Moonlit Surrender

by Kitty Wilder

  No voices. No shadows. No one. Could it be possible? Was it safe to assume it was abandoned? Unwatched?

  “Your bath is ready,” Doris stated suddenly from beyond the prison door, her voice icier than the flagstones beneath Lucy’s toes. Keys jingled and the door screeched open. “Well come on then. You’ll offend the master in your unseemly state. Time to clean up and get to work.”

  She sighed reluctantly, but followed the woman down the winding halls to her previous room. As they walked in silence, she made sure to note every turn and every doorway, but none seemed to lead to a staircase that would take her deeper into the foundations of the castle.

  Doris stopped outside the aged wooden door and pulled out a ring with a skeleton key on it and unlocked it. While she turned the key, Lucy noticed the hallway they were in continued somewhere in the darkness beyond the candle her guide carried.

  “What’s that way?” Lucy asked cautiously, unsure if she’d even get an answer out of the woman.

  “Nothing,” Doris snapped dismissively as she jiggled the key in the old lock with frustration. “Just some old stairs.”

  Making sure not to tip her cards, she said nothing more as she followed Doris out of the drafty hallway. Within the tight, windowless room, the hearth burned bright and cheery with a crackling fire, the tub in front of it full of steaming water. Despite her disdain for the castle, for the woman next to her, and even for the very room itself, she could not deny the sole desire to slip into the hot bath and warm herself.

  “Strip,” Doris demanded with a heavy sigh of boredom and outstretched her hand impatiently.

  Too tired to care about modesty any longer, Lucy tugged the wrinkled white dress off her shoulders and over her head and handed it to the woman before near giddily stepping into the tub. She withheld an indecent moan that wanted to slip out as she submerged herself fully in the water, holding her breath so she was covered in warmth from top to bottom. When she reemerged with a sharp inhale, Doris was standing at the door.

  “Bathe and dress yourself. I’ll return when you’re done.” She didn’t wait to answer any questions or give further detail, slipping out into the hall and rattling the key behind the door to leave Lucy locked away.

  She sighed, relieved to be out of the spiteful woman’s presence and relaxed her head back against the brass lip of the tub and closed her eyes remembering John.

  Calloused fingers, hardened by a past life, threading softly through my hair.

  Big palms sliding down my body.

  Those fingers dancing below the water. Over my tummy. My thighs. My pussy.

  Smoky whispers in my ear.

  John.

  She sighed and couldn’t resist the temptation so slid her own hand down the same path, unable to set aside the memories of the baths they had shared and the intimate way he washed her. She felt the longing in her belly change from a painful ache to a bittersweet need that warmed her womb. She glanced at the locked door and silently debated with herself.

  Her fingers had already slipped between her folds before her mind had finished arguing whether or not to indulge such a reckless whim. They slipped inside her and her eyes closed so all she saw was him standing over her, watching her from the end of his bed, then under her as she rode him in his bathtub. He watched her at the front of his classroom, then hovered over her in the dark of his living room as he roughly drove her into the cushions of his couch. He was everywhere and all over her. She could feel his forceful kisses, his fingers coaxing and guiding and teasing, his weight on her, his lithe body moving against her, inside her. She could feel his chest hair beneath her palms, taste his tongue, hear his moans, and more deliciously than anything else, she could hear him beckoning her to come for him.

  She gasped and her eyes snapped open as she felt the orgasm explode through her. With all the tension worked out of her body, she relaxed into the hot water and caught her breath, still watching the door, sure Doris would burst through it at any moment and figure out what had her so flushed. There was no doubt she’d never let Lucy live it down. She felt mortified just thinking about it, but she was certain there’d be plenty warning between the key rattling around and the piercing screech of the unoiled hinges. It was a wonder the door was even still functional considering how old it must’ve been.

