Manny stood on the landing in front of the manor’s wide-open doors, waiting for their guests. The breeze kicked up dust around them, and the clouds overhead reflected peachy light down on her from the already-set sun. Her Master was inside, content to help finish things in the kitchen as he waited for Manny to bring his guests to him.

Already the smells of the dinner they’d made wafted out, promising a brilliant meal, and Manny glanced down at the cards with the menu on them her Master had hand-written for the guests.

Hors d’oeuvres of steak tartare served at will.

Lobster bisque with fresh baguette.

Salad and game platter.

Shepherd’s pie.

Personal main courses.

Ice cream.

It would be a long, lavish, and likely very exhausting night, but Manny was genuinely looking forward to it. She’d get to wear fine clothes and eat kingly fare, just like the people she used to clean up after. Of course, unlike them, she had the privilege of knowing she herself was going to be her Master’s personal main course, which was an honor not even the king got.

Her clothes were lovely—a fine burgundy tailcoat with golden buttons, tailored to accentuate the figure her corset was working to exaggerate. Under that, she wore creased trousers, heeled boots—she’d never thought to wear those before, but Alara and her Master both believed Aladias would be impressed by another two inches of height—and a simple, white blouse.

She would be eye-candy, and a trophy for her Master to show off.

“You look excited, Sunset,” Alara mused. Manny spun around to see the priestess was silhouetted by the light pouring out of the manor’s open door, and was just about able to make out the black dress she’d donned, as well as the medallion around her neck. It wasn’t the Isharan symbol she wore when pretending, but something else. It looked like a diamond with wings, or the letter V overlaid on itself turned upside down.

“I am,” Manny said with a smile.

“And how much of that excitement is your own, rather than his?”

Manny shrugged. “I… don’t care,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s excited, I’m excited, and that’s all I care about.”

“Good answer,” Alara praised, then gestured back in the direction Manny had been looking, down the estate’s trail. Manny turned to look, and saw a carriage in between the trees, slowly coming towards them. She looked around for a moment, finding the clipboard that had the guest list she’d memorized stuck to it and picking it up so she could make a show of checking the guests’ names off.

When the winds died down, she could hear the clop of the horses’ hooves and the crunch of the wheels on the gravel. After a moment of anxious waiting, the carriage turned in front of the house and stopped with its door lined up with the landing. A few moments of silence passed, before the carriage rocked and its door opened.

Two people stepped out—one, a human man with fierce red eyes and oiled back blond hair—the other a scrawny human woman. “Welcome,” Manny said to both of them with a slight bow. “May I have your names?”

“Ibrahm,” the human man huffed, confirming he was one of the invited.

“And you?” Manny asked, looking at the woman she assumed was his thrall.

“It doesn’t have a name,” Ibrahm answered, causing the scrawny human to wilt. “It doesn’t need a name, as it doesn’t speak.” Despite the contempt in his voice, Manny recognized the fondness in the thrall’s eyes as she stole a glance at her master while he was distracted with Manny.

“I see,” Manny said, taking a charcoal pencil from her pocket and striking Ibrahm’s name off of the list with a flourish. “Master Borohon is likely in the kitchen, but you may—”

“I may do whatever I damn well want, thrall,” he spat, then walked past her, into the house. Manny sighed as he moved out of earshot, and stuffed one of the menus into his thrall’s hands when she followed. This would clearly be a very, very long night.

Ten minutes later, another carriage arrived. Not a moment too late, as Adrian and Judy had only just had enough time to square away Ibrahm’s carriage and offer his driver something to drink.

“That’s odd,” Alara mumbled, watching it get closer. “Vogrim wasn’t invited.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Manny agreed, then glanced at the priestess. “Who’s Vogrim?”

“He’s a priest, like me. Big traveler, and that’s definitely his carriage,” Alara explained. Manny sighed at the thought of uninvited people showing up—her Master hadn’t told her what she was supposed to do if that happened, and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask, either. When the carriage stopped and its door opened, though, Alara only mumbled, “huh.”

When the occupant stepped out, Manny again bowed. “Welcome,” she said. “May I have your name?”

The occupant—a tall, human man—was already opening his mouth to answer when Alara cut in, raising a finger to silence him. “Just part of it, Marchion. The Artisan’s here.”

“Ah, just… Marchion, then,” he said with a nod.

“Welcome,” Manny told him, offering him a menu as she parsed the strange greeting she’d just witnessed.

“What’s with Vogrim’s carriage?” Alara asked as Marchion took the menu.

“Oh, that’s a story I’m definitely saving for the dinner table, Alara,” the man said, glancing down at his menu. “Oh, steak tartare. Fancy.”

“Lounge is in the library—the only open door down the hall,” Manny explained, entertained by the lanky man as he made his way inside, and disappeared from view. Turning to Alara, she asked, “why didn’t you want him saying his full name?”

“Not his full name, Sunset, his True Name. “

“Okay…” Manny uncertainly repeated. “But why?”

“Because your master’s guest’s a fae, silly,” Alara explained with intonation even a toddler would find patronizing. “Tell them what Manny is short for, and they’ll have enough power over you to make you forget your master”—she snapped her fingers—“just like that. They might just do you some mischief, or they might keep you as a pet for the rest of your life, and you’d be content with either.”

Manny gasped, so taken aback by the claim that she physically took a step away from Alara. “No, that…” She said, shaking her head as she trailed off. “I… I’d kill them before I let them take me from him.”

“I know,” Alara said with a smirk. “That’s why I like you so much, dear. You would kill them before letting that happen. Hells, I bet you’d do a lot more drastic things than even that.”

Dumbly, Manny nodded. The thought of being taken from her Master repulsed her. It was upsetting, like only the very worst intrusive thoughts could be. She belonged with him, on her knees by his feet. To be with anyone else, it… “They wouldn’t, right?” She asked, a little desperately.

“Take you from him?” Alara asked, eliciting a frantic nod from Manny. “All the gods, no. They might be Fair Folk, but they still serve Lord Darishi. They would never take you from him like that.”

