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?

Leaning back, I tried genuinely to look at Baevera without hate or judgment. Diplomatically, if nothing else. It was hard, but I tried.

Yes, she was beautiful. Even I could admit that much.

Thick, wild hair like burnished copper poured down her back. Just like autumn fire under the lights.

High cheekbones. Elegant jawline. A nose, pointed and shaped gracefully.

And those damned eyes...

Green like a storm-drenched forest in the middle of spring.

Even the ink design meant to obscure her identity enhanced her features.

Then, there was her body.

Lush curves obviously sculpted by a prideful god who wanted the world to stop and notice his handiwork. Legs long and toned, the kind that begged to be seen in heels.

Yes, I could obviously see why those moneybags were already salivating. But all that was surface.

Inside, Baevera Eldareth was all darkness. A spoiled, vindictive, evil bully wrapped in deceptive charm and poise. A venomous snake in a beautiful shell.

If only they knew her as I did, they would not touch her. Not even to poke her with a pole while standing ten miles away.

If she were on fire, they would feed the flames, piling the tinder high just to watch her scream as she burned.

Baevera Eldareth was the devil's incarnate; only her wickedness made hell itself look merciful.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

Baron James approached, his lean silhouette swaying as he tipped an imaginary hat toward me. "Master of Merchants."

"Baron," I acknowledged with a nod. "Enjoying the show?" I motioned to the stage. "Your girl, Moira, seems to be setting the room on fire tonight."

Moira was once the infamous Blue Mask, one of Jolan Koll's ten. Though no one knew that but me. She was also a succubus, and Baron James was obsessed with her.

"Oh, yes, she is. But tonight, my eyes are on someone else." The baron grinned, flushed. "The new girl. I tried to book her, but Sesora told me you were handling her personally."

"I am."

He blinked, surprised.

Understandable. I rarely interfered directly. The brothel ran like all my other businesses. Independently, efficiently, with a chain of command I trusted to function without my presence.

"Well, I want her tonight." He reached into his cloak and then dropped three gold coins onto the table. "There. Standard rate."

Three gold coins.

That was the fixed hourly rate for the other nine courtesans I personally hired five years ago. A high-end pleasure maiden usually charged 70 silver coins for three hours. That is still 130 silver coins short of a single gold piece.

Three gold coins were an absurd price to pay for a whore for one hour of her time; most noblemen balked at paying a single gold coin even for a night. But then again, all luxury comes at a high cost.

By that metric, Baevera Eldareth should be priced at 20 silver coins, tops.

Yet, I said, "Five gold coins." The words were leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

"What the fuck?" the baron sputtered, then barked a laugh. "That is ridiculous, Cel'theren. What is so special about this one?"

Beats me. I merely shrugged, folding my arms across my chest. "Guess you will have to find out, Baron."

"Well, color me intrigued." He pulled out two more coins and set them beside the others. "But if she ends up not being worth it, I am getting a two-coin refund."

"Deal."

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and another VIP emerged.

A Merchant Lord, though I could not for the life of me remember his trade. Something about spices? Or rare metals? I did not care enough to place it.

"I want the new girl too," he said. "Right after James."

The baron explained the rate. The merchant arched a brow, visibly intrigued, then calmly added his own five gold coins.

Interesting.

I tried not to judge them. Society needs its fair share of stupid, lust-blind men to keep the wheels of commerce turning.

"Shit, both of you already booked her?" another voice grunted behind them. "I rushed here, godsdamnit. Guess I will have to wait another night."

I side-eyed the male. Definitely nobility from the cut of his coat.

Technically, the house rule was that new courtesans only took two clients on their first night, no matter how much the females protested... which was a lot. The pleasure maidens love their coins. But rules were rules.

Then again, rule-makers are allowed to break them, right?

"She is open for more than two tonight," I said evenly. "Five gold coins."

What can I say? I am highly generous that way.

Word was, during Red Mask's time, she had averaged five, sometimes even seven clients a night. Far be it from me to deprive a lady of her favorite pastime.

The nobleman did not hesitate. He threw his five coins on the table and hurried after the other two, eager as a starving dog chasing a bone.

Left alone, I stared at the fifteen gold coins. Then separated six from nine.

Knowing my luck and the ridiculousness of the price, I would likely be refunding at least some of them.

I did the same for her last two bookings.

Let the night begin.

***

LADY BAEVERA

"He did what?" I snapped, filled with anger and horror.

"He booked you five clients," Sesora repeated, blinking at me. Even she looked baffled. "That is unusual for a first night. None of the others could get him to do that. How did you convince him?"

My fists clenched at my sides. "That cunning monster..."

Fury burned through me like acid. But it was brief, dying just as quickly.

In its place came cold, empty resignation. My shoulders dropped. My body sagged.

What was the point? I was tired. I was so, so tired.

This night would happen whether I fought or begged. Whether I screamed or prayed. So, I said nothing more.

Turning away from the head courtesan, I stepped into the hallway leading to the client receiving chambers.

At the end, above a door carved in gilded lettering, was my name: "Vera."

I entered the room and closed the door behind me without looking back. It was quiet, clean, and perfumed.

To the left, a tall mirror reflected my figure. To the right, folded neatly on a side table, was the change of clothes I was expected to wear for each client, and afterwards.

This was happening. This was really happening.

Coldness spread through my chest. Not fear, not anymore. Just defiance and a strange sense of calm.

I rose, stepped to the mirror, and removed the lace garment piece by piece until I stood naked.

Then the door opened, and my first customer stepped in.