LORD REVANDREL

I stepped into Naked Den with a mood so black a storm-cloud had nothing on it.

Is there something on my face, too? Because these people took one look at me and scrambled the hell out of my path, tripping over themselves to avoid me.

"Get the ladies," I barked.

My ever-watchful sentinels moved with speed to carry out my command.

Taking the dark, winding corners, I came to the secret stairwells leading down to the corridor that led even deeper underground.

The music and laughter faded with every step, and by the time I got to my private residence, only silence remained.

I stepped in, slamming the door so hard it rattled, giving out a loud boom. Then, I was pacing. I could not stop. Too worked up, angry, and restless.

Baevera fucking Eldareth was my bloodhost?

"What sort of sick joke is this?" I growled. My Urekai beast was so close to the surface, I knew my eyes had turned yellow.

When I woke up yesterday to a strange tug in my chest-the unmistakable pull of a blood-bond-I felt... relief.

Actual happiness, for the first time in a long time.

At 1,270 years old, I was tired of drinking from so many strangers to satisfy the thirst. More than ready now to have a one true feeder.

Once a Urekai male reaches a thousand years old-or a female, five thousand-the thirst changes. It grows wilder, more demanding, until it requires more feeders than usual to feel full.

That's when fate makes a match with the blood-bond, choosing a one true feeder for us.

Just my fucking luck that mine would turn out to be an Eldareth. Of all the Urekai females in the world... her?

It was laughable.

And it made me want to rip the city in half.

Very little moved me anymore, but the name Eldareth was different. Always had been.

It did something to me. Lighting me up and making me rumble like a fucking volcano.

I stalked to the tall window and stared out at the rainy night. Lacing my hands behind my back, clenched fists and all, as I tried my damndest to calm the fuck down and think clearly.

My revenge on the Eldareth lineage was long overdue. A thousand years late.

It was not that I did not want revenge. I had. Every single day. Most days, it was the first thing I thought about every waking dawn, and the last thing before I went to sleep.

But I had to walk away.

When I had to choose between killing them and making them pay, I chose revenge. And because my rage was too great then, I walked away.

Had I acted then, it would have been a bloody massacre.

I would not have stopped until every Eldareth corpse lined the gates of their manor. Burning their legacy to the roots. I would probably have salted their ashes, like the demons they were.

And all of that would have been mercy, for they did not deserve to merely die.

So I pulled away and rebuilt myself, trusting time to dull the bloodthirst just enough for revenge to fully blossom.

And the time had finally come.

Fate, the twisted, vindictive witch that she is, bound me to the one person I would never drink from. The Eldareth I wanted most to destroy.

If this third meeting had happened five years ago, I would have started my revenge on her immediately. But something was different now.

After my visit to Jolan Kolls, I had spent more mornings than I cared to admit wondering how the hell Baevera Eldareth could possibly be Eve, the Red Mask.

It sounded so absurd, I used to laugh. Sometimes I still did.

Her nobility, lineage, and personality aside, the Red Mask had gone down in history as more myth than female.

They said her body felt like magic. Addictive to have, obsessive to touch, and impossible to let go of.

That red-haired pleasure maiden was so expensive, males gladly emptied their vaults for a mere handful of hours in her bed.

Some swore her skills were unmatched; others insisted she did not have to do anything because her body alone did the work for her.

And all of that was Baevera? I snorted aloud, almost sick with the absurdity of it all.

To even think that seven centuries ago was named 'Reign of the Red Mask'. The golden century that saw more noblemen fall from wealth to ruin than any other time in Urekai history...because of her.

I had tracked down all the other founding slaves, made them offers they could not refuse, and in time, they came to work for me. Every last one of them.

Except her.

I never reached out.

Not because I did not want to, but because the night I vanished from their lives over a millennium ago, I made her a promise.

"I will walk out of here, but pray to whatever demonic gods answer the likes of you that we never cross paths again in your lifetime. Three times, Baevera. I will let you go the first two. But the third... Consider our third crossing at your end. Your life as you know it will be over, and my revenge will begin."

So I made no move to seek her out. Two paths crossed in the past, one more to go.

Why should I chase her when I knew inevitably, she would find her way into my orbit?

And she did.

Now, she is mine.

I had her revenge well planned centuries ago. Every step, every torture, every suffering.

I would crush her businesses, tear down her alliances, erase her reputation, and leave her destitute. Inflict all kinds of pain on her, strip her of every ounce of wealth and legacy her name carried.