Manny swallowed. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest at the mere idea, and part of her wanted to run away, into his arms to tell him how much this frightened her. She knew he’d like hearing that, and that would help her settle her nerves. But… her task was to welcome the guests, and she’d rather be uncomfortable than let him down by deviating from it.

So she stood there, doing her best not to imagine such things as they waited for the next guest to join them. That fortunately only took a few minutes before another carriage appeared, this time before Adrian and Judy could clear the cul-de-sac for it. So, it stopped a little farther from the house, and…

And Manny was surprised to see not one or two, but four people get out. A man and three women, Manny tried to figure out who they might all be. One of the women was clearly an elf, judging by her height and build, while the other three all appeared to be human—or at least close to it. They walked the short distance from their carriage, scraping their boots on the gravel of the driveway as they went.

“Welcome,” Manny said with a slight bow once they got close. “May I have your names?”

“Nu, vi estas bongustaspekta knabino,” the man said. While Manny didn’t speak Aldressan Elvish, she still knew the language when she heard it.

“You must be Aladias,” she decided with a slight smile, then glanced at the elf that was obviously his thrall. “And you?”

“Mi nomiĝas Edith, fratino,” the thrall said with a bow.

Manny smiled, awkwardly. “I… excuse me?” She asked.

“You do not speak our tongue?” She asked. “I only said my name. I am Edith.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Manny said with a nod as she crossed Aladias’ name off of the guest list, and wrote Edith down underneath it.

“A pity,” Aladias said with a dismissive wave. “Remeran’s such a dirty language by comparison.”

Definitely an elf fetish, Manny mused, then turned to the remaining women and bowed again. “And you, my lady?” She asked.

“Ashlander,” the younger-looking of the other two women said. “Vinny said he had Fae for company, so I hope that’ll be enough to prove I’m welcome.” She had light skin and brown hair, as well as those fierce, red eyes that seemed to be common to all vampires.

“Of course, my lady,” Manny said as she crossed the last of the vampires’ names off of her list—more to hide her amusement at the nickname Vinny than anything else—then turned to look at the last person—surely Ashlander’s thrall. “And your name?”

Lady Ashlander tissked. “Vincent didn’t remember her? Fetch Florian, then—he’ll remember Shani.”

Manny blinked. “Florian?” She asked. “I… I don’t know how to… I’m sorry, but he’s dead.”

“Oh,” gasped Lady Ashlander. “That’s just terrible. He loved that man, something fierce.”

“He did,” Manny agreed. Every time the topic of her predecessor came up, her feelings about him were a little more complicated. The first time, he’d just been a stranger—an acquaintance missed. Then, when they had a more elaborate conversation about him a few days ago, it had felt more like a family member she’d never met, but was supposed to live up to. Now, though? Now she felt like an imposter. She swallowed, trying to put it out of her mind.

That was easier said than done, but when the vampiric woman stepped forwards and reached up, the confusing gesture certainly helped. “That’s a lovely scar,” she said, brushing a finger over Manny’s lip, right where her Master had bitten through it. “I bet he loves you something fierce, too.”

Manny nodded, not sure how to react to the oddly intimate gesture. “He does,” she eventually said.

Ashlander smirked, and slipped one of the menus from Manny’s fingers. “Library or dining room?”

“Library,” Manny said, pointing the way, even though she suspected this woman knew the way better than she did.

“Thank you kindly,” the vampire purred, then added, “come find me when you’re done here—I’d love to talk more,” in a sultry-sounding whisper as she led Aladias and both thralls inside.

Manny was left a little confused by the encounter, and glanced at Alara to gauge her opinion on the group. “Did she just—”

“Oh, she wants to bend you over a table, I’m sure,” Alara said with a smirk. Before Manny could say anything about that that even resembled a protest, the priestess stepped closer, silencing her with a finger. “Not that a thrall has any right to worry about things like that.”

“I… I don’t?” Manny asked, earning a shake of Alara’s head.

“She needs your master’s consent—not yours.”

Half an hour passed before there was any sign of the last guest. That was long enough for the sun to fully set, and for Alara to get bored and wander inside, leaving Manny to wait on her own. She… hated standing out there, frankly. She wanted to be inside, where the good-smelling food and the man she loved were. Not stand here like the town crier in an abandoned village.

So, it was an immense relief when another carriage appeared in the distance, the lamps hanging from it appearing to flicker as it wove between the trees. Manny straightened where she stood, and waited until the carriage to pull to a stop in front of her. When it did, and the occupant started to get out, Manny was a little unnerved to see the whole carriage tip towards her, the leaf-springs crying from the effort.

The woman that stepped out could hardly be described as anything other than colossal. She was as tall as Manny, but barrel-chested and muscular. With relatively dark skin, black hair, beady eyes, and two round, fuzzy ears on top of her head, she was the first beastkin Manny had ever seen that looked like a bear.

“U—Ursula?” Manny asked, a little nervously. The beastkin woman lumbered closer, grinning a predatory smile as she nodded.

“I guess Alara didn’t bother telling you what to expect,” the woman said.

“N—no, she… She said it would be funnier that way,” Manny managed.

The beastkin woman raised an eyebrow at that. “Sounds like her.”

Manny held up one of the little menus, offering it to the massive woman. “I can show you to the lounge,” she said.

Ursula nodded, taking the menu. “Lead the way, then.”

Manny did so, ushering the priestess into the manor and down the hallways to the library. When they passed the kitchen, Manny briefly opened the door to look inside, only to see that Sean was the only one there. “He’s entertaining, madam,” he said by way of an explanation, which meant Manny had no excuse to leave the intimidating Ursula alone.

As they got closer to the library, Manny could hear laughter come from the open door. The fireplace inside was lit as always, projecting flickering light onto the wall opposite the door. Shadows moved through it occasionally, letting Manny see the room was as active as it sounded.

Walking past the door to guide Ursula inside, Manny already felt a pulse of contentment from her Master that told her she’d been seen.

“Oh, there you are!” Alara said as the ursine beastkin stepped into that cone of light, letting the guests see her. “I was beginning to think Bathavar didn’t think this was worthy of your time.”

