by Mara Black
He smirked. "Call it whatever you want."
Unspoken, in his eyes, there was a taunt. The memory of how I'd behaved just hours before, melting at this touch. Aching to follow his commands. My face burned with embarrassment, and I hugged my knees in tighter.
"I won't be your slave," I whispered, finally. "If that's what it takes for me to stay here, then thanks, but no thanks. I'll go it alone."
"Slave?" he repeated, incredulously. "I thought that's what you wanted. That's what you signed up for, isn't it? And don't tell me Stoker lied to you, they lie to everyone. You're smarter than that. You knew. You thought maybe you'd be lucky, and you wouldn't end up with a cruel man. You'd just end up with someone who's lonely and confused and grateful to have you." His tone dripped with condescension. "That's what they all think - the smart ones, anyway. What kind of man wants to buy a girl, do you think?"
I stared at him. "What kind of man accepts a girl as a gift?"
He raised an eyebrow. "If you'll recall, I did try to 'return to sender.' It didn't work out so well."
Frustrated, I ripped off a piece of the bread and bit into it. The crust was chewy and crunchy, just the right amount of both, the fresh, yeasty flavor rising to my nose and making my mouth water. "How do you know so much about Stoker, anyway?" I demanded, only slightly distracted by the bread.
Tate's face darkened. "I said no questions," he muttered, getting to his feet and pacing the length of the room. "Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"Because I'd like to know what kind of man owns me now," I said. "Or thinks he does."
He raked a hand through his hair, just a hint of a crooked smile playing at his mouth. "What happened? Not too long ago, you seemed so eager to follow my orders."
"I was pretending," I told him, defiantly. "I thought maybe you'd be a little nicer to me, if you thought you wouldn't have to fight me for submission."
He chuckled. "Maybe I want to fight you - did that thought ever cross your mind?"
I shivered, but didn't answer.
"I'm not talking about your transparent act, by the way," he said. "Pretending to be the perfect obedient little slave. I'm talking about what happened before that."
Glimmers of the man from the bedroom were showing through, again. Something thrilled inside me. Anticipation, fear, arousal. I wanted to meet that man again. He was much easier to read. Much more straightforward.
He was pure lust.
"It was all an act," I said, haughtily. "You really think I liked that? Check your ego."
His eyes flashed. "You're lying. Remember what happens when you lie to me?"
Laughing, I ate another grape. "I'm not afraid of you."
The biggest lie of all. But instead of leaping to punish me, he just watched me. His eyes searched for answers, and I tried to give up none. But something told me he was reading deeper than I could have imagined.
When he finally left, wordlessly, the echo of the heavy door left an oppressive silence in its wake. The room seemed even emptier than it had before he walked in. I ate some of the cheese, reveling in its sharp, salty flavor, and finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.
When I finally fell asleep deeply enough, I dreamt about Tate.
I dreamt that he touched me, grabbed me, spanked me and fingered me until I trembled and screamed and coated his hand in my juices. His eyes were dark, lustful, and filled with promise.
I woke up with my own hand clenched between my legs, waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
This was ridiculous. Absurd. I had to stop.
Shaking all over, I forced myself awake and went into the bathroom to wash up in the tiny sink. The old, slightly warped mirror showed me bloodshot eyes and a face flushed with guilt. How could I feel this way about such a dangerous stranger?
It was like my body already belonged to him, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. He commanded me. I hated it. I hadn't managed to stay alive this long by letting other people control me, and I wasn't about to start now. No matter how badly I craved him.
Without windows or a clock, I had no way to judge the time. Finally, I went to my door and tried it. Slowly, and silently, it swung open.
It was so hard to remember that I wasn't actually a prisoner here. Tate's presence was such a heavy shadow over me, like he was watching my every move.
Maybe he was.
I hadn't thought of checking for cameras. What if he'd seen me touching myself in my sleep? A sick sense of shame coursed through me, but what could I do?
I was about to step into the hallway before I saw a parcel sitting there, just beside my door. I glanced down the hallway to see if Tate was still in his room, but the door was shut. Faint sounds were coming from the kitchen.
The brown paper was clean and unwrinkled. I set it down in the center of the bed and stared at it, trying to decide what I should do.
Obviously, it was meant for me. Tate wanted me to have it. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It wasn't ticking, and it wasn't moving or growling or leaking toxic substances. I had no reason to be afraid. Except that I was, and I couldn't explain why. I felt like an icy hand was holding me back from the package, preventing me from satiating my curiosity.
Finally, in a rush of courage, I untied the string.
It was a neatly folded pile of fabric. Clothes. Of course.
Where had he gotten me clothes?
Did I want to know?
I picked up the first in the pile, and let it unfold in my hands. A simple black dress, about knee-length, sleeveless and cut low in the neckline. It was the sort of thing my mother would have worn to a party with friends, back when I was hardly tall enough to tug on the hem of it.
Under it was something in burgundy, similar, but different, with subtle black polka dots and a bodice that reminded me of something Grace Kelly might wear. There were others in the pile, some longer and more elegant, but none of them seemed appropriate to wear to breakfast.
