Just A Taste | BOOK 1 The Night Lords Series

20. The Rogue

I fidget where I stand, tugging at my skirt in hopes I can cover my legs a bit more. For the past five hours, I've been yanked around by Eve and this woman named Beatrice as they instruct me on how to behave, how to speak, how to eat, walk, breathe, stand, run, blah, blah, blah.

It's like they were trying to mold me into some sort of robot.

Beatrice was a human woman. Possibly in her early fifties but she's aged quite well. Her wrinkles were few and her skin was as flawless as a teen's in their prime. As for her eyes, heavy mascara framed a pair of piercing dark orbs that seemed to feed on your soul. I bet if she knew how to smile, she might even be beautiful.

"Stop fidgeting!" she snaps, followed by a harsh tug on my leash.

That's right, you heard me, a freaking leash.

By now, my neck must be rubbed raw by how many times she's done that. I've given up on expecting any type of sympathy from Eve. Though he might look like an innocent child, he was still a cold, heartless vampire who saw humans as nothing but things to use. Even now, he was perched on the sill of a window that sat at least ten feet above the ground with a book in hand, ignoring me and my abusive mentor.

"Let's try again."

I return her glare except, this time, I hold off on my sarcastic remark. My thigh still stung from the last swat she gave me with her crop whip of doom.

"Pick. Up. Lord Sar's shirt."

My hands curl into fists as my gaze falls to the crumpled shirt at my feet. Behind me, I can almost hear the two guards' silent laughter as they watch intently.

Stupid hag did this on purpose. For the last couple of times I've tried to pick up the damn shirt, she's given me swats for not bending down the right way. Apparently, the only way I can bend down is for me to keep my legs straight while I stick my butt in the air to grab the shirt like some sort of prostitute. Such a position would definitely have my skirt riding up to give the two pervs behind me a little show of my butt.

Beatrice snaps her whip against her leg, impatient.

I wish I could snap that whip across her face.

"Pick up the shirt or you'll be getting twelve licks for disobeying."

My head whips up. Was she serious?!

"One,"

I stare at the stinking shirt.

"Two,"

I could just do it really fast...

"Three."

Beatrice raises her whip but doesn't get the chance to bring it down when I suddenly bend down, proper freaking form and all, and snatch the shirt before tossing it in her face. I cross my arms.

"There." I huff.

A whistle of approval from behind causes me to blush but my attention stays locked on my startled mentor. The shirt drops from her face to reveal a very livid Beatrice.

Oh, poop.

She yanks hard on my leash and I yelp as I fall to my knees. I grab onto it to keep her from strangling me to death.

Teeth bared, Beatrice gets in my face, ready to crack a hard blow to my face. "Why you little-"

A crash from outside interrupts us and we both turn to see one of the guards disappear outside while the other one pulls out a gun to face the door. I blink.