After crashing her stepfather's car, Jo Fisher faces a five-year sentence under the strict oversight of a high-level mafia vampire guardian. **WARNING: INCLUDES DARK SCENES SOME MAY FIND DISTURBING** In this new world order, large vampire families once thought to be the mafia in the 20th and 21st centuries, now preside over all legal matters and wield global authority after making their true natures known to the world. Jo's sentence is to be served as a contracted slave at Camilla Academy, a prestigious institution established by the more refined families. Here, vampires at a young age learn to coexist with their human counterparts and maintain control. All while ensuring their human charges become compliant and dependable sources of sustenance. Jo's options are limited. She must either adopt the role of a slave/pet to a vampire master or become the more cherished ward of a Daddy (or Mommy) vampire, expected to regress into an almost adolescent state of obedience. Dane, an ancient vampire prince underboss from the original family, is drawn to Jo's vibrant spirit and tendency to push boundaries. Captivated by her fiery demeanor and stubborn temperament, he is determined to have her as his mate rather than a subordinate. Can he temper Jo's vivacious spirit just enough for them to navigate the academy's demands without extinguishing the very fire that draws him to her?
Lihat lebih banyak(JO POV)
The courtroom was a freak show, and I was the main damn attraction, my anger making me seethe as I stood by my lawyer. The judge, a relic of a vampire with eyes as cold as the crypt he crawled out of, stared down at me.
His ancient, emotionless look didn't faze me. I knew the drill. These bloodsuckers loved to make a spectacle out of handing down sentences to us mere pathetic humans.
The whole damn charade of justice unfolded long after the sun went down. It was ticking close to midnight when they finally decided to call my name. Midnight, because apparently, sunlight is too much for our all-powerful mafia vampire overlords to handle.
Figures.
'Back in the day,' vampires were nothing more than bedtime stories. At least, that's what my grandparents used to say. They always spoke of times when these hellish creatures were just whispers in the dark, figments of overactive imaginations and bad movie plots.
Or so they liked to pretend 'back in the day.'
When the prominent vampire families decided to step into the spotlight, it wasn't some grand revelation for improving human-vampire relations. It was because their little puppet show with the major mafia families in the early 1900s didn't quite cut it in the control department.
These ancient bloodsuckers attempted to manipulate from the shadows, but they failed miserably because, let's be honest, the mafia's influence was limited.
They craved more power and control over unsuspecting humans than the mafias could ever provide. So, they enhanced their mobster facade by revealing their supernatural nature, believing that unveiling themselves as the bloodsuckers they truly are would propel them further in the world.
It did.
Makes you wonder, why the hell didn't they start with that? If you've got the whole immortal, super-strong, scare-the-living-fucking-daylights-out-of-people card up your sleeve, why mess around with Tommy Guns and Bootlegging?
But then again, who am I to question their tactics? I'm just a 'simple human,' trapped in their intricate web, struggling to survive in a world where the boogeyman doesn't just exist but also has a penchant for finely tailored suits... and a taste for my blood.
My generation, and even my parents' generation, never knew a day without these fanged rulers dictating our lives.
They sit on thrones of power, in every government office, making and enforcing rules with a clear message. Humans are little more than walking and talking blood banks. Our lives, our choices, everything is under their control. Walk the line, or our blood will be theirs for the taking.
Now, we're supposedly 'free' as long as we dance to the tune set by vampire judges, vampire cops, and their brainwashed human daytime counterparts. They tell us it's not so different from the days when vampires lurked unseen. Some humans consort with the vampires willingly, offering themselves like dinner, but that was a whole other mindfuck.
But really, it's just the same old tyranny, only now with fangs openly bared and an unquenchable thirst for control. And blood.
Blood, I had no choice but to give to them now that I was in 'trouble.'
"Joselyn Fisher," he began, "Your actions have egregiously violated our societal laws and displayed a profound disregard for life, both human and otherwise."
"Cut the bullshit," I spat, my disdain slicing through the courtroom causing whispers and gasps. "I didn't kill anyone, did I?" I challenged.
