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Serenity’s Key
An erotic novel
The Third part of The VDB Trilogy
Copyright ©2016 by Charlotte E Hart
Cover Design by MAD
Formatting by MAD
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved alone, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of those trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Acknowledgements
To Survive
English definition of “Survive”.
Continue to live – or exist
To continue to live or exist in spite of (an accident or ordeal)
To remain alive
Key
English definition of “Key”.
A small piece, shaped with incisions to fit locks
Of crucial importance
Verb: Fasten in position with pin, wedge, bolt
Onwards
English definition of “Onwards”.
In a continuing forward direction
Forward in time
So as to make progress or become more successful
Love
English definition of “Love”.
A strong feeling of affection
Of great interest and pleasure in something
Feel deep affection or sexual love for
Serenity’s Key
By
Charlotte E Hart
2016
Chapter 1
“Sir, we’ll be landing in ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Phillip,” he replied, rubbing his brow and scanning his emails for enlightenment one more time. Nothing was apparent.
Too long had he been on that plane with nothing to do but ponder the whereabouts of Claire and Jon Innsbrucker. He gave no concern to Lucinda; the bitch could look after herself, or at least be deviant enough to calm Jon if he was being overly brutal. Claire, however? How dare the fool take her? And what was he planning in his manoeuvrings? He knew damn well how this would affect the mechanics of their ‘business’ together. It was perturbing.
He stared out at the Berlin lights in the darkness beneath them and tried to rid himself of the headache that was encroaching on his soul. It was intolerable enough that he’d been forced to leave before finishing his discussions with Alexander to find the truth; now he had to handle Lilah with careful precision, too. She was not enamoured with his idea of fortifying his own innards in that dungeon, something he presumed was not going to make this next meeting agreeable in any way. Although, she was the only element of this current undertaking that would be entertaining, he supposed—that and killing Jon at some point in the not too distant future.
He’d spent the entire flight planning and contacting several acquaintances. Their job was simply to locate and observe Jon. No one was to touch the bastard, or Claire. The risks involved in simply trying to snatch her away were too great for comprehension. But so far, not one of the imbeciles had managed to locate his whereabouts. He could only hope that Lilah had stayed with them somehow.
He had tried continuously to contact her, but to no avail. The line had simply gone through to voicemail, and the last message he’d left had taxed his ability to control his own mouth. So he had left another shortly after, apologising for his exuberance.
“Omm, what are we doing?”
Why had he brought this moron with him? He rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question and unclipped his belt, choosing to pace rather than be confined one minute longer.
“Sir, you must sit for land–”
“Must I?” he yelled at the pathetic attempt at elegance who whipped her head around the corner to look at him. He was not sure how she dared. Thankfully, and quite astutely, she made a swift disappearing act. He was far too irritated to force any niceties around sluts such as Tara.
“Omm?”
“What, Thomas?” Pascal snapped, finding himself handily positioned next to Alexander’s bar. He poured a large shot of vodka and stared at Thomas for inspiration, or perhaps for kindness. The boy had offered to come along not knowing why he was doing so, and he did know the back streets of Berlin perhaps better than he these days—vile, untrained reprobate that he was.
“I just... You have been so quiet, Omm. I am not sure what you require of me or why we are here.” Hmm.
He looked the boy over again and sighed. He was right. He had stayed quiet other than the few phone calls he had made. How Thomas knew, though, he did not know. The boy had been sleeping for much of it. But in the main, it was because of Pascal’s own fear for everyone’s safety in this macabre situation. He knew how these things worked, knew exactly what would be used against whom to gain leverage. He had instigated enough of them himself over the years to gain something for himself—land, opportunity, the removal of a threat or someone he simply did not trust—never with a child, though. Never would he pull a child’s innocence into the midst of such abhorrent endeavours. He knew the fear of youth too well himself, knew the way it still echoed in one’s soul years after the original event. It changed a child, forged a villainous instinct, and broke that sense of sweet abandon they held so well. He’d felt it himself all these years, sensed it rallying him onwards in his desire to corrupt and debase those who believed the world was pleasing. It was not pleasing, not unless one made it so in some other way.
“I will instruct you when we reach my apartment,” he eventually replied, thinking of the last time he had been in Berlin. Such a happy occasion. Their first union as three—Alexander and Elizabeth dressed in their finery as they all finally took what they needed.
“But why did we leave so quickly?”
