Constricted: Beyond the Brothel Walls (3 page)

The first time I saw Korrigan, a shadowed glance from the second story window, I’d wanted to protect her. Deep within my bones, her ember roused my spirit like no one before her; I could not leave her, even if I ended up wrong about her ability to save my wretched soul. Men like Jules crushed spirits and made this cursed world oppressive. As if we didn’t have enough problems already. I just wondered if I was already too late to save her from the likes of him.

“There you are,” I said, approaching Demon Spawn. The ebony stallion snorted smoke and kicked at his metal stall. Burnt plastic scented the air. “We’re moving too slow.”

Nikolai tossed his head and whinnied. I hadn’t quite understood his power, at least not any more than I understood his existence. He channeled the inferno though and ran at the devil’s speed. If he truly wanted to, the enclosure wouldn’t contain him, and he could free himself. Magic made his bloodlust docile; the witch’s spell had lasted only so long before it required reapplication. The whole train would fall victim if his true nature rose up while we were on the rails.

Moments after I departed the car, the train’s power increased, and we moved faster. Returning to Korrigan, I didn’t see another person around. My steps hastened as I reached our door. The handle turned, and an uneasy feeling washed over me. Vampires didn’t show emotions like humans, but we still sensed, smelled, and discerned them, as they rolled off other people. Each held a distinctive signature, scent, and taste, yet nothing came from my train car.

I knocked and called for her, “Korrigan?”

There wasn’t an answer, and I slid the door open. I’d sworn I locked her inside. My heart would have stopped if it was still beating. Her head lay upon the glass, and the hot breath blew a fog over the icy window. Wrapped in a blanket, she looked like such an angel, and I was the monster that wanted her. No, I needed her and grinned at her sleeping form. She belonged to me; now came the time to set her free.

My hand touched my chest as I watched her sleep. The notion of her former life ached across my skin, but I hadn’t wanted to believe even though I knew what monstrosities Jules was capable of.

Korrigan, I’d set her free the moment we crossed the border and time would tell if she chose to stay with me or leave. A white envelope rested across from her seat. My hand shook as I retrieved the envelope, and my eyes widened. She slept soundly; her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

My gaze skated over her person. There were no outward signs of injury, but she stirred as the paper crumpled in my hands. Korrigan’s head shot up and scanned her surroundings; a trained smile fell over her face. Too soon, even that evaporated when I asked her how she’d rested. There were no words for me as Korrigan drew ragged breaths. I sat next to her, attempting to coax her out of the bizarre shell, but she kept herself shut down. We had the time, or rather, I had the time, to change her mind.

A
n announcement crackled over the speaker system. We’d dipped below the bay and approached our final destination. The train chugged and whistled into the station at Old Halifax, and she glanced at me. Her full lips pressed into a sweet, albeit another forced smile. I offered my hand to her after I rose, and she accepted, but said nothing of my cold skin.

After retrieving our luggage, to which I held none, we walked hand in hand toward my ornate carriage I’d reserved for special occasions. There were a few steam-powered cars and older models converted for bio-fuel, but I often enjoyed the simplicity of horse drawn travel. The relaxed travel reminded me of a simpler life I was once accustomed to before my change. Secured in another wagon, Demon Spawn departed, driven by my housekeeper, Mellissa. I hadn’t wanted to risk the devil rising up and harming Korrigan. Besides, Mellissa was more than capable with her sorcery.

Korrigan paused, eyeing the departing wagon before taking my hand. I lofted her into the confined compartment, and she sat, crossing her denim clad legs. “All set, Jobe,” I called to my driver and friend, Mellissa’s husband. Turning to Korrigan, I wrapped the blankets around us, and settled back as the carriage lurched forward.

She held her gaze down the entire drive. There were no exasperated sighs or exciting murmurs from her mouth. She didn’t peek through the veiled curtains at the white washed spans of her new home either. Waves crashed as we weaved up the coast, leaving the former city proper. The salty air burned my nose, working to cleanse the warming scent of vanilla and honey away. Words didn’t leave Korrigan’s mouth, eyes didn’t widen, and her heartbeat remained flat. This wasn’t how I’d planned this in my mind at all. The sun laid low on the horizon as we pulled up to my manor. Removing the blankets, she reached for the door, but I was quicker.

