Page 3 of Taken By Touch and Torment

“Yes, Master.” I knew the words came from my lips, but my voice sounded foreign to my own ears.

“If she steps out of line, I will be notified,” he barked at the witch.

“Of course, my lord.” She nodded and bowed her head. The light from the nearby fire illuminated the warm tones in her light brown skin.

Durian left, and my posture sunk an inch, more pitiful tears leaking from my eyes now that I wouldn’t be punished for them.

The witch worked in silence to remove Liza’s damage to my skull and Rune’s fang marks from my skin until the only marks of ownership I bore were Durian’s.

When she left, my heart shattered all over again. I frantically searched my body for a mark she missed—any evidence at all of Rune’s love.

As I lay on what was essentially a literal dog bed by my new fireplace, an untouched platter of fruit, bread, and meat with a cup of water sat at my feet. I stared up at the intricately painted ceiling. It was a scene of Lillian seducing human men in a dark forest, the moon big and orange in the distance.

What fitting art for a succubus slave’s locked and guarded chambers, just down the hall from her new vampire Master.

Durian hadn’t let me be fed from when I provoked the desire of his clan. As his pet, I was—at least in his presence—safe from the masses. My new reality had one silver lining.

In fact, there were three. Though the third one was not something I was yet willing to accept and understand in its totality.

The second silver lining was that although I was now a living blood bag and probable sex slave, I was apparently a high-value one. So at least I would be raped and tortured in luxury.

I laughed, the sound a strangled, hysterical noise. I fell in and out of the empty place as I curled up on my side, staring into the flames. Laying on my back was impossible, as I was unable to tolerate the excruciating sting on my ass and the backs of my legs.

In the empty place, there was nothing. No yearning. No reaching, laughing, crying, hoping, running. There was no life, and there was no death. It was the void, the utter darkness that came before all of our infinitesimal souls and their silly dreams.

This might not have sounded very comforting to the average person, but for me, it was quite the warm and fuzzy alternative. Because when I slipped out of the empty place, I was crawling down the halls as vampires talked loudly about my body, as they laughed and leaped for a taste before being halted by Durian’s guards.

I was with Trevin out back behind the bakery, where my body slid back and forth on the damp earth. The smell of burned bread wafted through the air, and rain poured from a dark gray sky. Then I was in the cemetery, my dress torn open. I was in the alley, razor sharp fangs slicing into my wrists and neck.

Into the void I went, whenever I could manage it, where nothingness was the most tender embrace.

I didn’t know what it was inside of me that allowed me to sit up and finally eat the food I was commanded to eat. I could lie and say that it was the threat of more punishment if I didn’t take care of my body, of Durian’s property, as he had put it.

But that wasn’t it.

It might’ve been that third silver lining.

The born thought I was human. But that was far from the truth. No matter how much I hated it, hated myself, I was half them.

I was not born to be Lillian’s slave. I was her daughter.

I shoved food into my mouth on autopilot and washed it down with water. Maybe it was the Dark Goddess herself who’d imbued me with this lingering will to survive, despite every fiber of my body and heart yearning to succumb and try again next life.

After the word succubus had rattled around in my mind for so long that it lost all meaning and recognition, the ache in my brutalized thighs returned in full force.

Rune’s face entered my mind, and I flinched as if someone had hit me. But in this luxurious slave’s quarters, I was all alone.

Suddenly my collar was far too tight, and Rune’s face was back, impossible to shake. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, clawing at the leather, yanking it until my skin was chafed and raw.

I sobbed as the vampire lord of Aristelle haunted me, tormented me. Not with his cruel words, those final crumbling moments—but with his praise, his gentle touch, and his achingly beautiful sentences.

When Rune entered my chambers, my haze of sleep and possible head injury had me crying out in utter relief. I scrambled off my soft, cushioned pet bed by the fading fireplace and ran toward him. I didn’t think about how he was here or anything that had happened between this moment and when we’d first met. My brain was too fuzzy, my body too heavy, the relief so palpable that it became a thick blanket of warmth over every inch of my skin.

Just before I fell into his arms, he grabbed me by the throat. His dark eyes were cold and mean, and before I could utter a sound, he threw me roughly to the floor. The cane wounds scraped against the carpet, making me cry out.

“Rune?” I asked, my eyes welling up.

He didn’t say a word. His thorny branches trembled with dark power as he stalked toward me. I should’ve run, but I couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much violence was in his eyes, how much hatred was baked into the brutally beautiful planes of his face.

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