Authors: Mara Black
Slamming my palms against my forehead, I banished the thoughts.
A soft noise crept into my awareness. I stood up, stalking over to the door. Straining my ears to hear it better.
"I don't know, do you think he'd even notice? Or care?"
As quietly as I could, I made my way towards the sound of Autumn's voice. It was somewhere on this floor, not too far away.
Who the fuck is she talking to?
"I just think maybe...hey, you missed a spot over there, buddy. Or...okay, I guess you could just ignore me." A sigh. "Like always."
With a bitter twist, I realized what it was. But I had to see it with my own eyes. She was in the billiards room, and the door was open a crack. I pressed my eye to it, looking.
The robot vacuum whizzed its way around the floor, in random patterns that made sense only to it. And Autumn sat, curled up in a chair in the corner.
Talking to a fucking vacuum cleaner.
Without warning, the little shit started careening its way towards the door. Autumn's eyes followed, and I jumped back, right onto the loudest creaking board in the entire hallway. The
only
creaking board in the entire hallway.
For a while, everything was silent.
"Tate?" Autumn called out.
Clearing my throat, I opened the door and stepped into the room. The robot sat in the center of the floor, rotating slowly, one of its lights blinking a staccato pattern.
"Yes," I said, glancing around the room, as if I didn't know quite how I'd gotten here. "Would you..."
She looked at me for a long time. "I'm not insane," she said, when it became obvious I didn't know how to finish my sentence. "I just...there's nobody around here to talk to. Sometimes it helps to get my thoughts out."
I hope you're fucking proud of yourself. Keeping a woman here so fucking lonely she's talking to a god damn vacuuming robot.
"You can talk to me," I said, immediately regretting my decision to open my mouth.
She gave me exactly the look that comment deserved.
"It's fine, really," she said. "I got used to it. After..." Her face clouded over.
"After what?" I prompted, as if trying to prove that she
could
, in fact, talk to me.
"It's nothing, really," she said. An obvious lie. "I used to have a friend. But she left. After that, I got used to not having anyone to talk to. I'd just have conversations with rats and centipedes and pigeons. It's a way to stay sane. Remind yourself of the sound of your own voice." She cleared her throat. "But I guess you know all about that."
Fucking Joshua. Telling her more than she had any right to know about me. I hated that cold, creeping feeling in the back of my mind. How many things did she know, that wasn't telling me? Would never tell me?
Because she would never
trust
me.
"What happened to your friend?"
I was standing there, next to my malfunctioning vacuum, just staring. My arms were stiff at my sides. I didn't know what to do with them. Was it possible to get stage fright from a simple conversation? I didn't know what the hell I was doing. How could I speak to her like a normal person, when all I wanted to do was whip her, fuck her and then hold her sweetly afterwards?
I hadn't dared to touch her again, since we'd crashed together in the kitchen. Three days. Just three days, and it already felt like a fucking eternity. I was terrified of how badly I wanted her.
Needed
her. I couldn't give in again.
She was looking at me like I had sprouted another head. Her whole body was tense as she stared at me, seeming to weigh the cost of answering my question.
"What do you think?" she said, finally. It wasn't a real question.
Stoker.
The fucking storm cloud that always hung over us - over
me
. There was no
us
. The fucking devil on my shoulder, the demon in my soul, the voice in the back of my head. Stoker was like a thorny vine that grew and grew, slowly choking the life out of me. No matter how far I tried to run, no matter how well I hid from them, the shadows still had a name.
"Come," I said, roughly. I couldn't stand to be still anymore, in this room, trapped with the slave I didn't want and my own smothering memories.
She followed me down the stairs to the door, and out onto the pathway that led to the stables. As we drew closer to the barn, I could hear her footsteps begin to slow. I wanted to say something to comfort her, to explain what I was going to show her, but the words died in my throat. Luckily, I didn't have to explain myself.
She just had to obey.
At the door, she hesitated. I beckoned her in silently, walking over to the stables in the far corner. Finally, I heard her footsteps, soft in the hay, following after me.
