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I wonder if vampires have therapists.
I’m going to need one.
“Such a delicious warm spot.” He licks his lips, drawing my gaze to them. “The spot between a woman’s legs.” There’s a hard lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow past. Is he going to molest me while driving? When he seeks to dig deeper down my thigh, I tighten my legs against the intrusion. I want to scream at him to stop, but I know it’s useless. He said as much. They own me and can do whatever they want.
Another low growl, and he’s ripping my legs apart with that single hand, his eyes leaving the road and landing on mine, daring me to protest. Begging me to close them again so he can punish me. I know how men like him operate. He may not be human, but men across any species are apparently all the same.
“Tell me, brother.” Asher leans forward in his seat, his fangs biting into his lower lip, eyes fixed on where Drystan’s hand is settled too close to comfort. “How’s she feel?”
Drystan chuckles, his finger slowly tracing circles on my clothed mound. I shift uncomfortably. Even through the material of my leggings, I can feel the heat caused by his touch, and I hate it. If only my body would get the same memo as my brain. Grinning, he pulls his hand back, winking at me as he turns his gaze back to the road. If he was human, we’d be dead, but he’s not. None of them are. They’re so much more dangerous.
“She feels ripe enough to be picked.”
Chapter 5
Thalia
The ride is long. Drystan’s idea of “just a bit farther” turns out to be another two hours. Bright side, they all keep their hands to themselves. Cherry on top is that they practically ignore my presence for the rest of the trip. Still, with the tension in my body at an all-time high, I’ve been unable to relax. Now my body is wound tightly, muscles knotted, and I feel a headache beginning to form behind my eyes.
It’s midday when we pull into the driveway of the large mansion. That’s a bit of an understatement. It looks more like a castle. Dracula’s lair, dark and seductive. It stands on several acres just outside Boston. My eyes widen in wonder at the Gothic architecture. It reminds me of the Gothic houses in Europe, but grander and far larger than it seems. It’s designed similarly, in the old Richardsonian Romanesque style, with rough-hewn stone, rounded arches, short columns, and rows of arched and rectangular windows. It has a fortress quality to it that honestly makes sense seeing as who the occupants are. There’s even a tower on one side.
“Let’s go,” Drystan mutters, his icy hand wrapping around the heated skin of my upper arm and pulling me after him. Glancing back, I see Archer following behind us with my bag. I barely have time to glimpse my surroundings, because the asshole leading me through the house seems to be in a rush. There isn’t time to take in any of the rooms he pulls me through before he drags me up a set of circular, worn steps.
The tower.
Is this how Belle felt when the Beast led her to be locked in his dungeon? Unlike the rest of what I manage to peek at, these walls are made of stone. It seems, when the mansion was renovated, they neglected this particular area. Is it because this is where they keep their prisoners? Are there prison bars waiting for me at the end of this journey? A cage for them to shove me into, like some errant pet?
The door at the top is nothing more than an average bedroom door. My mind had conjured up a creaky arched door with an old metal lock, but it’s nothing more than a simple white door with a golden knob.
Throwing open the door, Drystan, the king of assholes, throws me inside. I stumble, barely righting myself.
“You will stay here until one of us comes for you,” he tells me, eyes hard. “Be a good little lamb, and we might give you some freedom.” He takes my luggage from Asher and places it inside the door. Then, before I have a chance to ask any questions or say anything at all, he slams the door shut.
I hear the click of the lock, and then I’m alone.
Always alone.
Sighing, I turn my gaze away from the door and wander around the large, opulent room. It’s a surprisingly pleasant space for a prisoner. A stark contrast to the winding staircase of stone leading up here. The large, mirrored dresser is empty, as are the bedside tables. There is a small desk against one wall, with a chair. The closet, hidden behind a large floor-length mirror, is also empty. I move my suitcase in there, not bothering to unpack. I won’t be here for long. No matter what, I will escape. To where? I have no idea, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these blood suckers use me however they wish.
I should be relieved that they left me alone. I know that. But part of me is miffed that they believe they can toss me aside so easily. Like some old carpet bag meant to be thrown into storage when no longer in use. Clenching my jaw, I make myself comfortable on the window seat that faces toward the front. I can see the beach from here. The waves lap happily at the sandy shore. Vivid. Free. Like I’ve always wished to be. There were times I thought about leaving my father’s house. It wouldn’t have been all that hard to escape the grounds. Where I went wasn’t regularly monitored, but being able to survive in the outside world was something else entirely.
Even now, I have no birth certificate. No ID. No social security card. Hell, I don’t even know how to get those things. I didn’t grow up sheltered. I grew up forgotten. Purposefully isolated from the world so that he had complete control over everything. I don’t know how to drive. I have no bank account or credit card. I’ve never owned my own phone.
I’m nothing but a shadow in this world.
Pulling myself away from view, I kick off my shoes, not caring where they land. I’m tired but restless. I sit down on the edge of the bed and flop gracelessly on the comfortable down beneath me. My headache is beating like the Little Drummer Boy behind my eyes, and my stomach keeps tying itself in knots. What did I do in a previous life to deserve this shit?
My eyes close, and I let myself fall into a fitful rest. Sleep never comes, but by the time I open my eyes again, my headache has receded slightly. The room has grown darker. The sun is already making its descent beyond the horizon.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires reaches my ears from outside the window. Standing, I peer out, fear dripping through me as the same men from last night step from their overly expensive cars and make their way up the stone steps. More knots begin to grow, taking root deep in my gut. Are they planning on letting their men use me? Am I to be tonight’s entertainment?
Stepping away, I dash to the toilet, retching up the remains of the gas station lunch they graciously gave me on the way here. Once done, I flush the toilet and go to find some clothes in the one suitcase I packed. I change into a warm black sweater. It’s oversized, so it hangs loosely off one shoulder. Then I curl up on the window seat and make myself as small as possible. The view is the only thing keeping my mind from running wild. For now.
It was a bright day, but now the view is darker. I watch as the purple and pink hues of the sunset begin to fade into inky blackness. It’s like watching a painting slowly being covered. I try to fall asleep. Or at least rest again, but it just isn’t going to happen. I’m exhausted, but fear has my body and mind on high alert.
It’s several hours later before I hear anything at all. Rough footsteps sound just outside the door, and I’m instantly ready. I sit up, pulling my legs to me until my chin is resting on my knees. I hold them with my arms, making myself as small as possible. Let them think me meek. Let them think I’m weak and vulnerable.
The lock turns, and the snick of the door being opened causes me to hold my breath.