“Thank you, sir.” Not icy but proper words slipped past her lips.

My brow rose at the title, and she averted her eyes to her new home. She stepped down from the carriage as Jobe retrieved her luggage. Those sweet lips parted, and her breath sucked in. The first tenderness I’d witnessed, since telling her who I was, and it touched my heart that the landscape of our home excited her.

“It’s yours too now,” I said, watching her eyes widen. “What’s mine is yours, Korrigan, always.”

Her large eyes didn’t falter. “It’s beautiful, sir.”

“Petre,” I corrected, and she met my gaze. Hers blinked when I added, “The staff calls me sir or master, not you.”

“But—” Ah, there was that defiant spark, and I smiled.

“Petre, or maybe you can come up with something else, but never sir.” I grasped her hands in mine. “Let’s get you settled and then a grand tour.”

I wasn’t lying, and the property was included in her contract. When she fell for me, and this spell broke, I’d die. Every house, item, and penny I owned went to the woman responsible for setting me free. Korrigan would never want for anything once I passed on.

“Or would you enjoy a stroll to stretch your legs?” The house sat on fifty acres of land, and most of it was woodland. Pines and red maples, but the evergreens gave the most privacy in the winter. In the spring, there was a small garden in the rear, in addition to the decorative plants lining the front of the home. The paddocks served as grazing grounds for my horses and other animals.

“Yes, please,” she said. Korrigan didn’t have gloves, and I made a mental note to buy her a pair. While I’d purchased a collection of garments, there was much I’d overlooked, or not thought she’d need. Jules surely would’ve bought her gloves; Delphia saw plenty of cold, snowy weather. Why did she have one suitcase? A woman such as her should’ve had more to her name.

We walked the main hoary grounds; I showed and pointed out a few buildings and told her their uses. Korrigan remained silent, but her eyes lightened. There was the barn where we housed cattle and bison, the smokehouse which wasn’t used, but historic to the property, the guest quarters I’d used in the summer for hired help, and there was the stable and tack room. Nikolai lived in there along with my other horses. Nothing broke through her chilled demeanor until we reached the stable that sat to the left of the main house.

“There are horses inside too.” I opened the door, making sure to secure it when it closed. The weather was too cold for them, and the winter winds tended to pull the entry from the hinges. Firelight had snorted hello from his stall as we entered the main throughway. “He likes you; pet him.”

She glanced away and took a step in the same direction of her eyes. “I’ve never seen a horse before.” I cocked my head and chuckled as a blush fell over the apples of her cheeks. Some of the fear dissipated, as her curious eyes peeked at me. “Up close I meant,” she whispered.

My hand brought her closer, but her increasing heartbeat, slowed my movements. She reeked of innocence and sunshine; I wanted to hold onto that.

“It’s all right.” Firelight tossed his head in agreement. Quite docile, a draft horse that’d pulled our coach. Each step I’d mapped before coaxing Korrigan closer. He wouldn’t nip her like Demon Spawn. “Right there, go ahead,” I whispered into her ear and moved behind her, breathing in her scent.

My stomach swirled from the heat of her against me, and I licked my dry lips. Closing my eyes, I could see us in another time or another world, before my curse. Would she smell as sweet and boil the blood within my veins? Yes, I held no doubts about her affect over me. At least then I could have allowed myself the freedom of love. I should have stepped away, and given her the space she required to adjust within my life, but I could not bring myself to let go. After years of watching and waiting …

“He’s beautiful.” She scratched at the white starburst between his eyes, and he nudged at her arm. Rascal wanted a treat; everyone knew to bring treats.

“He’s spoiled rotten.” I didn’t let go of Korrigan. Dipping my head down, she shivered or maybe I had. The warmth of her scent assaulted my appetite, and my gums throbbed. Fangs slid out, but the howling wind masked the click of my teeth. My eyes fell down to the gap in her coat, and I saw what she wore beneath her jacket. Tattered yellow lace and striped satin covered partially exposed boning. Her skin dimpled, and her small breasts protruded over the dilapidated fabric.