  The water sloshed as she sat up and stared more intently at the door. She could feel her lungs burning and knew she needed to take a breath, but her body seized up with the sudden excitement of there being a real and actual possibility at escape. Her body vibrated with anticipation as she carefully stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in the towel Doris had left. She sucked in her suspended breath as the air hit her and sent a wave of shivers through her, but she ignored them and tiptoed across the room to the locked door. She stared intently at the hinges and saw they were held together by a rusted iron drop pin. She slid her nail in the crease where the pin rested, but didn’t have strong enough nails to slip it out. Frantically, she searched around the room for something just as thin, but stronger, that could slip the pin loose and free the door from its hinges, but to no avail.

  Maybe a knife.

  “Or letter opener,” she whispered to herself enthusiastically. “Lerexus’ desk. He must have one.” All she needed to do was bide her time until her cleaning took her to the next level of the castle, and, for now, figure out a way to get back into his good graces so he would put her back in this room.

  The lock rattled and Doris cursed from the other side.

  Lucy jumped and ran back to the fireplace to pretend she had just gotten out of the bath.

  The door squealed and the woman entered with an aggravated expression when she found Lucy still soaked to the bone. Doris huffed and tossed a clean dress at her, also white, but sheerer and Lucy wondered now if the wardrobe was deliberately chosen. She made no comment on it though. It was the very master of the castle that she’d have to ingratiate herself to if she was to get out of the dungeon. All the better if he preferred her in see-through attire. “How long do you think it’ll take to finish the first floor?”

  Doris looked at her suspiciously. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

  “Well,” she said, “how many floors are there? I want to know exactly how long this ridiculous project it going to take. Weeks? Months? Years?”

  “Have somewhere you need to be,” she cackled sarcastically, then with a roll of her eyes commented, “It really doesn’t matter. It’s just busywork anyway.”

  “What does that mean? He doesn’t really want this dump dusted?”

  She laughed condescendingly. “No, child. It was never about the cleaning. He just likes forcing people to their knees. It’s a game, just a way to watch you struggle. I thought you’d have guessed that by now since you played them with John.”

  She grimaced and squeezed the last droplets of water from her hair and began to unknot it with the cheap comb provided.

  Drag his name through the mud all you like, bitch, but I know you don’t know a damn thing about what he and I have.

  Lucy placed the comb on the end table.

  Doris moved for the door without another word and waited for Lucy to follow her back up to the main floor where she was expected to spend the better part of the night scrubbing away at the decades of ignored dust and grime of the fortress for no other reason than to feel her captor flex his control over her while in his house.

  Lucy swallowed hard, her pride pricked and feeling skeptical of her own ability to remain calm in that monster’s presence. It was obvious she would have to go to great depths of humiliation to get back into his good graces.

  Chapter 21

  Lucy wiped her sweaty brow as she leaned back against an antique end table in one of the many sitting rooms, the last room to be cleaned before she’d start on the second floor and hopefully smuggle out what she needed to get out of this place and save John from whatever fate awaited him here.

  “How was your night in the dungeons?” her captor�
�s silky voice startled her from the doorway.

  She suppressed a cringe and steeled herself against his antagonizing. “Cold,” she answered plainly.

  I have to do this just right. If I seem too eager, he’ll know something is up.

  “I imagine so.”

  “A blanket would’ve helped. Or a sweater,” she added curtly as she watched him begin to pace the perimeter of the room with his pink eyes sizing her up.

  “Well that would’ve defeated the purpose.” His gaze flicked down to the shadow of her nipples, stiffened from the castle’s nightly chill, pressing against the thin fabric of the dress she was positive now he had picked for her.

  She felt naked in front of his obvious leering, aware that nearly every detail of her body was plainly visible through the gossamer material. It turned her stomach sour as she wondered whether it was a poorly veiled attempt to view what he had no right to or if it was another sick game like the cleaning. Maybe all he wanted was for her to squirm in his presence. If it was the latter, she hated that it was working.

  “Do you have an apology for me?” he asked as he continued to circle her.

  Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. F-

  “I-I’m sorry for wounding your delicate feelings.” She suppressed the smirk tugging at her lips, but regretted the poor move.

  His hand was on her throat in a flash and she found herself lifted off her feet and gasping for air just as she had in the foyer the night before. Somehow, it seemed less frightening this time, maybe because she knew he had no plans of killing her, or maybe because it had lost its shock value. She was in discomfort, but it was just a moment and would pass.

  His eyes caught the light from the candles in the room and glowed violet beneath a pale, furrowed brow. “If you find my hospitality wanting now, you’ll be shocked to find there are yet luxuries I can quickly strip away. Push me, girl. I enjoy bringing a bitch to heel.”

  Lucy felt her head growing lighter and began to see spots. Unable to speak, she chose to let go of his outstretched arm. It was a meager thing, but still a show of surrender she was betting he’d be greedy enough to accept.

  His brow lifted in surprise and he nodded triumphantly as he set her back down on her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” she said more earnestly, unable to make eye contact as she struggled through the words.

  “I am glad you are finally beginning to see reason. At last realizing the hopelessness of the position you are in?” he grinned wickedly.

  She refused to answer.

  He seemed willing, for the moment at least, to take this small victory and not push her further. He backed away and began to move for the doorway. “You’ve done fine work bringing some semblance of dignity back to the rooms on this floor. Gather your supplies and I will take you upstairs.” He then exited into the hall to wait for her.

  Lucy gathered the rags and cleaning agents in her bucket. As she moved to blow out the nearest candle, she heard Doris’ hushed voice from outside the room.

  “Master, the others are beginning to talk.”

  “Of what?”

  “This fascination, your favoritism for the girl. It’s unbecoming. Disgusting. She is still mortal. It’s indecent.”

  He let out a humorless chuckle. “You did not think it so repulsive when I turned my favoritism upon you.”

  “Proper decorum was followed,” she defended quietly.

  “In the old days, the virgin sacrifices were celebrated in their nakedness before they were brought to slaughter.”

  “She is no virgin, though, Master. She is more cunning than you give her credit for.”

  “Are you suggesting I am foolish enough to be under this chit’s influence? Are you accusing me of frivolity?” His soft voice began to harden in outrage.

  “Never, my Lord. Forgive me. I worry only for your reputation with the others,” she defended in a growing panic. “Please, forgive me for overstepping.”

  “Overstepping indeed, Doris. Leave us. I will escort her the rest of the night.”

  “Whatever my master commands,” she replied obediently.

  Lucy heard the clicking of Doris’ heels on the stones fade away down the labyrinth of halls, leaving her with nothing but one lone candle prolonging the inevitable exit to her ancient vampire captor waiting expectantly in the hall. With a deep breath to still her nerves and swallow the blind hatred she had for this creature, she puffed out the little flame, then stepped into the dim hall glowing with sparsely lit torches and Lerexus waiting patiently for her in his halo of white hair and stark, ghostly robes like he had worn the night of her kidnapping.

  He uttered nothing, wordlessly making his way to the foyer and the grand staircase, expecting her to obediently follow.

  She remained a handful of paces behind his flowing hem, eyeing the deep shadows for his hidden minions. Now and then she saw a glare of eyes or a flash of white skin, signifying they were indeed being observed. Whether it was for security or curiosity from the growing skepticism of his ranks, as Doris had hinted at, she couldn’t say. All she knew was everywhere they turned, there were hidden eyes.

  Lerexus escorted her to the second level and surprisingly to his study first, unlocking the door and entering with a flick of his fingers for her to follow. He sat down behind his heavy mahogany desk after lighting three candelabra across the room and leaned back in his chair. “Clean,” he instructed.

  You have to say it. You’ve got to. The little things will add up.

  “Yes, Master,” she muttered softly.

  Don’t think about it. It’s just words.

