Bloodgrove
The blindfold smells like death.
I know the scent already. Iron and rot, the particular sweetness of old blood soaked into fabric used too many times. I have been breathing it for hours, wrists bound behind my back, body swaying with the rhythm of the carriage that carries me toward the unknown.
I never said goodbye to my father. That thought circles like a vulture. I will never see him again. The only comfort I can find is the knowledge that I chose correctly. He keeps the cottage. He stays free. He will be all right.
The carriage lurches hard. My shoulder cracks against the wooden wall. I bite down on my tongue until the pain steadies me. They’ll hear weakness and use it against me.
“You’re quiet.”
The voice comes from my left. One of the men who dragged me from my home and watched while I sold myself for my father’s life.
I give him nothing.
“Feisty one, aren’t you?” Another voice, this time from the right. “They like that at the manor. Makes the breaking more entertaining.”
“Who are they?” My voice barely rises above a whisper.
“You shouldn’t ask questions.”
“At least I deserve to know who owns me!”
Silence stretches for a beat. Then the first man answers, bored. “The four Masters of the estate. Lord Peter Ashford. Lord Thomas Lewis. Lord Francis McAllister. Lord Julian Cain.”
Four. The number settles in my gut like spoiled meat.
“And me? What are they going to do with me?”
“You’re a candidate. One of many. They’ll train you. Shape you. Make you perfect. Then you’ll be auctioned.”
Auctioned.
The word hangs between us like a noose.
“To whom?” I keep my voice level even as my bound hands begin to tremble.
“Wrong question.” One of them laughs. “You should be asking why.”
Another voice continues, ignoring the mockery. “At the auction you’re sold to the highest bidder. A lord. A lady. Anyone with enough coin to buy exactly what they want. And they’ll want you, Lucy. They crave fresh meat to feed their depraved hunger.”
My stomach twists. I keep my face blank. I may have grown up in a muddy village, but I’m not a complete fool. I know what men become when they believe nothing can stop them from taking.
“Enough!” The leader’s shout cracks through the carriage. “You talk too damned much. Focus. We must leave The Order’s territory before sunset. Speed up.”
No one dares another word.
I always dreamed of leaving that village. I thought freedom would taste like new horizons and clean air. I never imagined this. Bound. Stripped of every scrap of will. Delivered like a sealed package to four Masters and their mercy.
Four men will own me.
What the hell did I expect when I accepted this bargain? Hard labor in my father’s place? Simple work to clear a debt? The phrase refuses to leave me: ‘fresh meat to feed their depraved hunger.’
Time dissolves inside my own racing thoughts until iron gates scream open. The sound drives straight into my chest like a death knell.
“We’re here.”
I taste my own fear, metallic on my tongue.
Hands clamp my arms hard enough to bruise bone. They haul me out. I stumble on gravel, heels catching on stones. The blindfold is ripped away and light stabs my eyes like knives.
The manor looms above me, all dark stone and razor angles, windows staring down like hollow eyes. Torches line the path. Their flames twist and leap in the twilight, throwing long shadows that reach for my feet as if they already own me.
This is where I die.
No. This is where I survive.
My mother’s voice rises fierce and clear. You’re stronger than you know, my girl. Remember that. Remember who you are.
I lock my spine straight. I lift my chin. I let them see every inch of me: the tattered dress, the rope burns on my wrists, the raw defiance burning in my eyes.
“Move.”
A brutal shove drives me up the stone steps and through the massive oak doors.
Ceilings climb so high they vanish into black.
Chandeliers of golden iron drip with candles that throw restless, flickering light across marble floors polished enough to throw my own reflection back at me like a ghost. Tapestries cover the walls with scenes of hunt and feast and darker things I can’t name.
And the smell. Wax. Woodsmoke. A floral scent, like lilies left to rot in stagnant water. Beneath it all the iron tang of blood, faint but unmistakable. I convince myself I invent it.
My cage. This place is a tomb.
“There she is. Our new pet.”
The voice is smooth as polished stone and twice as cold. I spin toward it.
Four figures descend the grand staircase. My breath locks in my throat.
They wear black and crimson, coats moving around them like living wings. Torchlight carves faces too perfect, too sharp, for ordinary men. Each one more striking than the last. Nothing in my muddy village ever looked like this.
One steps forward and addresses the men who delivered me. “Thank you for your service. Now take your gang and get off our land. You know these roads turn dangerous after dark. We wouldn’t want anyone to…linger.”
“Always a pleasure to serve the Order, Lord McAllister. Have a good evening.” The leader tips his hat and vanishes into the night.
I stand frozen, unsure how to hold my own body under their eyes.
