by Winter Fox
Winter Fox
Black Wings
A Dark Romance
Copyright © 2019 by Winter Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Winter Fox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
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For all of the people who told
me that I couldn’t…
Fuck you!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
Clink.
The sound of a rattling chain near my left ear dragged my fog-addled mind out of the pitch-black depths in which it had been languishing ever since…
Ever since what?
I couldn’t quite pinpoint when I had fallen unconscious, or even why. What I did know was that I was cold, and it was dark here.
I was afraid. I was so very afraid of the person who had made this happen. Someone brought me here. He brought me here.
He.
Man.
It was a man, I remembered that.
But who was he?
Fear wound its way through my stomach, snaking up to fill my chest; before becoming a thick knot which congealed at the back of my throat. The knot felt as though it were growing larger and larger, until suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Fuck. A panic-attack.
Now was not the time to completely lose my shit. Thrashing around in the strange darkness. Cold, and alone. I could do myself some harm.
More harm than he intends to do?
A high-pitched yelp escaped between my dry lips. It was laughter, but it was the maniacal laughter of a woman on the edge. A woman who knew it was only a matter of time until “he” came back to finish what he’d started.
Get your shit together, Daisy.
I opened my mouth, and started slowly to suck my cheeks in, then puff them back out, in a frenzied attempt to reduce the frequency of the quick, sharp breaths which threatened to overwhelm me.
After a couple of minutes of concentration, I managed to get the panic-attack under some sort of control. I almost sobbed with relief. I had been dogged by panic-attacks almost all of my adult life—a result of PTSD sustained throughout my less than ideal childhood.
At twenty-three, I had finally managed to get a grip on my attacks, and could mostly keep them at bay, with a little focus.
I kind of felt justified in freaking out completely under current circumstances, however.
Now that my erratic breath had stilled, I decided to try and ground myself a little by exploring my environment. That was going to be tricky in the darkness, but I trusted my body to tell me what I needed to know.
It was obvious that I was lying down on my side. The floor beneath me was cold, and powdery. I pressed one hand tentatively down into the powder, running my fingers through the rough granules.
It was a dirt floor.
I gritted my teeth as I used both hands to push myself up into a kneeling position, and I discovered something else about my situation. When I first woke, and heard the chain rattle, I had assumed my hands were chained.
Having just used both hands to push myself off the dirt ground, I now knew my wrists were unbound. The heavy links of metal were actually attached to a band of steel that was fixed around my throat.
That realization left me feeling excruciatingly claustrophobic. I hooked my finger-tips over the edge of the collar, and pulled furiously. The metal didn’t budge, and I felt the panic begin to build inside me again.
No. No. No. Calm, Daisy, calm.
I fought desperately to quell the fear that rose again inside me again, and thankfully, after a terrifying thirty second spiral of despair, I won.
The terror was still very real though. I couldn’t help but wonder who the hell would chain a woman up in a collar, and a dark room. I had to accept that I was captive to a complete psychopath.
Using both hands I grabbed the chain at the point where it met my collar, and palm by palm I followed the cool links, until I reached the other end of my leash. There my fingers found a cold circular ring which was fixed firmly into the wall.
I was chained like a dog.
For the first time since I woke up, the fear washed away a little, and anger burned through me.
“What the fuck have you done to me? You piece of shit.” I howled in rage.
I instantly regretted my tantrum, slapping both hands across my mouth, as though to stop it from saying any more. Although I was too late to silence the mocking sounds of my voice echoing back at me.
Wide-eyed in fear. I knelt in the dirt, and cringed as I waited for some form of retaliation or punishment for my indiscretion. It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that my training had already begun at this point, I just didn’t know it. I was afraid of my master, and I was subservient to him even before I really understood exactly what that meant.
When nothing happened, I breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Relief which was short-lived. It suddenly occurred to me that if I hadn’t been punished, then no one was listening to me. If no one was listening, then maybe I had been abandoned down here.
What if no one is coming back?
Terror once again won out, as I imagined myself chained in the silent darkness, waiting for a rescuer who never came. I would get hungrier and thirstier until my body eventually just gave up, and I lay down to desiccate in the dirt.
Again, unbeknownst to me, my dependency and gratitude training was also starting to work. I suddenly wanted “him” here, no matter the consequences. Even being raped or killed was better than lying in the cold, and darkness until my light went out, and I stopped existing, forever.
