The Dollhouse Society: Isabelle (New Adult BDSM Erotica)

by Eden Myles

  “We shall be there shortly, my dear,” Father said as if concerned I might be losing patience.

  I wasn’t. I more than enjoyed watching the landscape drifting by, the deep, old forests—it was so different than the colder, craggier Northlands where our estate resided. There the trees grew short and farther apart, the people were brutish and covered year-round in animal furs, and the horses shaggy. There were mountain orcs that were a constant threat to my father’s people, but I hadn’t seen such creatures here. I wondered if there were Fae in these forests. “No more than an hour yet,” he added.

  “Yes, Father.” Once more, I leaned out the window of the coach, seeking out both the familiar and unfamiliar in this strange land.

  Where we lived, in the lands several hundred ticks to the north, the squatty pines shivered in the heavy snows. The people were fair-haired and blue-eyed like my father (except for the gypsies who regularly passed through) and there were still a few remaining ice dragons slumbering deep within cairns in the earth. On a cold morning one could stand on a balcony and spot their breath pluming up through small cracks in the earth.

  But I’d heard that Lord Elric Rothschild’s lands were warmer, the oaks and elms soaring and rotund, spreading their lush green boughs to the heavens like supplicating hands. I’d heard there were dwarves and tall, slender people of a swarthier complexion here. Food was bountiful, war scarce, and the people more congenial and trustworthy. Stone dragons still occasionally circled the skies. It was a pretty land, green and fecund, with autumn bleeding through the trees in vibrant shades of yellow and fiery orange, though we had not encountered many villagers along the way so I could not yet ascertain the friendliness of the local inhabitants.

  I did not blame the villagers for hiding. Though beautiful, it was said these were perilous lands, dangerous for those on foot, particularly now, with the evil of a corrupt Vargr on the loose—a werewolf who kills for its own pleasure.

  I had never seen a Vargr, either dead or alive, but stories abounded in our own realm of such things. Men who became wolves to placate their own nefarious hungers. It gave me something of a delicious shiver to think of it, for in our lands, there were no more werewolves, evil or otherwise. They had all been hunted to extinction decades before I had ever been born. I wondered if I would see one during our stay at Blackstone Hall.

  I admit I sighed to think of it. Adventure. The only adventure I had ever really known past childhood games was in my father’s libraries. A wealthy man who had made his fortune in shipping, he had a thousand books spanning every possible subject: science, alchemy, romance, chivalrous adventures with knights and pirates. I swore I had read them all at least twice. Growing up, reading about fierce warriors, and pretending I was one among their number, had been my two great passions in life.

  Less than hour later, I saw “the Hall,” (as the locals called it), standing mistily upon its distant rock for the first time, its highest spires and flapping banners rising far above the summit of the land. Even from this great distance, Blackstone Hall sprawled large enough, and certainly grand enough, to house a king or emperor.

  It had been built in a time that no one remembered by the hands of the Fae Folk, according to folklore. It was said the King of the Fae built the great keep for his Queen and court, and he had done so out of pure, shining white stone carved from his mother the moon. But some great tragedy had occurred there, and the Queen of the Fae fell dead, a dagger in her heart, and as her sacred blood spilled upon the floor of the Hall, it turned all the stones in the structure black. Or that was the story, anyway.

  No one knew who had really built it, or why. According to Father, only the Rothschilds had occupied it in the last few hundred years after their ancestor, the fierce and bloodthirsty warlord Alaric Rothschild, had conquered the land and set his flag upon the highest turret.

  As we rumbled nearer, I could just make out the black banner sinister with the white dragon upon it, the sign of Rothschild house. Father had stayed here at Lord Rothschild’s court as a child when Elric’s own father had invited him here visiting, and he had many tales to tell of it.

