When he eventually broke the kiss, he applied another brush of his lips against her forehead and pulled her back into his arms to sleep. Charlotte lay passively in his embrace, letting her mind go blank while she listened to her master drift into slumber.
When she was very sure he was asleep and would not hear her, she completed her final ritual of every day. “Thank you, master.” She let everything she truly felt pour into those words—how much she loved belonging to her master—how grateful she was for being under his protection and for being permitted to express her submission to him.
Zachariah stirred.
Charlotte held her breath. Knowing she hadn’t done anything that might wake him, she laid very still and waited for whatever dream which disturbed her master to pass from his mind.
* * * *
Charlotte slipped from her master’s arms. He stirred and tried to pull the blanket back over them both. Reaching for her, Zachariah patted the empty side of the bed, but failed to find her. He shifted irritably before he fell back into a deeper sleep.
His hand was partially hidden by the sheet. She knelt by the side of her master’s bed as she did every morning. Pushing back the blanket very slightly, she freed his hand and took it carefully in her own.
Closing her eyes, Charlotte centred herself for the day. Taking a deep breath she reminded herself why she was with her master, why she chose this way of life. Her lips twitched into a small satisfied smile. She briefly pressed her lips to the back of his fingers and began to rise to her feet.
Zachariah’s hand closed around her fingers. Her gaze shot up to him.
Her master was wide awake, watching her intently.
She dropped her gaze. Heat rushed to her cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to know about her little ritual. She waited for his verdict, wondering if he would take the daily moment of peaceful silence away from her. Certainly, it provided no benefit to him, no amusement for her master.
He touched her cheek. “Look up, little pet.”
She met his eyes. He smiled at her, but there was something about the expression she couldn’t place. At least he wasn’t mad. That was something.
“Come back to bed.” He lifted the blankets away from his body so she could crawl back underneath and curl against his side. Her master cocooned her in his embrace, tucking the blankets firmly around her shoulders to keep them both warm.
“I asked you when you came to me if there were any rituals you wanted to observe,” Zachariah reminded her. “Do you remember what you said to me?”
“I said I wish only to perform the rituals which please my master.” There was no need to feel guilty. She knew it was the correct response to the question. That was the payment.
“Payment?”
She hesitated. She hadn’t said the word out loud. She ran the conversation over in her mind and reassured herself that was indeed the case. No mention was made of payment.
“Charlotte, answer the question,” he ordered.
“I do not understand the question, master,” she said softly. It was something like the truth. She really didn’t understand how her master knew what she was thinking about.
“How I know is not important. What do you mean by payment? That may be the way humans conduct their affairs between themselves, but it is not the way things work with vampires. I will provide whatever my pet needs, but I will not pay for your blood or your body.”
Charlotte shook her head. The anger in his voice shook something inside her. The little piece of her which only ever wanted to please her master, the part that really meant it when she said she had no ideas, no hopes or wishes of her own shivered.
“Then tell me what you did mean,” he demanded.
There was still a degree of gentleness in his voice. He dropped it to a whisper, as if he thought that would make it easier to talk to him.
“It is the way things work. When I am with my master I feel…” she couldn’t force the word safe past her lips. It didn’t make any sense out loud. It was only something that happened inside her head. Saying it out loud would make everything fall apart.
Zachariah stroked her hair back from her face. “And you think to feel safe and happy with your master you must offer him something you do not like in return—a payment?”
Charlotte looked down, not knowing how to answer him.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your previous master might have expected that, I don’t.”
Her mind reeled for something to offer him. There was only one thing that didn’t already belong to him, one thing she could give up. “If the ritual does not please you, I will not do it again,” she offered.
“It would please me far more if I were awake for it,” he said.
She hesitated, trying to think of a suitable response. “I will wait for you to wake?” she hazarded.
“Yes,” his fingers stroked through her hair again. “That would please your master a great deal. Are there any other rituals I do not know about?”
There were a few, but they were private unimportant little things that didn’t exist outside her mind. Zachariah would never know about them. She didn’t need to bother her master with such trivialities. Charlotte shook her head. “No, master.”
“If you think of any, you will tell me.”
“Yes, master.”
She lay there in his arms for a long time, before he decided it was time for them to get out of the bed. She swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. She stood up straight and took a step away from the bed.
Zachariah caught her wrist.
She stopped and looked back to her master.
“I was not entirely awake last time.”
She hesitated. It was different while he was awake and watching her. She knelt and, taking his hand in hers, pressed her lips briefly to the back of his hand. That was all it really was. It was a silly little thing to make such a big fuss about. She stood.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, once more preventing her from leaving his side.
“No.”
“If master would prefer the ritual to change…” she offered.
“No, I wish it to be exactly as it was,” Zachariah said. His tone brooked no argument on the matter.