The whore’s uniform according to Jules’ rules. Used to allure men and punish the women. Neither corsets nor slaves were welcome ideas in my home or Arcadia, and she would not become a whore. The question remained though, was she one already? I chewed my lip. Was I too late? My eyes searched her piled mass of hair for the marks. Uncle Jules used them to mark his girls like cattle. I didn’t find any in her pale lavender locks and forced a breath through my nose.

“Petre,” she said my name, and my search ended at her eyes. Korrigan had turned standing inches from my face. She glanced down, hiding her hands inside the bulky coat again. A new coat for her made my growing list. The wind blew again, and she looked toward the yowl. I struggled, wanting to kiss her and wipe away all her fears. Whatever happened before, whatever she was, none of her past mattered.

“Let’s go inside and get warm,” I said, hooking her arm through mine.

Chapter Three

N
othing about my birthday was as I’d expected. Not in a million years, yet I refused to allow my walls to melt away. For the whole of my short life, I’ve spent my days locking emotion away.

The master of this game was Jules. Over my life, he’d bait me with kind words and gestures right before the pain began. The blows hadn’t softened as I grew older, and I had stopped trusting his syrupy lies. The older girls called the game his toxic tongue, but I hadn’t valued the connection until it was too late. Was my new master any different from Uncle Jules? I chewed my lip and took in the whitewashed surroundings of my new home. Petre said ours and us a lot, but how would I know if he meant the words?

We strolled from the stable into his grand house. Petre, as he insisted I call him, clasped my arm. Warmth hadn’t radiated from his skin, but I remained half frozen and unable to feel much of anything. His gray eyes seemed to train on me as we traipsed through the snowdrifts. More than once, he had to lift me after I’d sunk in the snow up to my knees. Each time my cheeks ignited and I grew ever more thankful for the blistering cold.

When Petre smiled, though, I didn’t know how to react. The simple action warmed my insides, and it took a strong bite to my inner cheek not to return the gesture. Too soon, I’d remind myself. Too soon he’d break me too like Jules had done all those years ago. I was helpless to stop it, but if there was a God, maybe God would delay my misery.

My eyes were unsure of where to start, and the freshness of the air tickled my frozen nose. They brushed over the brick mansion looming ahead of the stables; all the other buildings were designed the same. The well in the roundabout sat unused, but it also matched the old house. Cold grey stone, it lay there dormant.
How appropriate.

Could this place become my new life? I glanced toward him and contemplated pinching myself. No, this was all an odd dream. A fairy tale like the ones mothers told their children. The girls spoke of them sometimes; the ones who had run away from their families and Uncle Jules found. They spoke of Princes and faraway lands, but most of all they preached of love –true love. I didn’t believe in those tales any more than I believed in silly notions of fidelity. Husbands, bah, they all cheated. Besides, there were no heroic stories of charming dark strangers who swooped in to save slaves, and I doubted the universe was about to start with me. But Petre, with his long glossy locks and silvery eyes, made for a perfect dark stranger.

Petre lifted me up the outside stairs, and the air hissed from my lungs. His lips twitched, but I couldn’t glance away. “Korrigan?” he said my name as if he spoke, but there I was, wrapped up in my thoughts again, wrapped up in thoughts about him. Thoughts were dangerous, and so were dreams.

I forced my smile. The double doors opened from the inside like magic, and he carried me through the entryway. The air grew heavy and thick as we entered through the large wooden doors. Our faces hovered close, and the hairs covering my body stood on edge. His thick lips parted, and I longed to hear him speak anything besides my name. The lovely accent with its soft and harsh notes was music to my ears. Petre said nothing as my eyes settled on the lines of his strong jaw.

The burning glow of fire basked him in a warm light. I feared to look at him, to study him again after the train, but found him darkly beautiful. There were statues in the graveyard near Hampshire House. Perfect lines chiseled and molded into stone, but many had tiny cracks and imperfections. Petre had worn his defect as a scar, but what else had he hidden beneath the surface?

“Pardon.” I slid to the ground as he loosened his hold. He moved aside, and I echoed his steps as my eyes swept over the room. Inlaid around the door were stained glass sceneries, showing flowery motifs I’d only saw once before at St Augustine’s church.

