his family, I’d certainly be up for that kind of adventure.

My phone rings.

I sigh and tap the screen.

“Willow. Willow? Where are you?” a sharp, agitated female voice grouses.

“Mom, I told you I was leaving this afternoon. I’m out delivering cupcakes to a customer in the hills…and I’m bringing a few donuts along this time. It’s my job.”

“Your job is here with me, at the bakery. You slipped out without even a proper goodbye. This is your business and I’m supposed to be helping out, not running the whole damn show.”

I let out another sigh. My mother is a little overprotective considering I’m an adult now and we don’t even live together. “Mom, you’re the manager.”

“Not full time.”

“I pay you for full-time work. You’re the one who wanted to come out of early retirement to join me on this.”

“Fine, but I don’t like the idea of you being out alone on a delivery so far out in the hills. You’re my only child and you know I cannot abide the idea of anything bad happening to you. Have you noticed there’s a rainstorm on the way?”

“What? No.” I glance out the window, seeing rain clouds that are just now approaching in the distance. Darn it. I reach out and press a button, closing the sunroof. “I thought the forecast was no rain.”

“You were wrong. Why are you even out that far making such a mysterious delivery? Are you trying to visit that alien who lives on the mountain top?”

I bite my lip. Why did I tell her that I’d met him at the grocery store last week? Mistake number one. I should’ve kept that information to myself. “Maybe…”

“Willow…”

“It’s sad that he’s cooped up there alone. Someone has to show him some kindness and welcome him to the neighborhood.”

“Normally, you would be right, but this is not a typical situation. He’s a grown male from another planet. That Korn probably bought the old Masson house specifically to be alone. He likes the fact that it’s hard to get to and thirty minutes out of town. It’s not right for you to go out there and knock on his door when he’s trying so hard to stay away from meddlesome humans.”

A growl rumbles in my throat. I am undeterred. And the last thing I need in my life is another of my mom’s long-winded lectures. “I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.”

“Willow,” she sputters. “You have to listen to me.”

“The reception is bad out here. I have to get off the phone.”

“No, wait.”

I end the call, shaking my head. And keep driving.

It’s a beautiful afternoon and I have to focus. Yes, there’s going to be rain to contend with soon, but it’s probably just a light rain. I can be up there, do my meet and greet, and then be back halfway down the mountain before it even gets bad.

I glance at the pink box of cupcakes and donuts on my driver’s side seat.

My obsession for all things Bruce Bloodworth began exactly eight days ago, when I bumped into him at the grocery store.

I knew all about the alien vampire who’d moved into town, like everyone else in the county. It’s all we could talk about. He’d purchased and remodeled some of the interior of the historic Masson house, which we were all curious about. There had been sightings about town, so I knew that he came into town occasionally to get food, but I thought that had stopped. I thought he'd finally discovered he could get his groceries delivered.

Korn, as well as Voltare, now live on our planet, yet I've never seen any of them in real life, but these aliens are our friends and allies, not enemies. Many of them have even married human women and they've had kids, so they seem reasonably normal to me.

There aren’t that many aliens living on our planet so each of them is basically a celebrity. But we hadn’t heard anything in the news about Bruce. He must be on the down low. Maybe what Mom says is true, that we probably hadn’t heard of him because he wants to remain isolated.

One day I ended up at the local grocery store on main street, examining the wall of spaghetti sauce jars, in the mood for something new and different, because I’m a spaghetti sauce snob. I thought I was alone in this task and let out a squeak of surprise when suddenly a big man, dressed all in black leather was standing a little too close.

I moved over, to give more space between us and blatantly eyed this guy from head to toe. He was very tall and in a long black leather coat, with a white T-shirt and black boots. And he smelled amazing. It took a minute to realize he was otherworldly and not some motorcycle club guy.

Bruce Bloodworth, the only Korn living in this part of the world, was standing next to me in the pasta aisle?

