by Nikki Rae
Even though he said this conversationally, I could tell what he wasn’t saying: Don’t try to escape; they’ll only catch you.
I would have loved to try, but I had already accepted that now was not the time to run. I had to choose the right moment when there was minimal chance of capture, and on an icy tarmac most likely with guards or other people of the Order watching was not ideal.
He let go of my arm and took a few steps away, leaving me alone to face the clean white door with its golden knob and whatever lay beyond it. I tried to keep my fingers from shaking as I reached towards the knob, willing myself with whatever strength I possessed to make it turn.
“Good luck, Miss,” I heard Fox say before I forced the door open and was greeted by the warm sun and cold air.
I had to blink a few times, the brightness of the unfiltered day burning my eyes and leaving spots in their wake. I was already halfway down the stairs before my vision had cleared.
I could see that we weren’t inside a building at all, but completely outside. There wasn’t much to look at besides the black tarmac, other planes, and rolling expanses of hills beyond it all. I was contemplating what it would be like to disappear into those hills when a gust of wind brought my attention back to reality and who was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
There he was, Monsieur Lyon. My new Owner. The man who had purchased me like a piece of overripe fruit in a market full of fresher options. He was dressed in a dark brown suit and matching jacket covering his broad shoulders. His hair was tied back, but a few fine strands had made their way out of the band and were blowing in the breeze. He seemed unbothered by this as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. If I wasn’t using my head, if I didn’t know all that I did, I would have turned around and gone back into the plane—there was no plan after that and the end result would be the same no matter what steps I took after that initial decision.
I would be captured, beaten, and then taken to my new life—most likely unconscious, depending on how angry I had made him. If I just took the few remaining steps standing between me and my new Owner, he would take me “willingly” to his home and the outcome would most likely be better. He would trust that I was eager to obey him, please him like the good little slave he had bought.
As soon as my sneakers made contact with the pavement, I saw his expression change from impassive to a gentle smile that I guessed was meant to reassure me. All it did was make my stomach turn. Still, I forced a smile just like his, unsure of what it looked like.
“Was your flight pleasant?” he asked.
I only realized I was shivering now, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. I wouldn’t admit it was from fear. It was simply winter in France and I was cold.
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “And you?” I gave him another tightlipped smile.
He moved his hands from behind his back to show that he was holding a white coat. “I meant to have this delivered to your cabin this morning,” he said. “But then I thought better of it. Didn’t want you to hastily tear it to shreds.” It seemed he thought it was funny that I’d destroyed what probably cost him a good deal of money. Why? Most men would have at the very least scolded me for such a thing. There had to be a reason. Everything these people did was controlled and for their own reasons. I wasn’t stupid. Not anymore.
I forced my lips into a wider grin as I reached forward and grabbed the fluffy coat. “Thank you, sir.” I even managed to make it sound genuine, warm, as he released it into my hold.
“They told me you didn’t have one of your own,” he explained as I unzipped it and slid my arms through, zipping it up to my chin once it was on. “It gets a lot colder here than what you’re used to, so I thought you would be more inclined to accept this over my previous gift.” He gave me an arrogant smirk at the end of the sentence. Of course he was right. No use denying it.
The child in me wanted to tear the coat from my body and throw it on the ground; stomp on it until there was nothing left and freeze my entire stay here. But I knew that was dumb on many levels. Not only would I anger him, but I would be destroying something I could use when I did manage to run away. If it was as cold as he told me, I would need something to protect me from the elements. So instead of feeding into that child, I smiled again and said, “I appreciate it, sir.”
I had come to realize, over time, how robotic my responses often were. I was usually chastised for it, told I would never find a Suitor if I acted like a dead fish every time I spoke, but if this one heard the monotone of my voice, he didn’t mention anything.
“Shall we?” he asked, already turning his head away from me and indicating a car waiting some distance away. I was thankful he didn’t try to touch me as we walked—no hand on the small of my back in mock-relationship. Instead, he walked slightly in front of me, expecting I follow. There wasn’t any other choice so I complied.
I had limited experience with cars, but I knew this one must have been expensive. It was a sleek black thing, a driver complete with hat and gloves holding the door open for us. He nodded once to Monsieur Lyon, no doubt just one of the many people he owned in one way or another, ignoring me entirely. I was fine with that. I wanted to be invisible myself.
My new Owner stopped at the waiting open door and turned to me for the first time since we had started walking. He gestured with his hand that I go in before him. As much as I willed my legs to move, they suddenly felt too heavy to shuffle forward. I got as far as one half-step towards the vehicle before my body rebelled against me; it would not go any farther.
I heard him sigh before he would inevitably force me in. I was just wondering if he would push me—perhaps with the aid of his driver—or simply hit me over the head with a blunt object of some kind, knock me out so I was more manageable. But he grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers before he moved me forward. My feet had no choice but to follow his silent orders; I couldn’t stop them.
The seats were already warm when I sat down, and I was blissfully alone with the sensation as the door shut and he and the driver walked around to the other side. The opposite door opened and Master Lyon climbed in, making the seat move in an ultimately final way, reminding me where I was and who I was with.
