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THE HOUSE OF ELL is a manor cottage shrouded in rambling roses, a short walk from the castle through a forest glade. At least, it feels like a short walk, I can’t be sure. My mind keeps drifting off into an abyss of nightmares—Kane wrapped in ribbons and bows and delivered to some fang-toothed princess bride, Gabe’s head served on a silver-domed platter with a glazed apple stuffed into his mouth like some pig’s head at a medieval banquet.
The grotesque pictures regurgitate bile and acid in an endless loop between my throat and stomach until a line of fire threatens to split my chest, but I can’t rid them from my tormented head.
In this place, we are food.
A source of nutrition.
The prince and Rustward and all these damned bloodsuckers barely deign to address us, they talk around us as if we’re livestock on the auction block.
Fury swells and ebbs within me, trading places with frustration and hopelessness and fear.
Embrace the fury.
Don’t fight the fear.
That’s become my mantra.
I don’t want to die, but it’s glaringly obvious I soon will. As much as that truth terrifies me, it’s a dark shadow that has followed me since the Tithe and I’m starting to come to terms with it.
I won’t go quietly.
I’ll tear these walls down with me on the way out.
My silent vows are nonsensical, I’m not totally crazy and deluded, but the oath settles into the pit of hot coals festering in my stomach and it feels good.
The sun isn’t yet visible in the sky, but daylight has definitely broken through the haze of pre-dawn and the pair of guards escorting me don’t seem overly concerned. If they’re sensitive to daylight, they’re not showing it.
I’m not at all surprised to find Mistress Ell waiting for me at the cottage door, a vision draped in flowing pastel layers of gossamer silk that float off her shoulders and swirl around her long legs. Who else would be in charge of the House of Ell?
She extends her hands to me in a friendly greeting. “Welcome to the House of Ell.”
Her lyrical voice grates on my raw nerves. A few choice words tingle on my tongue, but I clamp my mouth into a snarl, my eyes burrowed beneath my sunken brow.
“I’ll take it from here.” She waves my escort away with a dismissive flap of her hand, then turns a serene smile on me. “What is your name?”
“Senna Rhys,” I spit out.
“Silk Senna,” she says. “It has a lovely sound. Come.”
She steps inside with a gesture for me to follow and disappears from view.
My gaze travels over the double row of tall windows that front the cottage. Rambling roses with pink, white and red blossoms have the bones of this structure in their thorny clutch. Tendrils creep along the windowsills and form a natural, chaotic lattice across the glass panes.
A shiver ripples down my spine.
If I step inside, they’ll choke me just as surely as they’re choking the life from this cottage.
My throat tightens.
Mistress Ell steps into view on the threshold. “You should know the most important rule in this house. When I speak, you obey without hesitation, without question and without exception. You’re about three seconds away from discovering the consequences of breaking that rule.”
I blow out a noisy breath and get my feet moving. I’m not exactly scared of Mistress Ell and her rule, but what else is there to do that we haven’t already failed at? We can’t run from these bloodsuckers. We can’t hide. We can’t fight them.
The only thing we haven’t tried is staying where they put us.
The doorway leads into a kitchen that must take up at least half the footprint of the cottage. A woman with gray hair coiled into a bun stands before an open range cooker that looks like it might be fed off wood instead of electrics.
With her back to me, I can’t see her eyes, can’t tell is she’s human or bloodsucker. Then again, I’m rethinking those parameters. Mistress Ell appears entirely human, but then the prince doesn’t have those molten gold orbs around his eyes either.
My gaze glances off the warm stone walls and a table large enough to seat ten as we pass through, into a narrow slice of hallway and up a walled stairway carpeted in plush wool.
The landing on the upper floor branches into a closed passage with doors spaced far apart on both sides. Electric light drips from miniature crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. The same plush carpet beneath my feet. Vibrant landscape oil paintings hang between each door. A marked improvement from the stark castle décor, and I’m struggling to wrap my head around it.
Mistress Ell opens a door at the end of the left branch of the passage and waits for me. “This will be your bedroom while you’re with us. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
I step past her, unimpressed with her pleasant manner.
She doesn’t follow me inside. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, but I do insist you soak off that grime and change into something suitable before falling into bed. A lady must have standards, don’t you agree? And I won’t have you soiling our good linen. That’s not a suggestion. If you cannot manage on your own, I’ll send up a couple of guards to assist.”
