Chapter 2

Isit in Father's carriage, watching him read whatever book he picked up today, and wait for him to deliver another scorning for my behaviour with the village boys.

But nothing comes except silence.

Beside him is a black box wrapped in silver ribbon. My gaze drifts from him to the box.

‘Is that a dress?' I ask.

‘It is,' my father replies.

‘Is it for me?' I ask.

‘It's hardly for me, is it,' he replies, not even looking up from his page.

‘May I see it?' I reach for the box. He grabs at my hand, gripping it tightly.

‘It is the dress the coven has chosen for you all to wear, Ashe. You seeing it will make no difference in that choice.' He lets me go and turns the page.

I rub my wrist, easing the blood back into my fingers.

‘Is it revealing?'

‘It's appropriate.' His words are short as he lifts the book higher, concealing his face entirely.

The conversation has ended.

We sit silently for the rest of the trip, so I pass the time, peering out of the window and avoiding the box beside him.

Beyond the human village lies miles of marshland. Beyond that, acres upon acres of forest. The sun begins to set, and the road becomes less wild.

I inwardly groan as I see the torches of our village gates come into view. Shrinking back, I sink into the carriage seats.

Home.

It should be a wonderful word, but I feel like I'm suffocating whenever I think it.

‘You need to work on that,' Father mutters, his nose still buried in the book.

‘Work on what?' I reply.

‘Controlling your aura. It won't serve you well to be so easy to read. No man wishes to sense disdain and fear from their companion. I assure you, it will cause you nothing but problems at the Rite.'

‘Companion,' I scoff, crossing my arms and watching the gates come closer. ‘Perhaps if I weren't being forced into the Blood Rite, I wouldn't feel disdain and fear for my future Companions.'

‘What would you have me do? Turn my back on centuries of tradition for you?'

‘I wouldn't say no to the idea.'

He lowers his book and shows me his soft smile.

‘If I could do it for you, my girl, I would. Sadly, I cannot abolish the Rite or exempt you from it. It is just one night. Then you are free to marry the son of the coven leader.'

‘Cole, Father. The man you promised me to is named Cole.'

I feel him watching me as I keep my gaze cast beyond the window. When I refuse to look at him, he leans over.

‘The Blood Rite doesn't have to be a bad thing, Ashe. It's the beginning of something wonderful. When your blood goes into the fire, your power awakens and becomes yours to control.'

When I try to look away, he refuses to let me go and pulls my face back to him.

‘You know precisely what happens if you refuse to do the Blood Rite, Ashe.'

‘I know.'

‘They will bleed you. Burn you. Carve you up and harvest your organs. You will die slowly and in unparalleled agony. Is that what you want?'

‘No. Of course not.'

‘Then act like the girl I raised you to be, not the petulant child you are acting like right now. You will do the Rite.'

‘It's bullshit.'

‘And you will cease all your swearing. You know Cole hates it when you swear.'

‘He never complains to me.'

‘No. He complains to me. I think silence is best from now on. Before I lose my temper.'

‘Fine,' I whisper.

He lets me go with a slight shove and sits back, still staring at me.

Countless minutes later, he looks away only when the carriage stops.

Without a word, he picks up his book and the box and leaves, slamming the carriage door shut behind him.

I remain in my seat, trembling from head to foot, and slowly let out the breath I had been holding.

Every muscle is rigid, and I have to focus hard to relax them. When my fists unfurl, I stare at the crescent-shaped cuts in my palm. There's blood under my fingernails and little beads of it gathering in my open hands.

One more night.

Then, it all changes.

The shadows move in the corner of the room. They're watching me.

My father says shadows have no eyes, so how can they watch?

But they do. I move. They move. Their stare is hot. It burns into me.

When the floorboards creak, I throw the duvet over my head. An icy hand reaches out and rips it off. With a scream, I scramble away, falling off the bed and landing hard on the floor. It grabs my ankle as I try to get under my bed to hide.

