Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ VeNdEtTa Of ThE hEaRt ❯ Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

Passion's Lecherous Ways...

Bulma continued down the hall of the unknown, each elaborate decoration surrounding her serving little comfort. Honestly, she was still in doubt that this was even reality. Who would really believe waking up in a palace more than a dream? Apparently, not Bulma, as she ambled past the beautiful paintings that gracefully were hung about the large walls, not bothering to take any inspection. The crystalline tiles beneath her bare feet were cold to the touch, allowing her to ease past their smooth surfaces like cool ice. Placing a weary hand on her forehead in agitation, Bulma was shocked to find herself- wet? Even her silken blue strands were damp from an element unknown. Worry started to seep into her mind, but she gripped her composure like a lifeline. She wouldn't show her fear.

Guilt immediately began to overwhelm her. If she had in fact not been dreaming the night before then, simply enough, she had betrayed her vows. Perhaps thoughts held more importance than she previously had thought. An ache conquered her body, as well as her heart, as she continued to pass through the hall.

Upon hearing a familiar voice, one she instantly recognized as Vegeta's, she dashed through the hall, in hopes of reaching him. After turning a sharp corner, she found herself in on a long expanse of a balcony that stretched into a descending flight of stairs, along with a duplicate of the stairs on the opposite end, meeting into a mid-section of velvet carpet, then to proceed into more stairs that led to what appeared to be the entrance of the `palace'. Several paces away from her, standing within the mid-section where the stair cases met, was Vegeta, his broad back turned to her, obviously unaware of her presence, as he was conversing with Damien, the boy she had met moments before. Taking advantage of surprise, Bulma descended, tapping her feet lightly as she made her way down the seemingly endless steps.

"Awfully conceited, though," Damien's voice floated to Bulma as she neared.

"Yes, terribly so," Vegeta agreed.

Bulma had to restrain from snorting at the remark in indignation, but she slinked down the steps inconspicuously, trying to avoid being seen.

"But, I can't say she doesn't have reason for such an attitude," Damien rejoined thoughtfully.

"Humph," Vegeta responded with a shrug of his shoulders, though Bulma couldn't see the devilish smirk curving his burgundy lips, or the light flare within his ebony depths.

"Mr. Ouji," Bulma greeted gruffly as she came to stand directly behind him.

Damien's immediate reaction was to gawk at her silently, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her within nightwear, and not foolish enough to remind her of the fact. He hadn't thought she would leave her room- like that!

"Bulma, I hadn't expected for you to grace me with your presence," Vegeta said fluidly, the sensual set of his lips beguiling, "Most certainly not in your present attire," he said, letting his eyes rove over her, making her squirm beneath his brazen stare.

Bewildered by his insinuation that she wasn't dressed properly, Bulma glanced down at herself, only to discover that she was wearing an ivory white gown, the thin silk pressed against her body from the remaining dampness that had taken affect at a time unknown. A scarlet blush colored her face, making her refuse to meet his gaze.

`Dear God,' Bulma thought in horror, `What in the name of hell happened last night?'

Recalling several occurrences within her `thought to be' dream, Bulma was completely mortified. Yet, here she was, facing the one other accomplice to her illicit actions.

"Take me home," Bulma ground out in fury to his amusement of the precarious situation he placed her in.

"But the fun's only begun," Vegeta reminded, feigning innocence.

"Don't play games with me, Mr. Ouji," Bulma warned, fed up with his mysterious ways.

"Who's to say anything's a game?" He said while taking an advancing step towards her. "Do you doubt reality, or is this reality," Vegeta ventured, slowly bringing her into a state of uncertainty, making her doubt things she had thought she was sure of.

"Wha- what do you mean," Bulma stammered, the heat emitted from the closeness of his body caressing her flesh like a hungry flame.

"Are you so sure," he whispered, his breath tickling her cheek as he came to stand centimeters from her, his eyes searching her pensively, "that everything isn't a dream?"

Bulma was slowly loosing any logical thought as he neared her, making her breath hitch within her throat. With only the will that urged her to remain strong did she find the ability to vocalize the blatant lie,

"You, Mr. Ouji, do not fall under anything remotely related to a dream," she spat.

"We're back to formality," he questioned amused, completely dismissing her prior words.

"Why, does it bother you?"

"Possibly."

"Then I'll continue to do so," she snapped peevishly.

"But then- possibly, it only succeeds in arousing me," he suggested provocatively.

"Stop Vegeta," Bulma ordered, pushing at his chest with her hands, futilely trying to push him away from her.

Under her distressed state, she didn't even notice how he had manipulated her to his will. For she was now calling him by his name, which, consequently, was exactly what he had wanted. Her touching him, regardless of her intent, was only an additional benefit.

