Ana Adored: Mistress of the Castle (Masters of the Castle)

by Anastasia Vitsky

  "I'm so very sorry!" she called back, one hand pressed to the growing stitch in her side. She was still in her Castle costume, the delicate velvet slippers that matched the purple of her gown slapped the cobblestones as she flung herself through the main doors, down the steps and ran as fast as she could for the bus. She almost missed it. She wasn't even halfway across the drawbridge when she heard the rumble of the engine starting and saw the puff of exhaust first cloud and then dissipate in the air behind the shuttle. "Wait!" she panted, waving her bag and both arms.

  A porter saw her and quickly dashed to the head of the bus to knock at the doors, stopping it just as it started to pull away.

  "You almost missed it," he said, grinning as he offered her a steady hand up onto the bus. By then, Ana was panting so hard she couldn't even say thank you.

  No one tried to stop her from leaving. No one even asked any questions. As many people coming and going from this place on a daily basis, they likely saw her only as another guest having so much fun that she'd almost missed her ride back to real life.

  Her face burning from exertion as much as from the embarrassment of being the focus of so much attention, as she pushed all the way to the back of the bus to find an empty seat, Ana sank down next to the window and tried to calm her racing heart. In the seat ahead of her, a man bumped shoulders with his female companion, asking, "Well, was I right? Was it the best time you've ever had in your life?"

  Taking his hand, the woman pressed her head to his shoulder, batting her eyes up at him as she wheedled, "Next time, can't we stay longer?"

  Hugging her bag in her lap, Ana dug her phone back out to shoot Peyton a quick update. On my way. Can you at least tell me what happened? Was it his heart?

  No answer. They were probably trying to arrange for transportation back to the airport. Ana tried to call Miranda next, but her phone must have been shut off. It went straight to voicemail. The back of a bus full of strangers was not where Ana wanted to be when she had to explain why she had left. She wasn't sure how much she could say without bursting into tears, and what was she going to say, anyway? She didn't yet know anything. That was the worst part. For the entire bus ride back to Granger, Ana sat tense and scared, staring out the window, with only the most dreadful assumptions keeping her company.

  By the time the bus pulled into the Starbucks depot, Ana was so scared she could barely breathe. Trapped now in the rear, she was the first passenger to stand up but the last in a very long line to make her agonizingly slow way to the front door steps. Spinning in a circle, she hunted the crowd for either of two familiar faces and, spying one through the coffee shop window, she rushed inside. There, seated at a small round table and sipping her favorite espresso, was Peyton.

  She raised her hand. "Ana!"

  A shock of real relief twisted inside of Ana. She forgot the drama, the arguments. She even forgot the bruises those arguments often resulted in. When Peyton jumped up from her seat and opened her arms, Ana threw herself into them, hugging her fiercely.

  "I'm so glad you came," Peyton breathed against her ear.

  Caught between laughing and crying, Ana clung to her, for a brief moment losing herself in the familiarity of kiwi hair conditioner and grass-scented perfume. A strange scent for perfume, but it had always had an alluring effect on Ana. Usually, Peyton only wore it when she wanted Ana in a good mood.

  Remembering that, Ana's heart thumped. Pulling back, she caught Peyton's shoulders. "I'm going crazy! How's Dad? What happened?" She stopped, suddenly noticing there was only one cup of coffee sitting on the little table. She glanced around the fairly busy coffee chop. "Where's Mom?"

  Looking away, Peyton pulled out her chair for her. "She went back to the hotel. Do you want something to drink? Order anything you like. I'm buying."

  Ana didn't drink coffee. She never had, but Peyton had forgotten. "No, I-I'm fine."

  "How about a strawberry smoothie?" Without waiting for an answer, Peyton headed for the counter.

  Battling back a sudden surge of impatience, Ana waited at the little table, shredding a napkin in nervous fingers while she waited for Peyton to return, a small plastic cup in hand.

  "Here you go," she said, placing it on the table.

  Ana set it aside, barely waiting until Peyton was sitting down next to her before pleading, "Please, tell me what happened?"