And I scream a silent scream. My throat closes, and I can't breathe.

I sit with a start, gasping for breath as I clutch my racing heart.

‘A nightmare,' I pant, focusing on my actual reality.

This. My bedroom. My bed.

Not the shadows.

I pick up the book I'd been reading before I fell asleep and place it on the bedside table. The candle is all but spent, and the fireplace is nothing more than embers.

It's cold. My body shudders as I reach for the blanket at the end of the bed.

My curtains are open, letting in the almost full moon. No wonder it's cold. The window is open. Wrapping the blanket tight around my body, I head over and peer out, watching the clouds drift past the almost full moon and attempt to settle my pounding heart.

‘A nightmare,' I tell myself, taking in deep breath after deep breath. ‘Just a nightmare, Ashe. Nothing more.'

With a dry swallow, I look up at that moon.

‘A nightmare,' I repeat. But this time, not for the dream's sake. But the future. When that moon becomes full. When it turns red.

The Blood Moon is coming, slap bang on my birthday. I glance at the clock atop the mantle over the fireplace. It's three am.

‘Happy birthday to me,' I sigh, looking back at the moon.

‘Happy birthday indeed.'

I scream and turn, spinning on my heel to face the voice.

But the room is empty.

My back sinks into the wall, and I don't even dare to breathe.

‘Twenty years old,' he says, his voice as soft as silk and as alluring as anything I've ever heard.

That voice.

I know that voice.

‘C-come out,' I manage. My words are barely a whisper as I remain pressed to the wall. My eyes scan every inch of the dark room before me.

Nothing.

I see no one.

‘Just a dream,' I whisper. ‘A dream. Nothing more.'

The window behind me slams shut and locks all on its own. I yelp and stagger back.

‘Are you sure I am just a dream?'

I feel his breath on my neck. His words were whispered right into my ear.

I don't dare turn. His fingers run through my hair as he leans in close and inhales deeply.

‘Because I've always thought of myself as more of a nightmare.'

He grips my hair, and I'm thrown onto the mattress.

He's on me in a second, his hands pinning my wrists above my head as he lies atop me.

‘Hello, Little Pixie.' He laughs as I struggle beneath his solid frame, finding my attempts to buck him off or wriggle free utterly amusing. ‘Easy, now. I would hate for you to hurt yourself.'

‘GET OFF ME!' I scream, thrashing wildly beneath him. ‘HELP ME! FATHER!'

But my voice is barely there. No matter how loud I try to be, I'm almost silent.

Shaw laughs and manoeuvres me easily, gripping my wrists in one hand and pulling off his belt with the other. No matter how hard I struggle and scream, he just smirks, focusing on using his belt to secure my wrists to my wooden headboard.

When my hands are restrained, he takes hold of my ankle, pulls out a length of rope from his pocket and ties one of my feet to the corner bedpost.

He stands to tighten it fully, watching me closely as he secures the knot.

I try to kick him away with my remaining free foot, but he grips my ankle and pulls, stretching me out so he can secure it to the other corner.

I've screamed, and I've called. My throat feels red raw from the effort, but I've made hardly a damned sound.

Panting, I lift my head and watch him. He restrains me slowly on purpose, making each loop and knot a tease. A promise.

I'm not going anywhere.

With a final tug, he gives a single laugh, the corner of his mouth hitched in a crooked smile as he looks down at me, deepening that scar along his lips.

‘I was right. I do enjoy seeing you stretched out and tied up,' he breathes, resting his hands on each bedpost and surveying me. ‘There was mention of a weapon last we spoke,' he adds. ‘Sadly, I didn't come with an iron nail. We did discuss something else, however.'

‘You can't feed from witches. It's forbidden. And if you touch me, my coven will kill-'

‘Pixie. If you open your mouth again, I'll fill it with my cock. Do you understand me?' His brow raises, waiting for an answer.

I close my lips, taking my panicked breaths in through my nose instead, and never look away from him. My rage and hate mix with fear as I look at my predator.

