Russian Roulette (Helena Hawthorn Series Book 1)

by May Freighter

  Helena lifted her bag and held it close to her chest in an attempt to gather some warmth from the thick material.

  While Hannah and Andreaz exchanged words, Helena studied the vast emptiness of the barren fields over her shoulder. No weed was taller than two feet. The tyres screeched against the gravel and an icy grip that she felt through her jacket got hold of her upper arm.

  “Let’s go,” Hannah barked.

  Helena didn’t struggle. She followed Hannah—if being almost dragged could be called following.

  As they drew closer to the main entrance, Helena spied a few faces lingering by the windows. She gathered the bag closer to her chest, not caring about the contents inside, and took a peek at the retreating faces.

  Hannah grabbed her face with both hands, lifting it with much force to meet her eyes.

  The bruises Andreaz left on her jaw still hurt, and she winced.

  Dark grey orbs met her hazel ones, and Helena felt energy seeping out from this vampire, trying to invade her. Persistent, the energy pushed at first. Then, it rammed against her mental shields.

  She bit her lip and clutched the bag with an iron grip as she fought a mental battle with this woman.

  Hannah’s sharp features drew into a frown, and the energy died down. “Strange,” she muttered and unlocked the door. “Get in. You will be notified when Master wishes to see you.”

  Helena massaged her face with her chilled fingers. She marched into the house without further protest. When the door slammed shut behind her, she heard the faint click of a lock setting into place. Scowling, she stared at the door that had no handle or keyhole on her side.

  I think I prefer maids and butlers.

  Straining her ears, she listened past her thudding heart. Faint whispers from the room on her right caught her attention. She took her first step towards it but stopped short of entering. An excess of cream sofas and colourful overstuffed armchairs were tastefully scattered around. The walls in the grand living room were painted white, much like the hallway in which she stood. Even now, she saw no one.

  Are they waiting for me to come in first?

  She peered around the corner, counting five women before everyone converged on the spot where she stood. Hands reached out to draw her in further into the room. Some grabbed at whatever they could find, and Helena struggled to prevent the gropes aimed at her chest.

  Excited female voices blurred into a one.

  “Her hair is so soft,” someone said.

  “Très mince,” someone else added.

  Helena ducked down, covering her head with her bag, or as much of it as she could manage. She squeezed her eyes shut. When will this madness end?

  Someone cleared her throat and the excessive grabbing and mumbling ceased.

  Unable to help her curiosity, Helena lifted her head and saw the crowd thinning. A beautiful woman emerged with a warm greeting which was exhibited on her ivory face in a form of a perfect, toothy smile. She knelt in front of Helena and two large lavender eyes locked on her. “Welcome, ma chérie.”

  Helena found no words. Her eyes darted around the dozen or so gathered females who were waiting for something.

  A French woman offered Helena her hand and spoke with affection. “I am Viola, a name given to me by our master, Andreaz.”

  Acid climbed Helena’s throat. She would rather die than consider him as her master.

  Viola inclined her head to one side. Her eyes never left Helena’s face. “Have you been given your nom?”

  Given a name? “I have a name, it’s Helena.”

  Those listening in on their conversation clapped in unison.

  “A beautiful name,” someone in the crowd commented.

  “Allow me to introduce everyone.” Viola motioned to the tall brunette first. “Cora and Moira… This is Fran, Monique, Lisa, Anya.” She moved to the row on Helena’s right. “Louise, Mina, Lisbeth, Anita, Leah…”

  Helena lost track of who was who halfway through the long list. How long did these women have to be here to memorise each other’s names? It was as if they rehearsed this scene many times over. Plus, each woman could not be any more different from the next. Their complexion, hair, body shape, and facial features were as though they were hand-picked like souvenirs from distant travels. And, as of now, she was one of them.

  Viola helped Helena stand.

  Reluctant to move from her spot, in case the others decided to grab her again, Helena picked up her bag. “It’s nice to meet you, but how did you come to be here?”