Pascal growled at the unending questions and glowered at the boy, pouring the liquor down his throat as he did and pacing across the cabin again. At least the boy had been shown how to use a gun now. He supposed it may aid his safety in
some way.
“Jon Innsbrucker has stolen my daughter. He is here, somewhere. At present, the only hope I have of finding her is Lilah, whom I cannot contact for reasons unknown,” he said, jolting slightly as the wheels hit the tarmac and willing it to hurry to a stop. His brow furrowed at the thought of Lilah again. Was she safe? Perhaps she had not been shrewd enough in her following and Jon had seen her?
“You have a daughter?” Thomas exclaimed behind him.
He did, and there was such beauty and innocence in those little eyes of hers—lithium green sparkles of iridescent hues. Not unlike the boy sitting behind him now, although far more mind-altering. He nodded his head as he felt a hand on his shoulder and smiled a little. Thomas was the only family he had of any consequence, and he would be the only one to ever understand this world of theirs. He patted the hand over his shoulder and turned to look at the boy as the plane stopped. “How old is she?”
“Five.”
“And the mother?”
“Is someone you have yet to meet. Her name is Lucinda Reynard, or Roxanne depending on the circumstances of your meeting.”
“She owns The Parlour, and runs the underground parties in London. I went to one a few years ago. Peter Van Stuop took me to one.”
Pascal raised his brow at the boy’s connections. He knew more than he gave him credit for.
“Hmm. Seems you are well equipped. She is also my wife.”
“What?” There was no need for further discussion on the topic. It simply was. It would not be so for much longer, not after Alexander had done that which was required of him.
“Sir, you can exit now.” Had they stopped? Wonderful.
He didn’t remove his eyes from Thomas’ as Tara gave him permission to do something. Her input regarding whether or not he could exit the plane was irrelevant. Instead, he only continued to stare into the soul of the boy and extinguish his questions. There would be no more answers until this was over. Then, and only then, would he be honest and deal with the probing. The boy probably deserved answers, would need answers, too. All he needed from Thomas now was loyalty, that and his life, should Claire require it.
“Do you understand what I am asking of you by allowing you to be here, Thomas?” There was only a small pause before the boy nodded and smiled, buttoning his jacket up as he did and holding his hand out towards the door. Pascal frowned in response to the perfect offering of loyalty and tried to grip his cane, which was still not there to grip. Hmm. He stared at his hand by his side and sighed. Life for life. He would gladly give his own, but Thomas’? “Thomas, should the unthinkable happen to me, you should go to Alexander White immediately for guidance, yes? He will structure the correct path forward.”
“Omm?” He took in Thomas’ quizzical stare and chuckled a little. The boy had much to learn. He did not even know about the collaring, he presumed. If he even knew what a collaring was. He turned for the door and began making his way out.
“Everything I own is his in reality,” he said, ignoring Tara as she endeavoured to look interesting in his eye line. “He will undoubtedly, given Elizabeth’s decency or perhaps his own, pass it on to Claire and ask you to run it for her until she is old enough to assimilate such information. Do not be concerned with yourself. You will be well provided for in the event of my death,” he continued, beginning to hastily take the steps down to the waiting car.
Thomas did nothing but appear confused by his side as they hurried their way along and watched Junker open the door for them.
“Are you suggesting you’re collared? I heard the rumours, but I thought…”
“Mmm.” Potentially. He was still perturbed by the unending conundrum that was Lilah and Alexander, and the constant deviance carrying on between the pair of them. Junker slammed the door behind them as they got in, and Pascal pondered the discussion yet more as the car began to move away.
“Did you fuck her behind my back?”
Nothing but a smile and the closing of Alexander’s eyes had greeted him. It mattered not how much he’d probed after that point; the bastard had not given him an answer.
“Alexander, I must know.”
“Why?”
“It is imperative to my sanity and my ability to release the slut from her chains.”
He’d smiled again, radiantly, then ripped at the bandage on his head until he’d removed it and sat up a little straighter.
“You know the answer to that, Pascal. You should answer it yourself.”
Hmm. He did not know. If he had known, he would not have asked the question in the first instance, nor put the bastard in the hospital because of his over-enthusiastic outburst. Not that the man had become angered once about that slight indiscretion—another discomforting thing about the situation. He had, in fact, been loving, tender even, which was confusing and overwhelmingly debilitating to his senses.
“Why do you do this to me?”
“Also something you should answer yourself.”
Irritating, glorious bastard.