What were the chances?

I did my best to remain calm and act normal and not like I was in the midst of a celebrity sighting. He was here to shop, like I was, and I’m sure wanted his privacy. And he appeared to be also staring intently at the spaghetti jars, trying to decide which was best.

Korn like spaghetti?

We both quietly gazed at the array of jars for a beat too long. Finally, I reached out and took the jar I’d decided to choose. It was the most expensive type, imported from Italy, sugar free with organic ingredients. I’d never seen it here before and it sounded very yummy.

Then he reached out and got the same jar too.

I turned my head and looked up, about to make a joking remark about how he had good taste. Our eyes met and I was stunned into silence because I swear I saw my unborn children in his hot gaze.

He inhaled and a growl rumbled in his chest.

I was immediately dazed and took a step closer because I couldn’t help myself. All my girly parts were sitting up and taking notice and I had to get closer. I reached out and…

And then he was gone.

He moved so swiftly it was a blur.

I was alone again in that aisle, holding a jar of spaghetti against my chest. “Whut…wait…” Where did he go? I walked around the grocery store, looking for him, but he was gone. And I haven’t seen him since.

Thus, I’m on a mission to come to him.

After lots of deep thought this last week, I'm determined to have a second chance meeting with Bruce Bloodworth from the planet Korn. Because I think there’s something there between us.

And also, I’m depressingly single and would love to be in the midst of a committed relationship. At twenty-eight years old I’ve gone out on many dates, had a few short-term relationships, but never anything truly serious. I would love to find a guy I could become serious about and start a family. And if that guy happens to be not of this planet, that’s okay. All that matters to me is the attraction, love and commitment. I suspect I can get this from Bruce. And if I’m right, I’ve got to try. And if I’m wrong…well at least I’ll know there’s nothing there and learn to let it go.

I'm going to have no expectations. This is a first foray and he'll learn my name.

My business card is tucked into the box I brought. Not to sell more cupcakes, but so he can get in touch with me again if he wants. He’ll learn that I own a bakery and that's where I can most likely be found. And maybe when he comes into town he can come to my store, even just to order something, it would give him a reason to see me again, or at least call. Again, not because I'm trying to sell more cupcakes. You think I would be trying for the sale, but I guess I’m not that great of a businessperson. This is only so that I can get more face time with Bruce.

I turn on one windy road and then another. My car isn’t brand new, but it's a good car. It's a smaller SUV I originally meant to have for a year or two and then get something bigger for the business. But I ended up really liking it and I’m always surprised at how much I can fit into this car. I've had it for six years and never had a moment's trouble, only needing new tires. I'm not pulling up to his house in a luxury vehicle, but my ordinary-looking car is paid for, works great and has low mileage, and this is what matters to me.

I did dress nice today though, in preparation for this quick meeting. He first saw me on a day off, with my long, red hair, frizzy, in a messy ponytail, and me in my baggy sweats. This time I’m in my favorite outfit, wearing makeup, and a sleek blow out of my hair. I even painted my nails.

I went all out.

The navigation app lets me know I’m only two minutes away.

Okay, don't be nervous. Don't turn back.

Yes, he ran away from me without saying a word. But I’m certain there was a flash of heat in his gaze and I swear he was staring at my lips, neck and breasts a beat too long.

You can do this, Willow.

Be bold.

There's the house visible between the treetops. Three stories tall, with a tower on each side. Yeah, it still looks a little spooky.

Bruce Bloodworth moved into a historic mansion, built when this area used to be a summer home location for Gilded Age rich people. This isn’t a hot spot anymore, but their grand old houses remain, cherished and updated by new generations. This one is the biggest of them all, high on the mountain.

People say it’s haunted, mainly because it looks dark and spooky from the front and seems to attract owners who live there in isolated splendor, adding to the mystery of the place.

Luckily, it's early summer, no snow and the roads are clear. But the dark rain clouds that are forming add to the dark tone.