That was the plan, until five years ago. Now I had something much better in mind.

Baevera Eldareth will be my slave.

Not for me personally. Heavens forbid. I would rather lie with a frozen corpse than that female.

In fact, if my life depended on sleeping with her, I would sooner perform a death-summoning spell than lie with Baevera Eldareth. But she will work for me here in Neked Den.

She will wear the Red Mask again, but this time under my terms. I will not pay her a single copper. No title, no dignity, just a body to be used.

And I will make sure she knows every second of it that she is owned.

LADY BAEVERA

The days bled into nights, blurring together until they became meaningless.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

When you are kept in a small, windowless dungeon, fed once a day-maybe, it was easy to lose track. Especially when you are so weak you cannot even tell if it's a meal a day or one every three.

Hunger stretches time, distorts it. So does pain. So does silence.

By now, everyone would know I was missing. My estate. My staff. My family.

Helory would be beside herself. My aunt would be worried sick, and Phillip would wear holes in the floor from agitated pacing. They have all probably sent out search parties through every shady corner of Vallen Falls looking for me. They would not find me.

If only they knew my nightmare had returned in the flesh.

If only they knew Revandrel had finally come for me with his millennium-aged revenge, dragging his hate behind him like chains.

He was determined to break an already broken doll into as many pieces as he could get.

Sigh...

His workers did not know what to make of me. When they brought food, I made a habit of staring them down. Looked them in the eye until they dropped their gaze and walked away.

I could see the curiosity in their eyes, the questions behind their silence. They expected panic, hysteria, screams, and demands.

They expected a lady pounding against the bars, shrieking to speak with their master. They expected weakness.

But I did not give them that.

Not even when my Urekai beast stirred restlessly inside me, snarling one second and begging to be freed the next. Eager to fight, to lash out.

Not even when they came with sacks and ropes, dragging me out of my cage like an animal.

They would throw a red sack over my head-always red-and carry me off. String me upside down like livestock over a slaughter pool.

Legs tied, arms restrained, garments bound to my body, then they would dunk me into the water. Over and over again.

That was how they bathed me.

I could not decide which method was worse. But I took it all.

And when they returned me to my cage, dripping wet, shaking, and teeth chattering in the cold, I said nothing. Did not scream. Did not beg.

Revandrel does not know... it would take more than all of this to break what was already broken.

Did he not know I had prepared for this day? That I had spent centuries imagining it. Training for it. Hardening for it.

The cold did not faze me. Neither did the pain.

I had trained my body through fire and frost, through illness and hell, preparing for the slim chance I might still be alive when he found me again.

I always knew he would. And I would be ready. I was ready.

...if only they would stop using the damn red sack.

Or the red ropes.

I really abhorred that colour, because it meant ruin. Red is a bad omen.

Some incredibly horrible fate is coming my way... yet again. I can feel it.

I clutched at my soaked robes as shivers snaked down my body, my cheek pressed against the filthy ground. I shook and shook from the cold.

They had been especially cruel today, the bastards. But I could bear this. I had to.

Sooner or later, Revandrel would decide to show his face, and when he did, I would be ready to withstand whatever demonic punishments he chose to inflict.

In a way, it was a great mercy that his loathing for me ran so deep that he would never touch me. And for that, I would eternally be grateful to the gods.

As long as whatever he had planned was not of that nature, I, Baevera, would survive.

LADY BAEVERA

At some point, another restless sleep crept in, dragging me back to our first encounter-two hundred years after he walked away from the Eldareth estate.

I woke with a sharp breath, sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, clutching my pounding skull.

Nearly a millennium later, that meeting still had the power to make me cringe. I had spoken down to him then, so smug, so foolish. I had called him filth. Called him trash. And not once, standing in that grand event hall, did I believe the tables could ever turn.

But by our second encounter, almost seven hundred years later, I knew better. The tables had already turned.

My reaction had been the complete opposite of the first. I had run like a coward. He chased me into the woods, where I stumbled and fell, standing over me like a god as he lifted two fingers and declared our second meeting.

After that, I'd done everything within my power to avoid him, to stay out of his path, running in the opposite direction for three more centuries. Then, this blood-bond happened.

Footsteps echoed nearby, dragging me out of my pathetic trip down memory lane.

Another bath, incoming. I braced myself.

But it was not one of the guards who walked in. It was Revandrel.

