The Alastair Affair 3: Dani

by Edwards, Scarlett

  I descend the final staircase and walk to the side of the water.

  The smell of chlorine fills the air. I stand there quietly and admire Sylvain. Being a swimmer obviously does wonders to his build.

  Too bad I never much liked the water.

  He notices me and stops by the edge. He swings his head back to clear the hair from his eyes.

  All wet like that, he looks absolutely divine.

  “So you found my hidden playground,” he says with a smirk. “Very good, Dani. I’d like you to join me.”

  I eye the depths of the pool. “Uhh,” I hesitate.

  His eyebrows go up. “You can’t swim?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I defend. “I just, um, don’t like it much.”

  “A shame.” In a powerful heave he pulls himself out. The water streams off his body. It makes him look like a god. “There are many things I’d have loved to do to you underwater.”

  I shudder for no reason at all. “Like what?” I breathe.

  “Well…” he smiles at me. “If I tell you now, it would ruin the anticipation, don’t you think?”

  He picks up a towel and beings drying himself off. I watch his muscled figure in stark admiration.

  I catch myself biting the inside of my lip. I force my teeth apart. Bad habit, that.

  He ends up wrapping the towel around his waist, over his swim shorts. “Is it still nice out?” he asks.

  “Huh?” My mind’s turned to mush admiring the man.

  “Is it,” he repeats softly, a smile playing on his lips. He know exactly why my brain is fried. “Nice out… today? I thought we might take a walk in the gardens, you and I.”

  “Oh.” I shake my head to come to myself. “Yeah. Yeah, it still is.”

  “Perfect,” he says. He holds out his hand. “Would you join me?”

  **

  We end up strolling all around the outer grounds. Sylvain is surprisingly talkative. There’s not much substance in what he says—mostly commenting on the weather, the flowers, the trees, the beauty of the place—but I lose myself listening nonetheless.

  He has an amazing voice. It’s so melodic. It has a certain treble that runs through my body with every word. I feel like I’m buzzing just listening to him.

  I could listen to him for hours. It doesn’t matter what he says. The deep, underlying masculinity of it is insanely hot.

  Eventually we end up at the shrub labyrinth. We walk to the clearing with the bench and sit down.

  Sylvain looks around. The flowers are in full bloom, the sun is shining bright. His hair’s dried off, and he’s holding my hand.

  I like the feeling that runs up my arm.

  “It’s beautiful,” he says softly. “Don’t you think?”

  I start to answer, “Yes,” but he follows his question up with:

  “My sister died here.”

  I’m jerked straight out of the moment. “What?”

  “My sister,” he says softly, not a shred of emotion entering his voice, “died here.” He nods to a spot off to the side. “My father beat her to an inch of her life inside these labyrinth walls.” He motions to the bench. “Right here, where you are sitting now, she sat, and cried, and wept, and eventually….” He trails off. His eyes take on a faraway look. “She took a gun and pulled the trigger.”

  A cold chill washes through me. “When?” I breathe.

  “Seven years ago.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say.

  “No,” he disagrees. “She’d had enough. The constant abuse, all the suffering…” his shoulders hitch. I think of the marks on his back. “It was all too much, for too long. She needed an out. I thought I was helping her, but… I failed.”

  I swallow.

  Sylvain turns to me. He sees the fear on my face.

  “Ah, but don’t you worry,” he tells me. He leans across and kisses my crown. “You are my jewel. I would never let anything happen to you.”

  Chapter Three

  And suddenly, Sylvain has depth.

  He leaves me shortly after that little tale. I sit alone on the bench, uncertain, afraid, maybe even terrified.

  His sister died here? Because of their father?

  Why did he tell me now? And how could he speak of it so dispassionately?

  Does he want me to be frightened?

  It’s way, way too early to read too much into anything. But one thing is clear now. This estate has demons for Sylvain. Whatever he does in his day-to-day life… before I came into it?

  I can’t imagine it taking place here.

  I stand on shaking legs. I feel the ache on the back of my thighs acutely now.

  Were his parting words a promise… or a threat?

  Slowly, I walk back to the castle. Am I a complete idiot for taking Sylvain at his word? Did I rush headfirst into things with him without even looking?

  Do I still have an out?

  I’m scared. I made a big—a huge—decision quite rashly. I did it by myself.

  But who could I go to and consult? I know what Min would say if I told her about the second contract.

  She’d tell me to get the hell out.

  Yet if I did… my curiosity would never be satisfied. I would never know all the things Sylvain promised. This arrangement, this agreement, whatever it is, it calls to the deepest, most secretive part of my soul.

  It is not something you share with anybody except the man who’s doing it to you.

  Sylvain is in the kitchen when I come across him next.

  He’s sharpening a long carving knife.

  I swallow. If that’s not ominous… I don’t know what is.

  My thoughts turn to the Black Tower. I remember the axe I saw hanging on the wall. Associations swirl through my mind.

  He stops what he’s doing when he sees me. He lays the knife down.

  “You know today is your last day, don’t you?” he asks.

  I blink. “Last day for what?”