His dead eyes locked on mine. "Your insolence is duly noted," he replied, his demeanor unflinching. "Nevertheless, it does not alter the seriousness of your situation. You find yourself here by virtue of your own misguided decisions, Miss Fisher. It is time you confronted the repercussions."
Before I could tell him where to shove those repercussions, he added, "Given the seriousness of your misconduct and your adolescence, you are spared a more severe punishment. Were you merely a few months older, you would be dispatched immediately to the auction block or consigned to a blood farm to spend the next five years as nothing more than a source of sustenance for your vampire superiors. Instead, you shall be sent to Camilla Academy."
Whispers buzzed through the courtroom at the mention of auction houses and blood farms, making me shiver involuntarily. But I wasn't about to let these leeches see me sweat.
"What the fuck is Vanilla Academy?" I yelled.
"It's Camilla Academy," my lawyer whispered, trying to yank me back to silence. "Joselyn, for once, shut it. This is a lifeline. It means you'll be under the care of a high-level vampire who has been trained to treat you decently. Just... shut up."
As if. The mere idea of being handed off like a damn trophy ignited my rage. "Treated decently? By a vampire mafia overlord? Bullshit. Give me a fucking break," I yelled, my defiant and unyielding voice echoing through the courtroom.
That was the final straw for the ancient judge. "Enough!" he bellowed.
"You are hereby sentenced to five years under the guardianship of a vampire at Camilla Academy. Perhaps there you will learn the virtue of respect and a fraction of humility. If you are lucky."
I was about to unleash a torrent of curses, but in a flash, two vampire cops clamped down on my arms, preparing to take me away. I fought like hell, screaming, cursing, "Get the fuck off me! I'm not some piece of property!" My resistance was futile. They were immovable, their grip bruising my arms as I fought against them. They forced me down. My face collided with the table, my lip splitting instantly. The sharp scent of my blood had the vampires around us on edge, their fangs popping out with loud clicks as I kept struggling.
But it was pointless. The judge slammed his gavel, sealing my fate. Dragged from the courtroom, my spirit raged against the darkness circling me.
Camilla Academy, the words a grim precursor of what lay ahead. Despite every fiber of my being screaming in resistance, I was about to be thrown into the thick of it.
Tossed into the back of a van like trash, the bitter taste of defiance in my mouth, I was plunged into a nightmare far removed from the sterile injustice of the courtroom. Blindfolded and gagged, my existence reduced to darkness and the stifled sounds of despair all around me.
I wasn't alone.
The van was crowded with others, their breaths heavy with fear and rage, just like mine. Our captors didn't waste time on niceties. To them, we were just cargo, plunging toward a dreaded fate at Camilla Academy. I'm sure they had perfected this during their mafia days.
Our fears were our only company in the oppressive silence as hours morphed into a disorienting blur before the van jerked to a stop. The back doors were thrown open with force. Dragged out one by one, our sight still stolen by blindfolds, the outside world was a mystery, its air laced with an ominous chill and unmistakable smell of blood.
Then, cutting through the silence with a chill that could freeze hell over, a voice announced, "Welcome to Camilla Academy." The fake warmth was eerie and fucked up. The owner of that voice, a woman, radiated a cold authority mixed with a hint of evident delight at our discomfort.
The moment they ripped off my gag and blindfold, my eyes, burning and slow to adjust, locked onto the figure before us. She was everything you picture as a female dominatrix personified, decked out in leather and lace. She was the very image of dominance and control, almost like she stepped out of every BDSM dominance, fucked up movie ever made.
Vampires, in their infinite wisdom, decided to cherry-pick human hobbies before they swaggered out of the shadows to claim their throne over us. And what did they latch onto? The BDSM scene, thriving at the time, which apparently screamed 'ideal governance model' to our nocturnal mafia overlords.
So, these creatures, lacking any original flair for domination, adopted BDSM not because it tickled some ancient vampiric fancy, but because they observed humans seemingly eating it up. "Oh, humans like a bit of kink? Must mean they're dying to be chained and bossed around for eternity. This is what we were missing with the early criminal enterprises," they must have thought.
