Chapter One.
"Master, I apologize for leaving." The young girl fell to her knees, keeping her head bent to hide the tears pooling in her eyes. "I beg your forgiveness."
The man standing on the other side of the room starred at her with nothing but cold fury in his eyes as he remained silent. How dare she try to run away from Lord Voldemort? He should kill her on the spot.
But he didn't.
In fact, he didn't even draw his wand as he walked over to her, stopping just in front of her. He stroked his finger down her cheek, causing her to shiver, before grabbing her chin roughly and forcing her to look up at him.
"You will never try to run away from me again, Delia Anderson, or I will kill you." His voice was completely calm, the soft but dangerous tone causing the young girl's panic to rise.
"No! I will never! Please, master..."
She was cut off as his hand made contact with her skin, her cheek burning as she was sent sprawling across the floor.
"You will not speak unless I give you permission to!" his cold voice hissed, causing her eyes to go wide with fear as she shrank away from him.
A smirk played across his handsome features as he noticed her fear, a satisfied gleam in his grey eyes, which were rimmed with red. His gorgeous face did not match his cold heart, his charming facade never ceasing to deceive those who did not know who he was. Well, they didn't know yet. Soon, everyone would fear him as the young girl in front of him did.
He walked towards her again, and Delia visibly flinched as he kneeled in front of her, shrinking back until she was cornered against the wall.
"Mon amour, you have nothing to fear as long as you do as I say," he said silkily, his charming facade back in place as he reached forward and brushed a lock of Delia's soft, blonde hair out of her frightened, blue eyes.
She didn't say anything, only shrinking farther away from him, and he left out a sigh, simply for theatrics, before standing once again.
"Go back to your room, Delia," he said in dismissal and she immediately disappeared, to reappear on the soft cusions of her bed in the heart of the Riddle house. It was only when she was there that she allowed her tears to fall freely, soft sobs wracking her body as she buried her face in her pillows.
Delia Anderson was a pureblood witch, although her family, who had all been sorted into Ravenclaw for as long as anyone could remember, were considered blood traitors. Her mother was a Healer and her father an Auror, while her only sibling, a younger sister, was still in Hogwarts. In fact, Delia herself had only graduated three months previously. She had only been out of school for a week when she had been captured. No one really knew who Lord Voldemort was yet; there were only whispers about his presence. However, Delia knew they would all be very aware of just who he was very soon.
Delia's capture had been during one of his very first raids on a small town in Surrey, where she had been visiting a friend by the name of Jimmy Fredericks. She hadn't known to be afraid as she saw a strange mark hanging over his house, what looked to be a skull and snake casting a strange green glow, and so she had approached, curious. That had been her first mistake. Her second had been crying out as she walked inside and saw his dull, unseeing eyes starring up at the ceiling from the landing of the stairs. She had tried to run, but cloaked figures had caught up to her, although they didn't kill her. The only reason for that was because one of the men in their ranks had recognized her as a pureblood. So, instead they had taken her to their master. She had decided almost immediately that she wished they had killed her instead.
Delia curled up on her side, pulling the dark green blanket up around her body. No, Lord Voldemort had not killed her. He had bigger plans for her and her exceptionally pure blood. She chocked back a sob as she thought about it. He had made no progress yet, stubborn as she was, but the Dark Lord had been trying to seduce her for nearly three months now to produce his all-important heir, to continue the the line of Salazar Slytherin. She knew that he could force her to do anything he wanted her to with a simple flick of his wand, but as he had so eloquently put it, he wanted her to "willingly give up every part of herself to the Dark Lord." That was why he had given her such a stunning room to stay in (although she was never allowed out unless he called her) and why, she suspected, he hadn't tortured her to the brink of insanity for trying to run away. That didn't, however, stop him from placing a mark on her, branding her as his, giving him the ability to call her to him at any time, and, as was recently proved, from anywhere. It was not the dark mark he placed on his followers, which she was silently grateful for. No, it was the Slytherin crest. 'Typical,' was what she had thought when he had first given it to her, placed purposefully on her left hip, giving him his excuse to stare at her porcelain skin whenever he pleased under the excuse of making sure it had not become infected. More tears sprang to her eyes at that thought.
'All I want is to see my family, my sister Angeline. Is that really too much to ask?' she thought, frustrated, as she squeezed her eyes shut. With that last conscious thought, she finally allowed herself to slip into the peaceful clutches of a dreamless sleep.
