"Careful there, you're dealing with the Slayer now!"

"The Slayer?"

"Yes, my name's Buffy!" came the voice from the TV, followed by a burst of hearty laughter.

Groggily, I blinked against the weight of sleep, trying to center myself. As always, waking up surrounded by oversized, plush pillows disoriented me for a moment. The cushions were in stark contrast to the glaring neon lights above me, which bathed the room in an uncomfortably harsh white glow. Then again, even softer lighting wouldn't do much to improve the charm of a basement.

I yawned so wide my jaw cracked, and as I stretched, my joints followed suit with their own symphony of pops.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Eric called from the couch, casting a glance in my direction.

I paused, caught off guard by his choice of words, but managed a quick nod before groaning and dragging myself upright. His laugh echoed in response."I heard that," he teased.

Was I blushing? My cheeks probably matched the color of ripe tomatoes in midsummer. Ever since Eric had first given me his blood, my dreams had taken a decidedly R-rated turn—about him, of course. The last dose had turned them so vivid, I'd woken up drenched in all kind of fluids, grateful not to be trapped in the same room with him at the time. My self-control had limits, and those dreams had all but shattered them. Despite being locked away by him in a dungeon, my body inconveniently forgot about that as soon as I closed my eyes, supplying me with the downright filthiest sexdreams my subconscious could muster. 

And I hated it. Truly hated it.

It had been three days since I'd first woken up in this strange room—or at least I thought it was three days. I'd had three long, heavy sleeps, which was a miracle considering my current status as Eric's prisoner.

More or less, anyway.

The last words he'd thrown my way before slamming the door, as I pounded on it like a lunatic, were, "It's for your own safety."

Yeah, right. Pull the other one.

Eric was clearly committed to the belief that keeping me locked in the basement of his house constituted "protection." Personally, I suspected it had more to do with his bruised ego after learning of my fervent desire to see him dead.

He'd left me alone for a full twenty-four hours, refusing to explain his cryptic claims about a promise he'd made to my grandmother.

Hello? Was I the only one baffled by the connection between my grandmother and this vampire?

Perhaps he'd just wanted me to stew for a while. If that was the case, his plan had backfired. It hadn't taken long for me to adjust to the imprisonment. Sure, I'd panicked at first, terrified of suffocation. But once the noisy ventilation system kicked in and my nerves settled, I'd realized something: it was surprisingly cozy in here.

The bed was ridiculously comfortable. The sofa had a massage function. And the TV offered access to streaming services and HBO—luxuries I couldn't even afford at home. There meals a day magically appeared infront of my room in a small hallway before the next heavily plated steel door locked me in. All meals tasted delicious, seemed home made and were full of nutrients. 

I couldn't remember a time in my life, I'd ever been this pampered.

Yet, despite the comfort, the confinement had forced me to confront the truth about myself. 

I'd spent far too much of my life tangled in dependencies—first with Tom, and now, disturbingly, with Eric. Somewhere along the line, I'd stopped living for myself.

But that was going to change. Near death resolutions and all that. Fingers crossed I'd stick to them with more  conviction, than my new years resolutions. 

Once Eric's blood finally worked its way out of my system, taking those heavenly yet infuriating dreams with it, I'd be gone faster than he could blink. For now, though, my legs turned to jelly at the mere thought of him, and I found myself trapped in a maddening cocktail of frustration and desire.

God, I really hoped this was all just because of the blood.

With a groan, I swung my legs out of bed and padded across the cold stone floor to the sofa where Eric lounged. For the first time in days, he'd decided to grace me with his presence after storming out during my last outburst.

Back then, he'd tried to convince me that my bizarre dreams were rooted in reality. That he knew my grandmother. That I was some kind of Viking deity.

Yeah, right.

"Morning, Eric," I muttered, sinking into the sofa with a heavy thud.

Eric turned, his gaze sweeping over me. I followed his eyes to my bare legs and the oversized shirt I'd slept in.

"What do you want?" I asked bluntly, crossing my arms.

"You're awfully grumpy in the mornings," he teased, his eyes every so slowly traveling back up to meet my eyes. "No 'hello,' no 'how are you?' Not even a kiss?"

"Sorry, Eric," I deadpanned. "I haven't quite developed Stockholm syndrome yet. Was it easier back in your Viking days?"