“That’ll depend on whether our host’s experiments are everything he’s promised, won’t it?” Asked the beastkin as she stepped inside. Manny followed her in, and was a little overwhelmed by seeing everyone in one place. There were three main groups in the room.

The three thralls stood in a corner, talking in hushed voices, clearly trying to go unnoticed. Edith and Shani were both looking around, taking in the massive collection of books with impressed eyes, while the other one—the one whose master had insisted didn’t have a name—was nursing a drink with downcast eyes as the other two talked at her.

In the middle of the room, sitting on the sofa and chairs, the four vampires had formed another little group. Dressed in fine clothes, they were louder and happier, smiling as they spoke, and eating the little appetizers on offer as they sipped glasses of expensive spirits. Lady Ashlander’s dress was flattering and colorful, Aladias and Ibrahm both wore suits a little like Manny’s own, and her Master had put on a fine silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was a subtle way of implying he was doing a lot of the cooking himself, and it looked lovely on him.

And on the opposite side, around a table that hadn’t been there before, Ursula joined Alara, Marchion, and The Artisan in a conversation Manny had the impression she wouldn’t have understood, even if she could have heard it over her Master and his peers. She was about to check on the thralls, and perhaps offer them something to eat, when her Master snapped his fingers, and beckoned her close.

She loped over as quickly as she could while maintaining some degree of grace, careful to make him look good. That all went out the window when he pointed at the floor next to his feet. “Kneel, Little Elf,” he ordered. She did so without hesitation, kneeling in the center of the circle the four vampires had formed. She sat straight, at first, but quickly felt his hand on the back of her neck, guiding her to lean against him and lay her head in his lap, as she normally did.

She let it happen. Any embarrassment she might have felt at the vampires—and the others, she noticed—looking at her was washed away by the satisfaction her master radiated, and the knowledge that she didn’t have any right to be embarrassed. Her Master owned her, and his opinion of her was the only one that mattered to her. She soon felt his fingers burrow themselves between her carefully-coiffed curls, and she let out a shuddering sigh of contentment, and closed her eyes.

“I believe you owe me a Claw, Ash,” her Master said. “Not a word of protest, not a moment of hesitation—just as I said.”

“That makes her a marvel, Vinny,” the vampire woman said while Manny felt her Master move, presumably to accept the coin he’d just said he was due. “How’d you do it?”

“I bribed her,” her Master proudly proclaimed. “I found her being beaten by an employer who paid her scraps. I fed her, clothed her, and taught her to read, and she lapped it up.”

“A stray, then,” one of the men—Ibrahm, judging by his haughty tone—said. “Hardly a feat. None of my thralls would ever have the nerve to defy me, either.”

“Because they’re scared of you,” her Master said, with disapproval lacing his voice as much as it saturated their bond. “Tell us, Little Elf. Are you afraid of me?”

“No, Master,” Manny said, shaking her head without lifting it from his lap. He made her happy, and she adored him, even if she’d still not had the nerve to admit it. She trusted him with her life and soul.

“Delightful,” Lady Ashlander said. Manny could feel that her approval meant the world to her Master, and she quickly felt herself smile at the woman’s word. “Say, when is the first course due to start?”

“An hour.”

“Then, do you mind if your thrall and I got to know each other?”

“Huh?” Asked Manny, lifting her head to look at the woman.

“Not at all,” came her Master’s voice.

Manny’s head whipped around to look at him in bewilderment before she could stop herself. “W—what?” She asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means whatever Lady Ashlander wants it to mean, Little Elf,” he said, then gestured at the woman. “Show her to your room, and let her get to know you—however she sees fit.”

Vincent delighted in the stunned expression on his elf’s face. Right now her mind was surely racing, weighing whether or not he was serious, and what it might mean if he was. “Off you go, then,” he said, watching her rise from her knees after only a moment more of hesitation. It made him happy to see her so obedient, even when he was giving her an order she was likely at least very confused by, and that happiness was reflected in a smile that sprang to life on her face.

“Follow me, my lady,” she said, giving Ashlander a little bow as she waited for the other vampire to rise.

Manny led the way out of the library, and when Ashlander passed by Vincent, he briefly stopped her, taking a soft grip on her wrist. “No biting, Ash,” he cautioned.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare. I might spoil my appetite,” Ashlander flirted, and Vincent let her go, fondly watching as the woman he’d turned into a thrall and the woman that had once upon a time turned him to a vampire left the room.

“I wouldn’t mind some alone time with her, either,” Ibrahm quipped, and Vincent felt a pang of resentment at that. Slowly, he turned back towards his guests, sipping on his glass of brandy as he had to reach deep within himself to find the strength to plaster a smile on his face.

“Ibrahm, my boy,” Vincent cautiously began. “I… will do my very best to be a good host for you today, but make no mistake—I have not forgotten how you treated Florian the last time we met. Good manners dictate that I invite you for the occasion, but those manners will very quickly run out if you so much as imply I should let you touch my thrall again.”

Ibrahm’s playful smirk melted away at that, and out of the corner of his eye, Vincent could see the man’s thrall was staring murderous daggers at him. It seemed he’d made his point. “Very well,” Ibrahm said, after a moment of consideration. “I’ll concede that I… overstepped, the last time I was here. I’ll be good.”

Ibrahm’s overstepping as he had put it, was to use his powers on Florian to suppress his and Vincent’s bond, so he could scare him and feed until he was within an inch of his life. This blubbering fool of a boy hadn’t been a vampire for fifty years yet, and had already made a reputation for himself as murderous scum. It irked Vincent something fierce that he had to tolerate him in his house, but… the whole point of presenting his thrall was so his peers would be forced to acknowledge his ownership of her. That would do little good if the biggest potential troublemakers—the sadist and the elf fetishist—weren’t there for it.

“And you’re set on her as your thrall?” Aladias asked, as if spurred on by Vincent’s passing thought about him.

“I am,” Vincent affirmed. “The orange-haired elf is mine, gentlemen—unambiguously so. She’s as inviolate as my person. Is that understood?”

“Of course!” Aladias said with a jovial smile, raising his glass. “I can only say that I wholeheartedly approve of her.”