  “Last day to be free,” he smiles. “Until the termination of your contract. Once we begin, at midnight tonight, you, dear Dani…” he walks to me and picks up my hand. He brings it to his lips. “You will be all mine.”

  With his strong fingers holding my hand, and his piercing gaze locked into mine, all my uncertainty about the decision vanishes.

  “I want that,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he says. “Believe me, I do.”

  He lets go and returns to what he was doing before.

  I notice a big hunk of meat on the counter before him. He takes hold of it and starts to slice. Raw juices run over his hand.

  It’s such a visceral, unsettling display that I take an unsteady step back.

  “Anything you would like to do today,” he says, his voice clear and pure and completely at odds with the knife sawing through the meat, “You tell me. Okay?”

  “Uh,” I hesitate.

  How deep am I willing to go?

  I walk to a stool and sit down. I feel a little better with the countertop between us.

  “Once I’m… yours,” I try again. I clear my throat. “Once I’m yours, am I correct in assuming I won’t be allowed off the estate?”

  He smiles without looking up. The knife continues sawing through the meat. “Yes,” he says.

  Then his eyes shift to me. The intensity freezes me in place. “When you’re mine, you will do everything that I say. So. On your own? No, you will not be allowed away from the castle. But if I command you to? You will have to go.

  “Yet such excursions will almost certainly be a test.”

  “A test of… what?” I ask.

  “Of your loyalty to me. Of the progression of your training. Of how far we’ve gone, you and I.”

  He finishes cutting and lays the sharp blade down. It’s covered in blood, as are both his hands.

  “Trust,” he tells me, “is the most important thing for us to develop. The things you have agreed to—the favors I will do you—are meaningless, empty, cruel if we don’t have any
trust.”

  My heart is racing. “Okay,” I breathe.

  “And I am not cruel, Dani. My actions may seem that way, to an onlooker, from the outside. But they are all rooted in a very real base, a very real purpose…” he points to his temple. A stream of red juice runs down one forearm, “…known only to me. Your job, as my submissive, is to believe in that purpose. You will trust in it first, and from there, you will learn to trust in me.”

  He hits the tap with his elbow. He runs his hands under the water.

  “My job, as your Master,” he continues, “is to teach you to give yourself to me. Completely, undeniably. Entirely. It will take time, Dani. It will not come overnight. We have a long journey ahead of us. My goal, with you, is to get there within three months.”

  “And… then what?” I whisper.

  “Why, then you go back to your real life,” he says. “And in time, to you, this entire summer will feel like a distant fantasy. Something you dreamt about, perhaps, but never experienced firsthand. Of course…” he flashes a wicked grin, “the marks on your skin will give evidence to the contrary.”

  Unconsciously, I move my hands off the table. I run a hand over my arm.

  “Memories fade,” Sylvain continues. “But scars remain forever. And Dani?” He leans over the countertop. “Forever is exactly how long I envision you to be mine.”

  Chapter Four

  He asks me to take over with meal preparation and leaves the room.

  I say “asks” because he genuinely framed it as a question. He did not tell me I had to do it.

  I agreed instantly. Anything to take my mind off the fact that this is my last free day.

  Besides, knowing what happened in the maze with his sister? It makes cooking in the kitchen infinitely preferable to continuing work outside.

  I’m anxious for us to begin already. My signature last night was confirmation of what I wanted. My discussions with Sylvain today were acknowledgment of the fact.

  Today feels like a waste as I wait for things to get started.

  Well… aside from the spectacular orgasm on the armchair, a voice reminds me.

  Oh yeah. I smile. That.

  Once the food is prepared—potatoes in the oven together with that sliced up meat—I go out to set the table.

  After a few minutes, I feel Sylvain’s presence by the door. I pretend not to notice. I wonder what he will do.

  But he just watches me, quietly, for as long as it takes me to finally turn around and acknowledge him.

  And when I finally do… my breath is taken away. He’s dangerously handsome. A ray of light from the windows falls on his face. It makes his eyes shine.

  I see, for the first time, that they are not black or brown or grey but a very deep hazel.

  He moves toward me, and the vision is lost.

  I stop and go rigid when he wraps his arms around me from behind.

  “So tense,” he murmurs in my ear. “Always, you are so tense, Dani.”

  I don’t know if he means it as a good thing or a bad thing. Or maybe it’s just a neutral observation.

  “Not to worry, though.” He nips my other ear. “We will beat all that tension out of you.”

  I dissolve into an instantly-wet mess. What the hell is wrong with me? I wonder.

  “Have I told you about the Rings of Progression?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer. “What are those?”

  “They set the stage for the path of our journey together,” he responds. He twines his fingers through mine. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

  “The food…”

  “Will be waiting for us when we return,” he finishes smoothly. “Come.”

  Not really seeing how I have a choice, I follow Sylvain with perfect obedience.

  He leads me through a locked door into a new part of the castle. The hall is dark and ominous.

  Our footsteps echo in the tightly-confined space.

  The bricks here are black, just like in the Tower. But we’re still on the ground floor. No other part of the castle has that distinction. Everywhere else they’re grey.

