Untamed: A Beautiful Nightmare Story Page 5

  Plopping into Preston’s lap, I go along with our usual routine. He and his companions complain about their wives and gripe about the government, all while clinging their mugs of port and trading insults with one another. I laugh as though I were interested, remaining careful to side with Preston along the way. He is a generous tipper and while he normally pays for the entire evening, he never carries on longer than eight minutes and falls straight asleep. Once he was so eager, he never met my entrance, spilling himself all over my duvet and drifting to his dreams. Poor bugger. I often wonder if he really only comes here to rest. He surely does more sleeping here than anything else.

  “Well, it looks as though I’m in the mood for something sweet,” Preston announces as is normal for him. He says the same thing each time. “What do you say you and I make our way, my sweet girl?” He says with a sly smile, brushing my hair from my face and kissing my cheek.

  “Lead the way,” I reply in his ear while planting a light kiss just below his earlobe. As I do, I see Marius looking at me from across the room and the tense gaze in his eyes is hard to miss.

  What is happening between us?

  Preston cups his hand in mine, pulling me away from the table and I see Marius making his way toward us and from his quick pace I wonder if he is coming to escort me or rip me from Preston entirely.

  “My, my, aren’t you a charmer?” Elena’s slithering voice jolts my thoughts of Marius aside. Why she has planted herself in front of me and Preston is beyond me.

  “Move out of the way, Elena. He’s my tipper for the evening.”

  “Now ladies, I’d be more than obliged to have you both, if you’re willing to split the tips,” Preston coyly responds. If only Elena knew he barely lasts a few minutes she wouldn’t bother with him.

  Elena laughs as she runs her hands through his messy deep blonde mane. “Well, I suppose that’s an option.” Preston shares a laugh with her, and I look over my shoulder to see my mother now with Marius pointing him to the bar.

  Even though Scotty is my usual runner, I am sure it is apparent to anyone that Marius is escorting me tonight, so I am sure Mother’s interference is intentional. Marius looks back at me with disappointment as she pushes him toward the bar. Turning back to Elena and Preston my irritation with her grows.

  “Enough, Elena! Go flaunt it elsewhere!” I snap.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Chartreuse but I’m just abiding house rules. And if I am not mistaken you already have a tipper—one of your usuals in your bedchamber already. At least that is what Monroe said when he told me to come pick up your slack.” She answers pointing upstairs to my suite.

  Looking up, I see my door is ajar with my stringed pearls and velvet rope on the doorknob. Seeing my normal signal on the door lets me know one of my other regulars has paid for the evening and is waiting for me. I am surprised because I have only noticed a few of my usual callers here tonight.

  “Do you know who it is?” I question Elena as she playfully taunts Preston.

  “How would I know that darling? I’m just the messenger, but I think I’ll take on this tipper right here,” Elena coos, twirling her tiny fingers through Preston’s hair.

  “Well, sweet one, until next time—or maybe later when you’re done,” Preston says while nipping at Elena’s ear.

  As if you’d be awake. I mutter to myself as I turn and proceed up the stairs to my suite.

  Glancing around the hall once more, I see Marius bringing in barrels of port to the bar as my mother directs him and his two hired hands for the evening. A part of me is happy he is busy with other matters, I really don’t fancy him on the other end of the door while I’m entertaining.

  Reaching the top of the balcony, I see Scotty outside Chalmette’s door and he gives me a nod, raising his thumb. I suppose it’s a good sign.

  Taking a deep breath, I sigh, blowing enough air through my puffed cheeks that my curls fly from my face. It is all I can do to shake off the disturbing images of my sister with her first caller.

  Entering my suite, I see the flickering flames of the iron sconces on my wall, and I am surprised someone has lit the candles before I’ve had a chance to do so. Whoever it is must be accustomed to my routines.

  “I see someone’s ready for me,” I call out as I cross the threshold, tossing my silk wrap on the stool at my vanity. Just then the door slams shut, and a large sweaty palm grips me from behind.

  “Yes, I’m ready for you! And you will give me what I want!”

