Clang, clang, clang, clang.
The sound of a metallic bowl being hit loudly, with the back end of a spoon, startled me into full wakefulness. In the dungeons, there was no night and day, no wake or sleep, only a groggy inertia that cloaked me, making me constantly drowsy but never enough for a full, refreshing sleep. The only way to keep track of the days was by delivery of the one meal a day that we were served: lukewarm porridge, the same as the blood slaves got. The vampire guard who brought us our food, took great delight in heralding his arrival by means of the harsh, metallic sound, jarring the peace of the dank dungeons.
By my count, I’d been here five days. Beaufort hadn’t yet come to collect on his ‘prize’. Was he just busy? Or waiting until my fear had time to fester and reach a fever pitch of infection?
The guard’s footsteps travelled in my direction, the squeak of the trolley, grating on my nerves, as he stopped at each cell to slide the bowl underneath. Every so often he’d make a snide, spiteful comment to one of the inhabitants of the cell. The vampire was a low-life parasite, feeding off the misery of those in no position to fight back. The first day I’d been here, I’d been tempted to attack him, as soon as he came to collect my empty bowl. But then I’d thought of Rainie, down the hill, and held myself back. I couldn’t have that sweet little girl’s death on my conscience. My nightmares were already filled with Darla’s angry, accusing face, as she heckled me from the grave, blaming me for the loss of an imagined life she’d never been able to complete. I still couldn’t believe she was dead. I’d cried so much, I couldn’t cry anymore. Instead, my grief had turned into an ugly morbid thing. A child of wrath, locked away in a holding cage, waiting for the only thing that would bring release - driving a stake through Beaufort’s sick heart.
The guard got to me and smirked. He never missed an opportunity to have a pop at me. “It’s Bree the merciful.” He chuckled, bowing gracefully before sliding the bowl under the door. “Look where your mercy got you. You should’ve just not given a shit, like all the other pets upstairs.”
I took the bowl, glowering at him, but I didn’t fight back. I was beginning to wonder if I still could. Was it just because I feared for Rainie’s life or had Beaufort really broken me? It didn’t matter anyway. I was never getting out of here. If my mind fractured and I became a gibbering, mindless lunatic, like many of the other lost souls in these dungeons, perhaps that would be better. Then, maybe, I could block out the pain of Beaufort’s abuse. Did crazy people still feel emotional pain? I hoped not.
He continued his taunting. “Yeah, I bet you wish you were back up there now, don’t you. Sipping on fine wine as servants waited on you hand and foot. Getting dressed in silk and getting regular massages.” His eyes grew a little misty and I wondered if he too would like a taste of the good life - it certainly appeared that way. His voice even cracked a little at the end. Then he shook his head and snapped out of his reverie. “Anyway, one of us will be down to collect you later.”
This got my attention. “What?”
He stroked his bristly grey chin. “Yep. Today’s the day, Bree the merciful. It’s baby-making time.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Why today?”
“You’re fertile.” He leant forward. “We can smell it when you ovulate.”
So that’s what Beaufort had been waiting for. He knew I was hostile and unpredictable. He didn’t want to risk mating with me on random days when I couldn’t fall pregnant. This gave me a surge of hope. If he was being cautious around me, that meant he still viewed me as a threat.
Why?
Some time later, two vampire guards turned up, handcuffed me and dragged me out of my cell. As we passed Derek’s cell, he shouted out. “Tear off his dick.”
I smiled at his attempt to cheer me up. During my time here, I’d found out that Derek wasn’t half bad. We had a lot in common. Not just the fact that he’d been played by Beaufort, just like I had. We both liked tinkering with motorbikes. Derek had even created his own line of leather motorbike gear, which he described as a ‘side hobby’. But the passion in his voice when he spoke of it, made it clear that this was his true calling. He also did MMA fighting. He’d started as a boxer, going professional for a while, before transitioning into a mixed fighting discipline. His attitude towards life was refreshingly carefree. He’d always lived by his own rules, giving zero fucks about breaking the law. And he cheerfully boasted about his skill at nicking cars, which he did ‘just for fun’.
I recalled the words he’d spoken to me hours before. If you ever get out of here, take me with you. Derek had made me promise and in return, he’d promised to remove the glamour on my flatmates. I doubted either of us would ever get to fulfil our pact but it made me feel better. It was a small act of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.
Shaking my thoughts back to the grim present, I trailed my feet as I walked. I felt like a condemned man, being led to the gallows. How could Beaufort still believe he wasn’t a rapist? This was rape - using coercion, the threat of harming someone I cared about, to force me to sleep with him, that was definitely rape. Being an eighteenth century guy, maybe the definition was different in his day. In his mind, if I wasn’t scratching at his face, screaming and thrashing about, as he forced himself inside me, it wasn’t rape. Somebody should educate Hugh Beaufort on the many ways in which the world had changed. But then, surrounded by yes men and barbie dolls, who would ever have the balls to do that?