  We stop before a lone door. Sylvain tugs a ring of keys out from his belt. He goes through them until he finds the right one.

  He unlocks the wooden door.

  It creaks open on old, rusty hinges. And I see…

  A prison cell.

  There is a small cot on the floor. There’s a bucket for human waste. There is a bowl of water. Light comes from a tiny, vertical slit in the far wall. Otherwise everything is dark.

  Sylvain reaches across my body and flicks on a light switch. I didn’t know it was there.

  A single feeble light-bulb flickers to life.

  It casts a pale orange glow about the room. Immediately I don’t like it.

  “Sylvain,” I say. My voice shakes. “What is this?”

  “This is where you begin,” he answers. “You will be sleeping here every night.” He takes the key from the chain and hands it to me. “This is yours, now, of course. That key, as you saw, opens this door.”

  “You want me to…” I swallow. “Live here?”

  “You need to be close to me at all times,” he says. “What better place than right beneath my study?”

  I blink. “But the guesthouse—”

  “Has been locked and barred until the end of summer. All your possessions are safe, I assure you. You will get them back at the end of our term.”

  I shiver. “Why give me the key?”

  “Because it is a sign that I already trust you.” He gives me such a pure and disarming smile that I cannot believe it comes from the same man who would leave me here. “Perhaps it is foolish of me to do so this early. Consider it an olive branch. You have the key; you can get out. Make no mistake, however…” his voice drops and becomes ominous, “…should you prove yourself unworthy of that trust, the privilege of the key will be taken away. I control you now, Dani.”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “And you give yourself willingly, do you not? Just as you did last night?”

  “Yes.” My answer comes on a muted breath.

  His smile widens. “And so you’ve earned the right. You will bed here for however long I deem necessary. When I close this door,” he taps it, “you are not to come out, not for any reason. Not for anything. Do you understand?”

  Silently, apprehensively, I bob my head.

  “You hold the key, so of course you can come out.” He looks at me. “But you will not. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he says. “Now come. I will show you where you may yet end up.”

  He takes me through a procession of rooms. All are in the same hall, all of which have been set up for one. Each is a slight improvement over the last. The second has a washstand, for example. The third adds a small mirror. The next includes a small mattress on the floor.

  And so on and so forth they go, until, by the very last—the eighth—the room is nearly indistinguishable from the room in the guesthouse.

  Well. Aside from the dark, ominous stone walls.

  “But you are a long way from here yet,” he says after showing me that one. He closes the door in my face.

  I look at Sylvain in wonder. How long has he been planning this? How much of this has he given conscious thought?

  It’s astounding that he’s made so many preparations. They must have been done a long, long time before I was here.

  But then, this sick game, his twisted perversion, it was ready for anyone, wasn’t it? It didn’t have to be me.

  That makes me feel slightly soiled.

  “Sylvain?” I say, as we’re walking out. “Before we begin? I have a question.”

  “Certainly,” he says. I open my mouth to speak. He holds up one finger to stop me. “You should know, of course, that questions will not be permitted after tonight. Unless I explicitly state otherwise. So whatever you want to know, before we begin? Best to make your query now.”

  “I know,”
I say. He’s so calm, unfazed, by all of the things he’s shown me. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t you?”

  “Why yes, my lovely.” He picks up my hand and kisses it. “Nothing has been left to chance.”

  I think: Even my arrival?

  “That’s good,” I whisper. “That gives me…” he turns and looks at me, those dark eyes piercing into my soul.

  “…confidence,” I finish in a whisper.

  “I know,” he says. “The mark of a good Master is that he inspires such feelings in his submissives. It is the first step toward trust.”

  “Submissives?” My breath hitches. “Like, with an ‘s’?”

  “You needn’t worry, Dani.” He pats my hand in a strangely fatherly gesture. I don’t like it. “While you are here, there is only one.”

  **

  Sylvain takes me to the top of the observatory. It is a structure shorter than, and separate from, the two towers. All three share the same entrance chamber, though.

  At the highest level is a small circular room. It’s about half the size of the Black Tower. There’s an iron ladder leading to a gap in the ceiling.

  Sylvain nods to it. “Up we go,” he says. “You first.”

  A series of slits on the walls give makeshift windows. Fresh air fills the chamber. It does not feel menacing or frightening, or intimidating—not like the Black Tower.

  Then again. The Black Tower was designed for a purpose.

  “What’s up there?” I ask.

  Sylvain clicks his tongue in an irritated way. His eyes harden and his shoulders hitch.

  He doesn’t like being questioned.

  But then he takes a breath, and the aggression fades. It’s all a deception, I think.

  Yet I’m in awe of how well he can control—hide?—his true emotions.

  “The Rings of Progression I told you about are up there,” he says softly. “It is my gauge of your progress with me.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

  “Please.” He gestures at the ladder.

  I go first. I place a hand on the first iron rung—and freeze.

  Memories of last night flood into me. Memories of the iron pole I was holding. Memories of the cold in the room, the cold in my body, the stink of the flames, each blow of the whip…