I pull up the long driveway, surprised there isn't a gate. Thank God. What if there had been a gate? I don't know. I would’ve had to charm my way in and say I'm here for delivery.

I keep driving and turn a bend and see the entire house in all its glory. There’s a huge front lawn, and a curved driveway in front. Now that I’m so close, the mansion looks very charming. It's got that faux Tudor look with mullion windows and dark wood timbers I like, maybe even a bit of rustic French. The gardens are green but overly bushy and sadly lacking in flowered splendor, but I can imagine this being turned into something amazing. A place for gatherings. Hmm…

Nervous butterflies take flight in my belly. What if he’s snooty and thinks I’m not upper class enough? In college I had friends who came from wealthy families and they would invite me for weekend trips to their families’ vacation homes. So I'm not a complete newbie to this, but those houses were nothing compared to this mansion. Yes, I own my own business but it’s not like I’m super rich. I live in a little apartment not far from my bakery.

I pull up into the curved driveway and park the car and turn it off. Then I rub my sweaty palms against the tiered skirt of my cute, linen, summer dress and exhale. Because now I’m a little intimidated by all the splendor. But I did originally meet this man in the spaghetti sauce and pasta aisle of a very ordinary grocery store. So there’s that.

I'm here. I can do this.

I pull on my crossbody purse, which I might not need, but it's got my cell phone and keys. You never know.

I turn off the car and grab my pink box with four cupcakes and two Old-Fashioned donuts. I didn't go crazy, but I did bring him my best. These are fresh out of the oven and decorated just this morning. My best-selling cupcakes. I've brought strawberry champagne, pistachio and dark chocolate, chocolate chip with cinnamon and birthday cake. I figured that's a wide variety of taste options.

I deliver donuts each morning to the grocery store on main and they sell them there. And the owner recently told me that the “alien vampire” bought a box of my Old-Fashioned donuts when he was here in person and now always requests them when he orders his groceries delivered.

He likes donuts. My donuts.

I let out a cough, close the car door and lift my chin, proudly holding the box in my arms.

There’s a little flash of movement in an upstairs window, like a curtain moved.

A smile widens across my face. He's here. I know he's here. This is a good time.

And again, I’m just here to offer the donuts I know he likes, plus some of our cupcakes to see if he likes those too. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s just a quick second meeting. I leave the box and my card behind and go.

I stride up the steps to the grand front door and do a tentative knock. But it’s such a thick wooden door I’m not certain he can even hear me. I see a doorbell and push it and hear a deep series of echoing rings.

And then I hear footsteps.

I suck in a sharp breath and paste another smile on my face and shift on my feet.

The door opens and I lift my chin because at first all I see is white T-shirt chest.

He's wearing an outfit very similar to what he wore the first time I saw him except this time no jacket. A white T-shirt tucked into black jeans. And now I can see that he’s wearing a form-fitted, long-sleeved gray shirt under the T-shirt, just to cover his arms. He wears a black belt with a large silver belt. I assume black boots but I'm not looking down that far. And I look up at his face, just as handsome as I remember. He needs to shave and his hair still looks short.

“Why are you here?” Bruce Bloodstone questions with a deep, disgruntled voice.

I lick my lips and shift on my feet again. Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. But I carry on, giving him a big smile. “Hi, my name is?—"

“I know your name.”

“Oh, you do? Well I know your name too and it’s nice to see you again.” I lift my box. “I'm not sure if you also know that I own a bakery in town. I am here to bring you some of my donuts.”

His brow furrows, but his gaze shifts to the box and I can see I’ve now caught his attention. “I didn't order donuts.”

“Oh, I know. I know that. I'm just here because?—”

“I need to pay for these?”