It's laughable, really, if it weren't so pathetically tragic.
To the vampires, using BDSM as a blueprint for human control wasn't about exploring mutual pleasure or understanding. It was about convenience, a ready-made system of hierarchy and submission. They didn't care about the dynamics that make BDSM what it is for humans: trust, consent, mutual satisfaction. No, to them, it was just a tool, a means to an end, and that end was keeping humans under their thumb, obedient and manageable.
I couldn't stop the scoff that erupted from me, challenging her authority.
Her retaliation was swift and brutal, a slap that ignited a scorching pain across my cheek. The sting was sharper than any emotional void I'd been trapped in since the dreadful realization that I was bound for this cursed academy. My split lip, freshly opened by the slap, made the taste of my own blood invade my mouth while smearing her hand with it.
Her fangs descended. The sight of her licking my blood from her hand made me shiver, blurring the line between threat and allure. Was she about to make me her next meal? The thought sent a strange panicked thrill through me.
She nicked her finger on a fang, her smile never wavering as she retracted her fangs and leaned close to me.
She applied her blood to my reopened wound, her touch strangely gentle, and murmured, "We cannot have you bleeding out so soon, child. There will be ample time for that here." The moment her blood touched my skin, the pain ceased, my wound sealing as if by magic.
"As you will quickly learn," she continued, clearly not one to tolerate disrespect, "Camilla Academy is governed by a strict set of rules. These rules will become your new creed. Adhere to them, and you might just make it through."
She laid out the rules, each one like a shackle meant to bind us to the will of our "guardians."
Obedience was non-negotiable. We had to follow every vampire command no matter what, blurring the line between submission and survival.
Curfew dictated our nights, confining us to avoid roaming after dark... vampire prime time, no doubt.
Feeding was based on a so-called consent principle. We were expected to offer our blood willingly to our guardians, who would 'protect' us. A twisted codependent bond between humans and vampires would be established. Resistance wasn't an option.
Respect was demanded, a laughable concept considering my stinging welcome. This mutual respect, supposedly, was built on a foundation of 'trust' ... what she really should have said was 'of fear and control.'
Education at the academy wasn't just about serving our sentence. It was about being indoctrinated into their world and learning our "place" in vampire society.
And finally, No escape. The most bone-chilling rule of all. Any escape attempt meant severe repercussions, not just for the escapee but for all humans at the academy... A collective punishment that ensured compliance through fear.
As she wrapped up her spiel, the reality of our imprisonment hit home. Camilla Academy wasn't just a school. It was a fucking prison where the lines between protector and captor, between safety and suppression, were hopelessly tangled.
My cheek still stung from her slap as I scanned the faces of my fellow captives. Fear, defiance, and total resignation was written all over their faces. We were all trapped in this nightmare together.
But as the harsh reality of our circumstances sank in, one thing became crystal clear to me.
I'd be damned if I let them break me. Not without a fight.