"Don't stop," he commanded, his eyes flickering to her hands placed of his muscled chest. In spite of the white lawn shirt that prevented her delicate hands to feel his flesh, her touch burned him like embers of the blazing fire he was sure she possessed.

Realizing that Vegeta only took pleasure at her efforts to put a distance between them, she instantly removed her hands. Looking at him disapprovingly, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her treacherous body's reaction to his presence, but to no avail.

"I guess I'll go fetch brunch," Damien offered from behind them, the very first time Bulma had ever heard shyness enter the young man's voice.

"No need," Vegeta dismissed, turning around to face him, "we can go to the parlor, as a buffet should already be set."

"Very well," Damien agreed, a grin sweeping his face.

"No," Bulma refused, crossing her arms over her chest, "Take me home."

"Dear Angel, I'm afraid I can't," Vegeta informed, a dark gleam in his eyes.

"But you can," Bulma pleaded, fear slowly gripping her, as understanding to his words took hold of her.

"Do not fear, my Angel," Vegeta consoled, "You shall be taken care of."

The innuendo he had just laid before her was of peril meaning. Two very real interpretations could result of such a promise, and they contradicted each other to the very last word. Either, her needs would be met accordingly, or her death was nearing. The dreadful notion that he was capable of such, and that Damien made no objections, made her stomach churn in the morbid reality her being had just been introduced to.

All because of him.

Bulma sent a hopeful glance to Damien, trying to believe that he would rescue her from harm. But all she found within his deep set of emerald pools was unbridled pride, a fondness far greater than what she would have expected. He looked up to Vegeta.

`That's disgusting,' Bulma thought spitefully. How anyone could find a role model within Vegeta was beyond her.

"Very well," Bulma mocked, taking lead, as she started to descend the remaining stairs, leaving two bewildered men to watch her in fascination.

"I wouldn't venture far," Vegeta taunted, "you haven't a clue as to where you're going."

"Just because you've caged me, Vegeta, doesn't mean to say I'll depend upon you," she growled over her shoulder, not ceasing her steps.

Regardless of his own troubles to come, Vegeta couldn't help but admire the woman he had so baldly abducted. In truth, he hadn't even intended to do so. His former purpose was to condemn the vixen into the deceased, but upon confronting the willful woman, he found himself at a loss. For her wit alone, and the passion he had secretly felt, he had spared her. Hence, the position he now found himself in, solely to take from her more than he had ever desired. He was to obtain her heart, to steal the love she felt for Yamcha and bestow it upon himself. Such an act could be considered disgraceful and selfish, yet he would endure the many obstacles to come. In the end, she would be left with a broken heart and he with revenge. He would be the sole culprit of the pain she would feel in result to his cruel games, and yet he would have no qualms in abandoning her. Such was who he was. She couldn't change that.

Or so he thought...

"You coming," Damien's voice broke his concentration.

"You didn't think I'd miss out on seeing where the vixen's headed," Vegeta assured as he too descended the stairs, Damien in tow.

As Vegeta came to the last step, he bemusedly searched for Bulma. Finding her nowhere in sight, he scowled, immediately beginning to scout the nearby rooms for the missing hostage. Damien, sensing Vegeta's agitation, wisely decided to search in the opposite direction.

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Bulma had to stifle a laugh as the two men went stalking off in search of her. She had been crouched into the small space at the side of the ending stairway, skillfully maneuvering her body to remain unseen. So, they thought they could find humor in her actions? Well, the joke was on them. Hoisting herself to her feet, Bulma began to go off in search of another occupant of the palace. Surely, with the grand size of the structure and all, there would be a butler of some sort. Staying in the shadows for the most of the part, Bulma stealthily made her way about the palace.

Her cunning paid off, as a stout man came into view. Straightening her posture, she approached him, dazedly smiling to better her chances of getting an answer from the man.

"Excuse me," Bulma said, feigning complete innocence, "Can you direct me to the parlor?"

"Ye-" the man began in a rather high, obnoxious voice before oddly ceasing his words.

His eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, but Bulma didn't move, in fear that Vegeta or Damien had found her. Several tense moments passed before he finally spoke again, eyes returning to her again.

"Well, yes, of course, Madame," the man reassured. "Take to the west-wing, you'll come to an intersection of two halls. Take the one to your left. After several paces, you'll come to two ornate doors. Enter the one to your right," he instructed smoothly.

Bulma nodded her head in thanks, turning around to retrace her steps back to the staircases. Pondering over the odd actions the man made, Bulma nervously tried to justify them. Was he lying? There really was no reason to, and she had no reason to doubt him. But then why did she have this queer feeling that something was amiss. Shaking her head to dismiss the thoughts, she began to ascend the steps once more, growling at her luck. If knowledge served her right, parlors were commonly placed on the bottom floor.

"Damn Ouji's," she murmured, as she came to the very intersection the man had described.