“Crystal clear,” Ibrahm said, tainting the promise with a smirk that told Vincent he’d have to watch him closely tonight.

Vincent and the dinner guests sat at the long table that was to be the centerpiece of the evening’s fun. He’d taken his customary seat at the end of the table, with both of the seats closest to him empty and reserved for Ash and Manny. Beyond those empty seats, Lady Ashlander’s thrall, Shani, sat waiting for her mistress, and Aladias had the seat next to Manny.

Those were the seats Vincent had deliberately chosen. Beyond them, he’d asked Alara to assign the seats, and she’d done so admirably. Ibrahm was kept far away, boxed in by his own thrall on one side, and the indomitable Ursula on the other. That way, he’d surely be on his best behavior.

Glancing up at the grandfather clock that stood tall by the door leading to the kitchen, Vincent saw that there were only a few minutes left of the hour he’d implied he would allow Manny out of his sight. And judging by the way Shani’s cheeks were flushed and the smile on her face, they were likely nearly finished.

He could be patient, though. Ash was one of the few people in this world—other than Manny herself—he trusted with his life. She could be trusted to take care of his elf for a while, and it wouldn’t do to embarrass her by interrupting.

“Forgive me, Lord Borohon,” Aladias suddenly spoke up. “But I couldn’t help but notice how… singular your new thrall is.”

“Singular?” Vincent repeated.

“Yes, singular. Unique, perhaps. She doesn’t speak Aldressan, doesn’t go by an elven name, and… You said you taught her to read?”

“So I did,” Vincent said with a nod. “I decided to try a different approach with Manny. As you know, I’d usually seek out a well-educated university student as my next thrall. But… I wanted to try something different. And… a barely-adult elf orphaned as an infant is certainly different. I found her working for a handful of copper, and drinking that money away—her life would have gone nowhere without me. I saved her life from an abuser, fed her, and taught her to read. I’ve done nothing but enrich her, and I’ve been rewarded with the most loyal thrall I’ve ever had.”

Vincent paused, taking a sip of his glass of wine as he glanced at the others that had joined them at the table. The ones sitting closest to Vincent—Aladias, the thralls, and Alara—were all clearly listening to what he was saying, and he was fairly certain Ibrahm was as well, even if he was doing his very best not to look it.

“She betrayed her best friend for me,” Vincent said, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Aladias. “The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, and yet she served the girl to me on a silver platter. It was delectable.”

“I’m sure it was,” Ashlander’s voice cut in. Vincent looked up, and saw the noble human woman approaching, licking her fingers clean. “Such an eager girl—even if she doesn’t know how to please a woman, yet.”

Vincent quirked an eyebrow. “You’d better not have fed,” he warned.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Ashlander said, as she settled down on the seat to Vincent’s right, next to her thrall who trilled contentedly at that. “See for yourself.”

With a gesture at the door, Vincent looked up to see his elf saunter in. She was wearing a dress rather than the suit she’d had on before, and had a shy little smile on her face. As Ashlander had said, there wasn’t a hint of a puncture wound on her exposed neck or arms, and his vampiric sight didn’t show him any signs of blood loss. “Welcome back, Little Elf,” he growled as she got close. “Did you have fun?”

Manny blushed and glanced about before answering his question, which he didn’t love. He understood it, of course—there were eleven people in the room other than herself, and all of them were looking at her—but that didn’t make it acceptable. He wanted an answer, immediately, and he was satisfied to see her wilt slightly at the intensity of that will.

“Y—yes, Master,” she blurted out as she got close, her blush only deepening as most of the attending guests chuckled at that. She looked to him for permission to sit, and quickly did so once he nodded.

“What happened to your suit?” He asked, leaning closer and smiling. “It wasn’t cheap, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Manny whispered. “Lady Ashlander… tore it. So I changed into this.”

“To shreds,” Ashlander bragged. “Like a child ripping the broadsheet wrappings off of her newest toy.”

“To shreds, you say?” Vincent mumbled, bemusedly. In truth, he didn’t mind, even if that weren’t a wild exaggeration. If left to her own devices, his elf would wear suits and tailcoats all the time, with her modest sense of fashion. Vincent welcomed any excuse to get her into something a little more revealing—and this backless white dress certainly qualified. “You look fantastic,” he assured her.

She beamed a grand, earnest smile at him at that. “Really?” She asked.

Vincent smiled back, nodding at his elf. “So much that you’re making some of our guests jealous just by being you,” he whispered. His words were deliberately quiet enough that only she could have heard, though he spoke them with a glance at Ibrahm. After all, out of the four vampires in attendance, the loathsome blond neophyte was the only one still looking at Manny, while the others had long returned their attention to their own thralls.

Only a few minutes later, a little cart came rolling into the dining hall, pushed by Sean. The human servant was immaculately dressed—dolled up in the exact suit Vincent had chosen for him. It was a white one, rather than the black he usually wore, to better show off how clean everything was for the occasion. His cart was laden with baskets of bread and three soup tureens, and he wasted no time in ladling the lobster bisque into everyone’s bowls.

He started with the artisan, and went counter-clockwise from them, serving up one side, then down the other, switching from one tureen to the next as he emptied them. It wasn’t lost on Vincent that Manny’s serving was the only one that had come from the third tureen, and it pleased him to no end. “You did as I asked, I see,” he whispered to Sean once he’d finished serving the soup and was placing bread on the table.

“Of course, my lord,” the young human man said. “The madam’s eating simple fish soup. Not so much as a claw went into the pot.”

“Outstanding,” Vincent whispered, smiling as everyone dug into the soup and bread. His resourceful Little Elf had saved the evening by suggesting he use the lobsters for the soup, and in so doing, had more than earned skipping the fishing bait that had so repulsed her. He was a little surprised she hadn’t noticed he’d made her a separate pot of soup, but… Seeing the smile on her face as she ate what she believed to be lobster soup, he decided the effort was well worth it, even if it went unrecognized.

“Okay!” Alara said, slapping the table as Sean and Judy cleared away the empty plates of game and salad. “You have got to tell us about Vogrim’s carriage, Marchion! It’s killing me!” Already, Manny was… sated, but she’d seen those shepherd’s pies, and there was no way in all the hells she wasn’t eating one. She’d never seen so much food. Not even on the high holidays at the solstices and equinoxes were the tables at Shala’s Embrace so plentifully set.

