by Jess Haines
Oblivious to my squirming, Max continued speaking. The two men stepped back, waiting for something, both of them looking a bit bored, as though whatever was going on was a common occurrence. Or maybe, like me, they were getting as tired as I was of his Bond villain-style monologue.
“Norman created a series of books that explored what a world might be like if the strong ruled and the weaker were enslaved. I did not find many of his methods for dealing with intractable slaves to be very practical, but he did have some fascinating ideas.”
Max glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyes reflecting the firelight like glass as he lifted a long piece of metal that had been resting in the flames. The tip glowed the color of gray ashes, and my muscles seized at the realization that he intended to use that thing on me.
“There are less painful methods but I find the old ones work best to break a slave’s will.”
Blind panic was a term I thought I was familiar with. It evolved a whole new meaning for me in that moment.
There wasn’t anything I could do to turn my head away, flinch back, cover myself—nothing. Wide-eyed, my focus went from a dull blur to razor sharp as he moved closer, praying desperately to whoever might be listening in to make this all some kind of nightmare that I could wake up from anytime now.
Once he was close enough, he held the iron rod so I could see the pattern on the end. An intricate symbol of a pigeon or something flying inside a wreath of olive leaves. If it wasn’t on the business end of a branding iron, I might have called it pretty.
“Don’t worry, my dove. This is a memory you will never be rid of.”
As badly as I wanted to escape in that moment, I couldn’t move an inch. Closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to watch what he was about to do, I whimpered around the gag, raging panic clawing at my insides.
Never in my life had I experienced pain like that before. The brand probably wasn’t pressed against me more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity of agony as the metal bit into my flesh, hissing, searing, digging deep into the skin.
Marking me forever a vampire’s property.
All the while I couldn’t move, though I tried, almost biting through the leather that had been shoved so unceremoniously in my mouth. Nothing existed but that white-hot pain, the sizzle of it against my flesh. The sickening smell of my own skin and hair burning. Nothing mattered but escaping it.
And even after the brand was pulled away, the scent of charred meat heavy on the air, I was still screaming and fighting against the bonds to get away from it. In that moment, and for some time after, nothing existed in my world but the searing heat and agony radiating from my left hip.
Once my screams tapered off into hitching sobs, Max’s cold fingers brushed against my cheek, tracing the trail of my tears.
“Be proud, pet. You bear the symbol of the coinage my people used when I was still alive. The city that I ruled. No one will doubt who you belong to when they see it.”
I moaned against the gag and did my best not to throw up.
He ran his fingers through my hair, gentle, soothing, and it destroyed something in me to realize I was leaning into his touch in some wretched bid for comfort.
“As soon as you’ve recovered,” he said, like it was nothing more than a momentary setback, as though he hadn’t just branded me like cattle, “you’ll be pleased to show it off. It means you have my protection. That you’re my favored stock.” He leaned in to press his lips to my temple in a cold kiss. “That Rhathos has no claim to you. Not anymore. Never again.”
He removed the leather strap from between my teeth while his assistants took off the other restraints. I was too shocked to do more than shake uncontrollably in his arms as he picked me up, a tiny sound of hurt and fear squeezed out of me as I tried to focus beyond the blinding pain.
He carried me back upstairs, though he didn’t immediately bring me back to the prison I was growing to know so well. Instead, he took me to yet another room I had never seen and laid me out on the bed. It was some kind of guest room, spacious and airy. A high ceiling featured snow-blanketed skylights rather than regular windows. All I could do was shiver there in misery, limp with pain and a soul-deep form of violation, surrounded by what felt like utterly incongruous luxury.
Once I was settled, he retrieved a tray of medical supplies left on a nearby dresser. Painkillers, bandages, and some kind of aloe gel for burns. Knowing he had planned for this in advance didn’t make any kind of difference other than leaving me feeling even sicker. He must have done this before to know exactly what supplies he’d need to have on hand and how to apply them once it was over. All I could do was try not to choke on the pills or pass out as he applied the gel. He made soothing noises as he did it, which didn’t help in the least, though I wondered why he was doing it himself instead of leaving the task to an underling.
Strangely solicitous, he sat down beside me, angling himself so he could stroke my hair and wipe away my tears, like some twisted parent comforting a wounded child. I didn’t want his touch to feel good, but the chill of his skin felt so soothing against my burning cheeks that I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.
He didn’t say anything, which I was glad for. If he did, I really would puke all over his nice silk sheets.
I hadn’t forgotten he was a monster. Far from it. It was just too difficult to fight when all I wanted to do was pass out from the pain. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was shooting for some sicko version of Stockholm syndrome in hopes that I would become bonded to him, or that I would take this as some kind of lesson in obedience and servitude. And while feelings of disgust roiled in the back of my mind—not only for him, but for myself and everything that led up to this moment— he was right. I wouldn’t forget what he had done anytime soon.
Nor would I forgive.
Though I was certainly afraid of what else he could do to me, tonight I would dream of nothing but revenge.
Chapter Eleven
At some point, I drifted off. It must have been the pills.