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by my sarcasm, and reached out a hand as if to shake mine, his lips curving into a teasing smile. I narrowed my eyes, determined not to let him get to me. But when our hands touched, a shock ran through me—an irresistible pull, like a moth to his flame.

"Still a spark between us, it seems."

"No."

He touched me again, longer this time, a shiver accompanying the shock to my system, turning stronger with each passing second. A low whimper ripped itself free from my throat. His playful gaze shifted into something heady at the sound. 

Before either of us could say anything, the door slammed open, and a familiar figure stormed in.
"Hands off!" snapped Pam, clad in a pink velour tracksuit, glaring at both of us with the intensity of a storm.

Eric turned to respond, but before he could, another figure appeared.
"I'm afraid I have to agree with her," said Megs, stepping into view with a calm yet pointed expression. Relief washed over me at the sight of her.

Megs! My mysterious savior in the nick of time!

Someone knew where I was. Someone was going to get me out of here. This madness had an end.

"Eric, I've done what you asked," she announced in our direction. And just like that, my relief vanished, replaced by resentment and betrayal. Megs was on Eric's side. Fantastic.

Eric, who had been sitting next to me, stood up in one fluid motion and positioned himself between us, his broad back turned toward me. I shook my head in confusion, that overwhelming urge to stay close to him fading again. He was like catnip, damn it.

Exhausted, I collapsed back into the cushions of the sofa. I gave up. I didn't have the strength to fight anymore. In fact, I was about to drift off to sleep again, letting the three of them chatter on, when a deliberate clearing of the throat right in front of me snapped my eyes open. Eric was watching me, amused.

"Looks like your charm's worn off," Pam remarked. "She can't even keep her eyes open around you anymore."

I frowned, scratching my nose as Eric turned to Pam.
"Mind your own business," he grumbled, while I snorted. "Charm. Ha!"

Pam kept her gaze on Eric, head inclined "I thing you broke your plaything. It doesn't find you charming. You must be right—she's wired differently."

"Hey!" I folded my arms across my chest, glaring at her. "There's nothing wrong with the way I'm wired!"

Pam just clicked her tongue, not even looking at me, her eyes still taking in her maker and his protective posture as he was standing between me and the newcomers, which was... yeah. Which was strange. 

As I was busy fuming over her presumptions and trying to convince her of my normalcy, my fingers once again began to crackle with sparks, and, to my horror, I started to float slightly off the couch. I clenched my teeth. So much for that.

"You're normal. This is all just a dream. Completely normal. Just a dream," I muttered, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing.

"Lover, you're floating." Eric interjected. 

I ignored him because this was a dream anyway. Because I didn't know how to fly. Because I was totally normal!!! "Any second now, Eric's going to rip his shirt off, say something stupid, and everything will go back to normal. He'll pin you against a wall, a couch, or the ceiling again, and everything will be just like always. You'll wake up. Everything's fine."

I opened my eyes.

And nothing was fine.

On the contrary, Eric, Pam, and Megs were staring at me strangely. I was still floating above the sofa, and it slowly dawned on me that I might not be dreaming—making my whispered mantra an awkward outburst instead. At least I was now at eye level with Eric, even without standing. His gaze flicked from me to the ceiling and back again.

"Ceiling, huh?"

Not a dream. Oh God, this wasn't a dream.

"Well, you've got imagination, I'll give you that."

Pam snorted, and Megs masked a laugh with a cough.

"We'll circle back to that later, believe me. I'm intrigued," Eric said, his grin as wicked as ever. As I considered whether biting my tongue off would be a worthwhile escape, Eric's expression shifted, sharpening into focus. "But as much as I'd love to grant your wishes, Sunshine, we don't have time for that kind of play right now."

That caught my attention—not the part about granting my wishes (okay, maybe a little, but I was trying not to dwell on it)—but the fact that he thought we were out of time. These past days, it had felt like all I had was time. Why the sudden change? I tilted my head, cheeks flushed, which only made Eric flash that knowing, dirty grin again. From the corner of my eyes I saw his hand lifting, his fingers stretching to caress my cheek. However, before he could touch me, he was pushed back a step.

"Oh, for God's sake, why does it seem so hard for to understand. No", she slapped Erics hand way "fucking touching!" 