He sat a respectable distance away—about six inches between our thighs—as his driver shut the door and took his seat behind the steering wheel. No one talked; the only sounds were the wind outside, the humming of the car engine, and our bodies shifting on the leather seats. I wanted to distract myself with looking out the window, but I was disappointed to find they were blacked out and all that met me was dark tinted glass. Even if I squinted as hard as I could, I could only make out the faint shapes of the planes outside, no people going in or out of them. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were just for show. Before he could notice, I repositioned myself, directing my gaze to the black leather headrest in front of me.
Soon we were moving and still there had been no words spoken. I wondered if he was simply bad at small talk or if he viewed it the same as me: unnecessary. We both knew why I was here; no need to mask it with pretty words about the weather.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him sitting with his hands folded in front of him, staring at his fingers yet still managing to look at ease, completely in control. After a while, he took his phone from his pocket, which briefly illuminated his face in the dim back seat. I worried that he was about to call someone—perhaps the Compound to tell them he wanted to return me for a refund already. This was not what he thought he was buying. I let myself, for a moment, wonder what I would prefer. Would I accept being returned to the Compound in my dark quarters with only glimpses of the sun, or wherever he was taking me in a foreign country, to a place where I had yet to learn how I fit? I wasn’t sure which I would choose, if by some chance I was offered a choice.
I didn’t have to think about it any longer; he tapped a few things on the screen of his phone and put it away. A second later, classical music filtered through the car’s speak
ers, filling the silence. Though I couldn’t place it, I had heard it many times when I was young. The tune was light and gentle, and the Compound guards often played it to help me sleep and to soothe me when I asked about my parents or when I could go home. It was a popular classical song, so I wouldn’t delude myself to thinking he had played it to ease any tension I was feeling. It could have very well been in my file or one of the guards could have mentioned it to him. Even if he was playing it knowing this information, it was only to make me lower my shields long enough so he could strike. But I could pretend it was calming as I closed my eyes and acted as if I was absorbed in the notes. It was better than trying to find something to focus on.
It was easy to let time slip by with my eyes closed, the car rocking me while I imagined I was alone, maybe on an island somewhere, dozing on a hammock in a tropical breeze. I let myself have this image. The summer sun shining on my face, the sand sticking to my skin. If I concentrated hard enough, I could hear the waves lapping against the shore. As far as daydreaming went, I was a master at it. I could go anywhere I wanted; the more I wanted to escape, the more realistic they were.
The car stopped and I had no way of knowing how much time had passed. The music stopped and the driver was already exiting the car and opening the door farthest from me. My new Owner stepped out into the bright morning before shutting me in the dim car. I counted five steps each of them took as they made their way around to my door, and I gulped my last free breath of air before he could take that away from me too.
SIX
From the fairytales they told us at the Compound, I was imagining some sort of castle to greet us. However, on the outside at least, though still large, it was not quite up to other girls’ standards. I thought of some of them back at the Compound at this moment. Lily or Damsel as they gushed over how lucky I was and how happy they were for me. They would scoff at such a disappointment.
It was all grey stone—an imposing thing in the middle of the woods. Trees stretched out as far as I could see, an unusual contrast to the manicured lawns and statues among them. There was no road that I could see. We had driven directly up the winding cobblestone drive and into a forest. There just so happened to be a house in the middle. There were many windows within the stone structure, which I couldn’t help but feel relieved about. I stopped the emotion before it could fully take form. There could still be a dungeon in the heart of the home. The building might as well have been a shack a hunter used to gut its prey.
“Welcome to Lyon Estate,” my new Owner said, too close. I inched a few millimeters away at the same time he was moving forward, towards the large, double oak doors. I glanced behind me to see that the driver was already climbing back into his car; no need to stay any longer. The cold morning shone on the branches of the dead trees that were so dense, even if there weren’t evergreens and spruces between, I wouldn’t have been able to see through them.
“I know,” he said after I hadn’t moved. My eyes snapped to him as he stood in the partially open doorway. He was already unbuttoning his coat, revealing the neatly pressed blue shirt underneath. “I assure you,” he went on, “if you chose to run right now, the wolves would find you before you made it to the main road.” He smirked slightly. “And I think you’ve had enough of wolves, don’t you agree? I would prefer if you come inside. I wouldn’t want you coming back to me in pieces before you’ve even been here a night. What kind of Owner would that make me?”
His words were meant to intimidate me. Without saying so, he was telling me he knew where I had come from—judging by the boy on the plane, he wasn’t the only one. Something told me he was curious to see if I would challenge his statement. I didn’t truly believe there was no way out, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You’re right, sir,” I said, taking a step forward and then another and another until I was walking past him and into the house. “I don’t really care for running into any more wolves in this lifetime.”
“A wise choice,” he said, amused at my humor. I’d always been told my sarcasm and dryness was something that would repel men. It told them I was smarter than just knowledge from books, and they tended to dislike it. This one was different. He would be a challenge to me as much as I was to him.