Once I regained enough of my senses to realize I was still alive and that Max might be in the room, I sat bolt upright—and nearly passed out again.
It took some time for the agony to fade enough for me to focus. Max was gone. Sunlight filtered in through the skylights but the layer of snow made it dim and weak. There was a glass of water and a couple more white pills left on the end table within easy reach.
Anticipating my needs. Fancy that.
The pills took the worst of the edge off. The hazy, blurred vision and weakness like a weight pressing on my chest, making it difficult to breathe, were a small price to pay for disconnection from the constant itch and burn radiating from the mark on my hip.
For hours, I couldn’t move my left leg or shift my butt without excruciating pain. The only thought I could console myself with was that eventually I wouldn’t even feel it anymore, and once that happened, I would do everything in my power to shove that hot piece of iron straight up Max’s ass.
Even my thoughts rang with false bravado. Truth was, I was hurting and terrified and the pain was the only thing stopping me from trying to hide myself under the bed or in a closet, somewhere it might take him longer to find me again.
Branded. Scarred for life. The concept of enslavement had almost been abstract to me until this moment. Of course I realized I was Max’s captive, but at this point there was no denying I had been bumped down in status from hostage and was now relegated to property.
Property didn’t have feelings. Property could be broken or discarded on a whim.
Sick with the realization of what the brand symbolized, I scanned the room again, hoping there might be something sharp I could use to cut short his games with me.
Free will. At least I still had that much left to me. He couldn’t control all my choices. I could choose my own way out. He couldn’t control that part of me.
Desperation for escape—by any means necessary—was impetus enough for me to fight
the pain long enough to sit up and focus through the tears.
The small container of ointments on top of the dresser wouldn’t do much for me. I doubted there was enough there to overdose on. There were no sharp objects in the room. I wasn’t confident that I could bring myself to asphyxiation, rather than just passing out, by using the sheets as a rope.
That gave me pause. I glanced up at the snow-dusted skylight. Then to the dresser.
It would be dangerous, but I could stack one of the end tables on top of the dresser and reach the window. The risk of breaking my neck didn’t sound so bad a death compared to what might happen if I stayed quiet and still, meekly waiting for Max to come back.
Getting out was only part of the problem. I needed to run. Through the snow. All I had was the silk robe—no shoes, no jacket, nothing to protect me against the elements.
It didn’t matter. It was worth risking a fall that might snap my neck or drifting off to a final sleep in a bed of snow. What did matter was getting the hell out of there before someone came back to move me out of this room to one with no escape routes at all.
I inched my way to the side of the bed, wheezing with every shock of heat and hurt that jolted up my side, my whole body gone slick with the sweat of desperate terror. Before going any farther, I grabbed a pillow and pulled off the casing, balling it up and shoving it between my teeth to keep from breaking them with the clenching and to muffle the involuntary cries of pain.
It was a good thing I’d thought to do that before actually standing up. Once I shook off the momentary blackout, I was terrified that someone might have heard me anyway. Slowly sitting up from my slumped position against the bed, I wavered on my feet, woozy with shock. Though I knew I should take my time, the thought of Max or one of his cronies checking in on me spurred me to movement.
Of course I ended up face-planting on the floor. The moment I tried to put weight on my left leg, the combination of the movement and the flare of agony that burned its way from my outer thigh all the way up to my rib cage was paralyzing. Before I could catch myself, I was down, stars in my vision and my knees and palms stinging from catching my weight. Hardly noticeable after the fire on my hip, but it still wasn’t pleasant.
If anything, getting up off the floor was even more painful than getting off the bed. Everything hurt. Even my jaw, from clenching so hard against the cloth I’d shoved in my mouth. At least it kept the breathless whimpers muffled. Even to my own ears it sounded strange, inhuman, more like an injured animal than a person. Hard to believe those sounds were coming from me.
Limping across the carpet, I approached a closed door next to the bathroom—I assumed it was a closet—to see if there might be anything useful inside. Clinging to the handle for balance, I blinked in surprise at the contents.
Corsets. Dresses. High heels. Light dusters and jackets meant for show, not snow. Looked like someone had done their shopping in bulk at Hot Topic. This room had belonged to a woman, someone with a closet full of pretty, but not very functional, things. A guest? Or a vampire, maybe, impervious to the cold weather? No, a vampire wouldn’t want a room with a skylight.
Not that the previous occupant, or why they left their wardrobe behind, mattered. Anything had to be better than what I was wearing now.
The white leather pants and matching corset with a long-sleeved shirt underneath seemed best. Harder to see against the snow. Leather would be a smidge more useful than the lacy or satiny numbers. There would still be far too much skin showing.
Whoever these belonged to before was bustier in the chest and longer in the leg than me, but I didn’t care. Even with all the strategically fashionable slashes and holes, they covered most of my vital parts, and that made them infinitely better than the robe. I grabbed a pair of boots a couple of sizes too big, with heels much higher than anything I was used to wearing.