And it felt so, so good to indulge. Under the table she had her feet hooked together, with her knees resting ever-so-gently against her Master’s leg. She’d tried holding his hand a few times during the meal so far, and had always felt his disapproval keenly. He did not want her to display affection like that, it seemed—but he certainly seemed to enjoy feeling it where it wouldn’t be seen.

“Oh, very well,” Marchion said. “It started a few months ago, when Vogrim mentioned he’d found some villages with a distracted lord. Healthy young farmers—dozens of prime specimens, and hundreds of still-useful ones—it looked like it would be happy days for him. And I think it was, for a time. I heard he made entire villages disappear with ease in the span of a few weeks.”

“But…?” Alara prompted.

“But, obviously, one of the villages proved a tougher nut to crack. It’s pure happenstance that I came across it, really. Ash thick on the ground, covering the cinders of buildings, and corpses with soot for flesh and char for bones. No idea what happened, but whatever it was only left his heavily-enchanted wagon intact. The outside was a little singed, but the interior was still pristine, so I took it.”

“Shame he wasn’t inside,” the bear beastkin, Ursula, said. “I’d probably wring his neck and use his corpse for fertilizer in the hightown gardens after an episode like that, but he’d tell us what happened before it got to that.”

Manny shuddered. To hear them talk about a slaver and a massacre like that was unsettling enough, but the gristly descriptions and apathy towards the deaths themselves made it even worse.

“Any survivors?” Alara asked.

Marchion shrugged. “I’m sure a straggler or two got away, but… the ash was still hot by the time I got there, and as inept as the local lord was, I was pretty sure this would warrant his scrutiny. And to be honest, I wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t all the doing of a vengeful angel—not after what that Heartwarden did to our friends in Cerene. So I hitched my horses up to the wagon and made myself scarce.”

“You did well, then,” Ursula mused. “That wagon would have raised questions I’d rather not have to answer until the time is right.”

As much as part of Manny wanted her to ask questions, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She could tell there was a lot her Master wanted to ask as well, but if he didn’t think he should butt in, she definitely didn’t dare to.

“If you’d be so kind as to send one of your acolytes my way, I’d love to give them the lay of the land in that region, so Vogrim’s work might continue,” Marchion said, looking at Ursula. “There’s so much potential there.”

“We have friends in Ocher Sky, do we not?” Alara spoke up in Ursula’s stead. “Surely they can spare—”

“Things are… unstable, there,” Marchion interrupted. “Our Lord has servants there, it’s true. But I hear there’s a Convocation priestess running amuck down there, spreading the good word to all who don’t want to hear it.”

“Lovely,” Ursula growled. “You’ll have an apprentice to take over Vogrim’s duties, of course. See to it that your travels lead you to New Gyr two months from now, and I’ll ensure you’re met there.”

“Very well,” Marchion said with a slight smile, and a nod of his head. The entire conversation left Manny confused. On one hand, she recognized a scheme when she saw one, and this was obviously a particularly concerning one. On the other hand, her Master seemed to share his guests’ sentiment. In the face of that dissonance, she did her best to stamp down her concern, and banish the concern.

Her Master had to be right, and that meant she was wrong about this.

Forty minutes later, Manny watched with glee as the many guests finished their personal shepherd’s pies with obvious delight. They were little things, prepared and served in earthenware vessels that held a single portion each, and utterly delicious. She and her Master had done most of the cooking for the evening together, and these were no exception. After helping make them, the anticipation of the meal alone meant that she’d had to pace herself and eat as slowly as she could to appear graceful, and still she’d finished the dish in what felt like record time.

More than the food, though, Manny was looking forward to what came next. She was still hungry, and more importantly—her Master was, too. She could feel it nagging at the back of her mind, that mixture of arousal and craving he felt whenever he bit someone. And this time, it was focused squarely on her.

She was positively giddy with anticipation. She would finally get to prove herself to him, to serve him like only a select few ever could. She would nourish and sustain him, and it would be beautiful. Once everyone had finished eating, and Sean and Judy had cleared the table, she eagerly looked at him.

The dirty dishes were cleared away, and a final course was served—though not to everyone. The priests of Darishi were all served little charcuterie boards, richly piled with toast, cheeses, hams, and patés. And indeed, the thralls were served the exact same thing. All but the vampires, whose plates remained empty.

“Eyes forward, Little Elf,” he said with a tone that almost completely lacked the need to be obeyed he radiated. That dominant thrill—that power over her she’d come to adore—battered against her, and she didn’t dare do anything but obey, staring straight ahead, into the eyes of the woman her Master had so casually ordered her to share her bed with.

It wasn’t the ideal view—she would much prefer to do this in the privacy of their bathroom, with at the very most Alara in attendance. But this was what he wanted, and so it became what she wanted. She shuddered in anticipation as he rose from his chair, walking around until he was standing directly behind her, and placed one hand on either of her shoulders.

“Let it be known to my peers and any gods that may care to note it, that I’ve taken this elf as mine,” he growled. One of his hands moved inwards, following the curve of her shoulder until he could gently grip her throat. “Inviolate except at my discretion, subject to no will or whim but my own. If any—”

“Yes, yes, you made this clear before we finished our hors d’oeuvres, and nobody objected then either,” Ibrahm interrupted, earning a flare of resentment from her Master. “She looks delicious and I’m sure you’re famished, so get on with it.”

Her Master let out a slow, loathing growl. “Artisan, would you kindly fetch Manny’s gift?” He asked, as if to delay having to address that little prick’s comment long enough to calm himself.

“Of course, Lord Borohon,” said the androgynous fae as they rose from their seat, and quickly slipped out of the room. Manny was happy to feel the manufactured reprieve working, giving her Master the moment he needed to stamp his anger down. She could feel it recede from her mind in sync with his, softening some of the tension and resentment.

Only some, though—as most of what she felt were her own nerves and excitement, and they caused a tension in their own right. It was finally happening. Her Master, her owner—the man who had saved her wretched life and gave it purpose—was telling everyone he cared to tell that she was his, and that felt wonderful.

