Ashes to New

by Ellie Masters

  She needed to focus on the here and now. Slow her breathing. Calm her heart. Tackle the nerves fluttering in her belly and channel that energy into something useful. Control what she could and worry about the rest later.

  To her left, Forest’s deep breathing pulsed into the air separating them.

  When she dared to stretch her hand to soothe him, he jerked away. His aversion to her touch had only intensified over the intervening weeks.

  She’d barely seen him this past month. During the day, he would disappear inside his computer room, and at night, he’d close the door to his bedroom. He’d said he was working on his project, but she understood.

  Forced into intimate contact nearly every night, Forest was avoiding her.

  Clark Preston would pose them, filming his nonstop narrative direction. She and Forest never spoke as they moved like the puppets they had become.

  Focus!

  Master John would be here soon.

  A chill ripped through her body, and she fisted her fingers tight until her nails cut into her palms. Her mind was a raw and ravaged mess, and she was failing to package the important bits and squirrel them away. She needed to find her center if she was going to survive the night.

  A rustle of paper trickled out from the library. Clark Preston had finished working on his latest case. His leather chair creaked as he rose, and then his steps filled the silence, echoing against the walls and bouncing off the ceiling to lodge deep in her chest. He came to a stop before them, the weight of his power settling heavily on her shoulders.

  “Not long now. Master John has a treat for you, boy.”

  Elsbeth’s insides twisted. With her head pressed to the backs of her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

  Whatever Master John had planned for Forest never materialized. Master John had apologized, saying it would be another couple of weeks.

  Elsbeth sought answers and found none, her mind fearful and full of too many what-ifs.

  With the arrival of Master John, daily activities commenced downstairs. Forest endured brutal beatings while she drowned in forced pleasure. Her mind learned to respond to delivered commands, and her body bent to Master John’s will. Days ran into one another, blurring lines and erasing boundaries. Forest grew even colder and detached, rarely speaking in the few spare moments they found themselves unmolested.

  During the endless summer, he’d spend hours in the basement, alone with Master John. When released, Forest would retreat to his rooms. She’d knock on the door, wait, but her pleas would remain unanswered. They suffered, apart from each other. He’d barely look at her and never in her eyes. They wouldn’t touch outside the basement, his body conditioned to respond in a way he couldn’t process.

  They endured together. Separated, they were falling apart.

  She picked up the pieces as best as she could.

  The days churned by.

  Elsbeth feared for the future, but never gave up trying to reach Forest.

  She knocked on Forest’s door. “Come on! Let me in.”

  While they had locks on the doors, they weren’t permitted to use them. So, when she twisted the knob and found her entry barred, Elsbeth gaped. This was not good. If Clark Preston found Forest locking his door…well, that couldn’t happen.

  She rapped on the wood and lowered her voice, frantic now more than ever to reach him. “Forest?”

  No response.

  “Forest!”

  A chair scraped over the tile floor, but no other sound reached her ears.

  “Is something wrong, my pet?” The liquid tone of Master John’s voice poured into her soul and shut it down.

  Where had he come from?

  With her hand on the doorknob, she froze.

  He invaded her personal space and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. With the soft press of his lips against the angle of her jaw, he brushed her arm. “What’s the matter? Why do you run to him when you have me to turn to?”

  Because Forest was safe.

  A trail of kisses traveled down the curve of her neck, Master John lapping and nibbling at her collarbone.

  Gripping her wrist, he pulled her hand off the doorknob and pressed it to the hardness of his shaft. “I find myself in need, my pet. What should we do?”

  “Forgive me, Master John.”

  Everything with him was, Forgive me, Excuse me, I’m sorry.

  She hated him with a burning passion. Lowering to her knees, she prepared to offer her mouth.

  He held her in place. “No, my pet, not like that.”

  “To the basement?”

  She’d spent the morning with him—being trained, as he called it. The bulk of the day, she’d been free to roam, which meant she’d shut the door to her rooms and read one of her books. In those few hours, she’d lived a different life and dreamed of another future.

  He shook his head and drew her away from the closed door. “No, my pet. I have something special in mind.”

  The room spun. His surprises never boded well for her.

  “Ye-yes, sir.”

  With a hardening of his tone, he made her blood chill. “Never sir. I’m your master.”

  The words landed on her sluggish mind without the impact he seemed to want. Her silence had him pulling her through the house, down the long hall, and into the foyer. When he approached the steps leading upstairs, she dug in her heels. Five years in this house, and she’d never ventured up there.

  “Please, Master John, can we not go to the basement?”

  “I’m offering my bed to you, and you want to go there? Do you know the privilege in sharing my bed?”

  Oh, dear God, no.

  For whatever reason, Clark Preston had left the sanctity of their rooms inviolate. No matter what happened during the day or in the evenings when he came home, she always had the security of her bed, and now, Master John wanted her, up there, and in his bed.

  A strangled cry erupted from her throat, and she did the unthinkable. She refused.

  Elsbeth tugged out of his grip, staggering, while the room spun, and a buzzing filled her head.