“This is not one of our games, Alexander. You are toying with our future with no interest in the consequences.”
The bastard had simply chuckled, staring straight into his eyes as he did and then glancing over his frame until he became bored and closed his eyes once more.
“She’s not pregnant, Pascal. You should know that.”
Not pregnant. The thought had saddened him inexplicably at the time.
“Omm?” He flicked his head to Thomas and shook off the image of a bronzed God lying beneath white sheets. “I was asking about going back to my apartment.”
“Not. You will stay exactly where I can see you, by my side. Hmm?” Although, why he had bothered offering the boy a question he did not know. It was a demand. If he could be kept alive and well through this, then he would remain that way.
“Of course.” Better. Compliant and manageable.
He mused his thoughts again as the car took the same dark streets he had travelled a short while ago. That time it had been on a bike in daylight with Alexander riding his ass the entire time. That had made him chuckle on various occasions through that journey, enough so that he’d nearly begged to be fucked in the elevator. Instead, he’d been given his Rose as a gift. Just minimal seconds to do his worst. Seconds he’d taken and used without regret. He may have fallen in love for evermore in that moment. Yet it seemed so long ago now, as if the very essence of their beings had changed somehow since then. The union had become one of discord and confusion, and it was all due to the introduction of Lilah James. Much as he loved her, was actually quite hopelessly in love with her, she was, without doubt, the most beguiling of women. One who, even now and regardless of the disharmony, coursed through his veins as only a viper could—slowly, and with an ever-restricting grip on its unfortunate victim. Willing it downward towards its submission, carefully crafting its execution, quietly and yet firmly confining the breaths within the animal until all that was left beneath the surface was peace and a silence he’d found in no other. Even Alexander.
“Wir sind angekommen,” Junker said in his normal harsh tone. Had they? He snorted at the thoughts in his head and watched Thomas exit into the building instead. Arrived. They had arrived. Arrived at what, he was not sure. Arrived at some vapid place he had to call home while in Berlin? This was no home. He detested the place. All he could smell when he was here was his mother dearest. She still permeated the air with her stench. Still lined the walls with her teasing and ridiculing. Still lingered in the fabric of the building, steeling him with her green eyes and that regality of hers. Bitch. If she were here today, he would beat her for her audacity at remaining with him, even now, haunting him with her wraithlike presence to ensure he remembered how disgusting he was.
“Danke, Junker,” he eventually replied, lifting himself wearily from the seat and trying to contain the shiver crawling over him. Just the thought of entering the fucking place was torturous. Just the potential of seeing her eyes and not being able to control
his cock in front of them was nearly enough to make him walk away every time he arrived. A thousand times, he had sat here and thought of selling the rococo monstrosity, and then a thousand times he’d fortified himself to try again. Never had it not happened. Each and every time, he felt the hardening of his errant cock as he climbed the steps to the entrance, and each time he chastised himself yet further for having such a reaction to the torture of his own mother. Even now, he could feel it fucking twitching as he stood and glared at the heavy door, readying itself for anything that dared to come within a foot of it. Its ache was only comparable to that which insipid torment managed to draw from it. It had no depth or relative feeling of passion, but it would not be tamed in this circumstance. It was hate filled. Angered. Desperate to unleash revenge on something that was no longer in existence.
Perhaps he should fuck the wall—gauge a hole in it and fertilize it with his own scent? Spray semen on every surface until the ghosts dispersed and calm claimed the space. Perhaps he would even spray it onto her fucking picture.
Hmm.
He had not realised he was at the apartment door until he was standing in front of it, watching it swing back and forth while concentrating on his cock. Yet, as always, no matter how hard he fought the advance, it was back again, rampant beneath too tight trousers. He adjusted the damn thing and strolled into the room, listening to Thomas turning on the coffee maker as he went. What time was it? He came to a halt in front of mother dearest and checked his pocket watch. Half past eleven at night. He swung himself to the mantle clock to check Berlin time. Half past five in the morning. He supposed he should sleep, but care for his daughter and her whereabouts was paramount. Sudden thoughts of Lilah sprang to mind again, too. Where was she? Had she slept? If so, where? He pulled his phone out again and called her number as he stared up at the family resemblance. Piercing green eyes, sharp cheek bones, hollowed throat lines. One could never mistake a child or grandchild of this bitch. She would forever hold court within her lineage. Her strong features were only hindered by his memory of them. To everyone else, she was a princess, worthy of half the men in the world, no doubt. How little they all knew.
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