Hands clasped behind his back, he strode into the dungeon like a king in charge, his long black robe trailing behind him. 

A guard rushed forward with a key, unlocking the gate. I stepped back as he entered, coming to a stop before me.

"How long do you plan to keep me here?" I asked, voice dry and brittle. "I hope you realize by now my clan knows I am missing. They know where to look."

Revandrel tilted his head, indifferent. "And how would they know that?"

"I made the trip to the Union Tree with Lady Helory of House Cinx," I said tightly. "She knows I am gone. And you will be among the top five names to be investigated."

He shrugged, unbothered. "They have no proof. But they can certainly try."

"What do you want from me?" I rasped.

Those cruel gray eyes studied my face for far too long.

"With a face like that," he said at last. "I suppose if one looked long enough, they might find some... appeal."

My stomach twisted. "I don't understand."

Revandrel lifted his gaze back to mine. "It is absurd, isn't it? That someone like you would have a face that pretty."

That caught me off guard. I never expected such a compliment from him.

"Gee, thanks. I had no idea you noticed," I said dryly. "I distinctly remember you calling me an ugly mutt last time. Why, Lord Cel'theren, do you want me?"

He closed the distance, lifting my chin with two fingers. His touch was cold. 

"Get off your high horse, Baevera. Your blood may sicken me, but your body repels me more," he growled. "I would sooner stick it into a drooling, unwashed feral."

I flinched.

Of course I did. Only he could direct such disgust towards me and mean it.

His gaze swept over me like a razor, and I suddenly became painfully aware of how disheveled I looked. How weak I must seem.

"Your current condition aside, even if you were to clean up and dress in your finest Eldareth silks, standing at the height of your elegance and glory, I would still find you repulsive," he added in a blunt tone. "Disgusting as rotten meat. Repellent, like grave mud."

Ouch.

I stared back at Revandrel, refusing to let him see how deep his words cut. "I also have no desire for your body or your fangs near my neck, so I will take the venom you spew as the compliment it truly is."

"Sure. I do not see why you should not." He released me, stepping back just enough to give the illusion of space.

I crossed my arms. "Since you hate my blood so much and the bond that formed between us, what are your plans? Kill me to rid yourself of it?"

"I plan to wait a few weeks for the unsealed bond to transfer to someone else," he replied smoothly. "As much as I looked forward to finally having a bloodhost, the poison running through your veins will never be my substance."

Tilting my chin, I stared him down with all the mockery I could muster. "Let's say you do manage that. What makes you think you will survive the waiting period it takes for a new bond to form?"

"I will take my chances," he said without missing a beat. "You, however, are in no position to worry about anyone but yourself. I have decided to put you to good use."

"What does that even mean-"

"You are going to work here in Naked Den as a Slave. For the highest bidders."

My heart slammed to a halt. My arms dropped to my sides. 

No.

I must have misheard.

"You are kidding, right?"

"I am as serious as a feral episode." Revandrel turned, walking a few paces away before glancing back, giving me a cruel smirk. "One thing you will learn about me, Baevera: I do not kid. And I never bluff."

All the blood drained from my face.

"You you... You cannot be serious!" I screamed, composure gone. "What the fu*k, Cel'theren!?"

"Oh, please. Spare me the dramatics." He clicked his tongue. "Save it for those who do not know what kind of slave you really are beneath all that highborn grace."

What the hell? I glared at him.

"Pretending to put up a fight will not change a thing. Not the outcome, and certainly not who I know you to be..." His voice dropped, and he whispered slowly. "...Red Mask."

Gasping, I staggered back as he had struck me. In a way, he had.

"What...what did you just call me?" I croaked, eyes wide.

He sucked his teeth. "Word on the street is Red Mask was one of the best slaves the world ever had. I will have you know, your retirement caused depression in half the wealthy males' population." His gaze dragged down my body. "Though for the life of me, I cannot fathom why."

I could not breathe.

Oh gods. Oh, cruel, merciless gods...

My legs buckled, and I sank to the ground, cold and dizzy.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Had to be a nightmare. A hallucination. Anything but this.

"But no matter," Revandrel continued airily. "Far be it from me to judge males for their terrible, terrible taste in females."

"How did you know?" I choked out.

"I happen to know Jolan Kolls."

Jolan. He knew Jolan...

How well? How much did Kolls tell him? Does he know everything?

My heart hammered so hard, I was surprised Revandrel could not hear it.

