The Dark Rose 🌹 {18+}

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I groan in pain as he grips my jaw tightly, forcing me to look at him. "Look at that beautiful face," He comments, his eyes assessing me," too bad it's wasted on a mere human." He mocks as if I disgust him. "I'm sure my boss will find a rather good use for you." His words hold a hidden meaning.

He calls me human as if I'm a different species compared to the likes of him. He said the word like it was beneath him and he was much more superior. How could someone so vile truly believe they were better?

He steps away from me and faces Mark who has been watching us from the door. "Slave," Mark stands straight to attention, ready to please. How could he be a slave? Was he forced or did he want to serve this man? "Ensure she's ready for when Richard arrives."

"Yes, master." He replies. My attacker seems pleased as he walks out the room, going who knows where and I didn't care either. I was glad he was gone, even if it was for only a short while.

Mark stalks towards me, a bucket of water in his hand, a cloth in the other. He kneels down before me, his eyes void of emotion as he places the bucket down and begins to wet the cloth in the water.

"How could you?" I ask, his eyes glancing at me as he begins to rinse the cloth and bring it to my face. I pull away from the cloth, "How can you be his slave?"

He huffs In frustration, "It's not as simple as you think," he says, pausing for a moment as he assesses me, wondering if he should continue. I guess he decides to tell me because his next words have my mind completely scrambled, "They're vampires."

"Is that like some weird occult thing?" I question whilst he begins to scrub my face with the washcloth, my displeasure evident as I scrunch my face.

"No."

My thought process doesn't know how to solve the questions which are beginning to take up my mind. I don't want to believe that what he says is true but everything I've seen that can't be explained is hard to ignore and maybe vampires is the only logical explanation. Or I'm completely insane and my mind is hallucinating to protect me from the reality of the situation as a defence mechanism.

Mark pulls the cloth away from my face, drowning it in the bucket of water once again. "Why don't you just run away, escape them?" I question, "Surely you must want to." I pry.

"I can't."

He begins to scrub down my neck, whilst the rest of my skin is covered by my jacket and jeans.

"Why?" I push.

"Because they've compelled me to never escape!" He snaps, his eyes flashing with pain as he tears the cloth away again and chucks it in the bucket, causing the water to splash and soak the already dampened ground.

Compel?

So many terminologies that I don't quite understand being thrown my way as I try to grasp what they mean.

"What are you talking about?"

"It means they can control you," he bites, "just by staring into your eyes and commanding you to do as they ask."

"Of course they can." I chuckle dryly, realising how completely fucked up this whole situation sounds.

Mark reaches into his pocket and I instinctively flinch, considering the last time he did I was stabbed with a needle. This time when he retracts his hand from his pocket, he's holding a pair of nail pliers. He grabs my wrist roughly and begins clipping my nails.