“No objections from any of you,” her Master mused, before he leaned in so closely that she could feel his hot breath on her pointed ear. “And you, Little Elf. Do you object to this?”

“N—no!” Blurted out Manny, evoking a pulse of approval mixed in with his dominant thrill.

He leaned in closer, and the hand on her throat moved up farther, tilting her head away from him by her jaw. “Good. Because it wouldn’t matter if you did.”

The pressure in her neck shifted away, and she felt an exquisite pain, like hot skewers piercing into her throat on one side. She gasped as she felt it pulse a little with every heartbeat, throbbing like a headache. But… she didn’t dare be afraid of the feeling. A rush of pure contentment washed over her from her Master as he no doubt tasted her, and… and… And she felt something even better, beyond that.

Flooding her mind like the best recreational potions, a wave of love, peace, and happiness itself took over her, starting right at the base of her skull, and radiating out in every direction. It made her chest tight with glee and her loins ache like a teenager in love, and her thoughts grew sticky and slow as they were caught up in the ecstasy of submission.

She felt a trickle of something run down her neck and onto her chest, wetting her clothes and chilling her skin as it cooled. Her… her muscles seemed to melt, first preventing her from moving much, then at all as paralysis overtook her. And… and that was so much fun! She giggled at the absurdity of it—as if it mattered whether she could move or not. She slumped a little, starting to tip over in the chair until her Master caught her.

Manny loved him. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He was meaning, and joy, and purpose, and she loved him. He’d made her love him, because she was special. The world spun around them, twisting and coiling in strange ways as hot became cold, and up became down. Her fingers began to tingle, and her vision began to dim.

She’d done good. She’d been good. Part of her had tried to fight her Master, and they had killed it together—he by being firm, and wise, and better, and she by being pliant, obedient, and curious. She had worked so hard to be his thrall, and now she was being rewarded with his bite. And it was such a fantastic reward.

Manny was a priestess in a religion of one, the only person in this world blessed to feel her Master’s love. She felt cold, and her ears began to ring. She wanted to profess her undying love and eternal loyalty to him, but when she tried to speak all that came out was “love,” and giggles that sounded muffled even to her own ears.

As the world went black and she passed out with her Master’s fangs deep in her neck, she was—for the first time in her life—truly happy.

Manny had no idea how much time had passed by the time she woke up, but she did so with a splitting headache made only worse by the sounds of the party still going on around her. She… she lifted her head with a mythical amount of effort, and peered around curiously. She saw her Master in conversation with Lady Ashlander, whose thrall slumped against her with blood staining her neck.

All of the thralls were like that, in fact. Pale, taking shallow breaths, and shivering slightly. Shani looked perfectly at peace despite it, with her eyes closed in content unconsciousness—while Ibrahm’s nameless thrall looked nearly dead, with her master nowhere to be seen.

“Look at her!” One voice behind her said, and she turned to see Aladias, grinning as he looked at her. “Awake and aware already.”

A powerful pulse of approval from her Master drew her gaze back to him. His red eyes were curiously examining her, as if there was something to be gleaned from her despite how drowsy she felt. “Are you aware, Little Elf?” He asked.

The question confused Manny. “Aware?” She repeated, slowly. “I… I don’t… I don’t feel so good,” she said after a while. “Can we go to… go to bed? Please?”

He smirked. “Eat some more, then you can go get cleaned up and retire,” he said.

“Y—Yes, Master,” she mumbled, as she moved to sit straight, and slowly started to pick at the food on her plate. Bits of red meat and cheese that went down easily enough, along with slices of blood sausage that seemed unusually appetizing. She ate all of it as he’d ordered over the course of a few minutes, and drank every drop in her glass. She was parched, and… after a moment of hesitation, she picked up her Master’s glass, and drank that, too.

Fortunately, she could feel his amusement at that, and not any of the ire she might have deserved. “I suppose you drinking mine is only fair,” he said after a moment, and again fixed her with a piercing stare. Manny watched him, satisfied to see his mouth was still stained red. “I believe that means you owe me another Scale, Ash,” he said without so much as averting his gaze from Manny.

“Oh, that’s hardly fair. You’d had your fill before I even bit Shani,” the noblewoman said in a mock sulk.

“It’s wildly unfair, I agree,” her Master said. “And yet, you took the bet. Pay up.”

Manny smiled, despite her headache. “You… You heard him,” she mumbled. “You owe him… Something.”

Ashlander grinned and snapped her fingers once. “Oh my! Within an inch of her life at your hands, and she’s already back to doing your bidding. She really is special.”

“I agree,” said her Master with a brief glance at the woman. He made to take a sip of his wine only to be reminded Manny had already drained it, then shot her a fond look. “Go clean up, and drink as much water as you can stomach, then go to bed—my bed. I’ll join you once I’ve seen our guests through dessert.”

“Yes, Master,” Manny dutifully mumbled, as she slid her chair back, and made to stand up. As soon as she was on her feet, however, her vision turned dark, and her thoughts seemed to fizzle out. “W—woah…” She mumbled, grateful when someone caught her.

“Perhaps I should escort the madam,” someone—Sean?—Said, as she was held upright and given the chance to recover.

“I think that would be wise,” her Master said, and before she knew it, the master servant was leading her out of the room, away from the eyes of the guests that ranged from lustful to apathetic.

The kitchen was only a few paces away from the dining room, and once there, Manny picked a wooden tankard out of the cupboard before greedily guzzling down so much water from the fountain that she thought she might throw up. It was only now that she noticed something—a strange pressure on her neck when she tilted her head back to drink.

She reached up, cautiously feeling around, and let out a startled gasp when she felt a firm, pliable band around her neck. “I was wondering when you might notice that,” Sean softly said.

“W—what is it?” Manny asked.

“A collar, madam. And a bandage underneath it, sealing the wound.” Sean said with a smile. “Lord Borohon and Alara put them on while you were unconscious.”

