Twenty-One

By Alice Anne Blackwood

"This book is not for the faint of heart, and I mean that in the best way possible." Reader Review

Reeling from the recent loss of her mother, college student Chloe Leroux just wants to finish her final academic year in peace. But when she indulges in a night out to a mysterious club, she awakens naked and lock

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Anne Blackwood
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869318862

Book preview

Twenty-One

Copyright © 2024 by Alice Anne Blackwood

All rights reserved

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Visit author’s website at www.aliceanneblackwood.com

The first edition of this book was published in 2017

under a different pen name. This edition has been updated with a new pen name, minor content edits, and a new cover.

For my partner, my family, my children

(though the latter had better not

read this until they're old enough.)

For the iNation, my beloved darkling throng,

in whatever form you take as the years pass.

You will always be my Neverland.

And for all those who are a little dark,

a little twisted, and a little mad.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Epilogue

Chapter 1

January 12, 2012

I am Twenty-One. I am a slave. I will obey. I will be used. I will not question. I will please my Master. I am Twenty-One. I am a slave.

Chloe despised the words that tumbled out of her mouth. She could think of nothing else to murmur to herself while she waited, lying on her back in the blacked-out room that had been her prison for God knew how long. Months of meticulous training had embedded the twisted mantra into her brain. Weeks of starvation and torment in this room had beaten out any other prayer she could have hoped to recall.

Chloe took a deep breath through her nose and retched from the stench of the waste-soaked bed sheets in the stifling tropical air. The sliver of light beneath the door blurred. She focused on the light with every ounce of energy she had in her bruised body, whispering her mantra with new fervor. If she passed out again, she was done for. She knew that because Mama knew that. Chloe didn’t look for Mama, but she knew she was there, whispering along with her, fingering the scars on her worn and withered cheek. Yes, the man who forced Chloe to call him Master had said he would come for Chloe when the other one rots. Mama said it was time. Chloe breathed through her mouth, whispering.

I am Twenty-One. I am a slave…

Footsteps echoed from a part of the house Chloe had never seen. She knew the ritual well. The door would open and the monster would amble in, lean over to see if she still breathed, and rouse her for whatever deranged games he had planned for her that day. But today, she had a weapon: a splinter of wood the width of her fist, ripped from the dilapidated bedframe. She had picked away at it until the end came to a point. She could only hope it would be sharp enough. Chloe buried her fist in the filthy sheets on which she lay, clutching the wooden shard as if it would slip away from her somehow. She feared her weapon was another hallucination from the heat, that she held nothing to save herself from her captor, but Mama’s reassuring voice in her ear gave her strength. She continued to whisper the words that had bound her body and soul for so long, whispered every vow that she was about to break.

I will be used. I will not question. I will please my Master.

The door opened and closed. Chloe barely opened her eyes, catching sight of a figure coming toward her. The fetid bed sank with his weight as the figure leaned over her, coming close to her face, checking her breathing.

Mama’s voice rang in her bones. Now. Now.

With a raw, guttural cry, Chloe sprung.

Chapter 2

September 23, 2011

Mariane’s lips brushed Chloe’s ear as she spoke, but Chloe still had to strain to hear her above the pounding music.

I said, if you don’t put your phone away, I’m going to throw it on the dance floor and goth stomp it to death.

Chloe dodged Mariane’s reaching fingers with a laugh, holding her phone out of reach.

Just give me two seconds. I’m saying good night to my dad.

Mariane rolled her blue eyes and propped her elbows on the polished black bar, the only thing at the Oryx night club that looked sleek and new. The rest of the décor, from the worn leather couches in the lounge areas to the billiard tables, looked as if they had been plucked out of a junkyard. But that was the theme, Chloe supposed. Mariane had mentioned an apocalyptic vibe when she had been dressing Chloe up to go out. That seemed accurate, but as Chloe stared at the strips of corroded metal and frosted glass mosaics decorating the rust-colored walls, she didn’t understand the appeal. Why make a nice place look like a wasteland?

Come on, sweets, said Mariane, tossing her long white-blonde hair over her shoulder. "Daddy will keep ‘til morning. How do you say, go to bed, dad in French?"

