Jess Haines - Enslaved By the Others

“Shiarra,” he said, drawing my name out like a paper cut—so sharp and quick that you don’t feel the pain until you realize you’re bleeding. “I’ve done my best to be temperate with you, but your reticence is wearing on my patience. I don’t have the time to deal with you or your insolence. Wresting control of cities from other vampires to place my progeny in key locations is far more important to me than wasting my time trying to use your connection to your pack when we are still weeks off from the full moon. Why do you insist on acting out in ways that interrupt my work and draw my ire? Are you deliberately setting out to anger me?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer him. Did he think I was acting like some headstrong teenager, lashing out at restrictive house rules? Or did he really not realize just how fucked up his operation was and that anyone with half a brain cell in my situation would be making every effort to escape?

I was starting to think it might be the latter because he was laying his cards on the table. Telling me he was actively working to take over other cities was a bad sign. Vampires were renowned for playing their cards close to their chest. Admitting what he was doing likely meant he intended me to play a part in it.

Knowing why he had ignored me for days at a time didn’t improve my outlook on my situation one bit, either. The werewolf responsible for my infection was dead, and most of his pack hated me with a passion. Whatever Max thought of my connection to the pack of Sunstrikers, their pack leader—my ex-boyfriend Chaz—wouldn’t let them do a thing for me anymore. Volunteering that information might lead Max to decide to cut his losses and kill me. If I kept it to myself, I would live longer and there was still a chance at escape or rescue.

Max shook his head when it became clear I wasn’t going to respond. “This lack of acceptance of your new lot could have been the death of you if you were with someone else, but I don’t think you’ve quite grasped what your place here means. You are mine. As I told you when you got here, there is no escape from me unless I choose to let you go.”

I glared up at him, trying on a little anger to hide the fear raging inside. “I’m a person, you asshole. You don’t own me. You never will. You can lock me up, but I’m not yours and never will be.”

Max stared down at me, one hand lightly rubbing his chin as little furrows appeared between those gray eyes. He didn’t exactly look angry or frustrated. Considering. Like he thought I was being dense and was trying to decide how to explain the facts of life to me. After a while, he spoke again, this time with a tone of gentle scolding like a parent telling their wayward teenager not to stay out so late and to call next time. What a crock.

“I do believe your inability to accept your place is why this is so difficult for you. Rhathos was far too lenient with you.”

“He doesn’t own me, either.”

He voiced a soft, mocking laugh. “Oh, yes he did. Long before you met him. The moment he acknowledged your existence, you were his. The only difference between us is that I do not lie about your place in my household.” That felt far too uncomfortably like trains of thought I’d had myself. An unbidden memory of a low, husky voice promising just that made me shiver. “ Don’t doubt for a moment that you’re mine, my little hunter. You’ve been mine longer than you know. ” Max, who didn’t seem to notice he’d hit a nerve, continued his little lecture. “Do you know what makes me the master here, and you the slave?”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say something that would land me in further trouble.

“You let fear rule your actions. You accept that I am stronger than you, and capable of hurting you, so you do as I say when directly ordered to avoid punishment. While not ideal, it is acceptable. I don’t stamp out that fire that makes you continue to hope and search for a way out because it would destroy the spirit that makes you attractive.” He leaned forward, one finger pointed at my face as he growled out his next words. “However, that does not give you license to incite rebellion in the rest of my pets.”

“Oh, please,” I said, my cup runneth over, “are you even listening to yourself? We are people, Max, not animals. You can’t keep us like ... like pets. Are you honestly surprised we’re trying to get out any way we can?”

“As I said, I expected it of you. Not from the others, who know their place. Or did, until you put those idiotic notions of rescue into their heads. Do you have any idea how much work you’ve undone?”

That made me bristle. It rankled to think that he had those girls so cowed that no one had thought to try to get the attention of outsiders before today. “Good! They should be trying to get out! I don’t care what century you’re from—you’re in America. Don’t you know what you’re doing is illegal and wrong? Hasn’t living so much history taught you anything? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Emancipation Proclamation. What you’re doing has been illegal even longer in England. Since . . . since . . .”

“1102.”

“1102, right.” I said. Then exploded. “Come on! You know it’s not right, you know the history of it better than I do. Haven’t you ever seen that Liam Neeson movie? This can’t end well for you.”

“Don’t be foolish. Making something illegal rarely stops it from happening, it only sets guidelines in place to punish those who are caught,” he said, his tone still pedantic and I-know-best-so-just-sit-back-and-shut-up. “Slavery is not a new concept. It was done long before my time, and is still more common today than you think. It’s quite a lucrative business and has paid my dues to country and sire for centuries. You should be thankful you haven’t been sold as a pleasure slave or assigned to menial tasks. Appreciate your value, girl. It’s saved you more pain than you know.”

“Are you kidding?” I asked, incredulous. “ Thankful? For this? There’s nothing right or fair about anything you’re doing here!”

“Fairness matters in the minds of Americans who see it as a means to their ends. It does not matter here.” He took an unneeded breath, frowning down at me in obvious disapproval. “I am going to tell you a little story. When I am done, I’m going to do something to remind you of your place and ensure you never forget the time you spend with me, however long you may live.”

My lip curled. “You think I’m ever going to be able to forget what you’ve done to me? To Sara?”

“If you were to fall into another’s hands, perhaps,” he replied. “What I have in mind will prevent even the most powerful mage or vampire from wiping it from your memories.”

That chilled me. Whatever he was thinking of doing was undoubtedly going to be unpleasant.

“You have met Mouse. You know she is my progeny, yes?” At my cautious nod, he smiled in a way that set my skin crawling. “Good. And I am sure you know she is mute. Did she ever relay to you the story of how she was made so?”

“You tortured her. She didn’t do something you wanted, so you tortured her until she couldn’t talk back to you anymore, you sick bastard.”

“It is not so simple as you make it sound. Truly, did no one tell you how it really happened? What she did? Or, more specifically, exactly what I did to her?”

My stomach churned as I thought about it, scrounging for any recollection of Mouse or anyone else in Royce’s apartment building speaking about her past. Most of my time spent there had passed in a fog of pain or fear or some other unpleasant emotion whenever I wasn’t loopy from the mind-mojo Max had worked on me.

The first few days of my blood bond-induced haze, I had nearly clawed holes in the walls to escape and make my way to Max’s side or clung to Royce as he fought to keep me from answering the call. Then I passed more time, bitter and listless, just wanting to go home. That was followed by some of the most intense pain I’d ever experienced in my life as I went through withdrawal pangs for vampire blood. Every other visit after that had been too brief to get to know anyone in Royce’s home beyond a passing acquaintance.