Page 12 of Taken By Touch and Torment

“Come with me, girl,” Aunt Carol said, her tone clipped.

“Yes, Aunt Carol.” I scanned her face for clues but came up empty. She was as cold and detached as usual.

She looked me up and down, a deep frown setting in before her lip curled.

She slapped me across the cheek, and I recoiled as the air left my lungs.

“You stupid girl. Why aren’t you in your evening attire?” She pointed to the clothing rack by the vanity. It was dark outside the window, only the flickering lights of Hatham in the distance.

“I—no one told me—” I stammered, trying to stay present in my body as tears sprung to my eyes from the impact.

“Don’t you dare make excuses. You exist for one single purpose. To serve Lillian by pleasing your Master.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, before she could hit me again.

She pointed again as she glared down at me, and I was quick to strip out of my clothing. Modesty no longer existed for me, apparently. And these tiny, repeated violations did excruciatingly little to preserve my sense of self, to see my body as my own. It was frightening how quickly I started to see myself through the eyes of these hungry sociopaths—a mere object, disposable, replaceable, with no mind of her own.

My evening attire was a full white lace set of lingerie, delicate and innocent. A lamb being dressed for slaughter. Overtop was a matching white gown with wide slits, barely covering anything more than the under garments.

I wasn’t allowed to wear shoes. But at least I was allowed to walk.

Out in the hall, vampires leered but didn’t touch. Again, I thought of Rosalind. She hadn’t been grabbed once. She wasn’t a slave at all. Which made sense, considering she wasn’t a child of Helia.

My head spun in circles, perhaps distracting me from the sinking fear that I was being led to my death. The world had taught me that most women saw me as a threat, competition to be eliminated. And with the way Rosalind commanded that room, I could only imagine she wouldn’t want me to get in her way. That had to be what Mairin had been hinting at, when she said she couldn’t wait for Rosalind to show up and hear about my performance on the dais. She must’ve thought Rosalind wouldn’t care for me either.

Even in the chilly evening air, I was hot and itchy as we entered Durian’s chambers down the hall from mine. I fiddled with the silk straps of my garter as my heart hammered. Every time I thought about what had happened in front of Durian’s throne, I wanted to throw up.

I did throw up as soon as I was alone this afternoon.

Stay with me, Little Flame. Come back to me.

It was cruel that Rune’s voice was the only voice my subconscious wanted to listen to. The only thing that was saving me, keeping me on my feet and not in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Oh, pet,” Durian said, rising from a grand desk, placed in front of ginormous bookcases. He set down his pen as he scanned the length of my body and waved Aunt Carol away.

The door closed behind me.

We were alone.

“I was worried white wouldn’t suit your fair complexion,” he said, moving before me in a quick flash of vampire speed. A long finger trailed across my chest. “But I knew my obedient little servant would make sure she looked perfect in whatever her Master gave her.”

I gasped when his hands tore through my gown quicker than I could track, letting it fall to the floor in a pile of ripped fabric. He drank my fear, sharply inhaling as his beady black eyes went wild.

That wasn’t the only thing he wanted to drink. And his desire to drain my blood was so strong it overwhelmed me, just as it overpowered all of his other wants.

“Lay down on the altar, child of Helia,” Durian said with a sick smile.

I followed his gaze. My stomach turned over. In the middle of the living area was a dark slab of onyx, red sigils carved over every inch of it. I could sense some kind of sinister, stifling magick from its stone.

No. This isn’t what you?—

I frantically begun to speak to his mind, to influence him as I had in the throne room, but his desire was too potent. I couldn’t wrestle it still, turn it around in my palms. This was the moment I’d fled with past marks.

But I had nowhere to run.

Durian gripped my throat hard. “Now,” he hissed. His moods were volatile, untethered. They could hardly be called emotions. I didn’t think Durian felt much of anything besides the unending desire to destroy his enemies and rule above all the rest.

He thrust me forward, his vampire strength sending me to the floor. I landed on my arm strangely, my ligaments screaming in pain at the impact.

---