  Not looking at her, Peyton played with her coffee cup before, in a rare show of awkwardness, she cleared her throat. "Well, what's happened is… I love you." For the first time, she let her eyes meet Ana's. Softness crept into her voice and her bottom lip trembled as she admitted, "I guess you're strong enough to live without me, but I can't live without you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I've realized that."

  Ana sat frozen in her seat, at first unsure how what she was hearing had anything to do with her father, and then horrified. "You made it up?" Suddenly furious, she shoved back from the table. "You let me think my father was dying just so you could set me up to play another of your stupid games?"

  Peyton tried to catch her arm. "Baby, you never gave us a second chance. Everyone makes mistakes. I made mine, I admit that."

  Ana yanked her hand out from under Peyton's. "You lied to me!"

  "You wouldn't talk to me, so…" Peyton shrugged. It was worth it, her eyes said. She had gotten what she wanted.

  "I can't believe you flew all the way out here to—"

  "Tell you I love you?"

  "Grow up!" Ana stared at her. "What do I have to do before you'll leave me alone? You had your chance, and you blew it."

  "I blew it?" Scoffing, Peyton leaned toward her. "I've been doing some research on this Castle of yours. Have you any idea the sorts of crazy stuff they do there?"

  "It's not that bad," Ana hedged, darting a guilty look at who in the coffee shop might be close enough to overhear them. She should have known better than to engage, though. Peyton prided herself on her ability to win every argument.

  "I'll bet your Miranda cozied right up to you, said how much she loves you, and that you're special to her."

  "Yes!" Ana glared, her stomach flipping queasily. "And she's nicer than you ever were."

  "Have you seen her professional profile?" Tsking once, Peyton shook her head. "Bondage. Professional domination. Role play. What she does isn't real, Ana. It's a show she puts on so she can get your money."

  "For your information, Miranda paid my way." The instant she said it, though, Ana wished she'd bit her tongue. She should have known better. Peyton pounced on that tidbit of information like a cat with a mouse in its paws.

  "She paid for you? You don't think that's strange, sending a stranger plane tickets? The internet is full of predators who lure unsuspecting victims so they can do God only knows what to them. How much do you know about your little friend?" Peyton took a sip of her drink and let her words take effect.

  As much as Ana didn't want it to, the accusation rang true. "Not a lot, but I didn't tell her…"

  "Anything? Except your real name, address, and phone number."

  Shaking her head, Ana backed from the table. "I'm leaving now."

  As if on cue, her phone suddenly rang. It was Miranda. Her relief so strong it was palpable, she tried to answer, but Peyton just as quickly snatched it out of her hands. "She's kept me from calling you for days; she can see what it's like on the other end."

  Ana felt sick. Miranda had never before called when her emergencies pulled her away. She must have returned early and found Ana and her bag both gone. Holding out her hand, Ana's voice trembled when she demanded, "Give my phone back. Right now, Peyton. It's important."

  "How many lies has she told you?" Peyton countered instead. "How naïve do you have to get before something bad happens? Do you have any idea what it's going to feel like when I have to file a missing person's report?" She reached for Ana's arm, but Ana flinched back. Even in public, even in the presence of witnesses, Peyton's power of persistence thrummed through Ana's body, wearing
her down. "She's using you, baby. She got you in her bed, a free booty call…"

  Ana wanted to slap her. She struggled to control her rage. "For your information, I kissed her first. She never pushed me into anything."

  She tried to grab her phone back, but Peyton was faster, yanking it out of her reach. Helplessness driving her panic, Ana abandoned it and bent to grab her bag instead. When she stood, so did Peyton. Strangely though, she looked anything but defeated.

  "Is that your decision then?" Peyton demanded. "You're giving up on us and going back to her?"

  "Yes," Ana snapped. "I am."

  Smug triumph moved over Peyton, turning her gentle smile into an ugly smirk. "Oh yeah? And how do you think you're going to accomplish that?"

  Wondering what she was trying to do now, Ana half turned, thrusting out an arm to point past the coffee shop windows to the bus depot just beyond.