(DEIRK POV) The struggle had been almost overwhelming for hours. Mag was vulnerable and weak, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to rip him apart. Every time I tried to push the thoughts away, the memories came flooding back, vivid and sharp, slicing through my mind like the knives he used on me for centuries.I leaned back, trying to escape the constant loop of flashbacks. Percy lay beside me, close enough that I could feel his heartbeat against me. He always knew when I was close to breaking. His touch was steady, tracing shapes across my chest.He was trying to remind me I was still here, still in control. But the memories were relentless.The first time Mag strapped me down, I thought I'd die from the pain. I could still feel the cold metal biting into my wrists, the restraints cutting into my skin as he stood over me. The blade he used wasn't sharp. It was dull, dragging across my chest just deep enough to make me scream but not enough to kill. He enjoyed it
(DANE POV) I stood outside the room where Mag was held, feeling the moment's gravity. For 1,200 years, this man had been my "Daddy," inflicting pain, manipulating me, and shaping my life in his twisted image. Yet, there were times when he provided care and shelter, giving me some stability in the chaos. Now, the roles were reversed, and it was my turn to take care of him. A responsibility I never imagined. I opened the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of blood, remnants of the recent horrors that had unfolded. Mag lay on the floor, battered and broken, his once formidable presence reduced to a fragile shell. "Mag," I said as I approached. "It's time to get you cleaned up." He didn't respond, his vacant stare fixed on the ceiling. The man who once controlled everything now seemed utterly defeated. I crouched beside him. "Let's get you up and into the shower," I said, offering my hand. "I'll make sure it doesn't hurt more than it has to." Mag's eyes f
(DANE POV)I didn't want her to deal with my insecurities right now. She had enough on her plate. Between last night's chaos and everything still unresolved, burdening her with my doubts felt selfish. But I couldn't shake the nagging thought clawing at me for what seemed like forever.She pulled away slightly, her expression shifting as she processed what I had said. "What? No, Dane, you know I chose you. How long have you been dealing with that and not said anything? What the hell?"Oddly enough, seeing her getting worked up over this made me feel a little better. It was like a reminder that she did care, that this wasn't just something trivial to her. I shrugged, trying to downplay the unease that had been messing with me for days. "I didn't want to upset you more."Without hesitation, she pulled me down until I was practically kneeling in front of her so we were at eye level. She gripped my shoulders, and the intensity in her eyes forced me to focus on her and nothing else. "I ch
I left Deirk, Jo, and Percy curled up in bed asleep, intertwined after the chaotic night. They refused to sleep in different rooms, insisting on sticking together. They insisted on the same during sex with us, effectively turning it into our first foursome. I didn't dwell on why. Maybe they sought comfort, or perhaps they were afraid of us. Nevertheless, it was the right decision. I had to restrain Deirk more than once to prevent things from escalating. I hoped I had done it subtly enough that Jo and Percy didn't notice, but I wasn't so sure. They seemed more aware than they let on.As I stepped out of the room, I found Dom and Marshall loitering in the hallway. Seeing them there so early wasn't surprising, but there was something different about them. There was a hunger and eagerness in their eyes that I hadn't seen before. Lately, they had been pushing boundaries and testing limits, as usual, but this time it felt different."What's up?" I asked, heading toward my office. I had a
(JO POV) I woke up to the unsettling emptiness beside me. Percy was still there, deep in sleep. Dane and Deirk were gone. I slipped out of bed. The silence weighed heavily, broken only by a distant, rhythmic sound that made my skin crawl.As I moved closer, the noise became unmistakable.Agonized groans accompanied the sharp crack of a whip. My heart pounded as the sound pulled me toward a door I had never noticed before. It was slightly ajar, with a sickly maroon light spilling into the hallway. I pushed it open and stepped inside.The room was a nightmare. Mag knelt in the center, shackled and bleeding. His body was crisscrossed with fresh wounds. Dane and Deirk stood over him, their eyes solid black, their faces crawling with red veins that pulsed with rage. Their need for total vengeance was consuming them. The brutality was terrifying to witness."Did you think you'd escape this, Mag?" Dane snarled in that thick accent, lashing the whip across Mag's back. "That we would just o
(DEIRK POV)The moment I saw Marshall with those knives, everything I thought I had buried came surging back, tearing through the mental walls I had so carefully constructed.I was thrust back into the nightmare, and suddenly, it wasn't Marshall holding the blade...it was Mag.His twisted grin, the way he'd relish in our pain, the unbearable torture that followed. Mag didn't just inflict physical wounds. He cut into our very souls, leaving scars that never truly healed.He always started slow, like he was savoring the moment. The first cut was an intro, a reminder that the nightmare was beginning all over again. He'd look me in the eye, a sickening smile, and then drag the blade across my skin, just deep enough to make me scream but not deep enough to be fatal. The real agony came later, drawn out over hours, sometimes days.The burn of silver seared through my skin, leaving marks that would never fade. The scent of burning flesh, my own flesh, still haunted me. Mag would just laugh,
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