My old sneakers, heavy and wet from snow, squeaked over the wood. A woman appeared from out of nowhere and took my coat. I started to protest, but there was no use. Eyes bore through me as my skin heated and shivered at the same time. Training kicked in and my eyes fell to the ground; I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. All I’d worn underneath my coat was a corset and my ripped jeans.

“I’ll be quick, and you can change,” he barked. “This is my staff,” he began and introduced Mellissa and Jobe.

“I’ve a kettle set; would ye take tea, lass?” she asked.

I glanced at Petre, waiting for permission, and rubbed my arms. Slave women were trained to wait until the master of the house offered them refreshment, and not to speak out of turn. As the seconds ticked on, he said nothing, and I declined as graciously as she offered.

“Would ye like to ring yer uncle and let him know ye arrived?”

I’d rather stick a hot poker in my eye. He wasn’t my uncle, and that thought turned my stomach. A better term was monster. Again, I declined, hoping it was the right answer. All I wanted was to change and hide.

Petre turned back to the staff and dismissed them. I blinked, watching the pleasant exchange. No harsh tones, threats … they were like equals or friends. Smiles reached their eyes; their clothing was clean and pressed too.

“The contract,” he started and guided me toward the stairs. Squishy feet suctioned up the carpeted mass. My eyes flickered toward a painting looming over the massive hearth. His hollowed blue eyes followed my movements and raced my heart. “Requires us to live under the same roof for no less than six months prior to marriage. Did Jules allow you to read it?”

“No,” I said, leaving out the part where he preferred his women uneducated and submissive. That had surprised me most about the contract. Jules had always spoken like I would become his when I turned eighteen. Even by my standards, his despicable and devilish deeds … I would neither forgive nor forget.

“The six months gives us both a way out if either of us deems the other unsuitable. I’ll have a copy made for you.” By the time we reached the third story, I was ready to close my eyes. My lungs burned, and I fought to steady myself. The walls of the corridors lay bare of all except striped wallpaper, yet they closed in around me. The rooms we passed all had their wooden doors closed giving no escape.

“We will also keep separate rooms until we wed.” My breath rushed out, and I tried to turn my head to hide it. His intentions had worried me. Yes, I belonged to him, but I wasn’t in a rush for him to take the only value I still owned. Aside from the clothes I brought, I possessed nothing else in the world. His fingers danced together and formed a point. “I apologize for my bluntness, Korrigan, but I must ask a delicate question, and I bid you not to lie.”

We stepped into the bedroom, and I nodded. Windows bled light, and the orange rays bathed across the large four-poster bed. I froze as a memory of Jules raised its dark tendrils. My fists clenched, and nails dug into my palms, as I fought against the onslaught. He’d tie us to the posts and whip us.

My jaws clamped together and trembled under the pressure. Other times his visits were worse, and he’d taken pieces of me and shattered them into nothingness. Tears stung and an old pain resurfaced, dulled by the long journey’s exhaustion. Before I left, Uncle Jules had slithered his venom into my ear. My eyes widened at his words. I’d never forget him, and in five years, he’d own me again. My head shook, refusing to believe I’d ever return to that monster, yet I couldn’t shake off all he’d burned into my soul.

Petre didn’t speak, but the intensity of his gaze remained on my trembling body. I faced him; deep down, I wanted to believe he was better than Jules. Faith had left me long ago, yet I prayed for the strength to believe his words. Broken, inside and out, and beyond damaged. That was me, spoiled goods. What would a man –clean, young, and rich- want with a bastard whore like me?

Were there hidden secrets lurking behind Petre’s grey eyes, as they raked over me? Lies waiting to fall off his thick bottom lip? Did he chew his lip to keep the secrets locked down? I did. My secrets had eaten at my insides and had kept me alive when food was scarce.

His hair hung loose, grazing his broad shoulders, and framed his smooth, hairless face. A sigh tickled my throat, and my lips parted to speak. Petre’s lips twitched, and I shut them. Why would such a man want to buy a wife? That question nagged at me, but I swallowed it away. He was gorgeous and young enough to have any woman.

Instead, I asked, “Is … everything all … right?”