  My muffled screams do little to penetrate my attacker's tight cuff, but I dig the heel of my boot into his instep and use the heel of my other foot to kick his knee. Groaning, his grip on me loosens and I wiggle enough to turn and see Monroe’s grisly glare staring back into my own.

  Chapter Five

  “Monroe!” I scream as he grabs my shoulders, yanking me back to him. “Take your bloody hands off me!”

  “Not until you give me what you owe me, girl!” He shouts back.

  “I owe you nothing!”

  “Oh you owe me everything and I am going to take it!” He slobbers his words, mashing his mouth along my neck, forcing himself to the helm of my cleavage. Pulling back from him once more, he slaps me hard and palms my face in his large hands, squeezing my lips toward his. “I know you don’t like kisses, little girl but you will do that and more for me tonight. Did you think the little stunt you pulled earlier would go unpunished? And I’ve seen the way you’ve eyed my little cousin all night. You want that boy, don’t you?” Trailing his slimy tongue along my neck as he holds my face, I work hard to breathe as my feet dangle beneath me.

  He’s trying to kill me.

  “Well, you’re not going to have him. And I’ll never let him have you. I’ll never let anyone have you. After what I’ll do to you tonight, no one will want you, little girl. I’ll plant myself so deep in you, you’ll beg me for mercy. And I will not come out. I am putting all of my seed in you tonight; and you’ll give me a son—maybe sons! You’ll be tied to me forever and I’ll never let you go!” He seethes his filth, and my mind goes dark with rage.

  I will never be his! Ever.

  Using what remains of my strength, I pull myself up and jut my knee into his groin. Hard. His eyes bulge as I do, and he releases me from his grip. Gagging, I try to regain my breath as I recover from his hold at my neck. Peering around the candlelit room, I look for anything to help me as Monroe writhes in agony.

  Grabbing the poker near my fireplace I raise it to hit him, but he lunges forward, clasping my wrist.

  “Did you think it would be this easy?” Monroe teases me, yanking the poker from my hand and tossing it aside. It crashes into my vaulted floor mirror and the clanging sound echoes throughout my suite. Forcing me down onto my bed, he opens his trousers and pushes my knee to spread my legs apart. “You walk around my house like you own it. But I own you, darling. And I own this. Now come on, I know you want this—but either way, you’re going to take it like a good girl. And when the old man has finished with Little Mette, I’ll make my rounds to her. I’ll have both of you full of me by sunrise!” Monroe’s ominous shrill, curdles like bowel in my mouth.

  Thoughts of him with Chalmette send me into another fury and once more my mind goes dark with murderous intention. Slipping my hand under my pillow, I grab the pearl-hilted dagger that was once my father’s and swipe it hard across Monroe’s face, screaming as I do. Plunging the heel of my boot into his chest, I kick him away from me as he cries in anguish.

  “You little b—”

  Jumping up from the bed I jab him again across his chest before he can finish his swearing. Blood drips from both the cut along his brow to cheekbone and through the gash near his collarbone. His eyes glare at me with disbelief and fear.

  “Are you mad?” He shouts as if I should regret my actions.

  A loud bang at my door resounds and I hear Scotty shout my name through the muffling revelry of the tavern.

  “You bloody
bastard! You will never touch me again. Do not court me as some mere wench, you fool, or I shall become your darkest nightmare. I swear it!” Keeping my father’s dagger raised high, my threats are met with a look of cowardice in Monroe’s eyes. “Perhaps I am mad, Monroe. Shall we test the theory?”

  “Keep away from me, girl!” He yells back. I hear Scotty bang on the door once more, shouting my name as he does. I peer over Monroe’s shoulder wondering if I can get past him or if I should yell back to Scotty, but I don’t want Monroe to believe he’s bested me. Lifting my dagger higher, I watch Monroe’s timidity dim as he reaches behind him and pulls a gun from his waist.

  How could I forget he normally keeps a holster at night in case things become more disorderly than normal? While it is a miscalculation on my part, I will not afford him the satisfaction of my fear.

  “Ah! So, now you are scared, little girl? Did you forget to whom the entirety of these four walls belong? Then let this be a reminder. Now drop your pretty little knife and your knickers and show me that pretty little—”

  “Never! I’d die first!” I shout back.

