ValerieI followed Lucas out into the garden, where the air carried the smell of fresh roses and fertile soil. I hadn’t seen a flower in ages—not a real one, at least. Werewolves were not typically fans of flowers, or any plant with an overwhelming smell, really. Their noses were far too sensitive.Occasionally, the aunts would bring in fake flowers for certain sales events, to give the shop a bit of a homier feeling. They said the sight of them would evoke thoughts and feelings from the patrons—thoughts and feelings that would eventually end in a purchase. But it never felt quite the same, and the only thoughts they ever evoked from me were the ones of my mother’s garden. How desperately I wished I was standing in it. Smelling the sweet, floral aroma.But here, the smells circled around us anew with every breeze of air. The sweet, heavy scent of roses wrapped me like a warm blanket. It brought me right back to that lovely garden, and the flowers she used to growing in it when we were

ValeriePerhaps my fondest thing about this place was the way the sun crested the trees, just outside the window. Soft, rose-tinted light poured into the room, a velvet glaze of pinkish clouds in the sky.I did not often get to see the sunrise, back in the slave shop. We spent most of our time in our living quarters in the basement, where there were no windows to see the outside world.I was lucky to be here. I often forgot just how lucky I was, but this place was beyond expectation for a slave. Even if I was trapped here all my life…would it have been so terrible? So long as I got to see sunrises like this…staying here as a servant seemed like pure bliss compared to the fate of most slaves.But my ultimate goal was freedom. And I could not forget that.Despite how warm the room was, a chill still swept over my skin. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe it was the anticipation for the day ahead of me. I was not looking forward to going to Baycrest. I was not looking forward to spe

ValerieI could not look at Mrs. Manson’s face any longer. My heart panged with memories of my mother, the ghost of her still warm in my heart.It was so painful to have lost a mother. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for a mother to lose her daughter. I wanted to know more about Mrs. Manson. More about the woman she used to be.I opened my mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Mrs. Manson doesn’t like questions.“Say it,” Mrs. Manson ordered.“W-what?” I hesitated. She was not even looking at me in the reflection of the vanity. How could she have known I had a question on my mind?She glanced to me, then back to my hair. “You’ve something to say. Say it.”I swallowed and stared at my own reflection in the mirror. The girls had done a lovely job of fixing me up into a slave fit for a proper aristocrat vampire. I looked young and healthy, but not too pretty. Not too respectable.“Can you tell me about her?” I asked. “How did you lose her?”Mrs. Manson paused, the brush mid-way

ValerieThe windows were blocked out.I had been staring out through the glass at the lush forest outside, when Cliff hit a button on his door, and suddenly, there was only black staring back at me. Black and my own reflection.What was this? Some kind of privacy screen?“You aren’t going to love what you see in a moment,” Lucas had warned me upon entering the limo. Maybe he was telling the truth, because clearly, I was not allowed to see outside.And yet, I heard sounds that terrified me.They came through, creeping over the rumbling of the engine, like ghosts howling echoes of haunting things in my ears. Low, grating voices. Growls and shrieks and screams that came and went in passing.I did not know what was happening beyond these blackened windows, but I was certain now that I didn’t want to. Lucas was right. There was nothing to love about this ride into Baycrest.I was suddenly grateful for Cliff. For whatever magical button he had pressed that blocked the rest of the world from

ValerieI knew we were meant to play along.I knew that Lucas had to act like the master he was—that I had to act like the slave. But I was not expecting his touch when he chuckled and ran his finger over my skin.“I will,” he said, a sweet and sick curl to his voiceI shivered, a sick feeling crawling deep into my stomach. He had done that way too naturally.Marvolos did not seem impressed. Rather, he laughed. “I personally wouldn’t be so gentle,” he said. Then he raised his hand and clasped the back of his pet’s neck. His thumb seemed to brush slowly over the nape, forcing her gaze on him. “Will you be a good little girl?” he asked.The girl shuddered visibly, but her expression did not change. She held his gaze, expressionless and distant. “Yes, master,” she replied. Her voice was threaded and bare, like maybe she’d been crying. Or maybe that was just how it always sounded.His hand moved around her shoulders and came up to clasp her mouth. I saw fear shoot into the girl’s eyes as