She awoke in the morning when a sharp "pop" of apparition filled her bedroom. She was immediately wide awake, her eyes flying open as she scrambled into a sitting position. Her eyes scanned the room only a moment before they fell on Him standing at the foot of her bed.
"Good morning, mon amour. Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice full of that false kindness that he so liked to use on her. That is, until she made him angry.
"Don't call me your love," she hissed at him venomously despite the fear that was forming knots in her stomach. "You know nothing of the emotion."
Instead of looking angry, amusement flashed across his face and he smirked at her, causing her temper to rise further.
"Au contraire, mon amour. You've no idea how very much I know about it."
His eyes were becoming darker with hunger and lust as they traveled over her body, still in her clothes from the night before and half covered by her blankets.
She bit her lip for a moment as fear and dread filled her, but quickly snapped at him, "You know about lust, not about love."
He laughed as he moved and sat on the edge of her bed, reaching out to brush her hair from her eyes. However, she instantly recoiled and an annoyed look crossed his face before it was replaced again by his emotionless mask.
"What is it about me that repulses you so much? I am attractive, powerful, what more could you want?" To anyone who just heard him say this to her, it would have seemed like he was begging her for answers, but in reality it was just another harsh, unfeeling demand for answers from her.
She scowled at him despite her mounting panic. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that you murdered one of my best friends in cold blood, or that you hold me here hostage and refuse to let me see my family!" she snapped at him again. She might be terrified of him, but that didn't stop her anger at the moment.
She gasped out in fear as he raised his hand and squeezed her eyes shut, expecting to feel his cold sting again, but instead he stroked her cheek gently. She slowly opened her eyes again, shock etched into her features.
"First of all, I did not kill your friend, the Death Eaters did. Second, it would not have to be that way if you would just give in to me, as I know you really want to." His voice was soft and compelling and she could feel him leaning closer to her as he spoke, but she was finding it incredibly hard to move.
She tried to say something, anything, in response, but for some reason, her brain was working incredibly slowly, keeping her frozen, and soon his face was mere inches from hers.
"Just give in," he whispered, and she shivered as his breath hit her lips.
He had never done something like this. He had never been this close to her. Hell, he barely even touched her. Mostly, he just tried to talk with her, to convince her to agree with his terms, but she always said no. It was the same routine every night at dinner. But this, this was very different from what she had come to expect from him.
"No," she whispered weakly, but there was no conviction behind her words, and he knew it as well as she did.
He closed the space between them, brushing his lips gently against hers, and she was unable to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. She felt him smirk as he noticed her reaction, but for some reason, she didn't care. She just wanted to feel his lips on hers again. She leaned towards him, trying to close the distance between them again, but with a laugh, he pulled away, and her eyes snapped open, horrified with what she had just done.
"Don't look so shocked with yourself, mon amour. We both know what you really want. All you have to do is make a simple little vow..."
"No~" she gasped out, scooting away from him on the bed while his eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. His "simple little vow" entailed her pretty much selling her body to him for his own personal use in the bedroom. She had promised herself the day he had proposed this to her that she would never give in to him, no matter what he promised to give her in return. She would continue to resist him
"I would rather die than become your whore," she hissed at him, earning her a quick slap across the face which left her sprawled out on the bed in front of him.
She gasped out in surprise, which quickly turned to fear, as she suddenly felt his weight on top of her, pinning her to the bed. In one swift movement, he leaned down and kissed her harshly, causing her to cry out and push against his chest, panic engulfing her. However, he seemed completely unaffected and simply pinned her arms above her head with one hand while the other violently ripped open her shirt. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, but he ignored them, trailing kissed down her neck as she chocked back a sob.
"No, please. Stop," she gasped out through her tears. "Please. I'll do anything else that you want. I swear. Just stop."
And just like that, he pulled away, a cruel smirk marring his handsome features. She could feel a strange kind of magic swirling around her and her eyes widened in panic. What had she just done?
"Well, this could be useful," she heard him muse to himself, although she was painfully aware of his eyes traveling over her exposed chest.
She chocked back another sob and squirmed beneath him, wanting nothing more than to be away from him, but he did not make any motion to move. Instead, he just looked down at her calmly and said, "Hold still."
A gasp of pain escaped her as she felt a shock go through her body when she did not immediately listen, and she quickly froze.
"Oh, yes. This will be extremely useful," he said, the smirk on his face growing wider.
However, he didn't say or do anything more to her. He simply stood up, straightening out his robes, before heading towards the door.
"I'll see you later, mon amour," he called over his shoulder lazily before disappearing through the door, leaving behind a very stunned and very scared Delia Anderson.