Chloe stole a glance at her father’s text message – Bon nuit, ma bichette. Miss you! –before wedging her phone into the long black boots she had borrowed from her friend.

It’s the first time he’s been alone in twenty five years, she said. Cut me some slack.

Mariane shook her head, Way to make me feel like an asshole. But she broke into a grin when Chloe tried to apologize. Relax, Chloe. We’re out tonight to let loose, right? So no more phone. Time to experience something new.

She turned to flag down the bartender, leaving Chloe to people watch. The more she studied the Oryx crowd, clad in everything from leather to Victorian lace, the more out of place she felt. Mariane had dressed her for the theme, her ever-present cigarette hanging from her heart-shaped lips as she dug through her own closet to find the perfect outfit for Chloe’s first time at the mysterious club. She had caked Chloe’s hazel eyes in black eye shadow and stuffed her into a too-small black bra and a cropped shirt made entirely out of tight, ripped black fishnet. A black and white petal skirt just barely covered her upper thighs. Chloe had never shown so much skin in public. She had been anxious until they had gotten to the Oryx and found that exposed flesh was commonplace. Even Mariane bared herself in an under-bust corset of blue leather with nothing but two black strips of electrical tape crossed over each nipple in an X-shape. Still, Chloe felt uncomfortable, as if she were in disguise and everybody could sense it. She watched dancers move like hazy apparitions, distorted by the wall of thick tarnished glass separating the bar from the dance floor. She had long been curious about the Oryx and its dark, eccentric crowd, a novelty in an otherwise unexceptional rural college town of Hollington, Ohio. It was bizarre to be within its walls after passing its long black doors every day on her way to campus.

Snap out of it, Chloe. Mariane put a thick double shot glass in her hand. No zoning out. Just drinking.

Sorry, said Chloe. "It’s just so weird in here. I’m not used to everybody around me looking like you."

Mariane grinned. Hey, in here, you’re the weird one. She reached over and clinked glasses with Chloe. This is the bar’s specialty. Drink up.

Chloe studied her glass. It looked as eerie as the club itself, with a bottom layer of green licking like flames into murky red at the top of the glass.

What the hell is it?

A Wolf Bite, said Mariane with a wink. Cheers.

Mariane tilted her long white neck and swallowed the shot. Chloe hesitated before following suit. She wasn’t a complete stranger to bars, but her mother’s long illness had kept her clear of the hard partying so common of the college lifestyle. The shot went down more smoothly than she had anticipated, leaving behind a lingering taste of sweet anise and some sort of fruit. She licked her lips. As strange as the Oryx was, Chloe was glad she had finally given in to Mariane and gone out. It had been over a month since her mother’s suffering had ended, and returning to Hollington University so soon afterward had been agony. She couldn’t stop worrying about her father, alone in her childhood home, which seemed so empty without her mother’s laughter filling every room.

Mariane ran her fingers through Chloe’s short brown hair.

Come on, daydreamer, said Mariane, hopping off her barstool. Let’s dance.

Chloe’s remaining trepidations dissolved the moment she stepped onto the dance floor, swallowed by the vivacious energy of the crowd. She lost her heartbeat to the bass that vibrated from the massive speakers. The music was palpable; she let it move her hips, bring her hands to her hair. The floor was in nearly complete darkness, shattered by a multitude of neon lights cutting through the darkness in brief flashes. Chloe became a part of the crowd around her, moving as a collective unit. There was a comfort in losing herself in a mass of dancers, becoming one of many. She cheered mindlessly with the rest at every command emanating from the cavernous DJ booth, which stood elevated on the back wall of the dance floor. Chloe noticed a figure just underneath the booth, a female form wrapped in black gauze, stone still amidst the writhing bodies. Another glance around the dance floor yielded a half dozen of these bandaged mannequins standing on elevated stages along the walls. Dancers on the platform ran their hands along them, caressing their curves, and they did not move.

Mariane! Chloe shouted over the music, pointing at one of the figures. What are those mannequins?

Mariane’s smile seemed to fade, or maybe the lights hit her strangely, Chloe couldn’t tell.

They’re not mannequins, she replied. Those are the dolls. They’re people. They don’t move, though. They’re not allowed.

