Variants of Shade : Shadows and Shade Alternate Universes

Harper

Harper

Soot-servant

I'm late, lost, alone... and screwed.

Harper, you are definitely screwed.

And not just a little bit. My collar is in the Manor Lord's furious grip. Just me, him, and the rose garden covered in flour because I didn't catch the two Manor Rats making a damn mess until after the mess was well and truly made.

Let's not forget the short crop Martin has in his hand.

I don't even have time to argue before he's slamming the leather into my arm, my shoulder, and my side with furious swings. I get my arms up in defense as quick as I can and manage to save my face, but I can't escape.

And I can't fight back.

So I curl toward the ground defensively as he growls, "Don't fucking disobey me, girl."

He stops for a heavy inhale, standing over me, still gripping my shirt, and I dare peek out at the man's bloodshot eyes.

"If you want to fuck with me then I'm going to fuck with you," he snarls, reaching for his belt.

It takes me a second to process the movement, his grip on the leather, the metal clicking open, and his fingers reaching for the button on the front of his pants. My heart rips right through my chest, and despite the terror inside me, and the pain shooting through fresh bruises, I begin to fight.

I'm lucky in one aspect – just one. If he gets angry enough, he can't get it up.

He's had me pinned before, managed to get on top of me, and the fucker couldn't even get hard. I can see he's hard now, punishment is something that gets him excited, but all I have to do is fight, and I win.

I throw my foot up, trying to kick for his balls, but he last-second shifts, and all I hit is leg. He draws back his fist and aims for my face, the world falling into slow motion... then a bell cuts through it all.

Visitors are approaching.

Like a switch being flicked, the man straightens and glances over his shoulder. One hand fastening his pants and the other slipping the crop through his belt loop. I can barely inhale, desperate for each bit of breath I manage. Though I'm torn between running and not drawing any more attention to myself. Before I can make up my mind he grabs my shirt again and begins to drag me across the rose garden as though I weigh nothing. Through the arch of the kitchen garden, and to the post fixed beside the door. A hanging post, really – only it's been adapted with a chain and cuff to lock a person in place.

Today, I'm that person.

I've barely caught my breath or struggled to my feet before he's got the cold iron cuff around my wrist and his face threateningly close to mine.

His gaze brushes down past my eyes, over my cheeks, and comes to rest on the point where my collar opens to reveal skin. I feel it and hate it, clamping down the urge to headbutt the fucker and break his nose.

But that kind of thing always leaves me with regrets. The scent of burnt tobacco assaults the back of my throat, leaving me nauseous and almost willing to do anything to escape him. But I can't go anywhere... chained... stuck... fucked.

The bell sounds again, shrill and insistent.

Slicing through the tension. Lord Martin growls and storms off; I don't even bother watching him go. Too busy dragging in a deep breath and trying to clear the tobacco taste from my nose and throat. Fuck, it feels good to breathe!

I roll my shoulders, checking for the sorest of the muscles. Arm, back, side, he hit them all, but they're tolerable. What isn't tolerable is standing around whilst the action is happening somewhere out there. I know I didn't just spend days scrubbing stones to miss the arrival of whatever jackass has Lord Martin in such a panic.

I wrap my fingers around the chain, using it as leverage, and the wall as footing. With a jump, push, and swing, I climb to the top of the timber support and put the second-story wall at my back. The view up here is fantastic, but whoever is on their way isn't in my field of vision yet. The dominating feature, past the road and the first fields, all of the way, way, way back, is the Enchanted Forest with the barest sliver of a waxing moon almost lost in the blue sky.

Enchanted Forest. How original. They couldn't call it the fuck-this-shit forest or the nobody-fucking-knows forest. No, they had to pick something pretty and dainty and the complete opposite to the consuming pang of curiosity I have about the place. I walked all the way there once. Took me two days, Cook caned my ass herself when I finally made it back.

Things come out of that forest, I've seen the creatures and beasts, so things have to be able to get into it. I want in – but be fucked if I know how. Not knowing how only makes my curiosity worse.

Which leaves me sitting on top of a post staring out at the barren land between us and the forest. Late, lost and alone, that's what I am.

I came late to the flour fight, I'm definitely a lost cause, and saying I'm alone in this struggle to survive is an understatement. I mean, there is Jake and he's good for some anger management in the hay loft, and Cook, who has tried and failed to keep me under control since I was a kid, and then there's me. Indentured and destined to be tamed, me.

Keeping a low profile was my mum's dying wish.

Wish is too soft a word. Nope, it was her dying command.

"Keep your mouth shut, your head down, and never look back – got it, Harper?" she said.

Then, like a giant cliche, I did as I was told and walked out of the room – left her in there with Lord Martin. She never came out – I was only five.

Damn, that was a long time ago, twenty years and counting.

Twenty-five, and weird shit's starting to happen, like hunting mice in the barn. I don't want to go into an explanation of what I did with those mice – turns my stomach just thinking about it, but I couldn't stop myself!

And I never did think of a good explanation for Jake as to why I needed to avoid the barn for a month after that. Longest period ever.