It was the sunlight spilling into the room in two large rectangles that woke her up. Somehow lying on her stomach, she rolled over. With the comforter around her, she looked like a burrito that was too big to be eaten. One arm painfully subjected to the weight of her body, she cracked open an eye to be fed the time. Save for the display of the bright yellow figures 8:15, she had no idea what day it was, or even worse, where she was at. Judging from the décor, her guess was a boutique hotel.

Oh fuck.

In that instant, she straightened up. With few stretches of the limbs, she felt no pain which equaled to no physical abuse. And she wasn't at all violated. It didn't need one to be a rape victim to know whether or not they've been wrestling to not get the seed of a man in them. Of course that was just a manner of speaking. Truth to be told, only if one is an overexcited mom- to- be they'd willingly ditch all procreating precautions. Besides, rapists would leave their victims naked and cold, say, by a dirt road when they were done with them. She was thinking right, which was normal. Except that when she hit her forehead, palms down, she had no inkling as to what had led her here. An unpenetratable thickness of fog surrounded her mind.

My memories, I beseech you to return to your home. She repeated it aloud several times. Certainly sounding so witchy, she hoped it would work. It was not to be. This isn't good.

With a really loud sigh, she slumped back down. As obvious as day, the effort to recall something that the mind did not register was impossible. But how could that happen? Unless…

She laughed without humor. Was waking up naked in an unfamiliar place had such mind- fucking effects? Shaking her head, she fervently told herself that the ability to manipulate minds belong only to the likes of vamps in fiction and Stephenie Meyer's far- fetched, ridiculous sparkly pixies. They are just the fruits of humans being good- storytellers, period.

Still refusing to settle with a brain of such severe forgetfulness, it took her an hour later to finally think that she probably suffered from the early stages of dementia. It didn't make a whole load of sense though. The best thing Diane Kayceyski figured she could do was to get a bath. Better settle for a soak then trying to find answers to her current predicament. I can get this mess cleared up later. That wouldn't be too late.

Resolutely, she unwound the comforter from around her and crossed the threshold of the Versailles- themed suite. The immense size of the bathroom comes as no surprise, but the onyx on the floors and sinks carved from rock crystal do.

While waiting for the tub of bubbled perfumed water to fill, she went to look for the clothes she had worn. Indeed, she really needed a bath right now. Her skin felt somewhat sticky with what she presumed was sweat from the, um, sex. It had to be a good one because the worst sex she had in her life was clearly imprinted in her memories—not for her to forget. She had brought the experience upon herself, actually. Her boyfriend had stunted his sex game so much that she honestly thought he was telling the truth. There goes her virginity.

Dipping a finger into the water, the right temperature could not be any more inviting. The wisps of steam had already clouded the nearby mirror. The hotter the water, the longer she was going to bathe. So she did and the dropping temperature of the water told her that she'd been in it long enough. Knowing that, she decided to remain in there, thinking of nothing better she wanted to do.

And that was when the door bell rang. It shouldn't be room service. She stepped out of the tub, put on the bathing robe and exited.

Only steps away from the door, the sound came again. Weren't these people trained to be more patient since it has to be a requirement for the job? She yanked the door open, her annoyance getting the best of her.

A deliveryman with a big bouquet of flowers stood out there.

"Diane Karceyski?" he inquired, holding out the bill with his other hand.

Without looking at him, she nodded once and took the piece of paper. When she signed it, he pushed the bouquet into her arms and hurriedly left.

Maybe he had many deliveries to do that morning or he felt self- conscious of his dress in comparison to the lavishness of the hotel; either way, she couldn't care less. Her attention was on the stalks of white roses and pink carnations. Whoever the sender is, he knows of her favorite flowers.

As if on cue, she spotted a card amongst the softness of the petals. Opening it, she knew who it was from, kind of.


Now, ain't that SO helpful? She thought sarcastically. With so many Ryan's around, this guy could pretty much be anyone. She'd preferred it if he remained totally Mr. Anonymous, instead of giving part of his name and not the rest.

So what do I do now? For starters, she settled for inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers.

For as long as his memory had served him, Ryan Carrion believed he just recently found that vampires had trouble sleeping. It was daytime, alright. And that he had drew all the thick black draperies in his room. Oh, he knew why it was so.

Diane Karceyski. A mortal woman whom he had met last night at the hangout he frequented. In the mass of people out there, it was her distinct scent that got his attention. Following that, he managed to get up close with her very being. That was when her physical attributes got him good. The way her hips swayed, her full lips –one that was not injected to such perfectness—and lean legs were her creator's way to make sure that she remain stuck in his head. To pinpoint exactly what it is about her that made his desire to make her his so strong, he had no idea.

Although they did end up without clothes on the bed, it was only enough to assuage his need for sex. That did little to satisfy the man in him. Creatures like him and men alike, both were still male with their testosterone- fueled need and wants. Perhaps he would be better off resuming the promiscuous lifestyle which he had accustomed himself to, until half a century ago. But while submissive females were to his taste, it was like they were too bothered with his enjoyment that it grated his nerves. And it were all lacking the kind of connection that he was sure never existed when it should actually have. The many years had made him to not enjoy sex such as that. What he had last night was a change he welcomed with arms open too wide.

Hours after, she never strayed too far from his thoughts. Or will she ever be. Even now, he couldn't forget the way those sea- green eyes stared up at him when she had the hard length of him deep in her throat. Part of him wished that the echoes in his head—which told him that he only loved the sexing—was true. Whatever holy up there knew that for a vampire to fall in love with a mortal woman was not actually a good thing, nor was it a clever thing to do. It was downright stupid. Hey, don't they say that love is blind? An overused cliché that was so true. Uh- huh.

Of all times, now wasn't the best time to attach himself to a human, but he took all precautions to keep her from harm's way. In doing so, he erased all memories of him from her mind—the whole chunk of it. Leaving her with no recollection of everything that transpired, guilt weighed his heart down. He didn't have a choice, did he?

When all the shit with the recent going- ons in his world are done with, he'd find her once more. He'd make love to her from sundown till sunrise and make sure it stayed with her. His insistent acts of loving her like no other would get him her, indefinitely. Yeah, she will be mine.

Ah, the flowers. That gesture probably wasn't the wisest thing to do since he had to make her not know him. To remain anonymous—not she'd remember anything. He admitted he was giving in to being a gentleman for sending the flowers. Not so willing to remain as the handsome stranger, on impulse he included his name on the accompanying card. Of course it wasn't enough to reveal anything big deal. To go to every Ryan and ask as means of finding him, she could be his guest. He was sure she ain't such a fool.

All the thought wasn't going to be his sleeping pills. His preternatural senses told him he had only eight more hours before sunset. Come tonight, he'll have his hands full. With a groan, he buried his head in the wealth of pillows. It would probably help…


For those wondering on why the chapters are short, its cause I'm working on a short story. My first attempt at it and I'm hoping its good.

And that's why, I'd appreciate all reviews from you readers. It's the way for writers to better themselves, and of course I'd like to know what you think of the stuff I write

Reviews feed my writing and keep my love for writing burn strong. So, clicky on the button =D