Chloe frowned, watching person after person caress the dolls, stroking their faces and every inch of their bodies.

Why? she asked. What are they for?

Mariane tossed her narrow shoulders, grabbed Chloe’s hips, and forced them to dance. Chloe laughed.

They’re just a thing here, she said. The Oryx is a theatrical place, hun. Don’t worry about the dolls. Just dance!

Chloe obeyed, letting her curiosity ebb into the beat of the thrashing music. She knew she would never understand the Oryx, but for tonight, it was the perfect place for her to let go of her troubles. She and Mariane danced until their breath ran shallow. Mariane brought her fingers to her lips, mimicking a cigarette, and led Chloe off the dance floor toward the back patio of the club.

The late September air that had chilled Chloe before now steeped her skin in delicious gooseflesh and cooled the sweat that clung to her from the dance floor. She took a deep breath and found the air misted with the smoke of a dozen cigarettes despite the back patio being open to the night sky. Beside her, Mariane blew a cloud of her own smoke from her pursed pink lips.

So, what do you think? she asked. Is the Oryx the mouth of hell you were so scared of?

Chloe smiled and shook her head. She looked into the crowd on the patio, a sea of pierced f/lesh and tattoos, of colored hair and combat boots. It was by far the most exotic crowd she’d experienced. A pink-haired woman in a shiny PVC skirt caught her gaze and flashed her a smile.

Everyone’s so friendly. I wasn’t expecting that from a goth crowd. It’s goth, right?

Mariane chuckled and plopped down onto a wood patio chair, remarkably plain compared to the décor inside.

Good to know you thought we were all antisocial twats, she said with a wink. Goth, industrial, rivet head, cyber, I wouldn’t get into semantics. Half the time we don’t even know what the fucking differences between us are.

I didn’t understand half of what you said.

Exactly, Mariane said with a wink. Just dress up and dance, sweets. We’re a great crowd, whatever we call ourselves. Beautiful freaks. She took a long drag of her cigarette. By the way, something fun happens at midnight around here to club virgins like you, and you’re doing it. No arguments.

Chloe frowned. What?

Hey, I’m in charge tonight, said Mariane with a sly smile. I said no arguments. It’ll be fun, trust me.

Chloe sighed, reaching out of habit for a strand of her honey brown hair to twirl between her fingers before remembering she had just cut it short. She fiddled with the choppy layers so close to her ears. Mariane’s words tied her stomach in knots. She imagined being thrown onto one of the podiums on the dance floor, forced to do something embarrassing like dance in front of everyone, fingers pointing at her.

You’re not going to single me out, are you? she asked. Isn’t it enough that I let you put me in this outfit? I thought I was supposed to blend into the crowd.

Calm down, princess, said Mariane. It’ll be fun. Nothing you’ll need to take a Xanax for.

Chloe threw Mariane a theatrical pout. I like new experiences, not surprises.

Mariane laughed again and patted Chloe’s bare knee. The heat from dancing had worn off and the cold invaded her exposed skin. Chloe folded her arms over her barely concealed chest to keep warm and tried to keep herself from obsessing over whatever she would be subjected to at midnight. She looked into the crowd again, at the plumes of fragrant smoke hovering over their heads and curling up to the stars. Everyone was so at ease. She had gone out tonight to feel the same way, to let loose, to have a new experience. She didn’t want her silly social anxiety to ruin things for her. The summer had been so draining; months of sitting in her mother’s dark bedroom, holding her hand, talking with hospice nurses and keeping her father as happy as he could muster in those final weeks. Her mother’s death had been long expected, but grief had still hung like a heavy shroud over the house. Chloe would never admit it aloud that she was relieved to move back to Hollington for fall semester and be free, albeit temporarily, from that empty house.