We ascended the steps, opened the trapdoor and entered the main house. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the kitchen. My gaze darted from left to right, as I walked, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. There was a wooden rolling pin - that would do. But I had no hope of reaching it, handcuffed and with my obsidian collar locked firmly around my neck. With mounting dread I began to accept that this was happening. Hugh Beaufort was going to rape me and I was powerless to stop it.
Rounding the corner, we entered the entrance hall and there he was, standing at the top of the stairs, a smug smile plastered on his odious face. A servant stood, holding a towel, cowering next to him.
“Peugh! I could smell you from half a mile away. Veena here will take you for a bath. I like my lovers to be fresh and clean.” His eyes flashed with glee and I felt like throwing up. My footsteps sounded like the toll of a funeral church bell, every step leading me closer to my doom.
We reached the top of the stairs and the vampire guard escorted me and Veena to the luxury bathroom I’d been shown to when I’d first arrived. Leaning close to me, the vampire spat in my ear as he spoke in a sinister whisper. “You should be grateful. It’s an honour to mate with Mr Beaufort.”
A rush of nausea assaulted me, at the thought of my vampire captor’s scraggly, old body, on top of mine. My mouth turned down, as my nose wrinkled. I bet he grunted and snorted, like a pig, when he was shagging.
The vampire continued. “And the likes of you doesn’t normally get to have a bath in the master suite.” He sneered, pleased with himself.
But trapped in my own tunnel of deep regret, grief and fear, his insults barely touched me. His cheap shots were no match for the depth of my pain.
This time, Veena came into the bathroom with me. Was I on suicide watch? It wouldn’t surprise me and, come to think of it, that may be the best revenge for Beaufort. Or, better yet, wait until he’d impregnated me and then kill myself with his bastard child in my belly. I shook the dark thought from my head, barely able to believe what Beaufort had turned me into. I was no longer Bree Ryan. I was a creature of hate and vengeance, my life reduced to a single-point of focus and meaning: to destroy Hugh Beaufort.
I got into the bath, as if in a trance, barely aware of the hot water, lapping around me. It was a stark contrast to how I’d first luxuriated in this bath tub. I yearned for the innocence of the girl I’d been. When I’d first arrived here, I’d been wary but still hopeful and full of fire and passion. Now all that was gone. I lay, listlessly, all thoughts of escape abandoned, bobbing in the warm water, like an abandoned old deck shoe, floating in the waves of a polluted sea. Submerging in the water, I looked up at the renaissance frescoed ceiling, watching as bubbles escaped from my lips. It was so tempting to stay down here, in the quiet of the bath’s watery depths, just never come up again and let myself drown.
Strong arms hauled me out of the water. “Back up you come,” Veena said. She looked at me with kindness, too terrified to tell me what she really thought but conveying as much as she could through her eyes. Her eyes said ‘thank you’. Her eyes said ‘sorry’. Her eyes said ‘I wish things could have turned out differently’ and I gulped and nodded, my eyes welling with tears. I almost couldn’t cope with kindness anymore. I’d become so accustomed to heartless jibes and cruelty, from the vampire guards. Her kindness almost hurt more than their insults. Because I knew it was so fleeting and I’d have to give it up and be raped, then return to my underground cave, only to be raped again the next day and every day during my fertile period.
“Let’s get you out.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners and she held up a towel. I stood up, covering my naked breasts as I shivered. I wasn’t cold, I was shaking with shuddering sobs. She wrapped the fluffy towel around me, stroking her arms up and down as she dried me. She was doing her best to comfort me, offer what little solace she could without risking punishment.
My tears flowed faster and now I began to sob out loud, no longer caring enough to hide my pain.
She handed me a pile of elegant clothes. Designer underwear and a floaty, rose-coloured chiffon dress. Why was he bothering to dress me up when his objective was just to knock me up? This facade of civility seemed somehow worse than being roughly pushed up against an alleyway wall. At least that method was more honest. This was rape, however he wanted to dress it up. He could paint my face and swathe me in the softest fabrics. But there was no hiding the cold, hard ugliness of this. He was taking me against my will and I would never forget, nor forgive.
I put the clothes on mechanically and Veena zipped up my dress. It hugged my body like a wisp of smoke, barely containing me. My breasts spilled out of the plunging neckline. And a deep slit in the side, revealed one leg as the fabric spooled around me, the hemline skimming the floor.
Veena got to work with a round brush and hair dryer, styling my long hair into soft waves, that fell around my face. Next she put light make up on me. Dewy lipstick, soft, romantic eyes and a light rosy blush on my cheeks. She’d done me up as a bride but I felt like I was betrothed to Satan and about to be damned through the desecration of the marital bed.
She finished off the look with a diamond earring and necklace set. It was the most beautiful jewellery I’d ever worn. But no amount of pretty, glittery diamonds could light the darkness of my mood.
When she’d finished, she led me by the hand, giving me to the vampire guard, standing sentry outside the bathroom.
