Moonlit Surrender

by Kitty Wilder

  Surprisingly, he did not touch her again, and she wondered if the only thing keeping him contained was the fact she was human and considered less-than to him. Did his prejudice run deeper than his corruption to take and conquer?

  She rose back up onto her feet, unsure if she felt more exposed fully facing him than she had on her knees.

  His lips parted, about to speak, but he was interrupted by a soft knocking at the door. He took a deep breath as if to center himself and then stood up to cross the room. “Wash the floors and you may return to your room and eat tonight.”

  He opened the door to the guard Lucy had seen at the front door the night before. “We found him. He’s on the trail.”

  “Wonderful,” Lerexus grinned and clasped his hands together. He peered over at Lucy who was pretending not to hear and instead focusing on preparing her supplies. He crossed the room and snatched her bucket from her hand. “I’ll get you some water.” Quickly, he exited the room with the guard, shoving the bucket into his hands, instructing him to finish his report while they fetched some water for the girl.

  The door swung closed behind him but did not latch.

  She stared at the crack in it, her heart racing.

  She hurried to the other side of the desk and began quickly searching the drawers. Each drawer she found was locked until, with sweaty hands, she grabbed at the slender one just beneath the surface and found it open. In a rushed panic she swiped through it, but only found some loose paperclips, a rubberband, and a few coins of different denominations and possibly even eras, loose in it.

  She cursed under her breath and felt like she might cry from the frustration humming through her. How was she supposed to get out and down to the boat now? Her eyes flicked up in terror as she heard the handle of the door rattle, just enough as if someone had grabbed it from the other side. Her nervous hands stole a paperclip and smashed her fingers in the drawer as she closed it too quickly.

  Lerexus reentered the room just as she swept her hair back from her shoulders and surreptitiously tucked the clip away in the back of it.

  He dropped the bucket to the floor, letting a few suds splash out onto the stone floor, and waited expectantly.

  A paperclip? What are you, a fucking spy? You’re going to pull off the greatest escape ever with a single paperclip? Idiot.

  She scolded herself and felt defeated as she knelt down to the water and stared dejectedly at the brush floating in it.

  “I am not without mercy,” he said suddenly. “Good behavior is to be rewarded. Finish your chores here and I’ll see to it you sleep next to a fire tonight.”

  Lost in her own despair, the words slipped out without thinking, “Thank you, Master.” She felt sickened by the subconscious slip.

  Lerexus moved back to his chair and resumed his relaxed position, his pink eyes following her every move.

  As she began to spread the water across the stones, she felt the hem of her dress dipping into it and stopped to raise it high up her thighs and then bunch it up to the side in a secured knot so she wasn’t tripping over it the whole time. The sight was not lost on her warden who leered lasciviously from his perch.

  On all fours, she scrubbed the stones and the cracks where who knew how many ages of dirt was caked in as she tried to hatch a scheme with her one little paperclip. As she worked her way farther from where her captor sat overseeing her, her mind began to clear.

  The shitty lock on the door Doris can never get open. Maybe it could be picked?

  Unsure of how to go about it or if it was even possible, she decided lockpicking was her new course of action. She would pick the lock after daybreak, then sneak her way down into the foundations of the castle until she found the abandoned pier with the lonely rowboat, and float her way to safety. Maybe she could find her way to a nearby town and find a way to contact John. She had to stop him from willingly stepping into Lerexus’ trap, but even if he did show up, if she wasn’t there maybe that meant the evil vampire wouldn’t have any leverage over him, maybe without Lucy in the way John could kick his ass and be done with him once and for all.

  Lucy bent low, exaggerating the movement so her knotted hem rode up to the bottom of her ass cheeks, then turned to Lerexus. “So no more dungeon?” she asked as innocently as possible.

  His hand settled on his desk and his long nails tapped the wood in a slow rhythm. He seemed deep in thought, but answered, “No more dungeon.” His eyes settled on her and with a more menacing tone that sent shivers down Lucy’s spine, added, “So long as you behave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she answered so earnestly, for a second she almost believed her newfound devotion.

  “In the old days,” he began low, as if to himself, though his eyes still wandered over Lucy, “lone villages, tribes – small devout places not yet tethered by the noise and distraction of civilization and industry – would ritualistically offer up a virgin to my brood in exchange for their safety. And how grateful those boys and girls were to serve a higher purpose. To serve a vampire lord was once a great honor, a coveted calling.”

  “Safety from what?” she asked softly, ignoring his veiled attempt to shame her.

  “From frenzied, unchecked feeding. A strong brood could control entire lands then, the wild ones at least. Mine was practically an empire.”

  “Why virgins? Isn’t all blood the same?”

  “Oh no, girl. No. Everyone has their own unique flavor. Though it all starts with the same base, like a broth, an individual seeps in more flavor from the places they go, the things they consume, the experiences they gather along the way. Virgins are sweeter, if a little more bland. It’s the innocence yet in them. Johnathan had quite the sweet tooth in his early days.”