She people-watched as Mariane finished smoking, catching sight of a small crowd that had accumulated at the back corner of the patio. The group surrounded three people that caught Chloe’s attention immediately. Two beautiful women, dark-eyed twins, stood arm in arm, blowing smoke over their naked shoulders. Their pale, willowy forms were identical but for their short pigtailed hair, one dyed bright purple, the other peacock green. The man between them stopped Chloe’s breath. He was taller than the twins, dressed in combat boots and faded black jeans with buckling straps, attire not unlike other men in the crowd. He was shirtless despite the young autumn chill. A mask concealed him from the bridge of his nose down, made of worn black leather and studded with a thin row of spikes down its center. Long black hair fell loose over his shoulder, undercut on both sides, as if he had let a mohawk grow all the way down to his chest.

Chloe drank in the stranger, at the contrast of his pallid face and the black mask, at the lean, slender muscle of his bare torso. Something about him raised the hair on her arms. She was so distracted by his appearance that she didn’t realize he had noticed her. Her face flushed when she finally saw him staring back at her. She wanted to look away, as was polite when caught gawking at a stranger, but she couldn’t. His gaze paralyzed her as it crept down her body and made her feel more naked than she had all night. They locked eyes again, and Chloe’s throat went dry. There was something about him, something that beckoned to her, tempted her to come to him, like a magnetic force pulling at her limbs, calling her closer. The thought of meeting new people normally made Chloe anxious. Even Mariane, whose appearance had roused her curiosity in their art history class two years ago, had to be the one to strike up a conversation in order for them to meet. Chloe had never felt the urge to approach a complete stranger in her life.

Mariane tapped Chloe’s arm, dragging her back to reality.

I said, do you want to go in? she asked. What the hell are you thinking about so-

Mariane broke off as her gaze drifted to the man who had so captured Chloe’s eye, who had returned to his conversation with the group surrounding him.

Let’s go in, said Mariane, her voice flat. I’m getting cold now.

She spun on her heel and headed inside so quickly that Chloe struggled to keep up with her as they weaved through the crowd.

Who was that? Chloe asked. Mariane did not respond. She repeated her question, but the thumping music of the dance floor swallowed her voice. She grasped Mariane’s shoulder. Mariane’s bright blue eyes were hard-edged, a cross look on a normally carefree face.

Hey, are you all right? Chloe asked. Do you know that guy with the mask on?

Mariane nodded, her blonde hair swishing over her shoulders.

Yeah, I do, she said with a bite in her voice that startled Chloe. And he’s not the kind of guy you should be flashing your tits at, Chloe.

Chloe took a step back. She had seen Mariane lose her temper with people before, seen that nasty glint in her eye, but her anger had never been directed at Chloe herself.

Mariane, she said carefully, why are you so upset? Did I do something?

Mariane sighed, shaking her head. She patted Chloe’s hair. I’m sorry, sweets. I’m being a bitch. I was hoping you’d get some tonight because God knows you need it, but I never thought…look, I know things about everybody in this bar, and Demetrius- she jerked her thumb at the patio, -is fucked up. Just trust me on this.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. What, is he a serial killer? I should have known from all the black clothes.

Mariane did not smile at the joke. She glanced behind Chloe. He could have been one of your mom’s patients.

Chloe’s smile died. Her mother had been a therapist for maximum security inmates in a Cleveland prison. The stories she had told Chloe throughout her life had given her nightmares. She was still too frightened to read any of her mother’s case studies.

That’s not funny.

Mariane fixed Chloe with a steady stare. I’m not joking. Look, I’m not saying he’s going to kill you in the alley or anything, but he’s just…fucked up with women. She sighed, running a hand through her long hair. The sardonic smile Chloe had seen on her lips countless times returned. There are plenty of hot goths around here who aren’t clinically insane, sweets. Just forget about it, okay? I’m still in charge tonight, and I say it’s time to dance.

Mariane took Chloe’s arm and dragged her back onto the dance floor. Chloe tried to shrug off the one blip in an otherwise fantastic night out, which soon blurred into streams of pounding bass, cheers, and writhing bodies. Every now and then, Chloe scanned the crowd for Demetrius with a strange combination of dread and anticipation, but she did not see him amongst the eclectic Oryx hoard. Eventually she lost her worries in the excitement of the club. Chloe secretly savored the accidental brushing against strangers on the dance floor. Summer had been solitary, and the first month back at Hollington University had been solitary as she recovered. On top of that, she had been single since spring, when things with her casual boyfriend had come to an anticlimactic fizzle. She hadn’t realized how lonely she had been until tonight. She found herself less shy than usual as Mariane introduced her to fellow regulars and she chatted casually with exotic strangers.