“I don’t understand,” she confessed.
“What you just did was not the same as when you thought I was asleep.”
“I…” she trailed off.
“If it ceases to mean anything to you, you will cease to perform the action.” His voice hardened on that announcement, losing all trace of the gentleness she was so used to hearing from her master.
It meant a great deal to her, but…
Zachariah’s hand slipped down to wrap around her fingers. He gently squeezed the digits in his grasp.
“Repeat the ritual one more time, for your master. Just as you did it before,” he commanded softly.
Charlotte knelt again. Lowering herself onto her knees wasn’t something which made her feel particularly submissive in itself, but under his intent scrutiny, she found herself uncomfortable and embarrassed with the ritual. She pushed all her concerns aside and forced herself to do exactly as she would if he was asleep.
Closing her eyes, she tried to find her centre for the day. She let all the thoughts flow across her mind again. This was the life she wanted. This was the life she chose. She wanted to serve. The briefest brush of her lips against her master’s knuckles completed the ritual. She stood but she didn’t try to step back from the bed. Charlotte waited for his verdict.
“Very good, little pet,” he told her. He let go of her fingers and allowed her to step away.
She hurried from the room, eager for some private space where she could think in peace and work out what the hell was going on.
Chapter Two
Charlotte went through her daily tasks by rote, hardly needing to think about what she should do next. Putting the last dish back in the cabinet, she left the kitchen. She walked up the stairs to the bedroom intending to make the
bed and check everything was in good order for when her master came home.
One glance at the rug by her master’s side of the bed and everything she’d carefully avoided thinking about while her master was in the house came rushing to the front of her mind.
There must have been some tiny snippet of the thought building in her subconscious from the start. It was the only explanation. If she hadn’t been afraid that her master could read her mind, she wouldn’t have needed to be so careful, and to have to avoid thinking about the possibility when he was still close by.
But how else could Zachariah have known what she was thinking? She stared at the rug by the side of the bed and tried to work it out. Even before he caught her in her ritual, how could her master have plucked words out of her mind the way he had?
Charlotte turned away from the bed and wandered into the en-suite bathroom. As she straightened the towel on the rail she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall. Long habit made her cast a glance over her body, looking for any flaws that might displease a master.
She took a few steps closer to the glass. Her eyes fixed on a small nondescript patch of skin on her neck. She ran her fingertips over the spot above her jugular. A shiver ran through her as her fingers caressed the skin covering the vein.
Her master had changed after he fed. Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the circular bruises around her wrists. The memory of that pleasure raced through her. Her master had never left a mark on her before. She turned away from the mirror and paced restlessly back into the bedroom. Sitting on the chair by the dressing table, she looked across to the bed once more.
She’d been ready for it to hurt, even looking forward to the prospect. And she’d resigned herself to the possibility Zachariah might start to think of her as something non-sexual—the way a human would think of a farm animal which provided sustenance but held no other interest.
It never occurred to her that letting him into her blood supply would let him into her mind. If it had occurred to her then…
She strode uneasily across to the bed and smoothed down the sheet, trailing her fingers over the space where they’d lain together through the night.
Charlotte shook her head at herself.
Zachariah couldn’t read her mind. She was being stupid. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. Of course he couldn’t read her mind. There was nothing to worry about. She was safe.
* * * *
Foot. Foot. Foot. Foot.
Charlotte pushed the thought to the front of her mind time after time. If her master didn’t pick up on a thought she repeatedly hit him over the head with, she could put the crazy notion firmly out of her head—where it belonged.
Zachariah could not read her mind. Charlotte told herself that twice over for good measure. There was no logical reason why he should be able read her mind. It wasn’t like little bits of her consciousness floated around in her blood stream, bouncing in between the red and white cells. It was nothing more than a foolish flight of fancy. He consumed her blood, not her mind—even if the feeding somehow drained away all her common sense.
Her mind was still her own.
Foot. Foot. Foot.
She laid the table with the silver cutlery she’d unearthed from the back of the old pantry—each item sparkled under the lights shining brightly above them. The certainty she was going insane was wonderful elbow grease—the cutlery hadn’t even been recognisable as silver under the tarnish a few hours ago.
Foot. Foot. Foot.
“You’ve been working hard.”
Charlotte glanced up. Zachariah stood in the doorway. For a man well over six feet tall and covered in solid muscle, he could move incredibly quietly when he wanted to.
“Master?” she asked, trying her best to swallow down her nerves.
He walked across and straightened a fork on her place setting.
Charlotte nodded. That wasn’t mind reading—merely good observation. Her fingers ached from polishing it. She discreetly flexed her digits, trying to ease the cramping muscles.
Foot. Foot. Foot.
“Are you hurt?”