Damn it, I needed to get myself under control or stop talking to him. My words made me sound like a babbling baby. Yes, I feared Petre just as I would have any man, but there was something else. Life outside of the Hampshire House was alien to me. Some of the guards had allowed me to sneak away when Jules left, but I hadn’t lived a free and virtuous life. For an hour here or there, I had just pretended as I walked the streets of Delphia.

I’d donned my uniform and covered it, even in the heat of summer. The cobblestone streets became my solace, and the shops my dreams. My guard knew I would return before sundown, and they warned me to stay near. Each one assured me I was followed even if I didn’t see.

“I’m old fashioned in some ways, and in other’s I’ve embraced the changing times.” Okay, that was a strange statement to make, but I nodded, and forced a smile. “When I marry, I expect my new wife intact.”

Marry; my chin drooped, and my gaze fell back to the bed. Married women held more rights outside the home than slaves. Other men couldn’t touch them even though the husbands philandered with whores. Uncle Jules couldn’t hurt me ever again if I married Petre. Safe, but what if he was worse? I glanced back to him. What if he wasn’t any worse?

“If I can be blunt.” I paused as his dark brows rose. “My hymen is very much intact.”

Petre flashed a charming smile, and it was the charismatic persona he’d held on the train ride before he’d announced himself as my owner. The man before me I handled without a hitch. The other one called me out on my lies and stared at me like I was food.

“That pleases me.” His eyes darkened again. “This is my bedroom, and yours is next door. I wanted to show you that I’m close by if you need me.” Instead of walking back through the hallway, he opened a different door; it led into the living room. Books lined one of the walls and a pang washed over me. Perhaps, if he was willing, Petre would teach me to read.

“This is, as I’m sure you have guessed, our private entertainment room.” My eyes had glanced over the modern furniture and electronics before trailing back to him. His hand rubbed the base of his neck, but he smiled at me. My own lips tried to twitch upward too, but I wasn’t ready to trust him. How many stories had I heard from young girls about rich men? They all ended badly, and I’d stay smart to make sure it didn’t happen to me.

I shook the smile away and padded behind him into the next room. The walls were light grey-lavender, so light that, in the dark, they appeared more grayish than purple. The bed had a dark sloped headboard and footboard. The shape reminded me of a sleigh, and a fat man dressed in red; I’d once saw them in a picture book. My breath released. No bed poles to haunt my waking moments.

“We can change the colors if you like,” he said. I shook my head, but his back faced me. “This was my room; grey is my favorite color,” Petre added.

“No, it’s pretty.” I smiled. Even as I tried to stop it, my dry lips cracked into a grin. The air shifted as he spun around, scooped me up like a doll, and pressed me to him. I sucked in a breath, but I couldn’t shake the grin off my face. Warmth flushed into my cheeks; our eyes met, and he stepped away.

A chill shook over my skin after he dropped me, which I found odd. Petre’s hands were still icy. “Grey is my favorite too.”

Why did I tell him that? No more, I chided myself and nibbled my cheek. He’d end up being a witch, and his house made of finery and sweets. I would not become Gretel like in the story. Fattened, lured, and wind up fighting for my life. All because I fell for a line of flattery or was swooped up into his fairytale life. No, Petre bought me. I had to remember the facts. He knew Jules. Therefore, he was not my knight in shining armor. Knights didn’t frequent whorehouses, did they?

Though I wanted one; a good man to save me, or even help me find the courage to save myself. All girls did, but now I was a woman, and I had to bury those notions. Decent men didn’t exist in this world any more than truly freed women. I glanced to him again, noting the rapid curl of his fingers, and his relaxed posture. Would he expect me to run, or did he think I’d play his game, open my legs, and buy into this façade life? Were there chains hidden in his basement or skeletons rattling away in the closets too?

My weakened legs walked around the bedroom. Not because of him, no, I’d just spent the most time away from Hampshire House than ever before; split between a rail car and a carriage, neither was comfortable. But I did love this bedroom, it was larger than I expected, and there was a fireplace too. The hearth was built with grey stone like the front of the house, and a small fire was cooking inside, filling the air with an earthy scent. Windows lined two walls, and there was a set of doors leading outside. I placed my hand over the bedspread, noticing a faint hint of feathers in the air that mixed with the burning wood. It was different from my old tattered blanket or my stained mattress on the floor of a closet sized bedroom.