I opened the stall slowly, making soft, soothing noises. Inside, the white mare whinnied, eyeing Autumn cautiously. She wasn't used to strangers.
"This is Chimaera." I stroked her muzzle, and she whinnied again, softly.
"She looks real enough to me." Autumn smiled. "Sorry. Bad joke."
"She won't talk back to you either, but she's a good listener." I reached into my pocket for an apple, picked from one of the trees in the back acres. I never had to tend to them; they simply produced year after year, some new and unnamed variety of apple that had never existed, and never would again, once the trees had outlived their prime. I handed the apple to Autumn.
"Flat palm," I warned her, as she approached.
"I know." Autumn presented the apple, and Chimaera chomped it down eagerly.
"She's easy to win over," I said, allowing myself a smile. "Have you ridden before?"
Autumn shook her head, looking at me curiously. "You really trust me on your horse?"
Shrugging, I led Chimaera out of her stall. "Why wouldn't I? Are you planning another daring escape?"
Autumn laughed, stroking the mare's neck. "I'm not your prisoner, Tate."
There was something very sly in her eyes, and I wasn't sure I liked it.
"She's loyal to me," I said. "She would never take you far from here, no matter what you did."
"Of course she is. You don't settle for anything less than one hundred percent obedience, do you?" Autumn rolled her eyes, patting Chimaera on the muzzle. The two seemed to be taking very well to each other, which was exactly what I'd expected. Why I'd waited this long to introduce them, I wasn't sure. I felt something strange, when it came to Autumn - a fierce jealousy, like even a friendship with my horse would jeopardize my influence over her.
I was fucking sick. If I could have brainwashed her, replaced every thought in her head with nothing but adoration for me, I would have done it.
Except, I wouldn't. That would defeat the whole purpose. If her spark was gone, her love meant nothing at all.
God damn it, this woman was going to drive the last shreds of my sanity away.
"That's obviously not true," I said, answering her question, at all. "You're the most disobedient woman I've ever met in my life."
She grinned. "Sounds like a boring existence. How am I supposed to ride in this dress?"
"You're not," I told her, producing a small parcel. I'd kept it tucked away in here, as if she'd somehow stumble across it in the house - there were plenty of locked doors I could have hidden it behind, but for some reason, the barn seemed safer.
Her mouth fell open slightly as she unwrapped it, revealing a sleek, beautifully-made riding outfit. From the sleek tan trousers to the little red jacket, it was all there, and absolutely perfect. I'd had it specially made, and called in quite a few favors to make sure it was flawless.
There was something shadowing her face, some kind of hesitation. I stepped closer, to try and understand it.
"It's beautiful," she said, at last. "Thank you."
"But?" I prompted.
She looked up at me, her expression slightly pained. "Don't be angry with me. I just...every time you give me a new outfit, I just think about how I used to live in the same clothes for months at a time. And so did everyone I knew. They're all still out there somewhere, and they're suffering, and here I am with designer clothes and no one's helping them." Her eyes pleaded with mine, for understanding. "I'm so grateful. Please don't think I'm not. But whatever you had to do, whatever you had to spend - I wish you'd do something for them instead."
I shook my head, frustration already making a headache throb to life between my eyes. "It doesn't work like that, Autumn. What, exactly, do you think I can do for those people? Give them a meal? Give them a thousand meals? Give them a home? What makes any of the more worthy than the millions of others - just because you knew them?" I shook my head. "People are suffering every day. You're right about that. But I can't solve that. Neither can anyone else."
Her eyes were downcast. "The Syndicate's at least trying," she muttered.
Lashing out before I had a chance to think, I grabbed her wrist. "What does that have to do with anything?" I demanded. "I'm not them. They're using their resources however they see fit, just like me."
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly, without any apology in her eyes. "I just had to say something."
"Well, next time you have the urge, bite your tongue." I stalked over to the stables to fetch the rest of her gift. "Or bite Joshua's, if you prefer."