Taking the left as he had instructed, Bulma reveled in the plush velvet rug that covered the hall she now walked in. Sweet intoxications filled the air, making her sigh in the light mist that assaulted her senses. Deliberately taking deep breaths, she let herself delve deeper into the scents that permeated the air. Intricate designs began to unravel along the walls, the scarlet red traces bathed in the golden hues that placated the sophisticated blueprint of entwining vines, inspiring outlines of creatures of myth. It was beautiful, a breath taking sight. One that only an artist could truly appreciate, and considering herself a moderate example, Bulma did.

So consumed by the spectacle her surroundings offered, Bulma failed to notice the large ornate doors in front of her, until she was mere inches from hitting one of them. Giggling nervously in her humiliation at the notion that she would have crashed into the large oak door, Bulma sighed thankfully. Once affirming within her mind which door she was to open, Bulma promptly opened the door to her right, entering cautiously.

"Hello," she breathed apprehensively, stepping further into the room.

Across the room French doors remained agape, the claret drapes cast aside, revealing the lush evergreens of the hills in the distance. Light seeped in through the mouth of the doors, casting dimensional shadows upon the room. A light breeze rushing in from the nearby cost gave an ethereal essence to the room, traces of the salty ocean water floating into the room's ambiance. A short hall led to a large chamber, a bed embroidered with satin linen was centered in the room, the dark oak poles spiraling to the ceiling above. A light lace draped down from the four corners, the transparent lace tapering over the king sized bed, meeting the lush ivory rug that lay across the room. Intricate tiles of chocolate oak expanded where the rug could not reach, the smooth flooring glimmering in the morning's light. A river-stone fireplace decorated the wall to her left, directly in front of the canopy bed, though several paces spread.

Somehow, Bulma didn't believe this to be a parlor.

Numerous furniture pieces of the same chocolate oak were placed about the room, including a large dresser, a narrow coffee table, and an extremely large oval mirror, oddly placed at the side of the bed, and facing it. Whoever had arranged the room was not in their right mind. Rolling her eyes, Bulma figured it was a man's work.

What else could be so dimwitted?

"Do you like it, Angel," a timber voice inquired in a soft whisper.

Immediately turning to face the intruder, Bulma was once again captured by the ebony orbs that gazed at her, penetrating her defenses with a swift glance, eternally beguiling her to respond to them like a moth to a flame. She was a fire of passion, and he the internal heat to ignite her. Words appeared so irrelevant within his gaze; only actions could set free the raging emotions he inspired.

"It's beautiful," she agreed, unable to assuage the spell he had cast upon her, unwilling to remove her eyes from his.

The room she now stood in was beautiful, but never had it been more appealing than at that moment, as he stood within it, legs akimbo, arms crossed upon his toned chest, and a knowing smirk curving his irresistible lips. He was the epitome of an evil man; came to her wedding without invitation, humiliated her at first sight, displayed treacherous intimacy to her, deviously threatened her husband, and finally kidnapped her on her wedding night!

Yet, the sight of him, the warmth his body emitted, and the unexplainable intensity that flared within his eyes- made him one of the most mysterious and attractive being's alive. He was handsome beyond compare, perhaps the most striking man she had ever met. And she had no doubt that he truly was the most gorgeous being she'd ever meet.

For, honestly, it wasn't everyday Bulma met a man who's finesse rivaled her own.

"What do you want from me," Bulma sighed, confusion lacing her voice.

Why did he evoke such odd emotions from her? Why was the inferno of passion directed to her, and her alone? Why her?

A long silence ensued, causing a shiver to stroke her spine as he stared at her, his sensual eyes glimmering with their shadowed essence, drawing light into their predatory stare to drown within their eternal depths, just as they did the same to her. But she wouldn't yield, didn't dare attempt to discover just what kind of passion lay past forbidden barriers.

In her dream she had, but that was just it. Within the realm of fantasies, consequences were non-existent, very much opposite from reality. But in her dream she had relented to his touch, savored, and returned it...though that dream had turned out to be reality. Could such be held against her? If only she had known, she never would have done what she had...

The tender caress of his hand ended her thoughts, her azure eyes darting to look into his onyx orbs bemusedly. His eyes were slightly hooded, as if in bliss at the mere feel of her ivory flesh beneath his skilled fingertips. A light sigh escaped his lips as his thumb stroked her bottom lip, sending sensations to spiral through her body. Her lip began to tremble on its own accord, the soft flesh yearning to feel his lips, to taste him...to accept him. Bulma had to restrain a low moan that began to flutter within her throat.

"Your heart," he whispered, his lips finding her own.

Unlike the other times he had kissed her, there was a tender intimacy that sent her heart lurching with unknown feelings. The way he manipulated his lips to conform to her own, granting her to taste of his passion, to offer the essence that enflamed his being, left her desiring more.

Simply enough, it was a gift of sincerity to his words.