Chapter 20
Elliott | Highlands, present day
Talking to that thrall woman was like trying to get blood out of a stone. But I’ve deduced that, as there are ‘many’ of them, Alexander has reinvented himself as an immortal Hugh Hefner, God rest his smutty soul.
So where do I come into it? Why keep me alive? Surely, it’s more hassle than it’s worth?
The vague answers to those questions comes shortly after I’ve eaten my canned stew, and as it didn’t agree with me, I had to manoeuvre onto the bucket and take a shit. (That’s something I don’t want to repeat in a hurry since now I have to lie here, smelling it.)
I start howling for help, hoping that someone hears me out the barred window. But knowing my luck, it probably leads to an open field, and the only things nearby are sheep. Five minutes later, the door creaks open, and Alexander strides in. My lips are instantly glued together mid-yell, and I can’t speak. ‘Mmmm mmmmmmmmm.’
‘Yes, that’s what happens, Elliott, when you’re being too loud. It’s giving me a headache. Do you promise not to shout anymore?’ His voice is calm, but forceful, and his vampiric presence is powerful. I know he could end me quite easily, so I need to play docile.
I nod, and my lips are released. I take in deep lungfuls of air and get a proper look at my captor for the first time. I didn’t have much of a chance last night as I was out of it from his feeding. So this is the famous Dr Alexander Dryden that Sadie and her flatmates have been hiding from for over a century.
The only description I’ve been given is that he’s tall, dark, handsome, and has sharp fangs. Not exactly much to go on when you’re trying to avoid being drained. Floss tried to do a sketch of him once for me. But—and I say this with utmost respect for her myriad abilities—she can’t draw for shit. The end product looked like the Count fromSesame Street. Then she got scared that the drawing might inadvertently conjure him, and she had to rip it up. She’s quite superstitious that way.
But now I have the real version standing in front of me. He’s wearing a red silk robe, black silk pyjamas, a cravat, and black leather sheepskin slippers. His skin is white, and his features are pointy, giving him a rat-like appearance. His hair is black and slicked back with some grey threads, andhis goatee beard is also touched with grey. I wouldn’t call him ‘handsome’ personally. But I can see the silver fox appeal. It’s just a pity that he set his sights on Floss when she turned up for that governess interview. If she’d been in her right mind, I’m sure she would’ve easily resisted his charms and gone for someone her own age. Damian is a much better choice than this undead fuckwit.
I haul myself upright against the wall, wincing as my bones creak and the iron cuff scrapes against my raw skin. Alexander ventures partway into the room but stops in his tracks and wrinkles his nose. He shakes his head disparagingly. ‘What a terrible pong you’ve made, Elliott,’ he drawls.
‘Well, if you’re going to feed me crappy stew,’ I reply tightly. ‘Be thankful I had a bucket. Otherwise, your posh slippers would be covered in shit.’
He grimaces at that and clicks his tongue. ‘I’ll get Lucy to empty it.’ His eyes glaze over, and I assume he’s summoning her to come and fetch my bucket. Poor thing. She gets all the good jobs.
‘She needs a decent meal,’ I remark, unable to help myself. ‘What have you been doing to her?’
Alexander tilts his head, regarding me with unblinking brown eyes. ‘What I do with my girls is no concern of yours.’
But as per usual, I can’t keep my mouth shut. Not when someone’s so obviously being maltreated.
‘So what’s the deal? Are you running a Playboy Thrall Mansion here or something?’
Alexander smirks. ‘The less you know, the better.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me why I’m here?’
‘Nope. But I will be requiring some more of your blood.’
I tense, thinking he’s going to feed from me again, and I really don’t wantthatto happen. I’m used to it, of course, with Sadie. But she drinks sustainably with one eye on my well-being. OK, if I’m being completely honest, sometimes she gets a bit carried away. But she always gives me a revitalising coffee and biscuits afterwards. Alexander took far too much last night, and I’m still recovering.
But instead of baring his fangs, he whips out a syringe from his robe pocket and advances towards me. I summon my energy, ready to give him a few well-aimed punches. But before I can raise my fist, a feeling of calm washes over me, and it drops to my side. I watch helplessly as he crouches beside me and sticks the crook of my arm with the needle, drawing up a vial of crimson blood.
When it’s done, he places a thumb over the pinprick, applying pressure for thirty seconds or so. He lifts his bloodied thumb to his mouth and sucks it, grinning at me.
‘Mmm, tasty. I can see why your girlfriend keeps youaround.’
‘She’s not my—’
‘Ah, Lucy,’ says Alexander without turning. ‘Please empty and clean Elliott’s bucket. That canned stew didn’t agree with him. Give him spaghetti instead.’
Oh, yummy.
‘Yes, Master,’ she intones and shuffles forward to dutifully collect the bucket. To give her credit, she doesn’t gag, but her nostrils flare at the smell.
‘Sorry!’ I mouth, and she nods and shuffles out after Alexander, who has placed the syringe back in his pocket.
The door clangs shut behind them.