  She rolled her eyes at the obvious endeavor to form a wedge. He and Doris had done hardly anything else since she had gotten there. Just as Doris knew nothing of it, she was sure Lerexus didn’t either.

  Lerexus chuckled low. “I know. He puts on quite a show these days, as if he is so far above such baser pleasures.” He clenched his fist in a mocking display of power. “All about control and living by a code now. He used to be so much more fun.”

  “I think he’s plenty fun now.” She glared.

  His plump lips stretched slowly upwards into a malevolent grin. “Yes, I imagine you do. Still so much yet unseen, so much untasted. He must be a veritable theme park to you with all that experience.”

  “I was hardly a virgin,” she snapped defensively. “I’m not so naive.”

  “Ah, but you forget I too have tasted you. True, you are no virgin, but still you overflow with sweetness, like a plump peach at the height of ripeness. You can tell the world and even yourself whatever lies you wish, but the truth is all written down in your flavor. Your life is in your blood.” He seemed pleased with himself as he leaned back. “As for my dear old friend, some habits die hard, as they say.”

  She bit her tongue, refusing to egg him on further. This was all a trap, just lies to sow distrust. She scrubbed the floor more aggressively as she pushed the brush forward and back with her full weight.

  “The black hair is not surprising either. He’s always had an affinity for dark haired ones, like she was...” he trailed off, waiting for her to take the bait and ask him to continue.

  She did not turn back to look at him, but threw the brush down in frustration with herself, unable to deny her own curiosity at his past. “I already know he was married, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

  “His daughter.”

  She looked back at him confused.

  “Didn’t he tell you all about it? Here I thought you two were the perfect couple. Didn’t come up in pillow talk?” He grinned.

  “I didn’t want to pry.” She crossed her arms and sat back on her heels.

  “Ingaret. What did he tell you about her?”

  She answered cautiously, “He told me she died young from illness, his wife too.”

  “And the night he was turned?”

 
“He was grieving the recent loss of his wife and was attacked.”

  Lerexus laughed. “A fine tale.”

  “You’re saying he lied?”

  “It was his daughter he grieved. His wife was a terrible nag, prudish and cold of heart. I believe theirs was an arranged marriage. That girl was the only evidence they were ever intimate, and probably only the one time. Ingaret was his pride and joy, his jewel, his princess. It’s true she died from the plague, but it was his wife who was first to go. Ingaret was no child when the grave took her but had just become a woman. I believe she was in love too. It was all very tragic. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from collecting dark haired little waifs since.”

  “Is this supposed to make me hate him?” she quirked an eyebrow.

  “No, child. It is meant to show you the grander picture, that his brokenness is pathological and you are nothing but a means for self-medication. You are not one of a kind, special, unique – or whatever he told you. He did not hand pick you out of the billions of people in the world for being something remarkable. He is self-soothing. You are just one of many pets who have come before and one day you will prove to be unworthy of his devotion, as the others did, because no one will ever measure up to Ingaret and the pedestal he has placed her on. There is an expiration date on this bliss, a sourness that will settle into your blood and remove that sweet flavor from your veins. You are living in someone else’s shadow.”

  A heaviness settled on her chest. She didn’t want what he was saying to be true, but she couldn’t find the holes in it, couldn’t find the lie. Was he telling her the truth? “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice wavering as she fought back the tears welling in her eyes.

  He leaned in, his palms resting on his desk and his eyes piercing through her with a perception that left her feeling violated. “Because I do not see a shadow. I see potential.”

  “Potential?”

  “I think you could be great, Lucy, truly exceptional if you would let me help you. Let go of this lie you’ve been living and follow me into divinity. I would make you a goddess, fearsome and breathtaking, a powerful warrior and coveted lover. John made you his princess, but I would make you a queen.”

  A tear slipped out and dropped from her cheek, leaving an icy trail behind it.

  He rose from his chair and stepped around his desk, approaching until he halted just in front of her. In an odd display of sympathy and something akin to warmth, he outstretched his hand to her.

  She did not take it. “So that’s it? John’s been living in the past, using girls to soothe himself and after all this – the humiliation, the degradation – you’re letting me off the hook, just like that? I’m suddenly exempt from this elaborate plot for revenge you’ve dragged me through?”

  “I’m sorry, truly, that you were ever dragged into this nasty business between him and me, but that was not by my doing, child. He chose to involve you in our affairs. I offer a way out.”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of it. You’re the liar.” Her voice rose, both in octave and volume, as outrage and frustration took her.

  “This man you hold so loyal to has betrayed your trust at every turn. This incessant need to fill the hole his daughter’s death left in him, and the absurd story he spun about being attacked by a vampire. One does not accidentally become a creature of the night, sweet blood. He sought me out. He begged me for it, because he was convinced we held some sort of necromantic secrets that could bring her back to life. I have no doubt he regrets it now, but that does not excuse the lying, the using, the betrayal of his brood, or the abandonment of his sire. I gave him immortality. I gave him my wisdom, my trust, a new family. This willfulness in him, this defiance, must be broken. He must be brought back into the fold, through pain and surrender. I wish only to bring an end to his blind destruction.”