“No. Oh gosh. No, no. Let me start over. My name is Willow Brand. And I am here because after we, uh, met that time in the grocery store, I wanted to meet you again. You left so quickly last time, I guess I was worried I offended you. Maybe we need a do over? I'm not here to sell you donuts or cupcakes. I wanted to bring a personal gift and since baking is all I know how to do well.” And now, since I’m nervous I start to babble. “I mean, I can't write books. Nobody wants me to work on their finances. I can’t fix plumbing. I couldn’t change my own tire, even in the midst of an emergency. And I suck at gardening. There are so many things I cannot do but I can…”

“Make these treats?” he questions.

“Yes. I own a bakery in town and I sell my donuts to Catalano’s Market.”

“I’ve eaten those treats.”

“Yes. Do you remember when we met for a moment in that grocery store?”

He gives a curt nod.

“Well…” I shift on my feet again, because I'm now a little uncomfortable. I thought at this point he would have invited me inside so we could at least talk for a minute instead of leaving me on the doorstep. This does not bode well. Which causes me to continue to nervously overshare. “Like I said, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t accidentally offended you in any way. I'm also here to welcome you to our town and offer my friendship and in the process, give you some donuts because this is something that we do here. When people are new to a neighborhood, we often will bring them food and greet them.” I offer him the pretty pink box.

He shakes his head and sighs like this is the most difficult moment of his life.

And I am concerned that I have made a terrible error.

Even though we're not standing all that close he smells so good. And I’m now shifting on my feet to relieve the ache between my thighs. This is what happened too that first time I was next to him at the store. This is why I’m here, because I’ve basically never in my life been so suddenly, over-the-top attracted to another man.

Does he feel the same? Is it only me?

Can we have something here between us or will there be nothing and me left with my shameful attraction?

“Leave the donuts right there,” he orders, pointing to the ground. “And you have to go right now.”

My jaw drops open and I stare at him for a minute because ever since I started my business I've never had anyone be so blatantly rude like this to me.

Usually, my baked goods bring joy.

I think back to the time spent baking, creating and picking these out for him, driving up here, for nothing. He's telling me to put them down and leave. I mean, not that I thought that this was going to be something major, but I didn't expect rudeness. I guess I thought he’d maybe take a bite from one and tell me it tasted good. Or just some smiles and thank you and later he could tell me how much he liked it.

Cake-making is a symbiotic relationship.

I make the cupcakes and I need to have an audience that eats them, otherwise my performance art is incomplete. And I need to know the customer’s reaction because then later it improves my quality. How can I make this better? How can I make more of what they want? Less of what they don't want? So being told after all that, “put them right there and then leave”…I'm cut to the core.

His jaw clenches.

“Okay,” I squeak and put the box down.

“You need to leave,” he repeats. “Our meeting at the store was a mistake. Go now and never come back. This is for your own good. I do this for you.”

I have no idea what he's talking about. How could this possibly be good for me? I nod and turn on my heel.

Okay. I was wrong.

Bruce Bloodworth does not feel the same about me as I do about him.

I swiftly move down the steps, trying not to stumble because there’s a stone in my chest and heat behind my eyes. I misunderstood, that's all. I thought there was a moment between us. I thought we exchanged heated glances and there was something important there, like something out of a romance novel, but I was wrong. That's all. That's all. There's nothing for me to be ashamed of. Nothing to be embarrassed about. It was smart to pursue this to get it out of my system as fast as possible.

My hands shake slightly when I get to the car and take off my purse.

I glance back.

He's still standing there staring at me. Suddenly it feels very important that I leave fast.

I take out my keys and get inside and close the door. Then I start the car and it doesn't turn over.

Oh hell. No.

I try again and again, but there’s no flash of life anywhere on the dashboard or from the engine. I look over at the mansion again and see that Bruce is still standing at the front door, watching.

Dammit. He's going to think I did this on purpose. I did not.

I slam my hand against the steering well. “Oh, come on,” I yell at the car. “Here I am totally humiliated. All I want to do is get away fast so I can go home and lick my wounds. And now you’re not working?”