  "The bus only departs once a day and it's already run," Peyton said, only too happy to correct her. "You're stuck here, darling. You won't be going back to the Castle until tomorrow morning, at least. I guess you're just going to have to wait until then… or, you can come with me so we can talk this out."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Miranda let the phone ring all the way until it went to voicemail, or at least, it would have gone to voicemail had the automated voice not informed her that the box was full. Tapping the screen back off, she set the phone on the empty passenger seat beside her and then spent the rest of the long drive to the hospital trying to ignore her gut feeling that something was wrong.

  After such an ugly episode in the candy shop, it would be normal for Ana to want to disassociate herself as far from her phone as possible. She'd probably switched it off and, the second she was back in Miranda's apartment, stuffed it back in the desk where she'd promised to leave it. Still, it bothered Miranda not to be able to get hold of her.

  No, a gnawing voice in Miranda's subconscious corrected. It bothers you that she's been left to stew in her overactive guilt because you screwed up.

  Her elbow braced on the driver's side door, Miranda cupped her forehead in her hand, hating herself for making such a hurtful error in judgment, and yet what did it say about her that she didn't immediately turn around and drive straight back to the Castle? Don would have. If it were her sitting alone in the aftermath of such an awful confrontation, Don wouldn't have cared how far he had to go, he'd have come back to her. Because that's what Dominants—true Dominants—did. They took care of their submissives, whatever the need, no matter the inconvenience. Don would have been there to comfort her.

  Don, that voice specified, never would have left you in such an emotional state in the first place.

  No, Miranda knew, he never would have. Which wasn't to say he wasn't human. Don had his faults, and Miranda had never been blind to them, but that had never been one of them. He'd always been closely attentive to his submissives. What did it say about her that she kept driving, closing the miles between her and the hospital and widening them between her and Ana?

  Blinking back the sting of tears, Miranda did what she did best: she set aside her own selfish wants and prioritized the necessities. When she finally reached the hospital parking lot, she tried again to call Ana, wanting to reassure as much as she also needed just to hear her sweet submissive's voice. It would have given her the strength she needed to go inside and face the inevitable.

  Time to say goodbye. That was the sum of Marshall's interrupting call this morning, and oh how Miranda did not want to face this. Not alone.

  As if. Marshall was already here. Sam would be waiting upstairs too, ready to drive Kade, who had been here all night long, home for some much needed sleep. She really ought to take a turn sitting at Don's bedside. It made her own guilt flare that she wasn't here for him. He was so far gone now, he didn't know that, but she did, and it was killing her that even now, sitting behind the wheel of her car, staring across the lot at the hospital she was swiftly coming to hate, all she wanted to do was go home, bury herself in Ana's arms and just… forget for a while.

  Miranda got out of her car, as calm and as proper as Mrs. Hardwick attending her usual Orientation meeting. Step after unfaltering step, she walked inside, taking the elevator to the second floor ICU, and into Don's room.

  Don wasn't in that bed anymore. His body still lay there, still hooked to all those machines, their beeping, blipping readouts telling her he was still alive, but all she saw when she looked at him was an empty, unresponsive husk.

  Kade sat at the head of Don's bed, between him and the heart monitor, rubbing tired eyes and nursing a paper cup of mediocre hospital coffee. At the foot of his bed, Sam and Marshall glanced up from where they were talking to look at her.

  She thought she was doing so well at holding it all in, but when Sam tsked and came to her, his normally jovial expression softening, she lost her composure completely.

  His arms came around her, pulling her in close. It was ludicrous. He was the shortest man here, and she dwarfed them all anyway, but she still folded into his comforting embrace and even let her forehead come to rest upon his shoulder.

  "You look like hell," he said gently.

  "Why is it always me who looks so terrible?" she grumbled. "Why never you?"

  "Men get sexier the worse we look," Kade quipped. "Grow a little stubble, I promise you'll be sexier too."

  The situation could not have been more somber, and yet, they all chuckled. Wiping her tears away, Miranda pulled herself sternly back together again and withdrew from Sam's arms. "I'd rather a few minutes alone with him, please."