  As we crossed the spindly bridge that spanned a yawning and seemingly bottomless chasm on our last leg of the journey to our destination, I marveled at the vast, rambling darkness of it—the chipped, battle-weary ramparts and battlements, the craggy side chapels and gatehouse. The outer walls of the Hall stood five hundred feet high, with a tall, pinnacle tower twice that size rising from the center of the courtyard, enshrouded by a yellowish, poisonous-looking mist.

  The black-as-soot flagstone of which the Hall was constructed made me think of some burned leviathan of a dragon, the spines of its carcass shimmering high in the heavens. The few windows on display were of colored glass, giving the place the brooding look of an abandoned monastery. The land surrounding the hall was different than the countryside—jagged and strangely lifeless, with virtually no trees and only patches of melting snow and cold, churned mud, which made crossing the vast, arched bridge treacherous and slow-going.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time we approached the portcullis, and as we rode under the gatehouse, I marveled at the enormous, black stone dragons and gargoyles crouching overhead, seeming to watch us with their cruel, idiot stone eyes.

  Then we were past the stone sentinels, the gatehouse and attached livery, and coming out in the courtyard where that mysterious tower stood in the most awkward of places, taking up at least half the space. It rose up like a black finger toward heaven, making my neck crick in my attempt to find the top.

  My father saw me looking and said, “A wizard’s tower, my dear. Or, at least, that’s what they used to call them.”

  “Is it really?”

  “The Rothschilds have long been dabblers in the Craft.” He inclined his head. “Not unlike yourself. In fact, I hear that Elric Rothschild is quite the magical adept, as well as being young and comely of face…”

  “Come now, Father,” I laughed a little nervously to cut him off. “Your attempts at matchmaking are sorry at best, and desperate at worst.”

  He took my hand. “Would it be so very despicable to find yourself in a state of marriage, Marie? I shan’t live forever, and you will need the protection after me.”

  “I hardly despise marriage, you know that. But you also know about my standards. He must be strong and sure of himself, a warrior and a protector.” I smiled at my father. “Fear not. I shall meet him one day.”

  “Marie,” he chided gently. “The man you seek exists only in books of romance.”

  I laughed even thought I truly did believe he existed! Once, long ago, I cast a spell upon a pond of water near our estate. A water nymph had answered my summons and had told me my one true mate was out there in the world, waiting as I was, and that I would meet him one day. He would be a powerful warrior, and a protector to me. I hadn’t stopped looking since!

  As we crossed the courtyard I spotted several house servants waiting for us, lanterns held aloft to ward off the quickly descending dark. They swept forward to greet us, enshrouded in their long, fur-lined cloaks. Quickly they pulled open the coach, footed us down, efficiently and with little ceremony.

  “We should hurry, Lord Belmont,” one of the servants told my father as they rushed us toward a pair of huge, iron-banded doors. “Night has already fallen and these are not lands to be about in.”

  “Yes, of course,” my father answered.

  I had only time to gather my gown and cloak before a particularly stout man shoved me along. His strength and determination surprised me. I was a tall, hardy woman like my gypsy mother. There was meat on my bones and I was not so easily moved. My legs had gone all pins and needles during the long ride, and my knees all but buckled as we dashed into the hall as thought the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels.

  Only when we were safely inside the cold, torch-lit corridor, the iron-banded oaken door securely locked behind us, did the men finally relax and offer up the proper bows
and courtesies that our respective ranks demanded. Then we were ushered down the cold, swarthy corridor to the end, where a rough-hewn, stone staircase spiraled upward into darkness.

  We’d be staying in one of several guest towers, and the idea excited me. I wondered how much of the Low Country we could see from our tower windows.

  The light of the men’s lanterns had pushed back the darkness only feebly, but I immediately recognized a broad, looming shadow standing at the end of the corridor, near the stairwell. It took me a few moments to recognized it as Lord Simon Devereux, and only because my father had given me sufficient warning in advance to beware the lord and his questionable past and pedigree.