Later into the night on the dance floor, the music dissipated and did not immediately start up again. Chloe stopped moving. She glanced at Mariane and found a wicked grin painted on her friend’s face. Her heart sank. Shit. It was midnight, wasn’t it? She had forgotten about the dreaded surprise Mariane had refused to explain. Mariane took Chloe’s hand and pointed toward the elevated DJ booth at the front of the dance floor.

He’s up there, but don’t worry about it. He won’t come down, she said. Just go with it, okay?

Chloe tried to peer into the booth. An ominous beat rumbled through the crowd and everyone on the floor began to stomp. The energy at the Oryx entered her like a contagion and ate away her anxiety.

It’s that time of night, came the now familiar low, growling voice of the DJ. Bright light burst through the booth so suddenly that Chloe jumped, thinking something had shorted out, but the crowd cheered. The masked face in the booth made Chloe’s heart jolt. Demetrius, the stranger on the patio, stood in the booth, his long fingers curled around a mic. He raised his fist in the air and the crowd mirrored him, screaming. Chloe stared at Mariane, who shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. Demetrius’ voice drowned out her words.

Bring the virgins to the wall, he said, his voice reverberating through Chloe’s body. It’s time to welcome them to the Oryx.

A new song burst over the crowd’s cries, pounding steadily like a military march. Mariane slung an arm around Chloe and pulled her toward the long glass wall that separated the bar from the dance floor.

Chloe’s nerves spiked. Oryx regulars pressed giggling newcomers against the wall, pinning them playfully. She was being singled out, as she’d feared. Mariane must have been able to read the apprehension in her face. She smiled, ruffled Chloe’s hair, and took her shoulders.

Relax, sweets, she shouted over the din. Just go with it!

Chloe tried to comply. She pressed her back to the wall, a cool shock against her hot, sweat-tinged skin. She exchanged glances with the other virgins who seemed just as clueless as she was, though they were smiling. Chloe took a deep breath. Mariane was right. She needed to lighten up.

A pale figure appeared behind Mariane as the music swelled to a climax. Chloe’s heart stopped. Demetrius took Mariane’s shoulders and brushed her away as if he were parting a curtain. Mariane released Chloe, her face pale beneath the veil of her blonde hair. Her eyes darted from Chloe to the masked man, wide and near panic. Chloe stood up from the wall and reached out to her companion, but Mariane had disappeared into the crowd. Only Demetrius stood before her, close enough to touch.

The music grew frantic as if taking its pace from Chloe’s heartbeat. The crowd wailed reached toward the ceiling. Chloe could not look away from Demetrius. He seized her shoulders and lifted her off her heels as effortlessly as plucking fruit from a branch. He pinned her against the glass wall with his legs, pressing his thighs to hers. She did not know why she didn’t struggle. Her mind went blank the moment he touched her, consumed by the flex of his hands, the heat of her skin quenched by his cool fingers.

The crowd erupted into ecstatic cries, and a deluge of warm liquid flowed from the top of the glass wall and rained down upon Chloe and the other newcomers. Chloe gasped, her hair drenched, her eyes swimming red. For a moment, she thought it was real blood, but when it reached her lips, she tasted a sharp, artificial cherry flavour. It seeped into the crevices of her fishnet top and ran in warm rivulets down her breasts, her stomach. Demetrius’ grip stayed firm on her shoulders in spite of the slippery mess. She saw him through a haze of red, leaning toward her, his face looming near. She found herself leaning toward him as much as he would allow, as if they would kiss in spite of his mask. She felt him near, as if the air just around him was palpable, raising the hair on her arms and calling her closer. He leaned into her ear, his voice deep and clear behind the mask, and murmured a simple command.

Say yes.

A spike from his mask grazed her cheek, the smallest sensation in a storm of sensations, yet it made Chloe’s spine bow. Her lips parted, slick with the stage blood pouring down her body. She answered reflexively, as if responding were as natural as breath.