My hands clench at the threat as I look around the room of lace and frills. Gag. “I didn’t have time to pack before I came here.”
“You’ll find your every need has been catered for.”
The door clicks closed behind me. I stand stock-still, listening for the sound of lock pins slotting into place. It doesn’t come.
I laugh, a dry, raspy thing that scratches my throat.
There’s no reason to lock me in. I’ve already figured that out. But God, wouldn’t it be nice if they at least pretended we weren’t that pathetic and weak?
My feet take me to the bed without conscious thought. Before I know it, I’m sinking my butt onto the edge of a quilt-covered mattress and it feels like I’m rediscovering a lost memory of Heaven.
Three days.
Has it really only been three days?
It feels like a lifetime of endless terror that’s still yapping at my heels. I’m not safe here. Wherever Gabe and Kane are right now, they’re not safe.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length oval mirror standing in the corner. My face is sharper, leaner, meaner, shanks of greasy hair falling out the knot of my ponytail.
All of me is smeared with dirt and blood, and a layer of horror buried beneath my skin that can’t be washed away.
I look like a nightmare that’s clawed its way up from the bowels of hell.
But what truly grabs my attention are my eyes...wide and bright with unshed tears I hadn’t been aware of. I am so beyond tears, I honestly have no idea where that comes from.
I fall back on the bed, the overstuffed quilt poofing beneath my spine, my legs dangling to the floor. A mural of the sky covers the ceiling, pale blue with snowy clouds drifting into a deeper blue and the glimmer of a crescent moon set amongst the stars. I focus on the faintest star, feeling some kind of kinship with that washed-out ghost amidst the splendor... I wonder if it started out as strong and confident as its fellow stars, until it faded...faded...until it was just an outline of its former self, fading until it no longer recognized what it was...fading...fading...
The next thing I know, my eyes are snapping open, my heart hammering in my throat as a set of beefy hands attached to my arm drags me up off the bed.
“What the—!” I kick out a fraction too late. I’m already yanked to my feet, secured by a grip of steel on both my upper arms.
There’s two of them, the one holding me upright from behind and the one in front of me, a young male, a bloodsucker with tawny eyes ringed in gold and dark hair scraped off his face.
“You can’t do this!” I shout, wiggling, struggling, panting breaths that are too hard to come by. What are they even doing? “Let go of me. Let. Go.”
The tawny-eyed male steps closer. I try to shrink back, but there’s no slack in the steel grip behind me to do so. I twist my hips, kick out against his shins with absolutely no affect. He calmly takes the collar of my t-shirt in his hands and rips it apart, strips the material clear off my body.
“Mistress Ell!” Oh, my God. What are they doing? This can’t be happening. “Mistress Ell!”
His gaze travels down my bared chest and settles on the waistband of my jeans.
No! I jerk a knee up between his legs—his reaction is quicker than a reflex, clamping my knee between his thighs before it gets anywhere near his groin. He undoes the top button and pulls the zip. The bloodsucker at my back lifts me clear off the ground so he can yank my jeans down my legs and over my feet in a seamless move.
A shiver cascades over my skin, I’m stripped down to my cotton underwear, all but bared to these foul bloodsuckers. My struggles are useless, but I can’t stop and I can’t stop the trembling—my teeth are chattering in my gums.
The male steps back, releasing my trapped knee. I bring it up immediately, my foot flexed, ready to strike at any part of him that comes close to any part of me.
Movement in the corner of my eye.
My gaze cuts sideways to Mistress Ell, a sight I never thought I’d be so happy to see. Thank you thank you thank you.
But something’s wrong.
She presses a finger to her lips, contemplating my distress without a flicker of concern crossing her face. “Do you need further assistance?”
“Yes!” The one behind still has me locked down in his iron grip. “Tell them to get off me. They attacked for no reason.”
“I meant further assistance with your bath,” she says in that lyrical voice with a warm smile. “I’m sure these fine young men would be happy to scrub you down.”
Understanding dawns, sinks to the bottom of my gut with a fresh layer of horror. “You put them up to this?”
“You had fair warning,”
The woman takes bat shit crazy to a whole new level. “I didn’t fall asleep on purpose. I was exhausted. It was an honest mistake.”
“There are no mistakes in the House of Ell.” She snaps her fingers and I’m set free, the two males stalking out the door without a backward glance. “No mistakes and no exceptions.”
My legs hollow with relief to see the back of the bloodsucking bastards. For a moment there, I honestly thought...