“A collar?” Manny asked, confused. She rifled around in the cupboard some more until she found a shallow bowl, which she filled with enough water to be able to see her reflection. It was, indeed, a collar. A snug leather band around her neck, with a loop of metal in the front from which a single bit of crystal dangled like a pendant.

“I do believe he’s rather fond of the pet moniker,” Sean said. “To be fair, he’s fond of you in general.”

“I know,” mumbled Manny. She was in no shape to deeply think about this, but… she was pretty sure she liked this new collar. “And… A bandage?”

Sean nodded, then tilted his own head to the side as he tugged down on the collar of his shirt, revealing a bite mark in his own neck. “Lord Borohon does so enjoy marking us, and that means minimal use of healing spells.”

“Ah.” Manny felt so tired, so… drained for lack of a better word. And after taking a few more moments with the makeshift mirror to clean herself up a bit, she was about to head to bed when she noticed one of the little shepherd’s pies was waiting on the counter—kept as a reserve if any were accidentally dropped, but untouched when the night went off without a hitch.

It looked like the perfect thing to bring to Zorah.

Wordlessly, she moved to pick it up along with a fork—then thought better of it. “Sean,” she asked. “Would you carry this?”

“Uhm… sure,” said the butler in a voice that betrayed he was anything but. “Where to?”

“Alara’s room,” Manny said. She could practically taste the objections he was sure to levy at her, and she made a point of stumbling out of the kitchen before he could do so. She was a little short of breath and very weak, but gods above, she loved Zorah, despite what she’d done to her by bringing her here. She would at least make sure she got to eat properly.

The priestess’ bedroom was close by, only a few moments and a single corner in the corridor away. As soon as Manny rounded that corner, she was surprised to see the door was already cracked open, with light pouring out from within. Concerned, Manny picked up the pace as much as she could manage, and peeked inside.

What she saw was gristly.

Judy and the elf from the embassy lay sprawled out on the floor with nasty wounds on their heads, next to the room’s sole bed. Upon it, Zorah laid sprawled out, futilely struggling against the man straddling her. He was bent over her, violating her in… Ishara only knew what way, and the incapacitated pair on the floor weren’t moving.

“Lord Ibrahm!” Sean’s voice came, snapping Manny out of her reverie. “Lord Borohon made it eminently clear that you weren’t…” The bold, audacious, scolding tone quickly melted from his voice as the young vampire looked away from what he was doing, and glared at them both with angry red eyes, and blood streaking from the corners of his mouth.

His eyes were… they were… Manny couldn’t look away. She knew who this was, and knew why he glared at her with such hate. She was… She was a thrall—a thing possessed by a controlling Master. And this man thought her Master was far, far too gentle. That thought battered at her mind like a violent beating, with every hit stunning her long enough for the next to be twice as effective.

She watched him rise from the bed, leaving his previous prey behind. Behind her, Manny heard something drop and shatter, but she didn’t pay it much mind. She couldn’t. Whenever her mind tried to wander, it was pulled back to how frightening this man was. She was frozen in place—paralyzed by fear instead of venom.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you earlier, elf,” he spat once he got close. “Borohon thinks he’s so superior that even his thralls look down their noses at me, as if I don’t have a right to use you as I see fit.”

“U—Use?!” Manny asked, as he placed a hand on her neck. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away—couldn’t resist. She felt so… alone—a feeling that grew only worse as she saw Zorah rouse in her peripheral vision, then jolt up and run away. She could only stare, regret, and despair.

Vincent sat in his seat at the head of the dinner table, laughing at a joke from Aladias as he spooned some of the hard-made ice cream into his mouth. He’d been more than sated after taking his fill from Manny, but when one of the servants brought out the bowls, he couldn’t resist. After all, his elf had put so much work into making this, and it would be downright rude not to eat while his guests did.

The flavors went together swimmingly, each little scoop a little different as the sourness of the cherries encountered the sweetness of the chocolate or the richness of the spices. He resolved to bring a bowl with him when he finally retired, so Manny could enjoy it, too. She’d certainly need the energy, after she was so generous with her blood.

She had been nothing short of excellent. She was obedient, smart, and eager. She treated his wishes as commands, and his commands as gospel, and that alone would have made her an excellent thrall. But the genuine joy in her eyes whenever he looked at her was… special.

His thoughts were ripped away from waxing fondly, however, when the stunned, bloody form of the woman that served as proof of Manny’s feelings staggered into the dining room. Manny’s friend, Zorah, was frantically searching the room with her eyes, as blood poured from a pair of punctures in her neck.

Vincent rose from his seat at once, just as Zorah’s eyes found Alara. “The… the… he’s hurting her,” the exsanguinated human managed to slur out before her eyes seemed to unfocus, and she slumped against the door’s frame. Gasps and outraged murmurs rose from his guests but he didn’t care. His guts twisted into a rueful, angry knot, and his feet carried him out of the room as quickly as they could.

He was hurting her. Vincent translated that into the worst case scenario, that Ibrahm had gotten his hands on his elf, and it frightened him. It hadn’t yet been two months since someone had callously ripped Florian away from him, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of losing Manny so quickly.

He rounded the corridor’s corner, only to see Sean unconscious on the floor, and Manny pinned to the wall by that entitled fuck. He charged at Ibrahm without thinking, and shoved him away with all of the force his weight and momentum allowed. He slammed the worm into the frame of one of the guest room doors, gratified to hear a pained grunt.

“SHE’S MINE!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, hatred and possessive rage intermingling as he pulled back his fist, and punched Ibrahm in his throat as hard as he could. His quarrel collapsed almost immediately, gagging and gasping as he clawed at his throat. He started to crawl away, and Vincent kicked him in the ribs once, as much to vent his grief over Florian as to teach this fool a lesson that he did not get to touch Vincent’s elf.

“S—Sorry,” growled the idiot once he caught enough of his breath to do so, just as the rest of the dinner party began to arrive. Alara and Ashlander both looked ready to join in on kicking him while he was down, while the others all looked on with more neutral or even amused expressions.

