Blood and Wine - Margot Scott Page 0,6

contact is a source of pain. He slips the tubing into the mouth of the bottle, sending my blood directly into the wine. I guess the usual drop they add to every bottle isn’t going to cut it for tonight’s festivities.

“I’d love to stay and chat,” he says, “but I’m late to meet my daughter.”

“Which one?” I ask through clenched teeth.

His arrogant expression falters. He doesn’t know I have the power to watch him and his family whenever I please, and it unsettles him to wonder where I get my information. He corks the bottle and rips the needle from my vein. Blood runs down my forearm to where the silver cuff has burned a wide, raw band into my wrist. It stings.

Edward swirls the bottle, mixing my blood into the wine as he studies me.

“I suppose it’s no secret that Isabella and I were involved,” he says. As part of the original purchase agreement, Edward offered John and Isabella the option to remain on their family’s land. In the guest house, of course. Chastity refused to live under the same roof as the help.

Initially, I was perplexed as to why Edward would want them around after he’d assumed full ownership of the estate.

It didn’t take long for Edward to make his true desires known.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” I rasp.

He chuckles. “I imagine you could also hear Chastity shouting about it from all the way down here.”

“I hear you shouting,” I tell him. “I also hear you fucking. But I haven’t heard much from Chastity as of late. Are you neglecting your husbandly duties, Edward?”

He glowers, his gaze flitting to my cock. He hopes to humiliate me by denying me clothes, but when you’ve been alive as long as I have, you eventually lose all sense of shame—especially where modesty’s involved.

In the early days, before I became grotesque, Chastity would sneak down to the cellar to try and get me hard. He caught her blowing me once. Recalling the look on his face when he saw us has gotten me through some difficult times. He still gets jealous whenever I bring it up. However, it’s a fleeting satisfaction because Edward is at his most ruthless when provoked.

“We’ll try to keep it down tonight,” he says, “but no promises.” He squeezes the tube with my blood in it, sending deep-red droplets to puddle on the concrete.

The scent of hits my nose and my stomach spasms.

My fangs extend.

He locks my cage and then heads for the exterior door. At the last second, he hits the button to loosen my chains.

I drop to my knees and immediately start lapping at the puddle of blood on the floor. It won’t do much to sate me, because it’s mine and there’s so little of it, but my body doesn’t know the difference.

Once my bloodlust sets in, there’s no controlling it. I become a slave to my baser instincts, whether it’s rage, sex, or hunger. Sometimes all three at once.

“Good dog,” Edward says. He switches off the light, bathing me in darkness.

Apparently I was wrong about being entirely shameless.

Chapter Four

Mariah

In the time it took for me to have a meltdown in the bathroom, someone has neatly folded and stacked the clothes I dumped out on the bed. I doubt one of the cleaners could’ve slipped in without me hearing them, much less Chastity in her click-clacking heels.

The back of my neck prickles, a familiar reaction to the realization that although I may be the only one standing here, I’m not alone.

I’d be unsettled if I wasn’t so used to the feeling.

“Thanks for folding my stuff,” I mumble. “Whoever you are.”

I stack my clothing in the dresser, stow my case in the closet, and head downstairs to find food. I get lost twice and have to ask the staff for directions to the conservatory—a sunny, tiled room strewn with potted plants and wicker furniture. A full place setting complete with a covered serving platter rests on the glass table. I lift the lid and find a turkey sandwich and a green salad waiting for me.

To my relief, neither Chastity nor Christopher show themselves in the time it takes me to eat my sandwich. Edward comes to fetch me just as I’m finishing my salad.

We jump in a golf cart and head off on a more detailed drive around the fields, with Edward pointing out the types of grapes they grow. I nod along, half-listening but mostly trying to picture my mom here as a little girl.

“Bet you