Yes. Chloe closed her eyes and threw her head back into the rush of blood. Her breasts grazed his chest. The contact ignited her skin with sweet heat as if her bra weren’t there. She repeated the word every inch of her body screamed, a plea erupting from some dark, hungry part of her she had never known.

Yes.

For a moment, Chloe felt the brush of his fingers along her left cheek, and then her feet returned to the floor. Demetrius slipped away and melted into the crowd like a phantom. The wall stopped bleeding. Chloe’s awareness of the world around her returned slowly, as if she had just woken from a dream. Sound returned; the throbbing pulse of a new song, the laughter of the other newcomers and their dry companions. Chloe stood, numb and dumbstruck, her short hair dripping with stage blood. She still felt his grip on her shoulders, lifting her so effortlessly, the weight of his thighs against hers. Her skin tingled in a way she didn’t understand. Mariane reappeared. Her wide eyes broke Chloe from her spell.

It’s okay, Chloe said quickly. Nothing happened. He just-

Mariane grabbed her arms with a startling grip.

Are you okay? she demanded.

Chloe frowned. Yeah, I’m fine. I told you-

What did he say to you? Did he invite you anywhere?

Mariane, what-

Don’t go anywhere with him, okay? Mariane’s frantic tone sped Chloe’s heart. What did he say to you?

Nothing. He didn’t say anything. He just held me against the wall.

Chloe surprised herself with the lie, but Mariane gave her no time to think. She tugged at Chloe and dragged her off the dance floor. Chloe nearly crashed into a bouncer with a mop, ready to clean up the stage blood from the midnight theatrics.

We have to go, said Mariane, throwing glances over her shoulder. I’ll take you home.

Chloe’s stomach flipped. Mariane’s panic was infecting her. She tried to slow her down.

Hold on, hold on, okay? she held Mariane’s arm. Mariane, just talk to me. Why are we going home? What’s wrong? Nothing happened, he’s gone.

For a moment it looked like Mariane would burst into tears. Chloe could not wrap her mind around her friend’s panic. Even if Demetrius was as bad as she said, he had disappeared, probably back into the DJ booth. He hadn’t asked for her number or invited her somewhere. He had just…

Chloe, Mariane said. You don’t get it. I already told you. You caught the eye of the worst guy in this place. She sighed. I’m sorry I’m freaking out. I never thought he’d be interested in you. Otherwise I would have…we should call it a night, sweets. He’ll move on to the next when you’ve gone.

Chloe didn’t know why those words stung her. She shook her head, calming down now that Mariane was no longer near panic. A night that had begun so well had certainly taken a turn. Mariane gave Chloe a shadow of her usual sly grin.

It’s all right, she said, leading her past the bar. We’ll get you laid at some point. Just…not by a psycho. Okay?

That made Chloe smile.

I guess I’m lonelier than I thought, she said. Mariane nodded with a small laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Chloe’s anxiety ebbed with the return of Mariane’s humor.

I have to close my tab, said Mariane. She released Chloe’s hand. Hang on.

Chloe waited. Beyond the red streaked glass wall, the dance floor continued to thrive. Was Demetrius back in the booth, leading the mass of skin and sweat to new ecstasy? She fought not to think about the way his gaze held hers, the magnetic pull she felt. Mariane’s reaction was so strong, and she seemed to know everyone at the Oryx intimately. Chloe would be a fool if she dismissed Mariane’s fears.

Hey. You in the fishnet.

Chloe turned. A young woman holding a tray of tube shots flashed Chloe a smile dotted with piercings.

Have a shot, she said. She rotated the tray, revealing a single shot glass among the tubes. "It’s on the house. Our DJ said to tell you, ‘thanks for the fun.’"

Chloe looked down at the glass. It was a layered shot, green mixing into red, the same one Mariane had ordered for her earlier in the night. But this one had come from the man that Mariane was afraid of. She hadn’t seen the drink made, and though the young woman was an employee of the bar and Chloe might be able to trust her, she couldn’t ignore the dread creeping into her gut.

Thank you, she said, taking a step away, but I’ve had enough to drink tonight, I think.

The young woman smiled again and tossed her shoulders. Okay. Have a good night.