Despite the icy draft against my skin, I was sweating. Even though I had gotten my fear under some control, I was still terrified, and it was killing me to not be able to see anything at all.
A trickle of sweat wound its
way slowly from the base of my neck, along my spine, and into the crease that signaled the start of my ass. It tickled, and I shivered at the sensation. Every one of my senses was heightened by the silence, and by the absence of light.
I touched my finger to the crease where the sweat droplet had disappeared, and I hissed in a quick breath of shock as I realized for the first time that I had no clothing on my entire body.
I patted my hands around my hips, across my stomach, and over my bare breasts—the nipples had stiffened in to two hard peaks due to the cold. Every part of me was completely naked.
He brought me here, then he undressed me.
Oh god.
I gagged aloud as vomit threatened to spill up my throat, and out of my mouth. Disgust overwhelmed me at the thought of his hands on my naked body, his eyes trailing over me while I was comatose. Being violated while unable to even try and protect myself.
I was grateful when, after a few seconds, the bile sank back down my throat, and into my stomach. Not wanting to have to kneel here in a pool of my own sick. I suspected the only reason I had managed to keep myself from ejecting the contents of my stomach was because it was so empty.
As if on cue, my belly let out a long, low whine of dissatisfaction. I sighed in frustration, wondering how long I was going to be left here to starve.
As though answering my silent question, a click suddenly floated through the darkness of the room; followed by a rattling noise that told me a key being put into a lock, and turning.
Someone was coming.
Once the key reached its full rotation in the lock, I heard a handle grasped and pulled down. With a soft “shush” a door on the opposite wall from the one I was chained to, swung open.
I was blinded by a sudden wash of light which flooded in from the unknown area outside of my room. In that square of light stood a figure, who I couldn’t see properly because of the water running from my eyes as I repeatedly blinked against the brightness which assaulted me.
The figure took a step into the room, and I was suddenly extremely aware of my nakedness and vulnerability. I kicked out with my feet—digging my heels into the dirt floor—until my back found the wall behind me, then I gripped my thighs tightly together, and crossed my arms across my breasts.
I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do.
The figure took another step into the room, and as my eyes adjusted I could tell that he was a man. I could also tell that he worked out. I was certain that I vaguely recognized him, but I couldn’t think where from.
I tried to speak as he approached me. A sensible voice in the back of my mind told me that I had to say something. I had to start making myself seem human to him. That was what captives were supposed to do; build a relationship with their captor so that he didn’t want to kill them.
My first attempt turned the back of my dry throat into Velcro. Knitting it together until a guttural, choking sound found its way out of me.
He stopped approaching me, and instead stood perfectly still. I sensed he was watching me by the light that was cascading through the doorway behind him. He would be able to see me easily. While the contrast of light against the darkness of my cell, meant that I still couldn’t make out much more than his height—which was around six three—and his large, broad build.
I stared up at him, and I tried again. “Why have you done this to me?”
It came out as a cracked whisper, but I knew he could hear me.
He shifted his weight from one foot to another, but didn’t speak. I knew he was studying me, even though I couldn’t see his face properly. I wrapped my arms even more tightly around me as I remembered my exposed body.
“Why am I here?” Emboldened by his silence, I raised my voice when I spoke.
Silence.
Suddenly, he took another slow step forward, bringing his booted feet to within inches of my own dirty, bare toes. He towered over my miserable form, and I struggled to pull my feet even further away from his.
What is he going to do to me?
My mind ran wild with images of him carving me into a thousand pieces, and serving me inside of pies, in a style reminiscent of Sweeney Todd. I realized it was crazy, but you have no idea how far your imagination can take you; until you wake up in a dark room, naked, with a non-verbal captor looming over you.
Slowly. Deliberately, he started to lower himself down until he was squatted before me. Although I was pressing my back against the wall so hard it hurt, his face was now just inches from my own.
Realizing that his stability would be precarious in his current position, my eyes darted to his ankles. My eyesight was improving as I considered whether I should knock him off balance, and attack him.
As though reading my mind, the stranger slowly raised his right hand until it was directly in front of my face, before clenching all of his digits closed, except his index finger. Then he waggled the single finger back and forth three times.
The meaning was clear.
Don’t even think about it.
I flinched as he moved his left hand toward me, but there was nowhere for me to go. As my eyes readjusted to the light, I could see that he held something in his hand.