"You know, I followed Red Mask's career from start to finish," he drawled, amused. "Legs spread wide for whoever offered the highest coin. Honestly, it is a blessing the world does not know your real name."

"Stop... St-stop talking..." I couldn't breathe. About ready to pass out. 

"Anyway, I am giving you the chance to become the best version of yourself again. I bet that century was the highlight of your life." He smiled coldly. "Consider this the beginning of another. Your second chance to do what you love."

I shook my head hard. "I do not want to." 

"Oh, but I think you will."

"And if I refuse?" I asked hoarsely. 

He smiled again. "I already intend to take everything you own. Starting with your docks. Your seaports. Your fleets. Everything under your name."

"You will never get your hands on anything that belongs to me!" I spat, fury sparking. I wanted to claw his eyes out.

"Patience, Eldareth," he purred. "Patience."

"Where was I?" He tapped his chin in mock thought. "Ah, yes. Since torture is already on the table, regardless of whether you become my slave, what else... hmm..." He smirked. "Ah. How about I tell the world that you are Red Mask? With proof, of course. The kind that cannot be denied."

Blackmail. 

My hands started to sweat. My blood turned cold. 

"I wonder what they will do when they find out how you doubled the Eldareth wealth." He snorted out a laugh. "I can already imagine the scandal. It will be the talk of this century."

I wanted to punch him. To shift into my beast form and rip him to shreds. But I was not stupid. 

Revandrel Cel'theren did not care that I was a female. He would hit back. And he would hit harder.

I will not cry. I will not cry. Heavens, please do not let me cry. Not for him. Never for him.

I gripped my clothes so tight my knuckles went white. My body is shaking visibly now.

He saw it all. The battle in my eyes, the fierce shimmer of tears I refused to shed. 

And he smiled. Truly smiled. 

Gods, he looked like the devil when he did.

"Ah, there it is. The infamous Eldareth pretense. All of you were such good fucking actors." He took a step forward, watching me like I was entertainment. "Save the drama for the exhibition. It is in three days," he advised. "Sell the audience whatever fantasy you like. Pretend you are still a virgin, I do not give a damn, whatever floats your boat. All I care about is the coin you bring in."

"I won't do it." The words came out broken and desperate. I hated how I sounded, but I could not help it. 

He snorted. 

"Give me any torture you want. Whip me, skin me, break my bones on the rack. Use the iron chair, the flaying hook-hell, stake me to the pyre. But not that!" I cried, panting. "Anything but that..."

"You will need a proper bath and food if you are going to be worth even one glance, so you will be moved to the quarters," he continued as if I hadn't spoken at all. "For what it's worth, I still do not believe you are Red Mask. I still think Jolan fed me a load of bullshit." 

Revandrel's gaze ran over me again, the look of disdain unmistakable. "If you were a succubus, it may be a bit more believable. They were made for the bedroom. It is who they are, it is their identity. Then there is you... my freaking Urekai stepsister."

"That is because I am not Red Mask or whatever!" I shouted at the top of my voice. "You do not believe it either, so why are you selling me out?!"

He shrugged lazily. "I am keeping an open mind. You know that saying, 'don't knock it till you have tried it?' I am counting on it."

"You are not listening to me! I will not do it!" I was panicking. It was in my heaving chest, in the shrill of my voice. "Is this what you do now? Blackmail women into selling their bodies for you? I always knew you were a monster, Revandrel, but I never pegged you for a trafficker!"

"That is because I am not." He grinned. "You are the first and last of your kind, Lady Baevera. Unless there is another daughter of Magnus Eldareth out there, I know nothing about."

"Do not do this... please..." I shook my head miserably. "I beg of you, please."

The amusement drained from his face, and he dropped all mask of playfulness. "I love the way you beg. Practice more because you will be doing more of it in the future. This is just the beginning."

Shame washed over me. "Please."

"You owe me, and I am collecting." In a cold, final tone, he added, "Get ready for the exhibition."

LADY BAEVERA

I stared at the mirror. The black dye-stain I used on my hair for centuries had been washed out. Seeing my fiery red hair again hurt so much.

But at least I would not be wearing the red mask. Small mercies.

Instead, they drew a tattoo marking on my face two nights ago, covering it with pressed parchment to let it dry. Then, revealed this morning.

A coiled snake resting in a bed of ethereal, blooming flowers veiled half of my face in disguise.

The design was so masterfully drawn that if I walked onto that stage, no one who knew Lady Baevera would suspect I was her.