There was only one pair of eyes on the unfolding scene that didn’t fit that mold. Ibrahm’s thrall, who looked barely able to stand after being fed on, watched on with wide-eyed horror. Part of Vincent wanted to hurt her—to inflict the shame of having his thrall abused on Ibrahm just as he’d just done to him and Manny. But that wouldn’t work. This greasy little shit was just the average snot-nosed serial killer that used vampirism as an excuse to be more cruel than necessary, and he wouldn’t be hurt by an injury to his thrall.

And when Manny collapsed next to him, any thought of retribution slipped from his mind, as he found himself utterly distracted from anything other than her well-being.

Manny gasped as Ibrahm was tackled, and she was finally able to look away from him. It lifted a tremendous weight from her soul, like a blanket made of lead being turned to mist. But… all was far from well.

Her Master was obviously furious—she could see and hear as much by the vicious beating he was dispensing. But… gods above, she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel his iron grip on her mind, couldn’t feel his every emotion telling her right from wrong. Her mind was like it had been her whole life, devoid of loving authority.

And she hated it.

She… how was she supposed to… How was she supposed to know what to do—what to think—if she didn’t have her Master guiding her?! She was useless scum, worth less than the lint in her pocket and the air she breathed. She couldn’t…

Manny watched as her Master kicked Ibrahm in the ribs and heard him groan an apology in turn, and thought he was going to do worse. But instead of helping—instead of being useful—she collapsed where she stood, tears starting to run down her face. Somehow that asshole had… had damaged her. She was broken, wrong, and lacking.

“Manny?” Her Master’s voice asked, concern coloring it as easily as dye would to fabric.

And still, she couldn’t feel it. She hated herself for not being able to. She wanted to be fixed—needed it. But when Ibrahm started to struggle to his feet, and her Master made as if to follow him, every fiber of her being screamed at her to stop him. She wanted him close—didn’t trust herself without his hands holding her leash.

On instinct, she grabbed one of his legs, tightly squeezing it like she’d only seen children whose parents were abandoning them at the orphanage do. “STAY!” She cried out, unable to articulate everything she felt properly. Ever since their first kiss, her mind had been his, and it was torture to have it back after all this time.

For a moment, her Master resisted, grumbling at her to let him go. But she just couldn’t. Despite the shame of defiance and the primal craving to obey, she would rather die than be separated from him—even if it meant her assailant got away. Ibrahm’s sorceries playing tricks on her mind and making her fear for her life had been awful and yet it had been unspeakably less distressing than knowing her mind was untethered.

Already, treasonous thoughts of running away were creeping in, and she wanted to be punished for them. “I can’t feel you,” she blubbered, certain he didn’t understand. How could he? She didn’t feel him, couldn’t use that to find the exact words that would work.

“Calm down, this won’t last,” he said as he made another half-hearted attempt to pull out of her grip, but she didn’t believe it. Looking at him, she saw a man that didn’t know how to help her, disturbed by how she was acting. He was panting from the exertion of the brief fight, and he’d seemingly earned a nasty scratch to his knuckle in the brawl with Ibrahm, judging by the trickle of blood—

Blood! That had… That had been part of how he’d first made their bond, she was sure of it! And… And maybe she could… Maybe that would fix this, somehow. She’d bitten herself to draw enough blood to excite him in the past, and…

And in an act of feral desperation, she took the hand he’d scraped into both of hers, brought it up to her lips, and bit as hard as she could. She sank her blunt teeth into the flesh of it until she could taste his blood. He howled in surprised pain, and not a moment later, the sharp sting of a slap cut through her panic.

“WHAT IN ALL THE HELLS?!” He demanded as the force of it knocked her over, and… And surprisingly, the pain was a relief. It was firm guidance—his primal authority expressed in a different form. It was a feeling he’d given her, and she clung onto it as dearly as she clutched the fabric of his trousers.

“T—Thank you,” she stammered out. “I… I deserved that, Master.”

The anger on his face and in his voice softened at that. “What?” He asked, sounding very confused. It was all so much, and she didn’t know how to begin to answer that, so they fell into silence. It was uncomfortable, with entirely too many eyes on her and the knowledge that she was the reason her Master hadn’t been able to deal with Ibrahm unhindered.

But as the silence dragged on, and calm returned to the manor, she slowly began to feel her Master’s grip on her mind again. That first prickle of concern he felt for her was like salvation, a tonic that washed away a truly traumatic few hours. Her breathing slowed down, and her tears dried. If she’d been clutching onto him like an abandoned child before, she now felt like that parent had returned, and it was suddenly obvious that their separation had only been temporary.

She stayed on the floor, kneeling at his feet while Alara slipped by, tending to Zorah, Sean, Judy, and her toy guard’s injuries in turn. Only after she’d whispered a few healing spells to mend the ghastly bite on her Master’s hand, and the guests had wandered off, did he repeat his question. “What was that?” He softly asked.

“I couldn’t feel our bond,” Manny softly explained, as the calm quickly turned to lethargy. The day’s events that had propped her up into panic mere moments ago were quickly becoming an oppressive yearning to curl up in bed, and sleep. “I… I felt so alone.”

“I told you it wouldn’t last,” he chastised, and she shrank a little under his stern scrutiny. “And… and you fucking bit me, Manny.”

“I’m sorry,” she quietly said, casting her eyes down. “I… I thought… I thought it would let me sense your feelings again, like… Like when you let me taste your blood in the showers, back at the University.”

That softened his concern and anger, tremendously. “You thought you could restore our bond by biting me,” he summarized. “You didn’t want to be separated.”

“Not for a second,” Manny said, nodding feverishly, despite the ache in her neck and the tempting prospect of unconsciousness. “I’d rather die than lose… us.”

He sighed and smiled, picking her up and ushering her towards his bedroom after only the briefest detour to get two heaping-full bowls of ice cream. “Do you mean that, Little Elf?” He asked as they did so.

She nodded at him. “I’d rather die than be apart,” she said, earnestly. Cautiously, she set their bowls aside, and stepped close enough to kiss him. After the long day—almost as exhausting for him as it had been for her—that didn’t elicit much of a reaction beyond a vague sense of approving fondness. Regardless of how chaste it was, it still felt wonderful, the guidance it provided freeing her from the burden of deciding anything except how to try to please him next.

“I love you, Master.”