He placed a silver bowl in front of me; before standing a bottle of mineral water next to it. His mission seemingly complete, he stood back up, and started toward the door.
The smell of food made my stomach growl again, and I looked down at the bowl of stew that waited for me to eat it. I briefly wondered if it had been poisoned, but quickly shrugged off my concerns.
Why would he go to all of this trouble if he was going to kill me with poisoned stew?
I lifted the bowl up—painfully aware that my breasts were exposed again, but too hungry to care—and I started to look for a spoon.
When I couldn’t find any cutlery, I looked back at the bowl in confusion. I noticed there was an inscription on the metal surface of the dish, and turned it around in my hand until I could read the three-letter word.
Dog.
My eyes darted back to the man who was waiting in the doorway. My vision was now fully restored, so I could finally make out some of his features. I stared into ice-cold, blue eyes, and fury rose inside me as he smirked at the bowl before starting to close the door to my prison, shutting out the light again.
“Fuck you.”
I didn’t even think before I acted. I lifted the bowl, and threw it with every ounce of strength I had. As it crashed against the now closed door, the stew flew everywhere, and the bowl clattered to the ground.
I could hear his footsteps as he walked away from my pitch-black cell, and I was almost certain I could hear a gruff snort that sounded like laughter.
Returned to darkness, and entirely alone; tears brimmed in my eyes, and spilled over onto my cold cheeks. I bowed my head and whispered, “Fuck you.”
Chapter Two
I quickly learned that cursing, and throwing my dinner came with consequences. Although I had no way to tell the time inside my dark, cold prison; I still made an attempt to try and roughly follow the passing of each twenty-four-hour period.
The sense of a day—a universally recognized unit of time—is something I now firmly believe that we all take for granted. Everywhere you go in day-to-day life you’ll find a clock of some description: on your phone, on the wall, on your computer.
When the essence of time is stolen from you, it becomes so much more precious than it ever was before. It was the only way I could rebel. Keeping even a rough track of the hours of my life which were being stolen from me, meant that I had a focus. I could quantify how much he would owe me when I eventually got out of here.
I had to believe I would get out of here.
After I threw the dog bowl at the wall, he didn’t come back for what I worked out to be two more days. He knew I still had the bottle of mineral water, but that didn’t make me any less angry. The water was gone in hours. I was starving, and so thirsty that I was afraid I was getting to the point of delir
ium.
I had tried so hard to pull the ring that held my leash out of the wall, that my fingernails were worn to nothing. I had felt the blood trickling down my fingers as I scrabbled, and scraped at the rock wall in a pointless attempt to dislodge the metal.
The leash itself was only around two meters long. This had made me pause the first time I needed to pee. I had felt around in the dark for twenty minutes, convinced that I would find a bucket of some sort.
He wouldn’t make me do it on the floor. Would he?
There was no bucket, and I finally concluded that was exactly what he was going to make me do.
Crying, and drowning in humiliation, I walked as far across to the right-hand side of the room as my chain would permit me; before squatting and letting the hot stream of urine depart my body. As it hit the dirt, it created a mulchy spray which bounced back up to spatter my ankles.
Grimacing in disgust I finished, and stood up to gingerly find my way back to my usual position against the wall. Ensuring I avoided the wet floor as I left. Once I was seated again, I couldn’t stop the gulping, choking sobs of desolation which began to pour from my mouth, as I leaned my head back against the rock wall, and cried myself into an uncomfortable half-sleep.
When the door clicked again, on what I believed to be the second day of my punishment, I didn’t flinch away from the sound. Instead I started to crawl toward the light on my hands and knees—only stopping when the chain pulled tight against my throat.
He stepped inside the room, and stopped just far enough away from me that I couldn’t touch him, despite my reaching arms.
“Please?” I whispered, as I grasped at the air in front of him.
I was pathetic, and I knew it, but right now I didn’t care. Too many things were broken, for me to have any illusions of dignity.
He squatted down in the same way he had last time, and our eyes met through the half-lit gloom. What I saw in his eyes made me bite back a howl of despair. He was…empty. There wasn’t a single emotion behind those chips of ice—set in his face like frozen aquamarines.
Tilting his head slightly, he lifted his hand, and rolled it palm toward me in a “go on” gesture. When I gave him a questioning stare, he made a show of looking behind him at the stew covered door.