She looked down at her fingers and shook her head. “No, master.” It wasn’t a problem. She liked the ache in her joints—she liked the reminder she had worked hard in service that day.
Zachariah frowned.
Charlotte dropped her gaze. She fixed her eyes on the third button of his shirt.
Foot. Foot. Foot.
He knelt. He reached for her ankle.
Charlotte jumped back as if he’d lifted a hand to strike her. She collided with the table, sending the table settings and condiments flying in all directions.
Her master could read her mind.
She shook her head. Reality stayed the same.
Her master could read her mind.
Zachariah looked up at her. For several seconds he stayed very still. Then her master stood up and dusted off his knees. “Not precisely. It’s not mind reading as a human would understand it.”
Charlotte just stared at him. At least there was no chance of him reading her thoughts right then. There wasn’t anything for him to read. The world stopped on its axis. Her mind went blank. All the sound drained out of the room. All the air went with it.
She couldn’t breathe.
He took a step towards her.
“No!”
Charlotte tried to step back. The table was in her way. She twisted and edged crabwise around the table, desperate to keep some space between then.
She shook her head. “No,” she repeated, no longer even sure what she was saying no to.
He looked so shocked, as if it never occurred to him she could say the word. She almost laughed in spite of everything.
No. She couldn’t laugh. Hysteria was not a viable option.
“I…” She put a hand over her mouth, cutting off the rest of what she might have said to her master. She’d already said no to him. That was bad enough.
“Charlotte?” He held out a hand to her.
She looked at her master’s hand, but she couldn’t step forward and take it. She couldn’t move.
Zachariah stepped forward. He turned both his hands palms up and held them away from his body, like a criminal on a television cop show. He’d been caught standing over a dead body, but suddenly he was all innocence, determined to show the whole world he wasn’t armed.
It didn’t do any good. He didn’t need a weapon if he could read her mind. There were far easier ways for Zachariah to hurt her if he could read her wants and fears straight out of her psyche.
Charlotte shook her head again. No. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t do this.
He frowned.
“Can I go to my room?” she said suddenly.
“Your room?” he repeated blankly.
“The room I stayed in when you first brought me here,” she said. The place she hadn’t called anything but the guest room for a long time.
“It will not help to run away from the things we need to discuss, Charlotte,” he said seriously.
He came closer.
She took another step away. Her back hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. “Red,” she blurted out.
Zachariah froze. Her safe word hung in the air between them—keeping him away from her.
Charlotte swallowed. She tried to work some moisture into her throat. It wouldn’t come. Tears welled up in her eyes instead. She shook her head. Arms wrapped tight around her body she stared at the floor and desperately tried to hold her whole world together. “Please, may I have permission to go to my room?” she asked again.
Her master nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You should rest. We will talk later—when you are feeling better.”
Charlotte fled from the room, giving her master a wide berth as she scurried past. She raced up the stairs and flung herself into the guest room. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned heavily against the old oak. She slid down the panelling until she curled into a ball on the floor ju
st inside the door.
Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. It was a stupid thing to cry over. She wasn’t hurt. Her master had never hurt her.
Of course, he’d never seen her failures either. She’d seen to that. Everything hidden away. All her little mistakes and inabilities tucked away where no one would ever see them. Every wrong thought, every inappropriate idea, all hidden away inside her head so she could convince everyone that she knew how to be the perfect submissive. A safe submissive.
Tears left their tracks down her cheeks as she felt all her safety slip away. She brushed at her cheeks again. Her hair trailed across her face, sticking to the moisture lingering on her flushed skin.
“Open the door, little pet.”
Charlotte jumped. She looked at the panelling behind her shoulder. Zachariah’s voice spoke from just outside the door. He was right there. She shook her head. Charlotte had no idea how long she’d lain curled up on the floor, but it wasn’t long enough for her to be ready to face her master.
“Charlotte, open the door,” he repeated. “I won’t come in unless you invite me, but I won’t carry on a whole conversation through the woodwork.”
She closed her eyes very tight. In spite of it all, she wanted to see him. She wanted her master to hold her close and tell her everything was okay, even when she was sure everything was as far from alright as it could possibly be.
Pushing herself up from the floor, Charlotte wiped as much evidence of tears as she could from her face. She would have to see her master sooner or later. It should be now, when she still had some semblance of her outer-shell intact. If that crumbled away as well, she would be truly lost.
She opened the door the tiniest fraction of an inch and stepped quickly back. She kept stepping back until the back of her legs hit the mattress and she collapsed onto the bedside rug.
The tiny gap in the doorway let in a thin shaft of light from the hallway. The gap grew larger, spilling more and more light into the room as Zachariah pushed the door wide open. He stood framed in the doorway, a dark shape outlined by the light pouring over his shoulders.
Night of the Senses Page 32