The room we entered was bright and in any other situation it would have looked comfortable and enticing. Most of the furniture and flooring was dark wood, the surrounding walls made of the same stone as outside. The foyer led to a staircase made of white marble, and beyond that I could see the ceilings stretched high above us, exposed wooden beams jutting through. Past the foyer was a small entryway with an arched entrance which led to a living room area; white couches, a glass coffee table, and a large fireplace were what I could see from where I stood. Under the stairs there was a door and to my right, there was another. Only one way out as far as I could tell.
He hung his jacket on a rack near the door as I glanced around, noting there was no television or books in sight. No statues unlike outside. Only plants hanging from the ceiling, in pots, on end tables, and in front of the many windows.
“Your coat,” he said as less of a question and more of a gentle command.
When I turned, he was behind me. I tried my best not to appear intimidated by him or his house as I unzipped the puffy white coat and the cool air wrapped itself around me. It was natural that I would fold my arms around myself. He hung my coat next to his on the rack before he turned back to me. “I’m going to start a fire,” he said like we were a couple who had simply come home after a long vacation. “Why don’t you take a bath and change out of those hideous things they dressed you in.” That smile again. I couldn’t make the same mistake I had in the past by trusting that gesture. Inside or outside, the wolf was with me.
Master Lyon turned to the fireplace, leaving me standing awkwardly by the door with no idea where to go. I knew what he wanted. “May I ask where the bathroom is, sir?”
Though he was mostly faced away, he could tell that I had stared at my shoes the entire time, too embarrassed to sink into my subservient role to glance anywhere else. “I expect you to look at me when you speak,” he said as if he hadn’t already said this the night of my inspection.
I snapped my head upwards to see him looking at me over his shoulder. “Sorry, sir.”
He sighed as he fully turned back to the fireplace, eager to be done with such a menial conversation. “No need to be sorry as long as you learn not to repeat the same mistakes.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. I just waited for further instruction.
“If you go up the stairs, first door to your left, you’ll find your room and a bathroom.”
My room? I had never traveled anywhere on my own, no matter the distance, let alone have a space to myself that wasn’t confined in some way. At the Compound, a guard even followed me to the bathroom, shaved my legs for me, and made sure I stayed in line. One was always posted outside my closet of a room and one always led me to my chores. I was only alone in sleep, in my head. So it was hard for my mind to accept that he was letting me go upstairs, bathe, and be by myself without an escort.
He must have noticed my hesitation. “There are cameras everywhere and if you step out of the set boundaries your tracker will notify me.” He glanced in my direction. “In case you were wondering.” Master Lyon headed through the archway and into the lounge. “Try not to get your stitches wet,” he said. “I'd hate to have to do them again.”
I stared up the long, shining staircase and carefully went up, holding onto the wrought iron railing and refusing to look down at the foyer below, even when I was at the top. There was a hallway and another arch that matched the one downstairs, so I walked through it and straight to the first door on my left. Your room. So I wouldn’t be sharing with him? Would I be a pretty toy he would play with and put away when he was done, all neat in her toy box? I tried not to get my hopes up as I neared the door. Hope was always toxic in my world.
I forced my
eyes not to linger on the other doors lining the hall—two more on the left and three on the right. I didn’t want to know what could possibly be behind them.
Opening the door, I stared at the hardwood beneath my sneakers as I stepped into the room.
The first thing I saw was a large wooden bed frame, which had been painted a white that was almost blue. The light grey blankets complimented a multitude of pillows I doubted I would find a use for. The frame itself was masculine in its thick, sturdy appearance, yet the intricate carvings of roses and leaves throughout made the bed completely feminine. There was a matching dresser and nightstands on either side, but above it was what really made me gasp.
I had limited experience with windows, especially since I had been returned, but this was by far the largest I had seen in my life. The sun shone on the comforter through the floor to ceiling glass, which was double paned, curved at the top, with thick drapes held aside with ornate hooks. I doubted I could break the glass with anything, and even if I could somehow do it without someone hearing and rushing in to stop me, one look at the wilderness beyond made me second guess it all. There was nowhere to land but trees, nothing to see but their branches reaching out for me, determined to keep me here.
It had to be a trick. I refused to believe all of this was meant for me, that he cared about my comfort or how I slept. He had to have a cage stored away somewhere, and I even searched the room for one, coming up empty. He wanted me to hope. Once he had that, he could crush me. They all worked the same way.
When I arrived at Jäger Manor, the man who had been so kind, so sweet to me, shoved me through the door before I even got a good look at the place. “Your name is Dog now,” he said, walking past me into the massive foyer, complete with trophies of dead animals staring with lifeless eyes. “You will crawl everywhere and only speak when spoken to. Let me show you to your room.”
The room he’d shown me was gorgeous as well, just like this one. It was warm and had a fireplace, but there was a stuffed bear head above it that I would come to burn into my memory, its expression so different from the others as if asking for help. Sobbing, terrified, I crawled behind my Owner as he brought me to the bed. As soon as he saw my eyes light up, he pounced.