The Master’s tone makes every inch of my skin prickle. Warning. Threat. Both feel possible.
A woman glides into view. Hair the shade of bleached bone, lips red as fresh wounds. She circles me slowly, eyes traveling over my body with clinical detachment.
“Too thin,” she murmurs. “We’ll need to feed her properly. The bones show through the dress.”
“And so defiant. Look at her, holding herself like a queen instead of a slave.”
“A queen can be broken too, Lady Vesper” The dark-haired man’s smile is a blade. “It’s simply more satisfying.”
My hands curl into fists. I force them open. Don’t let them see how deep the words cut.
“Enough, Cain. You’ll frighten her.”
Another steps forward. Older than the rest. His eyes carry the weight of centuries, of horrors and pleasures and a boredom so profound it has curdled into madness. Silver threads his temples. Power lives in every lean line of his body beneath the dark silk.
“Welcome,” his voice a low vibration that settles deep behind my ribs, “to Bloodgrove Manor.”
Words fail me. Terror sits too heavy on my tongue.
“Your father’s debts,” he continues, “have been settled. The cottage is his, as long as he keeps his hands off the cards. You—” He steps closer, and I feel the cold radiating from his body. “You are ours. Now and forever, until you die.”
“And if I refuse?”
The words tear out before sense can stop them. Stupid.
His smile unfolds slow. “Then your father goes to the debtors’ prison. The cottage becomes property of the Crimson Order. And you stay here anyway. Just less…comfortably.”
He trails one finger down my cheek. I shudder hard. The cold that radiates from his skin is unnatural, seeping through flesh and into bone.
“You understand, don’t you, little pet? There is no choice left. Only obedience. Or suffering.”
He waits, watching me with those cruel eyes. I feel the weight of the other Masters’ gazes. The vast empty hall pressing in from every side like a living thing.
What would Mama say?
Survive. Any way you still can.
I drop my eyes. “I understand.”
“Good.” His hand falls away. “Tomorrow your training begins. I trust you’ll prove an apt pupil.”
Lord Cain steps closer. The same unnatural cold rolls off him in waves. He is impossibly tall, dark hair falling across his frown, eyes the green of fresh leaves after rain.
“One question,” His voice silk wrapped around steel. “Are you on your period?”
I blink hard. “I—what?”
“Your bleeding.” He says it as if it is the most natural demand in the world. “Are you currently menstruating?”
Heat floods my face. I hate standing here in front of these strangers while they demand answers about my body.
“No.” My voice barely above a whisper. “No. I’m not.”
“Good.” Lord Cain’s smile is unbearable. “There will be times when you are, of course. When that happens you will inform Lady Vesper immediately. You’ll be taken to the Isolation Tower until your cycle ends. You will not, under any circumstances, remain in the manor during that time.”
The Isolation Tower. The name alone sends a deeper chill down my spine.
“Why?” The question slips free before I can catch it. “Why do you send women away during their—”
“Because the masters of this house have particular sensitivities.” The woman’s smile is glass-sharp. “And you will learn to respect them.”
She offers no further explanation. I don’t dare to ask again. But the questions burn in my mind like live embers.
What are they hiding? What happens to women who bleed inside this house? What happens to me?
“There are other rules,” Lord McAllister continues, and I force myself to focus. “You will never leave your room after sunset. Under any circumstances. The door will lock from the outside at dusk, and you will remain inside until dawn.”
“Locked in my room?”
“Locked in your room.” His voice leaves no space for argument. “The corridors of this manor are forbidden to you after dark. If you break this rule there will be consequences.”
I nod once.
“What are the other rules?” My voice holds steadier than the fear clawing inside me. “I want to know everything.”
“Your curiosity is noted,” Lord Cain murmurs. “But not yet. First you eat. You bathe. You rest. Tomorrow we begin your training.”
Lord McAllister lifts one hand. Two women step from the shadows in identical gray gowns, hair pulled into severe buns, faces utterly blank.
“Show her to her quarters. Prepare her for the evening meal.”
They curtsy in perfect, unnerving unison, then take my arms with gentle, unyielding hands and guide me toward the massive doors.
I refuse to look back at the Masters. I won’t gift them that satisfaction. Still I feel their hungry eyes on me as I walk away.
Corridors stretch in every direction, a labyrinth of shadow. Paintings line the walls and seem to track my every step. The women’s feet make no sound on the marble.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, needing to break the thick silence. “Do you speak my language? Where are you from?”
Nothing. They do not even glance at me.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
One of them turns her head and offers a placid smile that never reaches her eyes. She nods once. Then she faces forward again and speaks not a single word.
What the hell is wrong with this place?