  “Have it as you wish, beloved. Either way, no one else will have you.” Pointing the Flintlock pistol at my face, I embrace whatever end may come. Although I know my death would mean worse for Chalmette, I will not give in to his wretchedness. Who knows? Perhaps my death is the catalyst necessary for Catherine to finally be the mother she should have been and carry both herself and Chalmette from this horrid place.

  Preparing for the next breath I take to be my last, I keep my eyes fixed on Monroe as he snarls and pulls the grip back, aiming to fire. The sound of the blast resounds through my suite and I hear my door crash open and a powerful gale force whips through the room.

  My eyes can hardly capture the tornado-like motion funneling around me as I see Monroe’s gun fall to the ground. A loud screeching scream along with a shuddering cry pierces my ears as I plug my eardrums to quiet the noise. I turn about and I see Scotty at the threshold of my door and his eyes are wide, laden in fright as he looks behind me.

  Fear strikes me as I glare at him, wondering what could cause my gargantuan friend alarm. Staring at the gun on the ground, thoughts of the gun’s blowback in Monroe’s drunken state, fill my mind. Perhaps the fool shot himself?

  As much as I wish that were the case, nothing prepares me for what I see when I turn around.

  Dalcour Marchand.

  For days—no for years, I had hoped this day would come to pass. I hoped. Prayed. Wondered—when would be the day of my salvation. When would he finally come to rescue me from—this hell? Surely, I never envisioned thoughts of him riding into the sunset on a white horse, but I hoped he could and would one day save me.

  Even though I started to lose heart, a part of me still believed he had not forgotten his promise.

  But the sight before me now is more than anything I could have imagined. I now understand the fear which glazed Scotty’s sight as it now does my own.

  Perched with impeccable balance at my armoire’s edge, I see Dalcour Marchand with his hand gripped at Monroe’s throat. Glowing embers of red illumine from his otherwise velvety pecan-textured skin as long, sharp fangs protrude like a dragon from his mouth. Monroe cowers, soiling himself in feverish fear at the haunting sight before him.

  He should fear him. As do I.

  Grim tales of he and his brother, Decaux’s, otherworldly deeds fill my mind. While the word is faintly used beyond Celtic tales, I know what and who he is. Vampire. A creature of night. But as my dear sister Calida once told me, he isn’t just any vampire. He is supernatural. A progenitor of all fallen to bloodlust and descent.

  He is not human nor has he ever been.

  And despite the darkened color of his skin, he is among few to have no cause to abide by ideals of slavery and segregation. He is ruled by neither human law nor faction. As Calida said, he is from the early people. Those who walked this decayed planet before humans ever came to be. He is an Altrinion. A supernatural of a power too great to be known among mortal men.

  This is my rescuer. My only hope.

  The pacing of my heart quickens as I watch venom from his pointy fangs graze the pulsing of Monroe’s wilted jugular.

  “Lord Marchand!” I scream and his fangs retract, quickly whipping his neck around and looking down at me. “Please, not here!” I plead, glancing over my shoulder to see Scotty’s gaped open mouth at the door. But he is not alone. Mother now stands beside him.

  Her face is pale as she stares at Monroe dangling in Dalcour’s hold. She looks as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “You—you are here,” Mother mutters barely above a whisper as she stands frozen in shock.

  Throwing Monroe to my bed like a ragdoll, Dalcour effortlessly floats back to the wooden floors and leans against my armoire, resting his hands in his pocket.

  “Yes, I am here and by the looks of things, I’ve delayed my arrival for far too long,” Dalcour replies, and the melodious tenor of his voice fills the room. Standing well above six feet, his broad, muscular frame seems to fill the entirety of my suite, making it appear too small for him. The glowing of his skin recedes as do both his fangs and his gangly features diminish, revealing the perfect handsomeness that is Dalcour Marchand.

  “How—I—I-don’t understand,” Mother continues, stepping beyond the threshold with her eyes locked onto Dalcour.