  The room buzzed with a sudden outburst of whispers. Their eyes filled with something close to confusion, which was when Viola’s hand rose and the noise ceased.

  “I will show the new arrival to her room,” Viola announced.

  The women bobbed their heads. Their suspicious eyes assessed Helena as they returned to their seats, resuming what she had originally interrupted with her entrance.

  Viola’s hand landed on her back, and she nudged Helena. “You must be tired, let us go find you a room.”

  Saying nothing, Helena went with her. She seemed to be the one in charge of the things in this house. So, questioning her was Helena’s priority, no matter how weary she was from the journey.

  They climbed the staircase together. A long wide corridor awaited them once they reached the top. The same white coat of paint deprived the place of any personality or soul of the owner, even the doors were labelled with golden numbers as if this place was some kind of a hotel.

  Her guide pointed to number eight. “You will be staying in numéro huit.”

  A tall blonde emerged from one of the rooms. Her platinum curls fell around her face and her judging gaze rested on Helena. Disgust contorted her statuesque features. She blocked their path by cocking her hip to one side and slapping her hand on it. “Who is she?”

  Helena held her tongue. She had grown accustomed to people talking about her like she didn’t exist, so she refrained from sparking an argument.

  “Crista, this is Helena. She is the new addition to our home.” Viola fixed the woman with a harsh glare. They stood there, unmoving, for what seemed like a day.

  Eventually, Crista allowed them to pass.

  Viola shot Helena another smile and continued leading the way.

  “She won’t last long as a favourite,” Crista called after them.

  Viola didn’t respond.

  Helena glanced over her shoulder and saw that Crista was already gone. “What did she mean by that?”

  Once they reached the room, Viola pushed her inside and closed the door behind them.

  Helena studied the woman with care. She betrayed no emotion to the naked eye as she stood there, poised and model-like. Those lavender eyes assessed her in the same, wary manner the women downstairs did.

  “You have a name on your first day, are you somehow special?”

  “He didn’t give me a name if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Viola’s eyes bulged with surprise. “You have memories?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because the rest of us cannot remember anything, ma chérie.”

  Helena’s lips pressed into a grim line. There were a lot of questions trying to fight their way out. She settled on the first one that came to mind. “Why aren’t you like the others?”

  Viola leant against the door. Her hands rested on her tiny waist. “Strong will perhaps?” She gave a weak smile. “Je ne sais pas. I do not understand why we do not remember or have the will to leave. All that remains is a wish to please our master.”

  There was no joy in Viola’s eyes. Any cheer she had displayed downstairs had vanished as if it was all an elaborate act. If what Viola told her was the truth, she could trust no one.

  Averting her gaze, Helena let her bag fall onto the aged, grey carpet. To her left were two evenly spaced single beds and a tall wardrobe was built into the wall to her right.

  “So, who is my roommate?” Helena asked and shuffled over to one of the beds. She
sat on an uncomfortable mattress, but it did not take away the urge to rest.

  “That would be me.” Viola pushed away from the door and seized Helena’s belongings. She headed for the door when Helena charged at the woman, reaching for the strap of her bag.

  “Where are you going with that?”

  Viola stopped. Her hand wrapped around the golden plated door handle. “You do not trust me, I understand, but tomorrow Hannah will come looking for this. I must take it.”

  Helena’s hand slid away from the strap. “And what am I supposed to wear if not my clothes?”

  “Master orders Hannah to get us clothes that he likes, and she brings them here.”

  She gaped at Viola. This place was exactly what Vincent feared it to be. How could the Council turn a blind eye on such a terrible treatment of people?

  “Please leave,” she asked Viola through clenched teeth.

  “Do not do anything you may regret, ma chérie,” Viola said and left the room with the last of her belongings.

  Her knees gave way, and Helena stared at the door. What does Andreaz plan to do with me?