I looked down at the lace garment they had given me. A soft pink that concealed next to nothing.

Strategic floral patterns covered my breasts, dipping into a pointed V to hide my most intimate part. The rest of the gown was made of translucent lace that clung to every curve like a second skin.

I felt naked. I was naked.

The door creaked open.

Sesora Byziv, the header and floor overseer of Naked Den, stepped inside. Her long blonde hair framed a beautiful face. "Come with me, Vera."

Vera.

That was the name I had given them. Not Baevera, not Eve this time... Vera.

To everyone in this cursed place, I was just the newest contract slave. Just another pretty face in the sea of beautiful bodies.

My hands trembled by my side as I clenched them to still the shaking.

At this moment, I hated Revandrel more than I had ever hated anyone. If I had a poison-dipped arrow, I would bury it in his heart.

But not before I shot Jolan Kolls seven times in the gut. His betrayal burned me. It was crippling and agonizing.

Seven hundred years, and the male who beat the truth out of the bastard-who made him violate the only secret he had every reason to protect-was Revandrel Cel'theren?

Why, of all the power-hungry magnates and perverse, pleasure-seeking fools out there, did it have to be him?

Now I was at his mercy. It was the past all over again, only this time, the fate awaiting me might be even worse.

Jolan had protected my secret because it served him to do so. But Revandrel?

If he ever discovered what I truly am... what I have kept hidden... the effects I had on males...

A full-body shiver rattled through me, and I swayed, catching the edge of the counter before collapsing.

The taste of my last meal rose to my throat, and I swallowed rapidly to keep it in.

Revandrel will exploit me to the fullest, won't he? Sell me, bid me out again and again until there is nothing left of this broken, malfunctioning doll who somehow managed to piece herself just a little bit back together over the centuries.

Jolan may have ruined me, but Revandrel would bury me and nail the coffin shut.

"You are an odd one."

The voice startled me, and I glanced up through the mirror.

The head slave was still standing by the door, arms crossed, watching me.

"You are not what I expected," she said.

My hands gripped the hem of the lace dress until the fabric nearly tore as I forced the words out through a dry throat. "What did you expect?"

"Confidence, smugness, the usual show. You should be out there working the VIPs, seducing them and teasing them. That is what the others do."

"Every slave here throws themselves at the VIPs?"

"Slaves," she corrected without missing a beat. "And no, that is not what I meant. I am talking about the ones the big boss himself hires. Lord Cel'theren does not involve himself often, but when he does, the girls he selects are... exceptional. They are experts. Confident and entitled. And they damn well own up to it."

Her eyes roamed over me, clearly confused. "You are stunning-maybe more beautiful than all the rest. But you look scared. Hesitant. Nervous, even. He told us you were experienced. But something about you..." She shook her head slowly. "There is this innocence you carry that does not make sense."

She saw too much. I looked away, jaw clenched tight.

"So odd," Sesora muttered, more to herself than to me. Then she straightened and turned toward the door. "Well, let us go. The exhibition is about to start."

She stepped out.

I took one long breath that did not help at all... then stood and followed.

***

LORD REVANDREL

I surveyed the room from my vantage point, at the upper level of the hall, seated in the shadows. The exhibition was running smoothly, as expected.

It was always private, intimate, and exclusive. An indulgence reserved only for the wealthy and the noble, where both seasoned slaves and new hires were put on display to entertain, seduce, and entice.

Music floated lazily above moans and murmurs, pleasure dripping from every corner like honey.

Slaves lounged in the laps of powerful men, as the males kept their eyes on the main stage.

There, maidens scattered everywhere. Some danced in synchronized formations. Some weaved slow, serpentine solo dances. Others staged live shows in the corners for the voyeurs. The rest struck poses, baiting the crowd with their bodies and smiles.

And then there was Baevera Eldareth.

Leaning stiffly against the far wall, radiating defiance like heat.

She was not dancing, was not flirting, wasn't even trying to allure.

The pink lace she wore must have been the most modest outfit out of the selection presented to her.

Revealing, yes, or it would not have made it into the wardrobe at all, but compared to the others, it was practically a nun's robe.

She stuck out like a sore thumb. A broken blade in a pile of new, polished daggers.

Yet somehow, she was drawing attention.

A few of the VIPs had already taken notice of her. Their eyes lingered, tracking her, appreciating her shape, her body.

I snorted. Unbelievable.

Their taste in women was appalling. Idiots. What did they see that I did not?