  His eyes lit up like stars. “Such a change of heart. It must have been terribly cold down there.”

  She kept her eyes down and bit back any hateful words that might fly out, instead focusing on dusting his bookshelves. Most of the titles were in Latin and bound in old leather, older than any volumes she had ever seen. She wondered what their contents were, perhaps long-lost pieces historians still searched in vain for.

  “Johnathan is not the only vampire in the world who enjoys reading,” he informed as he watched her closely. “A thorough and regularly updated education is paramount to an immortal’s survival in an ever-changing world.”

  “These look very old,” she replied without thinking.

  “Indeed they are. Where you come from often shows you where you’re headed. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

  The quote sounded familiar, but Lucy couldn’t place it to an author, only that she had heard it in one of John’s classes. “How philosophical of you.”

  He did not respond, but his otherworldly gaze did not leave her.

  Lucy eyed his desk as she turned to wipe down the other bookcase. His desktop was clear of everything but a stack of what looked like parchment, a quill and inkwell, and only a few other amenities, but no letter openers among them.

  “You’ll need to scrub the floors as well,” he added after a moment. “Do them last.”

  “Yes, Master.” She felt like a part of her died every time she uttered the words.

  Lucy made her way all through the room, dusting, wiping, organizing, and even washing the stained glass windows behind the heavy drapes, until she came at last to his desk, though still unsure how she was going to get into it or convince him to move her back to the windowless room in the undercroft.

  Lerexus did not move from his chair, remaining rigidly fixed in it, forcing her to reach over him.

  She heard a soft inhale from him as she leaned her hip against his armrest and stretched past his lap to clear away the dust. He didn’t move or say one word, didn’t so much as touch her. He simply watched.

  “Sorry to get my disgusting mortal-ness all over you,” she commented softly, though still sharp with sarcasm. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable in the hall. I’d hate to get those fancy robes dirty.”

  “Am I crowding you?” he asked, his smirk only evident in his tone. His plump pale lips remained in their ever-present ne
utral grimace. He pushed away from the desk a couple inches and motioned for her to move forward.

  She hid her disdain behind the curtain of her long hair as she stepped in front of him, standing between his knees as she organized a stack of open letters, also written in what appeared to be Latin.

  “You would make a marvelous vampire, you know,” he stated behind her.

  Her brow furrowed. “Oh?”

  “You are a belligerent little thing when you wish to be, but I can see that stems from a certain strength in you.” The tip of one of his fingers grazed the outer side of her upper thigh, lifting the hem of the dress with it. “I see what drew Johnathan to you. He must have greatly enjoyed breaking you. It is a sweeter taste to tame the wild beauty.”

  “Doris says I’m weak.” She turned around to face him, leaning back against the edge of his desk, her knees pressing into his inner thighs.

  He scoffed as his eyes trailed up her body to meet her gaze. “As if she knows anything of strength. She is a follower, a pleaser, through and through.”

  “I’d have thought you’d like that in your vampiresses.”

  “There is no will in her to conquer. There is no struggle and so no sweet release at triumphing it. I do enjoy a good struggle.”

  Lucy tamed the bile rising in her throat and steadied the tremors in her arms with a firmer grip on the lip of the desk. This man was vile and capable of far more horrible things than she had imagined.

  “I’m sorry to rob you of your fun then,” she said softly, hoping her compliance would cool him.

  “Wipe the underside as well,” he instructed. “Beneath the desk.”

  She could feel fear beginning to seep into her chest and the realization that evil was in the room with her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was foolish to ever turn her back on him again, but she hoped steering into the skid and giving him the blind obedience he demanded would bore him and break him of whatever sick infatuation he had with her. With a lump in her throat, she knelt down on her knees at his feet so she could crawl under and wipe away any dust that had collected beneath his desk. She felt her ass raised in the air and could only imagine just how exposed she was, everything viewable beneath the sheer fabric of the dress that rode up the backs of her thighs each time she reached forward.