  Helena slept most of the day away. She opened her eyes to an already dark room.

  A figure stood by the window, and, once her vision adjusted, she abandoned any thought of returning to sleep. “It’s nice of you to finally join me.”

  Michael sighed. “Helena, I’m sorry. Believe me, my hands were tied.”

  She pushed the quilt off and sat upright. By the smell of it, she could tell it was used by others. Nonetheless, she was too exhausted from both emotional and physical bombardment of dealing with the undead on the daily basis to complain. Not like anyone would listen to her.

  “And, are they untied now?”

  Michael’s lips pressed together. “I fear for what will happen to you here.” He didn’t move or offer anything else. Instead, he returned to looking out the window.

  “Is there a way out?”

  Her guardian shook his head. “The moment you linked yourself with that vampire was the last time you had a way out.”

  She was taken aback by his frank words. Taking a moment to climb out of bed, she thought hard about what she could do or say. She nibbled on her swollen lip.

  Michael cursed under his breath. “Why must you do this to yourself? Why couldn’t you abandon the unknown and have a normal life?”

  His blue eyes burned with anxiety and worry that boiled beneath the surface. Sure, her choices were rubbish. At first, curiosity got the best of her. Becoming soul-bound to a vampire wasn’t what she expected when it happened. Yet, nothing could be changed now.

  Michael stopped her from moving with a slight shake of his head. “It is too early for you to understand. I have forgotten myself, I must apologise.”

  No matter how she looked at it, he still treated her like a child. The control she exercised over her emotions unravelled. She was in over her head, and she knew it. And here, her guardian was telling straight to her face that she always made the wrong decisions.

  Her lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Michael, for everything.”

  His face softened, and he stopped in front of her. His light warmed her enough to bring marginal comfort. “We’ll get through this. We will.”

  “I hope so, because I missed Laura’s birthday and, if I don’t die here, she will gut me.”

  Michael smirked, and she snorted. Soon, they were both laughing hard enough that Helena didn’t notice the door opening.

  Viola’s blonde head peered through the small gap. She scanned the dark room. “Were you talking to someone?”

  Michael’s presence retreated, and she cleared her throat. “No, I sometimes talk to myself. It’s soothing.”

  The blonde pushed the rest of the door open and slipped inside. “Well then, would you like something to eat?”

  Her stomach clenched at the thought of food. She covered it with her hands, hoping it would not voice its needs. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Viola hesitated. “Do not try to run, Helena. I do not wish to see you get hurt.”

  A shiver ran through her, demolishing the warmth Michael provided earlier. “What makes you think I’m planning to?”

  “We had a girl here not too long ago. She was a lot like you and did not want to serve our master or accept his gifts…”

  Helena swallowed hard. “Where is she?”

  “Morte, ma chérie. She no longer lives.”

  “Is that a warning or a threat?”

  A sad smile stretched Viola’s lips. “A warning, nothing more.”

  She didn’t want to dwell on the topic any longer. The information may have upset her, but her stomach begged to be fed. Her body was as confused by these circumstances as she was. And since there was no point in starving, she said, “So, where’s the food you’ve mentioned? I’m famished.”

  A tour around the house proved how isolated they were. There were no phones or phone lines for that matter. No internet either. Contacting anyone for help would be impossible. She doubted Andreaz would allow her to send a letter or two. Even if he did, he would most likely read the contents.

  Helena sipped her cup of coffee while melting into one of the cushy armchairs in the sitting room. There were a few other girls who sat by the fireplace and played a game of cards. Another group was discussing Andreaz on the sofas. None of them appeared to be unhappy with this lifestyle.

  ‘I do not understand why we do not remember or have the will to leave. All that remains is a wish to please our master.’ A shudder reverberated through her spine. They were brainwashed. Their reaction was anything but natural for Andreaz and this house. Would I become like them? She clutched her mug closer to her chest. There had to be a way out, and she had to find it, soon.

