Prisoner in a Golden Cage

Viv followed the man in black down hallways that seemed to go on forever. The floors were shiny marble, and huge paintings hung on the walls. Some were very old, showing people in clothes from hundreds of years ago.

"Where are we going?" Viv asked, trying to remember every turn they made. Left, right, up a staircase, right again. If she was going to escape, she needed to know the way out.

"The Blue Room, as the master ordered," said the man. His voice was flat, like he was reading from a book. "It's one of our finest guest rooms."

"I'm not a guest," Viv said. "I'm a prisoner."

The man didn't answer. He stopped in front of a tall door made of dark wood with blue designs carved into it. He took out a key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

"After you, Miss Thorne."

Viv stepped inside and froze. The room was beautiful - bigger than her whole apartment. The walls were painted a soft blue color. A huge bed with silk sheets took up one side of the room. There were fancy chairs, a bookshelf full of books, and even a TV on the wall.

"Dinner will be brought up shortly," the man said. "There are clothes in the closet that should fit you. The bathroom is through that door." He pointed to a door on the right. "If you need anything, press the button by the bed."

Before Viv could reply, he stepped out and closed the door. She heard the lock click.

Viv ran to the door and tried the handle. Locked, just as she expected. She went to the windows next, pulling back the heavy blue curtains. The windows were huge, stretching from floor to ceiling, showing a view of gardens below. It was dark outside now, with only the moon lighting up the trees and flowers.

She tried to open the windows, but they wouldn't budge. When she looked closer, she saw they were sealed shut and made of thick glass. Even if she could break one, she was at least three floors up. Too high to jump.

"Great," she muttered. "A fancy prison is still a prison."

Viv checked her pockets for her phone, but it was gone. So was her recorder. Damien had taken everything she could use to call for help.

She walked around the room, looking for anything that might help her escape. The TV was bolted to the wall. The books were just books - nothing she could use as a weapon or tool. The bathroom had a shower, a big tub, and fancy soaps, but no window.

Viv sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to panic. Somewhere in this giant house, a vampire was deciding what to do with her. A vampire who thought she looked like his long-lost wife and who wanted her blood.

"Think, Viv, think," she said to herself. She was a reporter. She solved problems for a living. There had to be a way out.

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Dinner, Miss Thorne," called a woman's voice.

The door opened, and a young woman with short black hair came in carrying a tray. She set it down on a small table by the window.

"I hope you like chicken marsala," the woman said with a smile. "The chef makes it beautifully."

"Are you a prisoner too?" Viv asked.

The woman laughed. "No, I work here by choice. Not everyone who serves the master is forced to do so."

"So you know what he is? What all of them are?"

"Of course." The woman pushed up her sleeve, showing small round scars on her wrist. "I've been a donor for three years now."

"You let them drink your blood?" Viv couldn't keep the disgust from her voice.

"It's not what you think," the woman said. "It's safe, controlled. And the pay is excellent. I own my own home now, something I never could have afforded otherwise."

Viv shook her head. "This is crazy."

"You'll understand soon enough." The woman headed for the door. "Enjoy your dinner. I'll be back for the tray later."

After she left, Viv stared at the food. It smelled amazing, but could she trust it? What if it was drugged?

Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that felt like a lifetime ago. Deciding that Damien wouldn't go through all this work just to poison her, she sat down and took a bite. It was delicious.

As she ate, Viv tried to make a plan. She needed to get out before Damien's "one week" was up. She didn't believe for a second that he would let her go after that.

After dinner, she explored the room again. In the closet, she found clothes in her size - skirts, pants, shirts, even shoes. How had he known what would fit her? The thought made her skin crawl.

Viv went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. As she reached for a towel, her hand caught on a hook on the wall. Pain shot through her finger.

"Ouch!" She pulled her hand back to see a small cut on her index finger. Blood welled up from the wound, bright red against her skin.

Before she could even reach for a tissue, a cold breeze swept through the room. Viv turned to find Damien standing in the bathroom doorway, his eyes locked on her bleeding finger.

"How did you-" she started to ask, but the words died in her throat. Damien's eyes had turned that bright red color again. His face looked different - hungrier, less human.

"I smelled it," he said, his voice rough. He stepped closer, moving so fast Viv barely saw him move. "Your blood calls to me across any distance."

Fear froze Viv in place as Damien took her hand in his. His skin was ice cold against hers.

"Don't," she whispered, expecting him to bite her.

But Damien only stared at the small drop of blood on her finger. As Viv watched, he took a deep breath, drawing in the scent. The strangest thing happened - his pale skin seemed to gain color. The dark circles under his eyes faded. He looked stronger, more alive.

And then, to her shock, he let go of her hand.

"Wrap that up," he said, his voice steadier now. "Even a small amount of your blood is... distracting."

Viv quickly grabbed a tissue and wrapped it around her finger. "You didn't bite me."

"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway." Damien's eyes had returned to their normal blue color. "But now you see why you must stay here. The smell of your blood would drive younger Nightwalkers into a feeding frenzy. They wouldn't show my restraint."

"What just happened to you?" Viv asked. "You look... better."

A small smile touched Damien's lips. "That's what makes you so special, Vivienne. Just the scent of your blood gives me strength. Imagine what would happen if I actually tasted it."

The way he said it sent chills down Viv's spine. Not just from fear, but from something else she didn't want to name.

"Get some rest," Damien said, turning to leave. "Tomorrow I'll show you more of the house. Perhaps we can begin to solve the mystery of your resemblance to Eliza... and your connection to my memories."

He paused at the door. "Oh, and Vivienne? Don't try to escape. Not all of my kind are as... civilized... as I am. And they patrol the grounds at night."

After he left, Viv sat on the edge of the bathtub, her hands shaking. Something weird was happening between her and Damien. Something that went beyond her looking like his dead wife.

She touched the small cut on her finger, remembering how Damien had changed just from smelling her blood. Not drinking it - just smelling it.

What would happen if he ever tasted it?

The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it made her heart beat faster in a way that wasn't entirely from fear.

Viv was still sitting there when she heard a soft tapping sound. At first, she thought it was coming from the door. But then she realized it was coming from the window in the bedroom.

She walked back into the bedroom and froze. There, hanging upside down outside the window, was a face. A human face with inhuman red eyes, staring at her with hunger.

And it wasn't Damien.