His piercing green eyes trail down my body, stopping only when he gets to the hem of my nightgown resting at my knees.

I never look away. I don't even blink, hating how exposed I suddenly feel.

How utterly helpless.

I could scream again. But I tried. Nothing came out. He must have done something to me. Something vampiric that I don't know or understand.

But I sure as shit know that he meant it when he warned me what would happen if I open my mouth again.

Shaw kneels on the bed between my legs, focusing entirely on the thin cotton covering my body.

When his palms rest on my ankles, I jump. He feels me trembling, and his gaze flicks back to mine.

‘You insulted me, Pixie. You called me a bloodsucker as well as a pig-headed piece of shit. Say you're sorry.'

‘I'm sorry,' I reply in a whisper.

His hands slowly slide up my legs.

‘I said… I said I was sorry…'

He feels me try in vain to close my legs. But he also feels the goosebumps that erupt over every inch he touches.

His hands pass my knees as he crawls up the bed, taking the hem of my night dress with him. My mouth dries out thoroughly, and if my heart gets any faster, it will explode.. There's a hunger in his eyes, and I like it. I like the domineering control he's taken. I like his gentle touch despite the violent nature of his visit.

I like that I'm being looked at as a prize. And I very much like the deep weight I have building in my core.

He stops at my hips and looks down.

‘My sweet little Pixie. Your pussy is exquisite.' His head tilts to the side a little as he admires my exposed flesh. ‘My my.' With a frown, he lifts his head. ‘You're wet. I wasn't expecting that.' That hitched corner of his mouth grows. ‘Not this early on, at any rate.'

‘Get the fuck away from me, or I will slit your fucking throat!' I warn. Despite how it trembles, my voice seems to have returned, so I take the risk and try to scream. I scream for my father. For anyone to help me!

Not a fucking sound passes my lips.

He tuts and shakes his head.

‘I warned you, Little Pixie. Didn't I warn you what would happen if you tried to scream?' He leans over me, his hands resting on either side of my head and his nose a hair's breadth from mine. ‘Anyone would think that you want my cock in your mouth.'

‘You can't do this,' I whisper. ‘The rules. The treaty.'

‘Never been one for rules.' He lowers his waist, and I gasp as I feel the coolness of his trousers against me. That, and his erection digging into me.

He watches me closely, reading every bit of my reaction. When he digs himself in a little more, I whimper.

I fucking whimper! A jolt of pleasure tears through me, making my back arch.

My mouth is agape, and confusion starts to argue with my terror.

The feel of him on me… the way I can't move… the power he has over me, literally holding my life in his hands… It turns me the fuck on.

‘I like that noise,' he muses. ‘Do it again.'

‘Go to hell, Bloodsucker.'

His hips push forward once more, and the whimper comes out as a full-on moan.

‘Oh yes. I definitely like that noise.'

‘S-stop… it,' I manage through a breathless whisper.

‘What… this?' he teases, grinding into me again.

I raise my hips to meet his and relish the feel of his trousers straining over his cock. Back and forth, he moves over my clit, as if fucking me.

‘Stop…' I moan, biting my lip.

‘You didn't sound too convincing just then, Pixie. Try it again without that breathy gasp.' He starts grinding against me. I pull on the restraints, but I know it's not to escape. It's to get closer. To feel more. ‘I highly doubt Cole has ever got you to make that noise before. Do it again.'

His hand settles between my legs. The tips of his fingers gently circle my opening. So light and gentle it's barely even a touch.

But it has every nerve heightened. Every muscle contracting. He glides his fingers along my entrance and holds them up between us, showing me the wetness he's gathered.

‘You are soaking wet, Pixie.' He raises a brow. ‘You like this? Being tied up? Being at my mercy?'

‘Drop dead.'

‘Some would argue I already have.'

He returns his fingers between my legs and sinks them deep inside me.