“This way.” He led me down a darkened passageway. I was sure the lights had been brighter when I’d first arrived. The carpeted floor felt like claws, digging into my soft, exposed soles. By now my tears had dried. I had no more left to give. I’d cried for the hopeful girl I’d been who was now gone. I’d cried for the way in which my honour lay in tatters, destroyed by the shards of my broken promises, made to slaves who would now never know freedom. But most of all I’d cried for Darla. A life so full of promise. A woman so full of vibrancy and joy, her positivity had been a lifeline to me and now she was gone - snuffed out in one senseless act of brutality. The waste was so desolating, it twisted in my soul worse than an arrow being pulled out, tearing through my organs and suffocating my will to fight or to live.
We reached Beaufort’s bedroom which, as I would’ve guessed, was fancier than a prostitute’s knickers. He lay in wait, like a preying mantis, scoping out the best position from which to devour her mate. His lust-filled gaze followed me into the room.
Licking his lips appreciatively, he nodded. “Now that’s more like it. Now you look like one of my lovers.” He beckoned me to join him. The guard unlocked my handcuffs and then retreated, shutting the door behind him.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my red wrists as I gulped down the tears that threatened to spill once more.
“Oh come on Bree, it’s not that bad. I could tell you that I’ll be quick but that would be a lie.”
I gagged, inwardly groaning.
“But remember your promise. Not a single hint of resistance or…” he made a slashing movement across his neck.
My hand flew to my mouth and I scrunched up my face in disgust and hate. Catching sight of my reflection, in the mirror, opposite his four-poster kingsize bed, a blotchy, tear-streaked girl stared back at me.
He shuffled closer to me, stroking my hair away from my neck. His eyes lingered on my neck and his breathing began to increase. He leaned in and planted a wet, smoochy kiss on my cheek. I recoiled but it didn’t deter him. I sat motionless, staring into space, as his nose sniffed behind my ear.
“Mmm. I love the smell of a woman during ovulation. There’s nothing like it.” He breathed. “You’re in the peak of your womanhood, ripe for impregnating.”
My contempt turned to disbelief and I stared at him, wishing I could poison him with the well of hate behind my eyes. How could this guy think that women loved him? For starters his pillow talk stunk worse than week old mackerel, left out in the sun.
Beaufort opened his mouth and I heard a clicking sound as his fangs appeared. Saliva dripped from one of them. Any pretence at decorum he’d previously put on for me, had been tossed aside, in service of his lust. He was a feral beast and he no longer cared to hide it from me. The sight of him, in his true, full vampire form, did something to me. My leg bones felt like they’d disintegrated. I couldn’t stand, even though every fibre of my being told me to run. My scream caught in my throat, coming out as a mere whimper. Time seemed to slow down and images of my life flashed before me. Was I even still breathing? I was too scared to tell. My only awareness was of the threat, crawling across the sheets, slowly towards me, savouring my fear and distress. This was the man I’d first seen in the restaurant. This was the monster I’d sensed, beneath the veneer of gentility. This was the real Hugh Beaufort: merciless, tyrannical and bestial.
I scrambled backwards, turning my head from side to side, seeking out anything that could be used as a weapon. He’d asked the guard to remove my handcuffs. Because now it was about more than just ‘getting the job done’ now he wanted to enjoy it and the way that he enjoyed it best was by inflicting fear as well as pain. He wanted the thrill of the chase. As I turned my head to look back at him, I squealed - he was at my throat. It had taken less than the blink of an eye for him to be there. His manicured fingernails grazed the soft skin of my neck, drawing just the tiniest nick of blood. I cried out and his eyes flashed. He threw his head back and laughed.
“Now we’re really having fun!” His eyes glinted with triumph.
I tried to latch onto any idea that might help me but I was a mess - a quivering, gibbering mess. I’d been a fool to think I could handle this vampire. I still couldn’t even really use my arcane magic properly. My powers were unpredictable and difficult to control. I should’ve taken the witches help while I’d still had the chance. This is where my bravado had gotten me. I’d thought I could protect myself against vampires. I thought I was strong and brave. I wasn’t. I was a weak little girl, alone in the world, with no clue about how to defend myself.
Beaufort brought his fangs to my neck once more and they danced across my flesh. His hot breath assaulted my nostrils and I squirmed and closed my eyes, praying something would happen - anything to stop him from raping me. Blind panic took over my mind. It fragmented into a chaotic maelstrom of flashing images and abstract thoughts. Was this what was meant by a dissociative state? I no longer felt glued to my body and would’ve done anything to leave it.
Without warning, Beaufort wrenched my dress from my torso, stripping me to the waist, as he tore the delicate fabric. I cradled my bra-clad breasts in my hands, crossing them protectively over my body as I quivered in time to my own shuddering breaths.
“Mmm, Bree. You look good enough to eat. I don’t normally bite my lovers but tonight, I’m going to have to make an exception.” He snapped his head back and bared his fangs.