  “Well, I have been out of the country as of late on business. But after almost a decade without any word from you or letter, I only imagined the worst. Once I arrived back to my manor, I had intention to look for you and your little ones, but my brother’s machinations stirred tensions in the parish once more, so I had to tend to other matters. And yet through all that time, no letters, or any word from you. Naturally, I grew concerned, especially since—”

  “Wait!” I shout, standing between both Dalcour and Mother. “What letters? Mother, do you mean to tell me you have been in contact with him all these years? Why have I never heard of such?”

  “Because it wasn’t your place, little girl!” Monroe snips his words from the bed.

  “I’ll hear no more words from you tonight, you slobbering mass or I shall rip out your tongue and stuff it between the cheeks of your ass.” Dalcour’s flippant rebuke is followed by a swift kick to Monroe’s chin, and he falls back to the bed, yelling in pain.

  “Quiet, Monroe!” Mother shouts, looking over her shoulder and motioning Scotty to close the door. He does as she commands but remains inside my room.

  “So out with it, Mother! Have you remained in contact with Lord Marchand all this time?” I question, closing the gap between us. Her face betrays her as her eyes roam back and forth between me and Dalcour.

  “He promised he’d be back for us, but he never came! What was I supposed to do!” She snaps back, turning away from me, looking at herself in the mirror.

  “I wrote you many letters, Catherine, showing my concern for your plight,” Dalcour replies softly.

  “Yes, letters but we needed more, Chartreuse. We couldn’t exist off his mere promises alone!”

  “Mere promises? What about my resources? I sent them to you quarterly. I paid for your keep at the Hamptons when I first brought you here. You later informed me that you found a nice gentleman to care for you and your children.”

  “What?” I say as the knowledge of Mother’s dealings with Dalcour pain through me. My redemption was indeed nearer than I believed.

  “Yes, and I told you I would yet provide for you and your daughters since you feared doing so would be a burden to this man. Months turned into years and I yet believed things had turned for the better.” Dalcour’s confession haunts me more than seeing him as he is.

  “All this time you let us believe we were alone and in despair, but we were not! I thought there was no one who loved us. No one who cared. You lied to us! And what of this money, Mother?” Facing her squarely as I’d done earlier today is different. She
is more an enemy to me than I first believed.

  “What money? The little rations he sent us were barely enough to care for three girls much less for keeping a roof over your heads. If it weren’t for Monroe—”

  Dropping my father’s dagger to the ground, my hand sears across her face with such a force she falls flat to the floor. Crying my name, she holds her chin in shock as a stream of tears flood her face.

  Dalcour walks up behind me and I can feel him contemplating taking my shoulder in consolation, but he does not and steps back. I am sure my rage is too much even for him.

  “Is Monroe the father figure you wanted for your girls, Mother? A man who, only moments ago, attempted to claw his way on top of me only to rape me as he’s done so many times before on your watch! But what care you? Only hours ago he positioned himself to do so to your youngest daughter, Chalmette, and your only recourse is to give away her purity to some haggard, elderly man!”

  “Chartreuse, please try to understand!” Mother’s sobbing plea does nothing to assuage my rage. She’s earned every measure of my ire and I intend for her to know it as so.

  “Ahem—um, Chartreuse—” Dalcour begins, circling me and blocking my view of the sore sight of a mother at my feet. My eyes dart to him sharply and he tilts back as though he feared I’d strike him. A small smile crosses his perfect face and I grow slightly irritated that my anguish somehow amuses him. “If I may,” he continues, “about young Chalmette—”

  At the mention of Chalmette’s name both my newly appointed irritation with Dalcour and anger toward my mother turns to trepidation. Looking to see Scotty now flanking my sides, I realize he’s no longer guarding my young sister as he promised.

  “Scotty, you idiot! Chalmette! You’re supposed to be watching for her!” I shout, racing out of my suite. Faintly, I hear Dalcour call after me though my mother’s screeching cries nearly muffle the would-be calming tenor of his tone. Still, I charge down the hall to Chalmette’s suite, forging my way through the crowded hall of house girls and their mates. Pushing anyone aside and stepping over whomever in my path, I ram my elbow into Chalmette’s large solid oak door.