Her eyes blazed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means," I snarled, throwing a pair of riding boots in her general direction. They landed with a soft thump on the hay by her feet, but she only glanced at them before continuing to glare at me.
"Are you really still
jealous
?" She laughed, bitterly. "That's cute. Literally the
only
other man I've seen more than once in the last two months, so he must be a threat to you. Get over yourself."
My vision tinged with red, my heart pounding, and God damn her, she was right. I was jealous of that little prick. She might not see it, but I did. He was captivated by her.
"At least he's doing something useful," she spat, throwing the clothes down carelessly on the hay. "Instead of just sitting around in an empty house, jerking off to his own melancholy." Her face was lit up with a dark ferocity as she walked towards me. "You think it's sexy, brooding around your stately manor like a fucking Gothic romance hero? Consider this your wakeup call, Heathcliff."
Raw fury coursed through my veins. "Why don't you go to him, then? I'm sure his precious Syndicate could protect you."
Why didn't she?
A spike of fear cut through the red mist, and my thoughts cleared slightly. What if she really did leave? What if she decided she was better off with them, and their meager little army, giving up all the comforts I could offer in the name of changing the world?
She seemed like that kind of girl. And that was half the reason I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.
"I'd just be a burden to them," she said, loftily. "Like I said before. Joshua made that very clear to me."
"You asked him?" My fists were clenched at my sides. I could hardly see straight, for all the anger and fucking conflict this woman was putting me through.
"Of course I did," she snapped. "The first time he came here. I wanted to leave, to go somewhere else safe. I was afraid of you."
I took a step towards her, so our bodies were only inches apart. Taut as anything, both of us ready to strike. She was furious. It radiated from every part of her.
My cock twitched.
Sick bastard.
"But you're not afraid now."
It was a statement, not a question. I saw her shiver at the feeling of my breath gusting past her neck.
"No," she lied.
A heavy guilt gnawed at the pit of my stomach. This was nothing new, but she was feeding it something fierce. I'd always allowed myself to believe that I was doing the world a service, simply by staying the fuck out of the way. Where I couldn't do any more damage. But of course, there was always more I could do. What if I put my connections to good use?
Yes, what if? A drop in the ocean. Nothing to make a lasting difference. None of it mattered. We were all headed on a runaway locomotive straight to hell, and this fucking train had no brakes.
Her body was leaning towards mine, aching for contact. It would be so easy to throw her down on the ground and fuck her senseless, to end this argument with brutal pleasure. But I refused to give in.
I came out here to teach her how to ride a horse. And that, I was going to do.
"Put them on," I ordered her, pointing to the clothes she'd discarded so carelessly.
"You're not going to punish me for my honesty?" She was practically sneering at me.
No. No. I wouldn't give in. I wouldn't rise to her taunts.
"Put. Them. On." I repeated the words slowly, deliberately, so she would understand this was not optional. This was an order.
Still glaring at me, she reached down and plucked the offending outfit from the hay. My mouth watered at the thought of her wrapped in those skin-tight pants, with nothing on underneath.
Not once, in all this time, had she asked me to buy her panties. Those plain white things were forgotten in the back of a drawer. I knew I could get her something nicer, but why? It was a perverse game at this point, seeing who was going to give in first. I actually wanted to see her in them, now - something lacy and red, or black, perhaps. But I wanted her to ask, just so I could see the look on her face when I presented her with some absurd strappy thing that served no practical purpose.
With murder in her eyes, she stripped her dress off, over her head, and tossed it aside.
I watched her, my dick stiffening at the sight of her body, so shamelessly on display. She had grown to love the power she had over her own nakedness. When she stepped into the riding pants, it occurred to me that she'd never asked how I knew her size. I wouldn't have answered, but it didn't seem like her.
Holland used to send me on errands, since I was one of the few he really trusted. I learned to guess sizes pretty well. Most of the girls wouldn't tell, at first, or they'd lie. Or they'd be wrong. After a few weeks of training, it was amazing how quickly they'd lose a few dress sizes.