Limping across the floor, I searched the drawers of the nearest dresser, almost crying with relief when I saw there were warm socks in one, not just more fanciful crap that wouldn’t do me any good outside. I could layer up and maybe stuff some inside the boots to make do until I could find something more practical and better-fitting.
I put on the clothes, then emptied and moved the dresser. Before putting on the heels. I might have been in a frantic state of mind, but I wasn’t going to be that stupid about my escape attempt.
Through the tears, the burning, the pain, I managed to use the adrenaline and terror to find the energy to get the furniture into place. It took a couple of tries and another blackout before I managed to pick up and balance the end table. I did need a breather once I got that far, but I didn’t wait too long.
Too much noise, too much time going by. I didn’t dare stop to rest too long because every moment ticking by brought sunset, and Max’s inevitable return, that much closer.
Slinging the boots over my shoulder, tied together by the wide lace shoestrings, and stuffing the bandages and medicines in my pockets, I tugged the sheets off the bed, wrapping them around my neck and shoulders.
Pulling myself on top of the dresser was even harder than putting on the pants. Not only did I have the leather rubbing against the brand, but the pull and strain of sore, hurting muscles and stretching the skin around the burn made everything hurt.
Once I got on top of the end table, I had to stop. Wait. Crouched, clinging to the edges, mentally grasping for equilibrium that wasn’t there. Another blackout was coming, just there, graying the edges of my vision. Not now, not yet. I had to get out first.
Closing my eyes, I prayed for it to pass. A few breaths. A few heartbeats.
There was a sound outside my door. A scrape, like shoes scuffing on the marble floor.
My vision was still blurry but I forced myself to open my eyes and get to my feet. There was a bit of wobbling, but I managed to keep from falling over. Wiping moisture off my cheeks with the back of my hand, I blinked up at the skylight. A latch. One flimsy little latch was all that now stood between me and freedom.
I turned the knob, got up on tiptoe to push the window open. Despite the weight of snow, it lifted without much effort on my part. Cold seeped in, almost instantly chilling my fingers, followed by the scent of wood smoke and frozen earth.
A breath of freedom. It was sweet, but I needed to move fast. There was a wire alarm on the side of the window I hadn’t seen. Someone, somewhere, would know something was wrong. No matter how much it hurt, I had to get going.
The pain of pulling myself up on the slick, icy ledge was different. Biting, but clean, the natural burn of straining muscles in my arms. Nothing like the searing hurt on my hip.
The ice bit right through the corset, but it took a bit longer for the cold to seep through the leather pants. I was careful to lead with my right leg once I swung my body up. A quick roll, a flash of pain as I put weight on my branded hip, a muted thump from the window closing—and I was out. On the roof, alone and free.
I might have sat there panting and shivering for a minute or twenty while the knots of terror gripping my heart and lungs eased. The air was cold, but I savored the feel of unobstructed sunlight warming my cheek, sensing the glow through my closed eyelids. The taste of freedom and air not tainted by the musk of vampire and quiet desperation was sweet, but I needed to get the hell out of there before someone discovered I was gone.
Rising to my bare feet, I stood and surveyed my surroundings. Dark, heavy clouds spoke of an incoming storm, which would both hide my tracks and make my escape harder once it hit. From my vantage point on the roof, I thought this part of the house faced what might be the backyard. On three sides it stretched for acres. I didn’t see an entrance or a back gate, but I was pretty sure I could reach and climb the rough stone wall surrounding the property. If I could get on the ground and kept on the east side of the property, I would be out in the open for a good stretch, but my chances of getting out unseen would be better.
The snow was thick, so I took it slow, easing myself toward the edge. The cold bit
into my toes like tiny needles worming under the skin, but there was no way I was going to risk slipping in heels on a patch of ice and breaking my ass or neck. Aside from the discomfort to my feet, I didn’t have much trouble shuffling down the slope of the roof, though I did have a brief bout of vertigo when I looked over the edge.
Three stories. I couldn’t jump that. Not without breaking something.
Good thing I had brought the sheet with me.
Chapter Twelve
A few minutes later, the balls of my feet and ankles stinging—not to mention the incredible pain in my hip from the crouched landing after the short fall from the end of the knotted sheet—I was on the ground.
I didn’t dare take any more time. The longer I waited, the greater the chance Max’s cronies on security detail would figure out I was gone and catch up to me.
Stumbling through the snow, I made a beeline for the wall surrounding the property. I needed speed, and the high heels would cut into that enormously, more than the limp caused by my aching hip already did. I could put on the boots once I was over the wall and safe on the other side.
“Hey! Get back here!”
No. No, no, no. I wasn’t stopping, not for one of Max’s people, not for anything.
Everything hurt, but I still ran, limping every step of the way. Snow crunching behind me made it clear I had one pursuer who was catching up quickly. I wasn’t going to stop, but I did slow down, breathing deeply, counting down the seconds as those heavy footsteps grew closer.
Just before fingers brushed my shoulder, I threw up my elbow, crying out at the shock traveling up my arm from contact. The guy crashed into my back, his momentum sending us both tumbling to the ground in a swirl of white.