  Lord Devereux was an ally of Lord Rothschild’s, a sort of wandering mercenary soldier who fought, it was said, for money rather than honor. He did not come from these lands, but he had fought beside his friend Rothschild in many campaigns in the Darklands to the far west. Rothschild now employed him as Captain of the Guard in the Hall. He carried no lantern, but then, he seemed quite at home in the dark and probably knew his way around the Hall rather well by now.

  He was a large, lean, powerfully-built man at the height of his youth and strength, his jet black hair cut just a hair too long at his collar to be fashionable and swept somewhat haphazardly away from his face, which was as sharp as a blade. He looked like a formidable warrior, and his face bore the old, pale scars of his many campaigns. He had strong cheekbones, winter-pale eyes, and a slight underbite that made me think of stubborn and ruthless men.

  The moment he looked upon me, I felt my heart quicken in my chest. He bore a hunter’s look about him, wary and always watching, and unlike the evening finery of the servants and footmen who had seen us in, he wore an oiled oxhide jerkin over a doublet, knee-high equestrian boots with big buckles, and a heavy cloak, like a man who had only just recently returned from the battlefield. A thick belt crossed his chest from shoulder to hip, and slotted into the belt were a number of finely forged knives. His cloak, when we drew close enough for our lantern light to fall upon it, revealed itself to be as dark and sleek as his hair. I thought it might be forged of wolf fur.

  He watched us with those pale, silvery eyes as we approached. He did not move at first, but I sensed a quivering readiness about him, and his thickly muscled limbs looked poised in a way that made him seem to want to spring, or perhaps to reach for the dirk at his hip. I imagined he’d made quite a magnificent warrior in his day.

  “Lord Devereux,” my father said congenially as we came upon him. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Lord Devereux’s nostrils flared briefly, like an animal sensing a dangerous lie, but then he smirked in return. Perhaps he knew my father had little use for mercenaries. “Lord Belmont. It’s been too long,” he said in a low, whispery voice that seemed to rumble from deep within his broad chest.

  He and my father exchanged brief, stilted bows before Father put his hands protectively upon my shoulders and said, “My daughter, Lady Marie.” The tone of his voice indicated that this was a formality not to his liking and that Devereux was to look but not touch.

  Devereux fixed those icy grey eyes on me in challenge and I swallowed against the lurching heart in my chest that was trying desperately to crawl up into my throat. I wasn’t short by anyone’s standards, but the man still managed to loom over me in a way that could be construed as either threatening or comforting, depending on his intentions.

  I was certain many men feared Devereux. Still, I had never been the type of girl to be cowed by the boys of my village and so stood up straighter in the presence of this human wall of a man, throwing my shoulders back proudly and eyeing him with as much cool indifference as I could muster. Let him see I had no fear of him, or anyone.

  A corner of Devereux’s mouth quirked up as if he were impressed by my gumption. The musky smell of his black wolf fur cloak made my head swim as he drew close enough to take my hand and brush his surprisingly warm lips just below my knuckles.

  “Lady Marie,” he said, and I noticed for a man who had supposedly lived a mercenary lifestyle (at least according to my Father) he had beautifully white and powerful-looking teeth. Too often, the men in our own lands came back from Darkland battles dissipated and ill, with rot upon their skin and teeth and the horrors of war firmly lodged in their frightened eyes, but Lord Devereux looked positively untouched by his campaigns.

  I was about to ask him about his battles when my Father interrupted. “Marie, would you be good enough to go up to your quarters now and prepare for dinner?”

  I hated the way my father tried to instruct me as if I were a little girl! Was I not the reason we were here in the first place? It was for my aid that Lord Rothschild had personally requested our presence, not my father. I stubbornly raised my chin to him. “Actually, I was hoping to meet our host, Lord Rothschild…?”

  “I’m afraid Elric is indisposed until nightfall and cannot greet you personally at the moment,” Devereux interrupted, “which is why he sent me to make certain you are well taken care of.”

  I immediately turned to look at him and recognized some form of duplicity in his expression. Not an outright lie, perhaps, but there was something left unspoken. Call it a gift from my gypsy mother. I could feel when someone was lying to me in some way. Devereux was lying now.