Eric disappeared from my line of sight, and Megs stepped forward, shoving the now-growling Viking behind her. "Stop undressing each other with your eyes and get ready, damn it. They're on their way—and they're in a really bad mood."

Megs tossed a bag in my direction, which I caught on instinct. Instantly, I stopped floating and landed unceremoniously back on the sofa. My knee slammed into the dining table, sending a jolt of pain shooting up my leg. "Ah, fucking damn it!"

Eric snapped at Megs: "Maybe a little warning next time?"

Megs rolled her eyes. "If she hasn't figured out that magic is involved by now, there's not much I can do for her. Then something really is wired wrong." She grumbled, then glanced in my direction. "Sorry, Ash."

But that was where the politeness ended. A loud crash from above made both Megs and me freeze. The vampires, who had been eerily still, didn't show the same shock. However, Eric's tense posture gave away that he was gearing up for a fight. The satisfied grin on his face confirmed it. He was looking forward to it.

"Looks like it's too late to run," he said.

Megs groaned. "Damn Vikings. Always spoiling for a fight."

She turned to me. "You know, I much prefer the younger vampires from the Middle Ages. Most of them were cowardly peasants. At least they had survival instincts—cowards and easy to manipulate."

She sprinkled a dark powder from her pouch into her hand and began muttering in a language I didn't understand. The powder sparkled and glowed as she gestured for Pam to step closer.

"God, all this for that brat?" Pam grumbled, glaring at me. "This better come off!"

"Pam," Eric's voice cut through the tension like a knife, smooth and commanding, "less whining, more focus."

Pam rolled her eyes dramatically, but even she seemed to acknowledge the urgency of the situation. "Fine. But if this powder ruins my outfit, you owe me. Big time."

Pam stomped toward us like a sulking child and stood beside me. "Eric, your little Barbie's about to be teleported out of here. You coming?" she snapped, glaring at me as though I were to blame for all of this. Not that I understood what was going on myself.

Another crash sounded—louder this time, closer. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling.

Okay, whatever was happening: Going with Eric was probably my best bet.

"Eric!", Pam snapped. "Priorities!"

Eric stepped closer to our little group, his imposing presence commanding the room. Despite my best efforts to remain indifferent, my pulse quickened at his proximity. A part of me—a small, rebellious part—wanted to throw caution to the wind and revel in the magnetic pull he had over me. But the other, far more rational part, reminded me of my current predicament. I was a prisoner, not a willing participant in whatever chaotic game he was playing.

Megs didn't even look up from her spellcasting, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The glittering dust hovered between her palms, growing brighter with each whispered incantation. The room seemed to hold its breath, the charged silence broken only by the occasional muffled thud from above.

Another crash reverberated through the building, shaking the walls and sending a fresh shower of debris raining down on us. This time, it was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood and snarls that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"They're breaking through," Pam muttered, her voice low but not devoid of a certain dark excitement. "Finally, some action."

I glanced nervously at Eric, who was watching Megs with an intensity that was almost palpable. The air around him seemed to hum with barely restrained energy, like a storm waiting to break. Whatever was coming, he was ready for it.

Megs finished her chant and clapped her hands together, sending a pulse of energy through the room that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. The glittering dust solidified into a swirling vortex of light, and she turned to me with a no-nonsense expression.

"Time to go," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Go where?" I asked, even as she grabbed my wrist and started pulling me toward the vortex. "What's happening?"

"No time for a Q&A session," Megs replied briskly. "Just trust me."

I wanted to protest—to demand answers, to refuse to be dragged into yet another of Eric's inexplicable schemes—but the next crash from above made up my mind for me. Whatever was coming was bad. Very bad. And while I didn't trust Megs entirely, she seemed to be my best shot at getting out of here alive.

In one swift motion, he scooped me off my feet and pressed me against him. Before I could protest, Megs, her eyes glowing violet, tossed the sparkling powder into the air. Under her incantation, it drifted down around us like glittering snow.

At the same moment, the door was blown off its hinges, splintered and shattered with a deafening crash. Metal melted like butter under the sun, pooling at the feet of a stunning, towering man with white-blond hair that gleamed brilliantly as a blinding lightning bolt erupted behind him.

Something inside me unraveled—a knot that had held me in a vice gripped  for years—and a surge of pure euphoria washed over me, setting my skin tingling.

"At last, my child, I have found you."