  Master John slapped her cheek, his shout nothing but unfiltered noise.

  She wouldn’t go. Not up there. Never there.

  Movement blurred in the periphery of her vision. Forest advancing at a run. She fell, crying out as she landed on unforgiving marble.

  Fury boiled in Forest’s expression. He swung at Master John, his fist moving too slowly. Gangly. Awkward. Forest missed. Master John grabbed Forest’s wrist, using momentum to pull him forward and down. Forest landed in a heap, his head cracking on the marble, and his body going still.

  “No!” She scrambled to Forest, hugging his limp form, as tears poured down her cheeks.

  “What the hell is all the racket about?” Clark Preston’s stern voice silenced her cries.

  Master John yanked her off Forest. “Don’t you ever disobey again.” He turned to Clark Preston. “That one is a liability. Put him down.”

  He lifted her off her feet. Kicking and screaming, she was carried downstairs.

  “You’ll discover what happens when you displease your master.”

  Rage filled her, burning from the inside out, and she erupted with seething anger. “You’re not my master. You’ll never be my master.”

  He held her chin in the hardness of his embrace. His searing gaze stole her breath. “Since the day you stepped foot in this house, I have been your master. I will always be. And I’ll do whatever I want with you.”

  Chapter Nine

  FOR MOST PEOPLE, basements were dark places where order grew into disorganized chaos with the storing and sorting of unwanted things.

  Clark Preston’s basement was something else entirely. Finished. Soundproofed. Wired to provide whatever sound or lighting effect he desired. From the harsh light of fluorescents to the amber glow of candlelight, he could match lighting, sound, and mood, and Elsbeth could prepare her mind for what would follow.

  Padded flooring
covered the cement floor, the one concession he allowed his foster children, who spent too many hours on their knees. Rows of hangers and hooks lined the walls, and these were loaded with implements meant to inflict nothing but pain.

  A bed. A cage. And several benches.

  But the centerpiece had to be the Saint Andrew’s Cross, which dominated the room.

  Master John did not take her to the cross, and she had a suspicion as to why. Instead, he led her toward the back of the room where he trussed her arms over her head against the wall.

  Ragged and gasping, she couldn’t collect enough air. Blackness edged her vision, tunneling her sight. Pins and needles poked at her fingertips and buzzed at the edges of her lips.

  “You are and always will be mine.” The heat of Master John’s breath warmed her neck and sent shivers rippling down her spine. “You have been from the moment you arrived. Trained for me, kept for me, until you were ready to leave with me. You don’t understand, but you will.”

  Her whimper was met with a hard yank of her hair, snapping her head back. He cracked her ass with his palm, raising her up to her toes with a shriek pulled from her lungs.

  “You will obey. You will please. You’ll do everything I command.” He punctuated each word with a strike of his hand, leaving her breathless and in agony.

  Tears poured down her cheeks, and her nose ran.

  “We leave in a week, my love,” he said with a rumbling low chuckle.

  She stilled.

  Leave? Her senior year would begin in less than two weeks.

  “Now, that got your attention.”

  His hand rubbed where he’d struck her ass, and she hissed against the intimate touch.

  Permission to talk had not been granted, but she didn’t care. “What do you mean, leave?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I have school, and my caseworker—”

  “Has already signed off. Funny what people will do for money. It’s been arranged.”

  “I won’t.”

  She couldn’t leave Forest.

  “It’s not a choice.”

  Without Forest, Master John had no leverage.

  “I’ll run away. You can’t keep me.”

  He laughed. “Oh, my pretty pet, you don’t want to do that.”

  The basement door creaked, opening slowly.

  “Give me a hand,” Clark Preston called out. “The little shit’s heavy as fuck.”

  With a gasp, she twisted away from the wall, but Master John pressed her shoulder, holding her in place. “Face the wall, or I’ll hood you. I’m a patient master, but don’t test me. The more you obey, the easier things will be.”

  She whimpered, “Please don’t hurt him.” Racking deep sobs chopped at her words, making them incoherent.

  Desire to turn and see what the men were doing to Forest overwhelmed her, but fear kept her nose pressed to the hard concrete.

  “Don’t move, my sweet. I need to help Clark.”

  He left her trembling against the wall, her arms stretched overhead, bound and secured. She leaned her forehead against the wall and slowed her breathing, struggling to listen.

  They’d been in similar situations before. They’d get out of this one, too.

  “Thanks,” Clark Preston said. “Fucker is getting bigger every year.”

  “He’s skinny,” Master John said.

  “Won’t be for long.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’ve seen kids like him before,” Clark Preston said with a grunt. “Give him a few years to pack on muscle, and your buddies will be making hand over fist, fighting him.”

  Fighting? Her mind conjured images of illegal fighting rings. She’d read about them in books. But those men volunteered, didn’t they?

  And that line of thought took her down dark and deadly paths. If she could be sold to Master John, Forest could meet with a similar fate.

  But why fighting? Didn’t they know his gentle nature?

  “I give him less than a year.” Master John’s offhand comment had her whipping her head around.