  "Sure." Sam rubbed her arms, then motioned for Kade. "Come on, old man. Let's get you into bed."

  "You're not my type, sweetheart." Pushing to his feet, Kade trailed him to the door, already stifling a stretch and a yawn.

  "Are you coming back tonight?" Marshall called after him.

  Pausing in the doorway, Kade glanced once at Don, then shook his head. "I've already said everything I need to."

  Miranda understood how he felt, she did. But, hearing that said with such grim finality hurt deeply.

  Kade held up a farewell hand, and followed Sam around the corner and out of sight. That left just Miranda and Don, and Marshall.

  Sliding his hands into his jeans pockets, the Master of the Masters left the foot of the bed and came slowly toward her. "I heard there was a problem at the Castle earlier. Did Jackson get it taken care of?"

  Miranda nodded. "We got it sorted out. We banned him for life in lieu of calling local authorities. He signed the paperwork rather than be arrested for assault."

  Marshall looked at her, those famously icy blue eyes of his boring right through her. "Is your girl okay?"

  Miranda hummed, because it was safer than trying to speak. She also nodded.

  "Are you okay?"

  A wan smile was all she could summon for that. She had to swallow twice. "I will be."

  He nodded. That was the thing about Master Marshall. All too often, he understood way more than he vocalized.

  He touched her, briefly cupping her cheek, and then patted her head and left the room so she could have her moment of peace with Don. He even drew the curtain and pulled the sliding glass ICU door closed between her and the nurses' station.

  Circling the hospital bed, Miranda sat down in the chair Kade had vacated. She took one of Don's hands in hers, bending to press a kiss upon his cool fingers. For the first time in all her life, she had no idea what to say to him.

  "I remember the night you collared me." She felt stupid talking to him as if he could hear her, but knowing this might well be the last time, once she started, she couldn't stop herself. The words came pouring out, and with them, all the fears and frustrations as well. "You said you were proud of me, that no Dom or Domme should try to discipline another without first experiencing it for themselves. You said that kind of empathy would make me a better Top. I thought I was. You taught me everything I know about self-control, restrain
t, careful consideration in all things, especially when it comes to the scenes."

  She had to stop, releasing his hand only long enough to brush away the twin tears tracking down her face. "I thought I was so much better than all those wannabe Fetlifers who play at the role without bothering to learn the craft, or who use BDSM as a guise to manipulate and abuse. I created this perfect world where every time I scene I become someone else's ideal Mistress. I forgot how it felt when I knelt to you. I forgot the fears and insecurities when you blindfolded me that first time, making me wait until you were good and ready. The ropes and blindfolds are easy, Don. It's everything else that's so hard."

  Her voice grew shaky and hoarse. "I don't think you'd be very proud of me today. You remember that girl I told you about, the one you told me to bring to the Castle? I think I'm falling in love with her, and yet when something happened today, I didn't think a single thing about leaving her to deal with the emotional fallout on her own. I abandoned her so I could come here, and I know exactly what you would say to me for that."

  The beeping of his monitors pulsed a stubborn, unstable rhythm, but nothing else, not even when she bent to press first a kiss to the back of his hand and then his damp cheek.

  "Thank you," she whispered, "for being my friend for all these years. I will never forget you, and don't worry, because I won't come back here anymore. Forgive me for wishing you could have held on a little longer. If you could have met Ana, I think you'd have got on rather famously, if for no other reason than because she makes me feel special."

  Unable to help herself, she reached up to caress a single last touch across his brow. She'd have given anything to be able to look into his eyes one last time, but he didn't open them.

  It was time to go. It was time to let him go as well.

  Leaving his hospital room was the hardest thing she'd had to do all day, but as she stepped out into the hall, she found herself thinking not of the past, but of Ana. Marshall stepped out from the wall where he'd been leaning, hands in his pockets, waiting for her. His look was pensive, without a hint of sympathy. Miranda was grateful for that. In these last few weeks, she had taken her fill of sympathetic well-wishers, curiosity-seekers, and glances. She wasn't sure she could handle any more.