My fingers curl around the belt as my back arches completely. He knows precisely where to touch. How to move. His fingers are skilled. Far more so than my own. It usually takes me ten minutes or more to get myself this turned on. This wet. I hear how slick I am. I feel it on my inner thighs.

‘I think I've found myself a little whore. Is that what you are?' He sinks in a third finger and lets out a deep moan. ‘Fuck, Pixie. Your cunt is starving for attention.' He laughs again, watching me shamelessly writhe beneath him. ‘I just wanted to scare you. But I'll happily fuck you if that's what you want.' His thumb circles my clit.

‘Fuck… Fuck!!' I moan, lifting my head to watch. To witness his fingers ease in and out of me with slippery ease. This is wrong. It's all wrong! He's a vampire. My enemy. A killer of my kind.

But holy shit, he is good with his fingers, and being tied up? Why the hell do I like this so damn much? The thrill that he could kill me at any second… it makes it better. Makes me wetter.

I close my eyes and turn my face away. He's a monster. A killer. A bloodsucker who kills for money and feeds from the innocent. He tortured the last pixie he had tied down. It's wrong.

What the hell is the matter with me?

He guides my face back to his.

‘If you want me to make you orgasm, you better look me in the eye as I do. There's something extremely satisfying about the shame and lust I see in them. So big and beautiful. So doe-like and sweet. Yet so powerful, too. You would kill me if you could, wouldn't you?'

‘Yes,' I admit.

‘How would you kill me, Pixie?'

‘I would slit your throat,' I bite back. He plunges his fingers deeper, and I cry out in pleasure, my back bent into an arch as I writhe beneath him.

‘Yes. You would. I can see it. Good job I tied you up first, then.'

‘Are… are you…'

‘What?' he smiles.

‘Are you going to kill me?'

‘I thought about it. But this is much more fun.'

His smirk twitches a little, and his fingers twist, making me moan loudly.

They slowly ease in and out of me.

In and out, caressing and massaging me deeply and with precision.

‘Has Cole ever made you climax?'

I shake my head.

I've only ever climaxed on my own, but this is… this is something else.

I'm at his mercy. He could kill me. Bleed me dry and leave behind nothing but flesh, muscle and bone. I imagine it. My father walking in to find a husk of his daughter.

Would he care?

Shaw's thumb works my clit harder.

‘Fuck…' I groan, pulling hard on the belt and rope. ‘Fuck… fuck… fuck!'

I'm close. Real fucking close!

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs until they feel fit to burst and hold it.

‘Breathe, Pixie.'

I shake my head and nudge my hips closer to him. Holding my breath makes it better. It makes me fucking scream.

‘You can't be serious. The little mud witch enjoys breath play?' he chuckles deeply. ‘Well. Okay then.'

He grabs my throat and squeezes.

He's still watching me closely.

Something looks at me through his piercing green eyes.

I don't know what it is, but I like it. It frightens me.

Excites me.

He pulls down my nightgown, exposing my breasts.

When his teeth pierce the flesh, the pain has my head thrown back, and a powerful orgasm tears through my body, ripping me apart from the inside out.

I wake with a gasp, sitting up and grabbing at my breast, seeking the wound.

There isn't one.

My room is dark. My window is closed. No belt or rope holds me down, and the only person in my bedroom is me.

A dream. A fucking dream?

The wet patch between my legs, the dying ache in my belly and the sensitivity of my clit tell me that dream or not, real or not, Shaw just gave me one hell of an orgasm.

That's a first. A sex dream. Not the man I thought would feature in it, if I'm honest. But I'm not disappointed.

I slump back into the pillow, covered in sweat and still panting, looking up at the ceiling in a blissful daze.

My entire body is left with a wonderous tingle, and I find myself looking at that window longingly.

If he did climb through it, ravage me and bleed me dry, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

If I were dead, the Rite wouldn't be an issue any longer.

None of this would be.

I should have known it was a dream.

My windows have been nailed shut for years.

Ever since I tried to run away after my mother died.