  Forest hung limply. His arms and legs dangled. The two men carried him to the Saint Andrew’s Cross, and while Clark Preston secured the belt around Forest’s waist, Master John caught her staring. His head shook, disappointment weighing heavily in his gaze. He said nothing, shifting his hold on Forest, while Clark Preston bound Forest’s arms and legs to the cross.

  “I think my little bird doesn’t understand.”

  Clark Preston huffed with the effort of strapping Forest to the beams of the cross. “Huh?”

  Transfixed within the intent of Master John’s soulless eyes, Elsbeth couldn’t turn away. She should. If she cared about her safety or even that of Forest’s, she would resume the position he’d put her in, but she couldn’t. She met and measured her master’s determination, and she shattered.

  With Forest trussed up where he wouldn’t fall, Master John released him. He sauntered over, each step slow, measured, and ferocious. His eyes cast left, searching, and then he diverted left. From the top of a bench, he picked up a black piece of fabric. A hood.

  “A lesson, little girl.” His voice dripped with danger. “Never test my resolve to do exactly as I’ve promised.”

  With a gulp, Elsbeth tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Her eyes widened as he lifted the hood.

  As she shook her head, her entire body trembled. “Please, don’t!”

  His sickly sweet cologne filled her nostrils, and she gagged.

  “Clark and I need a moment with your foster brother. Don’t make me come over here again.”

  The hood descended over her head, shutting out light and muffling sound.

  He kissed the angle of her shoulder. “You may beg for forgiveness later.”

  Later came quite some time, well, later.

  During the endless moments before, Forest’s shrieks had pierced the air to knife directly into her heart, twisting and shredding it to pieces. As she was shrouded within the darkness of the hood, her imagination conjured the worst images, and based upon his screams, she feared her guesses were all too accurate. Nevertheless, time marched forward. The men tired of Forest, leaving him sobbing on the basement floor.

  Broken? Most definitely. Bleeding? She hoped not.

  Sometime ago, the men had taken him off the Saint Andrew’s Cross. He’d been roughly used since then.

  The booted tread of feet approached, and she stiffened, preparing for the promise Master John had made. It was her turn.

  How to minimize the damage? Her mind churned and left her with nothing.

  Persist and endure—that was the best she could hope for throughout the rest of this evening. Was it evening? Or had enough time passed for the early hours of a new day to arrive?

  His hand pressed against her shoulder.

  Only years of conditioning kept her from flinching against that touch. With a deep breath and the resignation that came with the knowledge of what would come, Elsbeth forced her body to relax. Tension would only make the pain worse.

  His fingertips brushed against the curve of her shoulder and swept down her back. He traced the line of her spine until he came to where her waist narrowed, and then his fingers walked toward her belly. When he pulled her against him, his spicy musk, fetid and rank after a long evening, seeped through the thin cloth of the hood.

  Elsbeth made certain not to react. She let him explore, her mind focused on thoughts of brighter days to come. The summer sky would soon brighten with the sun, and the deep blue would pull her to a distant place. With great struggle, her mind detached from her body until she became little more than a spectator in that dark basement.

  Master John removed the hood. Hair matted against her tear-streaked face, it was in her mouth, shoved up her nose, and stuck to her eyelashes. With great tenderness, he gathered all the strands, pulling them back over her shoulders to drape between her shoulder blades. The gentleness of his kisses feathered a tr
ail down her skin, eliciting…nothing. No fear. No revulsion. Nothing.

  She’d accepted her fate.

  Elsbeth breathed out. This was her future; of that, she was certain.

  Unless she did something to change it. But what could a seventeen-year-old girl do?

  He lifted her bound wrists off the hook overhead. The heavy weight of her arms pulled at her sockets. Numb for a moment, she barely registered the ache. The press of his lips settled in the hollow of her throat, soft, gentle, insistent.

  And she felt detached from her surroundings, but his words tumbled through her mind.

  “You may beg for forgiveness later.”

  He’d never set a punishment.

  What would it hurt to try? It wouldn’t. That was the answer. And it had been years since Elsbeth cared about pride.

  “Master John,” she whispered. “Please,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Forgive me.”

  The roving of his hands stilled. His lips lifted from her neck.

  She rushed to fill the silence. “I shouldn’t have disobeyed. I…please, I beg for your forgiveness although I don’t deserve it.”

  His lips nibbled at her ear, and then he cupped her jaw, twisting her neck to the side. The darkness of his eyes drilled into her.

  Deferring to his station, she dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry.” And then her body did tremble.

  He lifted her in his arms. “My dearest pet, I will always forgive you. All I ever ask is for you to obey.” With his promise spoken, he carried her through the room.

  Taking another chance, she wrapped her leaden arms around his neck—partly to keep from falling but really more to prove her capitulation. Her survival depended on convincing him that she’d accepted his dominance even if it wasn’t true.

  As he carried her to the stairs, the bruised and battered form of Forest on the floor had her hitching her breath, and her heart stopped beating. Still and lifeless, he looked so very gentle, small, and fragile. She stared, daring Master John’s wrath, until the gentle rise and fall of Forest’s chest proved he still lived.