“You’ve slept half the day away,” Mistress Ell says. “I’ll be up in half an hour with a tray of food and I expect you to be presentable.”
“I’m not hungry!” My stomach growls in protest, shaming me for the blatant lie.
Mistress Ell arches a brow at me. “I don’t recall asking if you’re hungry. Silks eat on my command. Silks walk and run and skip and jump on my command. I’m sure you get the picture.”
Good for them. “What is a silk?”
“You are.” She reaches in for the door knob. “You are a Silk.”
I stare daggers at the woman until the door clicks softly in my face.
Silk.
Prey.
Anything but human.
The frilly pink curtains get the brunt of my fury as I rip them open to let the sunlight in. The bloodsuckers may prefer the night, but daylight clearly isn’t a deterrent. Pity. Would be nice if they all had to creep into their coffins from dawn to sunset. Even nicer if a sunbeam fried them to a crisp.
The en suite bathroom is straight from the set of a movie with all the props—lotions and soaps and tiny bottles of bath oils, pale pink towels on a heating rack and a silk bathrobe. A quick peek in the cabinet reveals a blower and brushes and a make-up box. Everything is marble and sparkling white porcelain and smudge-free mirrors.
My stomach roils with unease as I glance from the bath to the shower stall. As much as I’d love to sink into a tub of hot water and wash my worries away, this luxury has the feel of a ‘last request’, something of the order of the last meal given to a prisoner on death row.
Too wired to relax in a bathtub, I grab soap and shampoo and opt for the shower. The water pressure hits me like a torrential downpour, unlike the measly trickle of our shower back home. I’d trade it in a heartbeat for just one more day at the farm with my dad, one more conversation—a proper goodbye...one more hug and one more memory.
My legs give in and I slide down the glass door until I’m sitting in the frothy water gathered on the tiles. My fingers clasp the Celtic cross at my throat, tighten as waves of regret and anger flood me. I was torn from my family, my home, my friends, from everyone and everything I know because I loved a boy. I’m disappointed in Gabe, but no longer angry at him—that anger is reserved for me, for my own arrogance and stupidity and blindness. Then there’s the other angers—Georga’s senseless death, the bloodsuckers, the prince, Mistress Ell, this whole damn world!
Water streams over my eyelashes, down my cheeks. I have no tears left to mingle with the downpour from the showerhead. The emotions are there, the loss, the fury, the grief, the fear, wrung out and freeze-dried into a colder, harder version of expression.
I give myself five minutes to sit here, for sinew to bind the marrow in my bones, then I pick myself up and scrub every inch of me from head to toe. Once I’m clean and dry, I wrap myself in the silky robe and comb the tangles from my hair. My eyes still have that wild look to them, but the rest of me is less rag-and-bone and more like my old self.
I’m barely out of the bathroom when Mistress Ell returns with a tray as promised. A bowl of steaming potato broth and chunks of crusty bread. The moment the aroma hits my nostrils, all thoughts of protesting out of principle fly out the window. I perch on the bed to use the nightstand as a dining table, watching her out the corner of my eye as I spoon the fragrant broth into my mouth.
She’s at the wardrobe, picking through rows of hanging garments. “Ah, perfect for your coloring. Let’s see if this fits.”
She holds a slinky, low-necked silk gown in rust and gold up to the light. Any other time, any other mood, I would consider it a beautiful creation.
“Am I invited to a ball?” I ask sarcastically around a mouthful of warm bread.
“The prince has requested you for this afternoon,” she says smoothly, carefully laying the dress out on the bed beside me.
I drop the piece of uneaten bread onto the plate, my appetite squashed. I thought I’d have more time. I don’t know why, what gave me that fantastical idea, but I did.
I eye the dress with a scowl that digs the beginnings of a headache into my forehead. “Who cares what I wear?”
Mistress Ell steps in front of me, her lips flattening as her green eyes narrow on the hollow of my throat.
I slap a palm over the silver cross resting there. “What?”
Her lips twitch. “The prince selects his Silks to taste and I won’t presume to refine the rough edges, but you should know he prefers an unadorned neck.”
“For easy access?” I quip.
“I don’t appreciate a smart tongue in my house.”
“Well, that’s not going to a problem for much longer, is it?” If I’m to be served to the prince as a mid-afternoon snack, it’s a one-way trip.
Mistress Ell doesn’t contradict me.