  Over the laughter and murmur of the women, she heard the front door unlocking. The conversation in the room died. The girls gathered at the entrance. Their eyes glistened with excitement.

  Helena set her cup on the nearby coffee table and joined the commotion.

  At the centre of madness stood Hannah who scanned their faces until her eyes rested on Helena. “You are to attend dinner tonight with our master. Get her ready,” Hannah ordered and locked the door behind her when she left.

  Everyone’s attention was on her, and she took a step back. They had almost manhandled her back into the living room and pushed her into a nearby chair. The girl, Anya—she guessed—rushed in with hands full of hairbrushes, make-up bottles, and colourful tubes.

  Helena gripped the armrests of her seat. “I don’t want you to pretty me up for Andreaz.”

  “Don’t worry, you will look beautiful,” Anya said with a grin.

  She raised her hands in defence. “I’m good. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Anya tsked. “You can’t go the way you are. Master wouldn’t be pleased.”

  And what if I don’t want to please Andreaz? She searched their faces. They didn’t appear to care for her thoughts. No one here did.

  Anya’s smile never faltered, and Helena grumbled under her breath. She found Viola standing near the fireplace, watching the scene with light amusement.

  Helena shot her an exasperated look to which Viola whispered something she couldn’t discern over the chatter and shook her head. Seeing that there was no way out of this situation, Helena gave in. As much as she hated it, there was little she could do against fourteen other women.

  An hour later, she was released from the clutches of Andreaz’s fan-girl horde and led to the second mansion by Hannah. They exchanged no words during their freezing stroll.

  Deprived of her comfortable clothes, which she noted were thrown away once they left her body, Helena’s shoulders deflated. Anya forced her to wear a pearlescent silk gown. The thin material kept little heat in. They even changed her hairstyle six or seven times.

  Her eye twitched. She recalled how they assaulted her with waxing strips. The skin where they had been placed stung as if her flesh had been rubbed raw.

  Ha
nnah opened the door for Helena and waved for her to step inside. Since Helena had undergone enough manhandling for the day, she obediently followed the instructions.

  Andreaz’s second home was much more decorated. A black carpet with golden trims spanned the marble-walled hallways. The paintings on the walls appeared Persian and reminded her of the art classes she took with Laura at school. At that time, they always giggled at the man’s exposed extremities. The painting on the walls displayed men and women in the middle of their most intimate hour. Heat tinted her cheeks rouge. She looked away to avoid stalling the stiff-faced servant.

  Hannah paused at a set of brilliant white doors. She pushed them open and waved for her to enter. “Master is waiting inside. You are to listen to his orders if not”—she leered at Helena—“then I will help you learn some manners.”

  Gathering her arms around her waist, she gave Hannah a shaky nod. “Here goes…”

  Her eyes bulged at the expanse of this room. It looked as if the ceiling had been knocked down to make the two floors become one. Stone columns were evenly spaced out, supporting the painted ceiling. Her appreciation of a good interior design ended when she saw him, seated at a large golden table, watching her.

  She was nothing more than a deer to a hunter. Then, it hit her. She had forgotten to take anything she could use as a weapon from the house. The fuss with the other women had taken her mind off him and the reason she was here in the first place.

  “Come. Sit,” he said in an almost pleasant voice.

  She didn’t move, couldn’t. Her whole body screamed for her to run, but where? She glanced at the door which was now closed. Hannah awaited her on the other side. There was no way out.

  “I dislike games, Helena. Come here,” he ordered and pressed his lips into an uncompromising line.

  “Damn it, move!” she begged her limbs. When they did nothing, she pinched herself, and the stinging pain pushed her fear back a bit. She stumbled on, one edgy step after another until she arrived across the table from him.

  “Good girl. Come and sit next to me.”

  Biting down on her aching lip, she took her seat. The sickening, sweet cologne that he wore made her stomach churn, but she managed to refrain from pinching her nose.