Layton is a vampire. Master Luke can scream until he loses his voice, but I've felt those fangs in my neck and heard his murmur in my ear, he tells me he's sorry but he's not. He loves blood. How can he not? To hate blood would be to defy nature and almost prevent him from eating. I'm his blood slave. He drinks from me and others, though mostly me. Every human's blood is different.
I could feel goosebumps on Clive's arms when I reached out across the bed. He was released from prison to be a blood slave, otherwise he would have been in that hell for life. He thought this would be better, but the idea of letting a vampire constantly feed from you for the rest of your pitiful life. I used to enjoy the company of Master Luke, one of the few lycanthropes at the Layton Manor, but he left three months ago.
There aren't enough beds in the manor for all the blood slaves, as there are many vampires and each have at least three blood slaves, so many of us share. I was the only person willing to share my bed with Clive. He told me on his first night, in whispers, that he was not human. He was more than that, a mutation, a mix of human and many other species, that he was an experiment. He didn't fit in anywhere, he said.
He is a strange being, Clive. I don't quite understand him. Whenever I want to know something, he won't answer me, just tells me that there is nothing to say. This morning, Layton called both of us up to feed upon. He drained very little for Clive, enough to give him an example of what it would feel like, but not enough to quench the extensive thirst of a vampire. He drained me a little more than he should've, and I felt faint.
Another blood slave told me Clive was troublesome. The night he did, Clive finally took off his shirt in front of me and showed me what made him so different. He had... eyes. Eyes on his chest. He told me he saw people being killed through them, watched murders through the eyes of the victims. He told me he couldn't bear it. He asked to see me, see what it was like to have no eyes. It was only an excuse. He had his hands all over me, told me it felt amazing to touch a human.
Clive was troublesome. He was always popping up somewhere where he shouldn't be. When I tried to scold him, he just looked at me and shut me up.
A month after he had arrived, we made love. It was inevitable - we shared a bed, we talked a lot, and just a week before Clive had kissed me. I knew he didn't really love me, but he told me he liked what we did. So I let him. I was only a sheep, anyway. What difference did it make if another person was taking advantage of me? All I would ever be was someone to control.
I told my closest friend, another blood slave, and she told me to shove him out of my bed and never let him do it again. He played with me that night, toyed with me. I knew my friend was watching us. She told me the next day, scolded me, told me that I was no sheep and I should have some self-respect. But I am going to stay here forever, there is no hope for me. I'm a simple blood slave. Freedom is impossible.
Clive was rough in his love the next night, leaving marks on me. I didn't care. I was happy to finally seem human, to finally have scratches and bruises that weren't only on my neck or shoulders. My friend told me I had to get my act together and told our nurse, Miss Flora, who said she would start talking to me about it. I explained it all to Miss Flora, who told me she would get Clive out of my bed. I told her I wanted him there. Miss Flora was reluctant, but she let me stay with a warning that if he hurt me again, he would have to move.
He did nothing for the next week or so, as if he had heard. I didn't tell him, of course. He would feel betrayed. I wanted him to feel happy. He felt like a monster. He hated himself, he hated his gift of seeing murders. I told him he should talk to Miss Flora about it, but he didn't.
He ended up talking to her about it, because another blood slave saw his eyes. I had managed to convince Clive to be a lot more open, so he slept shirtless. He said he should've taken my advice earlier, because Miss Flora was helping him with it.
We made love that night, and for once it felt like... he actually cared. It felt like I wasn't just his toy to play with until I broke. He seemed to care, apologised if I was ever in pain. I don't know why. I'm still his toy, after all.
Layton told me I was different and my blood was tainted. He was disgusted, he said. He sent me to Miss Flora, who simply asked me if Clive was better. I told her what I thought and she let me go without even asking why my blood might be different. I didn't know.
Most things went the same. Clive and I made love, he continued going to Miss Flora to discuss what he saw, and four months after Clive's arrival, Miss Flora looked at me seriously and told me I was pregnant.
I told Clive. He kissed me and told me we couldn't. I knew we couldn't. I had it aborted, but I couldn't remember much about it. Clive went to Miss Flora one day, and he told me he had an operation but he wouldn't tell me what it was. I didn't get pregnant again, and Clive suddenly became rough again. One night was too rough and I began bleeding unnaturally.
Clive was moved out of my bed officially, though he slept in it and made love to me almost every night. He told me it was to relieve his stress. And then showers were introduced - we usually just poured buckets of water over ourselves or if we were lucky, we got a bath, but now we had these amazing showers. They were quite communal - all of us blood slaves stripped down and walked into the shower room, where we all finally got to be really clean.
Sometimes, we would get individual showers in cubicles, showers that our masters and mistresses used regularly. Clive would constantly sneak into my cubicle and we would shower together. I never understood why.
One day, I was told I could have some freedom. Apparently, Clive and I were the most treasured blood slaves, so we were given our own room, the ability to leave the manor grounds once a day in the company of bodyguards who would ensure we didn't run away. One female and one male - they even followed us into the toilets! Clive and I were given our own room and given some money, and one day Clive fell onto one knee and asked me if I would marry him. I didn't love him. All I wanted was to be his toy and make him happy. So I said yes.
We married three months later. We were still blood slaves, of course, but we had some independance. Marriage seemed to drive Clive, to use me however he wanted, to experiment with me. By this point, I was letting him do everything without complaint. My friend was very jealous, but she eventually became happy that at least I was happy making Clive happy. Ah, confusing!
Master Luke returned, and somehow I found myself drawn to him. He was kind, always willing to listen to me, and one afternoon he was making love to me. I loved it. It was different from what Clive did to me. So I went behind Clive's back. He punished me with the return of his roughness. The next day I could barely walk. Miss Flora scolded Clive, but I couldn't trust her nor could I trust Luke. I had caught them in bed together. As if I was just Luke's toy. As if I was just a toy again. Love was a lie.
I returned to being Clive's toy. Master Luke tried to redeem himself, he fed me lies. Then, one night, Layton was murdered. Luke took over the manor. He had command over me. He wanted me but I didn't want him.
Eventually, Clive got into an argument with Master Luke and left him with a fair amount of bruises. Clive only left with a black eye, and he had me all to himself again. I could tell he enjoyed just having me. And one day, I was promoted to be a 'miss'. Clive was a 'master'. We weren't slaves anymore - we could leave without bodyguards. I loved my freedom. Clive loved my freedom. Then I realized something: I was growing to love Clive. Not just remain as his toy.
Clive knew that. He had loved me properly for a long time. He seemed happy, and then he went for an operation and a few months after Miss Flora told me happily I was pregnant. Now we could finally have a baby that was well looked-after. But our baby was taken away from us by strange people. There were no clues whatsoever as to who they where, or why they had taken our baby.
Eventually, the manor let the blood slaves have the same amount of freedom as the rest of us. Master Luke has a wife now, too, Miss Arianna. I still call them 'miss' or 'master'. It's so ingrained into me.
After many years, our child returned to us at eighteen years old. And she's just like me, a toy to her fiancée James, who was manipulative and evil. I tried and Clive tried, but our daughter who had been named Anna-Marie had been forced into marriage with James.
The cycle was repeating itself. Like I had once been Clive's toy, Anna-Maria was James's.
We would always be someone's toy.