My stomach felt like a clenched fist. I would do anything to change out of the shapeless sheet I still wore, but the idea of wearing something he'd picked out for me? Creepy. Unnerving. A defiance of everything I'd accomplished so far, on my own.
There were two ways to look at this. Either it was a kindness, or it was another way to control me. To dominate. Knowing what little I knew of Tate, I guessed it was some twisted mixture of both.
But I had no choice, if I wanted to wear something other than this horrid sheet. I picked the burgundy dress and put it on, quickly, trying not to think about whether he'd touched it. But the fabric slid against my skin, and it was impossible not to feel like he was caressing me all over.
A thought occurred to me, and I checked the parcel again, this time carefully going through each item and shaking them out to full length.
No underwear.
By now I was accustomed to going without, but it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My breasts were tightly nestled in the bodice, but was I really meant to go around the house without panties?
So he can use you whenever he wants.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, to banish the dark thoughts that terrified me almost as much as they turned me on. I couldn't think like that. Being his sex toy was not a condition of my asylum here. I wouldn't allow it.
Like you have a choice. Your body already belongs to him, you just haven't accepted it yet.
Ignoring the mocking voice in the back of my head, the one that hated me for giving in to my lust, for not kicking him in the balls and running away when he ordered me to strip, I went to the mirror.
It was small, but it was enough to see. I looked ghastly. Malnourished, unkempt, playing dress-up in my elegant grandmother's clothes. My brown hair was sticking up in all directions, tangled and disheveled from my restless sleep.
I finger-combed the knots out as best I could, considering my next move.
Walking to the door, I listened for signs of Tate's whereabouts. Judging by the sound of it, he wa
s still in the kitchen. I might as well meet him for breakfast. Show him that I wasn't unnerved by his little gesture, and maybe even eat something. I still wasn't hungry, but I was acutely aware that I had to keep my strength up.
The journey downstairs felt endless. I hesitated in the hallway outside the kitchen, gazing in at him. He was dressed more or less the same way as last night, but with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his arms dusted with flour. Something was in the oven, and it smelled delicious.
Hi honey, I'm home.
I had to stifle a hysterical giggle with my hand. He turned around, quickly, a knife glinting in his hand.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't...I wasn't sure what to do."
"Sit," he said, gesturing with the blade. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, traveling up and down the length of the dress. "Do you need anything else to wear?"
I swallowed. "No thank you," I said, carefully. "These will do just fine."
The idea of being any further indebted to him was too much to bear.
"Really?" He lifted an eyebrow slightly, before turning back to the counter. "Nothing to sleep in?"
"I'll be fine," I said, firmly. "Thank you for everything."
He cleared his throat quietly. "We need to discuss the terms of your stay here."
I blinked once, twice. My heart briefly stopped beating.
"Terms?" I repeated.
Tate's face was a perfect blank, his eyes fathomless and dark. I felt decidedly chilled as he sat down, interlacing his fingers and looking at me.
"This is my house," he said. "I live here. Alone. I have for a long time. I'm not accustomed to tolerating another person in my space. But if you're willing to follow certain rules, I don't foresee that this will be terribly unpleasant for either of us."
This time, I had to clear my throat a few times before my voice would come out. "Rules?" I echoed.
"My house, my rules," he said, with a humorless smile. "Do we have a problem?"
My hands were clasped so tightly in my lap, my knuckles must be white. "What are they?"
Tate sighed. "Does it really matter?"
"Of course it matters." My jaw clenched. "How could it not?"
"Because." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "You sold yourself into slavery. Wantonly. You knew exactly what this entailed - either that, or you're the stupidest girl on the planet. And that, I don't quite believe."
My hands clenched tighter, but I couldn't speak.
His smile was still chilling, but now, there was something else behind his eyes. I ached to understand it, but it was hidden too well under the shadows. "You wanted to give up your freedom in exchange for safety. So, this is it. I'm making you a deal. You proposed it last night, I'm accepting. But I have to get something in return."
Tate's eyes fixed on my face, suddenly, challenging. Demanding. I didn't know what he wanted me to say, and I didn't dare speak, even if I could.
"These are my terms," he said. "You already know what will happen to you, out there in the world. I trust I don't need to point that out, or offer any further incentives for you to stay. You'll be fed and clothed here. You'll have anything I can offer you, within reason. I will protect you, as long as you're here. But as soon as you step outside these doors, I can't guarantee your safety."
I nodded. So far, this was actually sensible. I began to relax a little.
But only a little.
"If," he said, raising a finger, "if I find out that you've lied to me, or betrayed me, or withheld something that I have the right to know - the agreement ends. You will leave, and I will do nothing to protect you anymore."
I nodded again.
"These are the rules of conduct," he said. "Whether or not you decide to honor them is up to you. But know that it's in your best interests not to irritate me. If you become an irritation, that will quickly outweigh any benefits of having you here in the first place. Do you understand?"
I felt very cold again. "Yes."