Chloe nodded as the woman left. She stood alone between the dance floor and the bar. She took a deep breath. For the first time that night, she felt eyes on her; perhaps the judgmental gazes she had feared all night…perhaps something darker. She was relieved when Mariane reappeared from the bar and led her toward the open doors into the night.

XXI

Chloe startled awake with a racing heart. For a moment she thought that her mother had called to her like she used to in the middle of the night toward the end. Lingering sleep faded, and she remembered that she was in her off-campus apartment with no one there to call to her. Her bedroom was thick with the dead stillness that only existed in the first hours of the morning. Nothing looked out of place; her cheap posters of classic art pieces hadn’t come off the wall. The picture of her parents hadn’t fallen from her nightstand. What had woken her? She listened for any foreign sound. There was only the distant and familiar hum from the old radiator in the living room. She swallowed back a tense lump in her throat and pulled back her covers. Maybe a picture had fallen in the living room. She knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she made certain she wouldn’t be waking up to a mess. Her apartment was old, and as October neared, it grew draftier. She folded her arms over her chest. Soon it would be too chilly to wear her favorite nightgown, a short slip of pale blue satin and lace. Her legs were chilly, as were her feet on the hardwood floor.

No sooner had Chloe reached for her living room lamp than the full force of a stranger’s body struck her from behind, grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrenching her head back. Chloe screamed, her legs buckling beneath her. The intruder clamped an arm around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. Chloe kicked and struggled, but the body against her back was as unyielding as stone. She screamed again.

Help! Somebody’s in-

A gloved palm smothered her plea. The stench of the leather glove sickened her.

Your name, a deep voice hissed too close to her ear. Give me your name.

The intruder slid his hands from her lips for a moment. Chloe jerked against him, fought to free her arms.

Get off of me! she screamed. Get-!

Wild laughter erupted against her ear. The intruder dropped, wrestling her to the ground. He twisted her in his arms and pinned her legs beneath him. She managed to free one of her arms for a moment, but he caught her wrist before she could do any damage. Her mouth, however, was uncovered. She again tried to cry out, to alert anyone in the old, thin-walled apartment building who could possibly hear her, but a fall of black hair slipped across her face like a descending spider. She twisted to free herself from the web of hair, and her intruder’s face loomed above her. The sight paralyzed her. Even in the unlit living room, she recognized the harsh line of a mask cutting across the bridge of his nose. The kohl around his eyes made them cavernous pits in the darkness.

Demetrius tossed his long hair away from Chloe’s face. Chloe couldn’t stop staring at him. She was too shocked to scream, to move. This had to be a dream, some nightmare brought about from the night’s events. There was no way this was happening. Chloe’s senses told her otherwise. The smell of him was utterly foreign to her; a sharp, sweet scent tinged with sweat. His grip on her wrist was as powerful as it had been at the Oryx. His weight seemed immense, as if his lean, muscular frame was carved from stone. For a moment, Chloe felt as though she were standing outside of herself, watching the scene before her and wondering why the girl on the floor was just lying there, staring, instead of fighting.

Your name. Demetrius’ low and simmering voice was as startling as the rest of him, hollowed by the mask yet perfectly clear away from the noise of the club. His fingers curled around her neck and flexed, giving a brief squeeze just strong enough to threaten pain.

Chloe, she whispered, trembling. Her name, so freely shared in any social situation, felt a far more important piece of information than it ever had. But why?

A low, terrible sound came from Demetrius’ throat, some sort of growl or moan. The sound shattered Chloe’s strange moment of detachment, and now the weight of him on top of her was all too real.

Chloe. He spoke the word in a slow breath. Chloe, Chloe. Perfect.

He struck, snapping an arm around her neck before she had time to scream. Chloe fought until she could breathe no more, until her living room darkened and faded into blackness.

Chapter 3

September 25, 2011

Chloe did not normally have dreams of memories, however the lilac bush in which she lay from her childhood was unmistakable. She was four years old and her father’s shouts roused her from her nap. She and the neighbor kids had been playing hide and seek and young Chloe had crept into a hedge of lilac bushes. The sweet, heady fragrance of the blossoms had lulled her into a doze. She didn’t want to wake up, but her father’s voice, calling to her in his native