  “I hope his health is well,” my father said, thankfully forgetting my insolence for the moment.

  Again that insouciant smirk. It made Devereux looked positively predatory. “He’s quite well, I assure you. Some business of his he could not delay. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it at supper.” He indicated the stairwell with a flourish of one long, thin, sinewy hand. “Now, I’m sure you and your daughter would like to rest after your long journey. If you will, my lord. My lady.” He bowed graciously.

  I gathered my skirts and started up the long spiral stairwell, trying not to shiver or cast a look over one shoulder. I could feel Devereux’s eyes on my back the whole way!

  ***

  Read an excerpt from Devices & Desires (Blackstone Hall #2) by Madeline Apple:

  DEVICES & DESIRES

  by Madeline Apple

  Chapter I

  The first thing I saw was light.

  The first thing I heard was a man’s exuberant voice saying, “She’s alive! Franz, come see, she’s alive!”

  The light sharpened and took on different forms. I saw darkness and shadow and strange, glistening metal and glass apparatuses surrounding me where I was lying prone on a gurney.

  I was in a laboratory of some sort. I saw test tubes, tesla coils, endless shelves of strange poultices in dusty bottles on the walls. I heard a dull buzzing noise in my head. Out beyond the walls of the lab, I heard the dull roar of a storm creeping in.

  Soon I recognized two men standing over me. One was tall and broad, middle-aged, with greying hair at his temples and round glasses. His face was severe but very handsome. The second was short and funny-looking. I realized the second man must be a dwarf. He smiled at me and I smiled back.

  “She can smile, Franz. Look.”

  “You did an excellent job, Doctor,” said the dwarf. “She’s perfect.”

  “She is, isn’t she?”

  My eyes returned to the larger man. Pride had softened his severe face a little and I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight of his gentle grey eyes, the way they were trained on me. I felt an instant connection with the man.

  I’d never believed in love at first sight until now. But yes, I loved him. He was all to me.

  “Dr. Von Holtz, you’ve finally done it,” the little man said with admiration. “You’ve created life!”

  I tried to say something, to ask questions, but a wave of fatigue overwhelmed and I slipped back into absolute darkness.

  ***

  Available everywhere ebooks are sold, including Amazon.com, BN.com, Smashwords.com and Kobobooks.com. Select titles are available at AllRomanceEbooks.com.

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  ***

  Also Available from Courtesan Press:

  Indecent Proposal

  Dreams in Black & White

  Playing House

  Freeze Frame

  The Dollhouse Society Volume I: Evelyn

  The Rules of Engagement

  Big, Bad Wolf

  The War of the Roses

  The Dollhouse Society Volume II: Rachaela

  Eyes Wide Open

  Touch

  Teacher’s Pet

  Angel in the Dark

  The Dollhouse Society Volume III: Daniel

  Lady Luck

  House of Dolls

  The Reluctant Bride

  A Woman on Top

  The Dollhouse Society Volume IV: Lucky

  All I Want for Christmas: A Dollhouse Society One Shot

  Red (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  Puss ‘N Books (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  Snow (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  The Little Mermaid (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 1

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Volume I

  The Beauty of the Beast (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  Rumpelstiltskin (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  Cinderfella (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  Beauty’s Sleep (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume II

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 2

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume III

  The Dollhouse Society: Margo

  The Dollhouse Society: Felix

  The Dollhouse Society: Bad Girls

  Blood & Lace (Blackstone Hall #1)

  50 Shades of Fairy Tales (Courtesan Press Ultimate Collection)

  The Dollhouse Society: Ultimate Collection

  Devices & Desires (Blackstone Hall #2)

  Blackstone Hall, Volume I

  ***

  Available everywhere ebooks are sold, including Amazon.com, BN.com, Smashwords.com and Kobobooks.com. Select titles are available at AllRomanceEbooks.com.