  “So you’re not going to kill him?” she asked slowly, swiping another tear away as she looked up at him, still resting on her knees.

  “No. He is yet one of my children. I seek only to bring him home, but a wayward child must be disciplined and shown the error of his ways. With you here, he is sure to return.”

  Lucy felt herself shaking, telling herself it was just from the damp and the cold, but she could feel her mental resolve crumbling. Doris had not done him justice. Lerexus’ words seemed laced with magic, even his outstretched hand held an almost irrefusable invitation. She stared at his hand hanging in the air in front of her face, open, not reaching, but ready to accept. She found herself unable to take it, but also unable to refuse, caught in a maddening limbo on her knees in the icy puddle of suds she had been spreading across the flagstones.

  She was shocked to watch him kneel down in front of her, soaking the hem of his stark white robes as he stooped down. “You have a lot to process. There is no pressure to answer this very night, child. You need rest.” He grabbed her by her bare shoulders and lifted her up with him. “Come. You’ll sleep on it.”

  Lucy felt as though she was in a fog, her grip on reality slowly slipping. She found herself unsure what to believe anymore. Maybe Lerexus’ offer was something to consider. Maybe John was a liar and a user after all. Maybe something better waited for her in the night, a crown worth sacrificing her previous life and her very soul for. Maybe what she had only seen as a prison was actually opportunity. Lerexus was offering her something, perhaps he did deserve a modicum of respect.

  In a haze, she let him escort her down the many flights of stairs back to the windowless room to fall asleep next to the warmth of a modest fire and a blanket to wrap herself in. To her surprise, he stayed with her, sitting in the crudely built wooden chair and drumming his fingers against the small table next to it, thoughtfully, as he watched her fall asleep.

  Chapter 22

  Lucy startled herself awake from terrible dreams of blood and violence and a never-ending screaming that split her skull even once it had ceased and she was staring into the black of her tiny room in the bowels of Castle Sheol. Her eyes squinted, trying to make out any shapes in the dark, but she couldn’t see worth a damn. She looked over to where she was pretty sure the hearth should be to find it totally devoid of light and warmth, not a single ember still glowing. Its fire had died out some time ago, but not long enough for the ever-present chill of the fortress to retake the room. She hoped that meant she hadn’t slept through the day yet and somewhere outside the unforgiving stone walls the sun was still glittering off of the lake.

  She rubbed her eyes, finding them sore and puffy from tears that had streaked her cheeks in her sleep, and swung her feet over the edge of the cot to touch the rough stone floor. Her hand reached into her knot of wavy hair and found the paperclip she had stolen still tucked away. Carefully she pulled it free and turned it over in her fingers a few times.

  You’re going crazy in this fucking place. Get out. While you still want to. To hell with both of them, just get out to survive.

  Blindly, she made her way to the front of the room, clumsily feeling her way along the rock walls until her palms touched the smooth wood of the door. She straightened out the paperclip, bending a ninety-degree angle into it, then knelt down and felt her way to the lock. She had never picked anything before and found the process a lot harder than any books or shows made it out to be. She was not sure how long she knelt there trying to feel the right spot to spring the inner mechanism free, but by the time she felt the lock give with a loud click, her forehead was covered in a thick dew of nervous sweat.

  Lucy touched the handle and was shocked to be able to push it open without resistance.

  It couldn’t be real. Was she actually going to be free of this foul place? Anticipation sent an anxious vibration through her as she stepped into the drafty, pitch black hallway. With no candle or torch to illuminate her way, she followed the roughly hewn rock of the walls in the direction of the abandoned staircase Doris had mentioned.

  Soon the walls began to curve until she about stepped off a sud
den ledge, finding the first step of the stairs. She hugged the wall tightly, unsure of the width or safety of the winding staircase as they led her deeper and deeper in a long spiral. There was a dampness in the air which gave her hope of soon finding the lake below, but the further she descended, the darker it seemed to grow.

  The stairs ended, but there was no opening into fresh air or the comforting light of the sun to show her the way to the pier, only more darkness.

  She stumbled over something and cut her palm along the jagged wall as she went tumbling down to the dirt floor and heard a hollow rattling of whatever had caused her to stumble.

  She felt around in the dark to try to pull herself up and felt something smooth and hard, too light to be a rock. As she held it up and felt around the strange orb, she found two holes side by side, then two smaller ones, then a bumpy ridge with a second row on a loose hinge.

  Lucy let out a blood curdling shriek of terror as she realized she held a human skull in her hands. She scrambled away on her back, rattling through the pile of bones she had fallen into, imagining the rest of the poor soul’s skeleton. With her heart racing, she huddled up against the wall, positive now that this was not the staircase that led out to the pier. She had to find her way back and regroup.

  In her panic she had gotten impossibly turned around. The only thing worse was not being able to see even her own hand in front of her face. She was lost in the impenetrable black of whatever pit she had fallen into, unable to retrace her way back to the stairs. Fear was beginning to take over her rational mind, panic settling in and clouding her ability to stay calm and form a plan. All she could focus on was her blindness and the bones surrounding her.