"The first rule: no questions."
I had to bite my tongue.
He saw it, and smiled. "Obviously, not all questions are off-limits. But I trust you to know the difference."
Everything I wanted to know, everything I needed to know, I wasn't allowed to ask. Of course. That was only expected.
"The second rule: my door stays open. This is not an invitation. If I catch you watching me again, I promise you won't enjoy it, this time."
My heartbeat quickened. "I didn't..."
Tate silenced me with a raised hand.
"The third rule: no lying."
He smirked. The bastard smirked. I wanted to kick him under the table.
"Fourth rule: Obey me."
My throat tightened.
"I won't ask for anything outrageous," he said, coolly. "Simple things. Things that a secretary or a housekeeper would do. You'll follow these orders promptly and without question."
"That's it," he said, as I fumed. "Easy enough, isn't it?"
Tate had me over a barrel, and he knew it. The only way I could win was by pretending none of this unnerved me.
"Fine," I said, evenly. "That sounds fair to me."
"If you break these rules there will be consequences."
He eyed me carefully, trying to read my face. I kept my expression blank.
"In light of my terms," he went on, at last, "is there anything you'd like to tell me about?"
Birdy.
"No," I said, before I could think better of it.
The last thing I needed to do was give him more reasons to dislike me. To see me as a burden.
But I couldn't fight the feeling that I'd just made a terrible mistake.
CHAPTER SIX
Presumed Dead
My first day with Tate almost went so well.
I ate some of the quiche he'd prepared, not quite daring to chuckle at the fact that I'd once been told it wasn't a manly dish. I would've liked to see anyone say that to Tate's face.
It was delectable, but I hardly had a taste for it. I kept glancing at the man across the table, trying to comprehend what was going through his mind.
He might be lying. This might all be some sadistic mind-game to put me at ease, before he raped and plundered and took everything he wanted. But then, why had he touched me last night? The whole thing seemed too spur of the moment, too passionate to be calculated. He hadn't planned on that. He wanted to keep me at arm's length, but his lust demanded something else.
I was really dealing with two men, not one. How could I possibly hope to understand someone who was so conflicted?
In the pit of my stomach, guilt swirled. I should have told him about Birdy. But how could I? It was too late, now. I'd missed my chance.
He deserves to know.
But if he knew, would he still think I was worth protecting?
Fear silenced me, but an even greater fear loomed: what if he found out?
After breakfast, I began gathering up the dishes, without having to be asked. Tate registered slight surprise, but he didn't say anything to stop me as I began washing up. It was a novelty - I hadn't had running water of my own in a very long time. He must've had his own well and pump system, somewhere out there in the back acres.
"After you're finished, dust," he said, his voice surprising me over the sound of the faucet. "You'll find everything you need in there."
He pointed to a small door, one that I assumed must lead to a pantry. A few feet to the left of it, there was another door - different. One that looked as if it led to a cellar or a basement of some kind.
I itched with curiosity, but I remembered. No questions. I wasn't sure if that would be off-limits or not, but why risk it?
By dust I assumed he meant dust everything, so I started on the main floor. It seemed like a good opportunity to learn something about him. But, although this house seemed like a part of him, there was really nothing personal about it. No pictures, no mementos, only practical items carefully organized.
I found s
everal cabinets and drawers, all locked. I wasn't snooping, I was just curious. If I stumbled across something that helped explain my new protector, it could only help me stay in his good graces.
Stay alive.
That was the whole point, after all.
Most of the rooms connecting to the main floor were locked, as well. I didn't spare much thought for them. Tate didn't seem to walk around with a giant ring of keys, so he must not use them much. I wondered how this house had come into his possession, and why he'd chosen it. His influence seemed to permeate the very floorboards, every step reminding me of him. But the house had to be much older than he was. Maybe it had been in his family.
If so, any signs of sentimentality had been purged. Only the kitchen seemed to hold any sign of life.
I remembered my mother once telling me that the kitchen is the most personal room in a house. Even more so than a bedroom, or a den, or any other private space. And I was beginning to understand what she meant. Tate's presence was even stronger here. Now that he wasn't actually in the room, I could feel it. If I closed my eyes, I swore I could almost feel him, smell him.
Taste him.
Covered in goosebumps, I went to the pantry to get a fresh dust rag. The gleaming, stainless steel refrigerator caught my eye. Who could afford to run something like that anymore? The gentle, persistent hum of white noise told me he had a generator somewhere outside, but the fuel?
I might have been a gift, but this man certainly had enough resources to buy and sell me, ten times over.
I opened the fridge, ostensibly to see if anything needed cleaning. It certainly didn't, but I took a moment to survey the contents anyway. There were so many brown paper parcels, fresh herbs resting in little cups of water, vegetables in vibrant colors that must have been plucked from the earth that very morning.
Even a decade ago, this would have been on the luxurious side. But nowadays?
Now, having walked the perimeter of everything I could access in this house, I was struck again by the lack of windows. What the hell was he, a vampire?
I had to laugh. If the shoe fits...
